Mr Majeika and the Music Teacher

Jody heard him and guessed what had happened. ‘Good old Mr Majeika!’ she shouted at the elephant, which waved its trunk at her cheerily. ‘It’s good old Mr Majeika, come to deal with the wicked witch. Come on, Mr Majeika, you show Miss Worlock who knows the cleverest magic!’

The elephant picked its way carefully between the music-stands, and advanced on Miss Worlock.

‘No, no!’ screamed Hamish Bigmore. Picking up his double bass, he ran at the elephant and banged the huge musical instrument against its side. The elephant turned on him, wound its trunk around the neck of the double bass, and, using it as a

cricket bat, dealt Hamish a hefty thump on the bottom. Hamish flew across the hall and landed in the arms of his doting parents, who were sitting in the front row.

‘Oh, poor little Hamie!’ screeched his mother. ‘We must take you out of this rough place at once.’ And she and Hamish’s father bustled out of the hall, dragging the protesting Hamish who obviously wanted to stay and see the fun that was starting.

The elephant turned once more on Miss Worlock. But where was she? In an instant, not to be outdone by Mr Majeika, she had turned herself into a rhinoceros with a dangerous-looking horn. It was frightening but also funny because Thomas, Pete and Jody could see that the rhino had Miss Worlock’s face – her horrid grin, her straggly long hair, and even her gold-rimmed glasses, which looked ridiculous perched on the end of its nose. ‘And the elephant looks just like Mr Majeika,’ shouted Thomas. ‘It’s got his beard and glasses.’

But the elephant had already vanished, Mr Majeika obviously thinking that he didn’t stand a chance against the wicked-looking rhino with its sharp horn. He had turned himself into, of all things, a motor-bike, presumably so that he could make a fast getaway before he thought of the next move, and in a moment he had roared out of the school hall and into the playground.

Out after him rushed the rhino, with everyone following to see what would happen. There was the motor-bike, revving up in a corner of the playground – and once again, like the elephant, it had Mr Majeika’s face, glasses, and beard. But before the children had time to start laughing at this extraordinary sight, the rhino had turned into the most enormous lorry – again, with Miss Worlock’s face, hair, and glasses at its front end – and was roaring across the playground to crush the motor-bike beneath its huge wheels.

The motor-bike vanished. ‘Oh no!’ cried Jody. ‘Has she killed him? Poor Mr Majeika, where are you?’

The lorry put on its brakes and screeched to a standstill, obviously uncertain where its enemy had got to. Then suddenly there was a loud hissing, and the lorry sank to the ground quite unable to move.

‘What’s happened?’ shouted Pete. ‘Oh, I see – clever old Mr Majeika! He’s turned himself into a nail, and he’s punctured her tyres. She can’t move. That’s brilliant!’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Majeika’s voice, as he reappeared in his ordinary shape, standing among the onlookers. ‘I think that’s going to keep her quiet for a moment. But we’ve got to think of some way of getting rid of her properly so she just can’t come back again. Oh, if only I had time to think.’ He scratched his head anxiously. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘here she goes again.’ And already the lorry had vanished, and Miss Worlock, after reappearing briefly as herself and sticking out her tongue rudely at Mr Majeika, had turned herself into a tiger. ‘Not very imaginative,’ said Mr Majeika gloomily, ‘but it could be nasty.’

‘Mr Majeika,’ said Jody breathlessly, ‘I’ve had an idea. She came here in an envelope. Do you think we could get her to go away in one?’

Mr Majeika had already turned himself into a lion, but he turned back into himself again for a moment and called excitedly to Jody: ‘An envelope? Yes, it’s worth trying. Go and get one! And put a stamp on it!’ Then he turned into a lion again. Jody rushed off to Mr Potter’s office.

The tiger (which of course had Miss Worlock’s face) advanced, snarling, on the

It did indeed seem to be the end of Mr Majeika. There was absolutely no sign of him at all. The tiger sniffed around for a moment, then turned herself back into Miss Worlock.

