It Takes One to Know One Read online

  ‘And with such fluency, such feeling.

  It’s a delight to hear.’

  On Friday we have reading round the class.

  I’M THE WORST.

  I stumble and mumble along slowly like a

  broken-down train

  And everyone looks up and listens.

  Then, they smile and snigger and whisper behind

  their hands.

  ‘Dear me,’ sighs Mrs Scott, ‘rather rusty, Simon.

  Quite a bit of practice needed, don’t you think?

  Too much television and football, that’s your trouble,

  And not enough reading.’

  AND SHE WONDERS WHY I DON’T LIKE BOOKS.’

  Conversation at the School Gates

  You, boy!

  What?

  When you talk to a teacher you say, ‘Sir.’

  What… Sir?

  What are you doing?

  Nothing… Sir.

  Exactly. Nothing!

  What?

  Sir! You say, ‘Sir.’

  What… Sir?

  You are doing nothing!

  That’s what I just said … Sir.

  Well, why are you just sitting on the wall when everyone

  else is in school working?

  I’m having a rest… Sir.

  Oh, you’re having a rest, are you?

  That’s right… Sir.

  What’s your name?

  Darren.

  Darren what?

  Sir.

  No, no, what’s your second name?

  Wayne.

  Your last name!

  Porter… Sir.

  Now look here, Porter, I don’t like your attitude at all. The bell has gone, everyone’s in school and you’re sitting idly on the school wall doing nothing. Furthermore, you are not in uniform.

  That’s right… Sir.

  Well, get into school and I will see you in my room for detention at the end of the day.

  I can’t… Sir.

  Give me one good reason why you can’t, Porter.

  I work over the road. I left this school last year… Sir.

  The Way I Am

  I’m just an ordinary sort of boy,

  Not the centre of attention,

  The best of the bunch,

  Apple of the teacher’s eye,

  The one everyone remembers.

  IT’S JUST THE WAY I AM.

  I’m just an ordinary sort of boy,

  Not the high flier,

  Captain of the team,

  Star of the school play,

  Top of the class.

  IT’S JUST THE WAY I AM.

  I’m just an ordinary sort of boy,

  Nothing special at all,

  Run of the mill,

  Fair to middling,

  No great shakes.

  IT’S JUST THE WAY I AM.

  I’m just an ordinary sort of boy,

  But I’m not invisible.

  I do exist!

  I’m as different as anyone else,

  There’s nobody like me.

  And to my family, I’m pretty special.

  So please, Sir, please, Miss – notice ME sometimes.

  I AM WHAT I AM.

  Samantha-Jayne

  Nobody speaks to Samantha-Jayne,

  The silent child with the fancy name,

  Who comes to school with hair a mess,

  And milk stains down her dirty dress,

  Who wears a coat that’s far too small,

  And stands alone by the playground wall.

  Nobody plays with Samantha-Jayne,

  Who lives with her mum down Leadmill Lane,

  In a run-down flat that’s dark and smelly,

  Who spends her nights glued to the telly,

  And sleeps in a bed that’s damp and cold,

  In a dark little room that’s full of mould.

  Nobody cares about Samantha-Jayne,

  Who walks to school in wind and rain,

  With her unwashed face and hair a mess,

  And her coat too small and her dirty dress,

  With the tight little mouth and the frightened stare.

  No one, no one is there to care.

  Samantha-Jayne, Samantha-Jayne

  Oh, what do you dream of, Samantha-Jayne,

  As you walk to school all alone

  Or stand in the playground on your own?

  Do you dream of friends with whom to play,

  To help you through the lonely day?

  Do you dream of arms to hold you tight

  To help you through the lonely night?

  Leaving Home

  When Matthew was seven,

  He decided to leave home.

  He packed his little bag

  And tucked his teddy underneath his arm,

  And said, ‘I’m going. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Why are you leaving, Matty?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Because you shouted at me.’

  ‘No I didn’t. I never raised my voice.’

  ‘You shouted at me with your eyes,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Shall I run you to the station?’ asked Dad.

  ‘No, I’ll get a bus.’

  ‘Well, goodbye then, Matty,’ said Dad, opening the door

  On to the cold, black night beyond.

  Matthew peered into the darkness.

  ‘And be careful of the wolves,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m not going now,’ replied Matthew.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  The School Inspector Calls

  Miss, Miss, there’s a man at the back of the classroom,

  With a big black book and a smile like a crocodile.

  Miss, he asked me if I’ve got a lot of homework,

  And when I said, ‘Too much!’ – he wrote it down.