‘Well, my dears,’ she said in her nastiest voice, ‘I’m afraid poor Mr Majeika has met with a rather nasty accident. We shan’t be seeing him again. And that should be a warning to everyone not to meddle with Wilhelmina Worlock. I’m afraid our little concert wasn’t a great success, but never mind. I’m in charge of St Barty’s School now.’

At that moment, Jody came running back into the playground, waving an envelope in her hand. ‘I’ve got it,’ she cried. ‘And there’s a first-class stamp on it.’ Then she saw Miss Worlock standing triumphant.

‘Be quiet, child!’ snapped Miss Worlock. ‘As I was saying, I’m in charge here now, and I’m going to rename St Barty’s the Wilhelmina Worlock School of Music, on the So-Spooky method, and –’ She broke off, crossly. Suddenly she started to scratch herself

furiously. ‘Dratted flea,’ she snapped. ‘It must have been on one of the animals. Bother it! It’s bitten me. As I was saying – oh, drat!’ She was scratching like mad now. ‘Wretched thing!’ she screamed. ‘It’s biting me all over. Flea bites! I’m covered with them! How can I stop it?’

‘Try fly-paper,’ called a voice from the far corner of the playground. The children whizzed round to see who was speaking, but there was no one there – though just for a

Miss Worlock’s face had lit up. ‘Fly-paper!’ she cried. ‘What a brilliant idea. Does everyone here know what fly-paper is? That nasty sticky-covered paper that you use for catching flies. Everything sticks to it. It will do the job very well. And if, as I suspect, this flea is really our old friend Mr Majeika – ow! It’s biting me again! – then it really will finish him this time. He’ll be trapped on it, and I can squash him. Now!’ She vanished. And there in her place, waving in the breeze as it flapped around the playground, was a large strip of sticky, yellow fly-paper.

In an instant Mr Majeika had reappeared. ‘Quick! Catch her and roll her up!’ he shouted.

Miss Worlock, all flattened. In an instant they had scrumpled and squashed the horrible, sticky paper into a flat bundle.

Mr Majeika shook his head. ‘Not till she gets untangled,’ he said. ‘Look, she’s in a right old mess! She can’t move or recite spells or do anything. It’ll take her at least a month, till the stickiness has dried off the paper, for her to wriggle free. Now, quick, into the envelope with her!’

They squashed Miss Worlock into the envelope. ‘Now,’ said Mr Majeika. He took a pen, and wrote on the front of the envelope:

URGENT

Please send by AIR MAIL

as quickly as possible

to the General Post Office, Timbuctoo

‘That should deal with her,’ he said cheerily. ‘Now, quick, off to the postbox with her – I think I can see the postman coming to empty it now.’ Jody took the envelope and ran across the street. She was just in time to catch the post with Miss Worlock. She thought she felt the fly-paper wriggling inside the envelope as she handed it to the postman, but he slipped it into his bag without looking at it and drove off in his van. Jody breathed a sigh of relief.

It was Hamish Bigmore, walking sullenly in through the school gates. ‘I’ve come to fetch my double bass,’ he said.

Hamish stuck his tongue out at them. ‘Don’t you laugh!’ he said. ‘She didn’t teach me everything she knew, but she did tell me one very nasty trick and I’m going to do it to you all now. I’m going to fill up your pockets with the most horrid things you can think of, toads and worms and spiders and beetles and crabs and yucky food and everything like that! Now!’ And he pointed his finger at them, just like Miss Worlock had done.

Nothing happened. But Hamish was dancing up and down and yelling, and from his own pockets there wriggled all sorts of horrid creatures.

And the last they saw of him was a wild figure running off down the road, trying to tear off his coat and trousers as he went.

should be grateful to Wilhelmina Worlock after all. She seems to know how to deal with our Hamish!’