  Miss, Miss, there’s a man at the back of the classroom,

  With a long, sharp pencil and eyes like a basking shark.

  Miss, he asked me what I liked best about our school

  And when I said, ‘The dinners!’ – he wrote it down.

  Miss, Miss, there’s a man at the back of the classroom

  With a big square badge and hair like a hedgehog.

  Miss, I asked him what he liked best about our school

  And he said he was not there to answer my questions,

  He said he was just ‘a fly on the wall’.

  Miss, Miss, why don’t you tell him to ‘BUZZ OFF!’

  Earwax

  ‘It’s wax,’ explained the doctor,

  Shining a little torch into Dominic’s ear.

  ‘Your son’s got wax in his ear.’

  ‘Earwax,’ Dad said relieved.

  ‘His brothers both had wax in their ears when they were his age.

  It must run in the family.

  It’s nature’s way of protecting the ear from water.

  That’s what we were told by the nurse.’

  ‘That’s very true,’ said the doctor, peering into the ear.

  ‘Yes, my other sons had wax in their ears too,’ said Dad. And had to have them syringed.

  I suppose it will be the same for Dominic?’

  ‘No, no,’ replied the doctor, inserting a pair of silver tweezers

  And extracting something round and red and shaped like a bullet.

  ‘Not for a wax crayon.’

  Auntie Penny’s Pets

  Auntie Penny has a parrot,

  She calls him Captain Jack.

  He has red and yellow feathers

  And a beak of shiny black.

  He has eyes like tiny pebbles,

  And claws of scaly grey,

  And he squawks and talks,

  And talks and squawks,

  All the livelong day.

  Auntie Penny has a Scotty dog,

  She calls him Mr Mac.

  He has little legs and a stumpy tail

  And a very hairy back.

  He has teeth as sharp as icicles,

  And eyes like diamonds bright,

  And he snaps and yaps,

  And yaps and snaps,

  Morning, noon and night.

  Auntie Penny has a Siamese cat,

  She calls her The Old Maid.

  She has silver fur as soft as silk,

  And eyes of polished jade.

  She has pointed claws as sharp as knives,

  And whiskers thin as wire,

  And she purrs and purrs,

  And never stirs,

  Curled up by the fire.

  Auntie Penny has a donkey,

  She calls him Irish Brian.

  He is small and thin and bony,

  With hooves as hard as iron.

  He has teeth as square as tombstones,

  And a mane as red as rust,

  And he neighs and brays,

  And brays and neighs,

  From daylight until dusk.

  Auntie Penny has a portly pig,

  She calls her Mrs Stout.

  She is round and fat and bristly,

  With a wet and wiggly snout.

  She has a curly tail like a coiled-up spring,

  And a coat of purest white,

  And she grunts and digs,

  With the other pigs,

  From daybreak until night.

  Auntie Penny has a husband,

  His name is Uncle Paul.

  He’s very, very quiet,

  In fact, he hardly speaks at all.

  He cooks and cleans and washes,

  And tidies all the house, And he tiptoes round,

  Without a sound,

  As quiet as a mouse.

  Auntie Penny, she likes all her pets:

  The Old Maid and Captain Jack,

  Mrs Stout and Irish Brian,

  And grumpy Mr Mac
,

  But she has a special favourite,

  He’s the quietest of them all,

  And she loves him best,

  More than all the rest,

  And his name is Uncle Paul.

  Bee in the Classroom

  One Friday, in through the open window of the classroom

  Flew the biggest bee in the whole, wide world –

  A big, round, black and yellow, bumbling monster.

  It buzzed and buzzed,

  And hummed and hummed,

  And bobbed and bobbed,

  Above everybody’s head.

  ‘Miss! Miss!’ screamed Bernadette,

  ‘There’s a bee in the classroom!’

  ‘Just ignore it,’ said the teacher,

  ‘And get on with your writing.

  If you don’t bother the bee, Bernadette,

  The bee won’t bother you.’

  ‘Miss! Miss!’ yelled Barry,

  ‘Shall I swot it with my ruler?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said the teacher,

  ‘It has as much a right to life as any living creature.

  If you don’t bother the bee, Barry,

  The bee won’t bother you.’

  ‘Miss! Miss!’ suggested Betty,

  ‘Shall I catch it in my pencil case?’

  ‘Not a very good idea,’ said the teacher,

  ‘That would make it very angry.

  If you don’t bother the bee, Betty,

  The bee won’t bother you.’

  One Friday, in through the open window of the classroom

  Flew the biggest bee in the whole, wide world –

  A big, round, black and yellow, bumbling monster.

  It buzzed and buzzed around the teacher’s desk,

  It hummed and hummed about her ear,

  It bobbed and bobbed before her eyes,

  And then it stung her on the nose.

  Teachers, you know, can sometimes be wrong!

  Remembrance Day

  On Remembrance Sunday Grandpa cried

  For his two brothers, who had died

  In some forgotten, far-off land,

  Of blistering heat and burning sand.

  He touched a medal on his chest

  Which sparkled brighter than the rest.

  ‘The Africa Star,’ he gently sighed,

  ‘A badge of honour and worn with pride,

  A symbol of our Ted and Jack,

  Who never made the journey back.’

  We watched old soldiers stride on by,

  Straight of back and heads held high,

  And clutched our poppies of brightest red,

  And cried for the brothers, Jack and Ted.

  The Last Word

  My big brother likes to have the last word.

  Yesterday Dad said to him, ‘I wish you wouldn’t always argue with me.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Dominic.

  ‘You do,’ said Dad.

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘There you go again.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Arguing with me.’

  ‘I’m not arguing.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You see what I mean?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Arguing with me.’

  ‘I’m not arguing,’ said Dominic.

  ‘You are,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Well, what are you doing now then?’

  ‘Having a difference of opinion,’ replied Dominic.

  ‘That’s arguing,’ said Dad.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ said Dominic, getting the last word.

  Please Leave on the Light!

  Oh, leave the landing light on, Mum,

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  Oh, leave the landing light on, Mum,

  I can’t make it through the night.

  I’m frightened in my room alone,

  When the moon is shining bright,

  And shadows dance across the walls,

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  I have these awful, scary thoughts

  Of creatures in the night,

  With long curved claws and massive jaws,

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  I hear them underneath the bed,

  Scuttling out of sight,

  Waiting for the darkness.

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  Then, they slither out so silently,

  And give me such a fright,

  With their cold, cold breath and icy hands,

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  They clamber on the eiderdown,

  With golden eyes so bright,

  And clasp me in their monstrous arms.

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  I fear their breath upon my cheek,

  I dread their teeth that bite.

  I cannot bear the thought of them,

  Oh, please leave on the light.

  Oh, Mummy, Mummy, do not leave,

  Oh, Mummy hold me tight.

  I know that I’ll have nightmares,

  If you don’t leave on the light.

  Come, come, my dear, his mother said,

  I think it only right,

  You’re forty-seven years old, you know,

  So, I’m turning off the light!

  The Pirate

  When I was six my father told me

  Great Uncle Alex, who I had never met,

  Was coming for a visit.

  ‘He’s very old,’ my father said, ‘and rather stern.

  He has no children of his own, you see,

  So, on your best behaviour, please.

  He was a pirate,’ said my father casually,

  ‘And has travelled round the world.’

  When I heard the doorbell ring,

  I scurried to my room, too scared to meet him.

  I could not face the figure with the cutlass in his hand,

  And the great curved pistols poking from his belt.

  I dared not stare into that cruel and rugged face,

  And look upon the great hooked nose and tangled hair,

  And see the ear with dangling ring of gold,

  And meet the black patch covering an eye.

  I cried and cried when Father came to fetch me.

  He was red-faced and far from pleased

  To find me curled up, whimpering on my bed.

  ‘I said your best behaviour!’ Father snapped,

  And took me down to meet the buccaneer himself.

  To my surprise he was an old, old man,

  With gentle eyes and wrinkled, friendly face,

  A tiny figure, frail, in shiny suit and polished shoes.

  ‘This is your Uncle Alex,’ Father said.

  ‘He did what many boys would like to do

  When they’ve grown up: to fly a plane

  And travel round the world – and be a pilot.’

  Top Twenty Things That Parents Never Say

  •

  Of course you can have more pocket money.

  •

  I bought those chocolate biscuits just for you.

  •

  No, it won’t hurt to leave your bike out in the rain.

  •

  The telephone is free if you wish to use it.

  •

  Don’t bother with the dishes, I’ll do them later.

  •

  I do wish the school wouldn’t give you so much homework.

  •

  I like your friend with the nose stud and the tattoos.

  •

  You’re not coming in too early tonight, are you?

  •

  Just leave your dirty underwear on the floor.

  •

  Don’t worry, I came bottom of the class when I was your age.

  •

  I hope you enjoy the rest of the late-night film.

  •

  Would you like any help sticking that poster on your bedroom wall?

  •

  These trainers are very cheap.

  •

  Would you like lots of greasy food at your all-night party?