DONALD BISSET

The Lost Birthday
(5a Yana Vladimirovna)

Once upon a time there was a big father elephant who lived at Whipsnade Zoo with a mother elephant and their little elephant, whose name was Yalmar. Father elephant was very, very big. Mother elephant was quite big. And even Yalmar wasn't very little. Elephants aren't!
One day they saw the father elephant standing on his head.
"Whatever are you doing?" said the mother elephant.
"I'm trying to remember something," said the father elephant.
"What are you trying to remember?"
"If I knew that," said the father elephant, "I wouldn't be trying to remember it, my dear, would I!" And he walked off.
"Now, run along, Yalmar," said the mother elephant, "and see if you can find what your father's forgotten."
Yalmar ambled off by himself.
After a while he climbed a little hill by a bamboo wood and sat down and watched the clouds chasing each other across the sky. Presently he heard the sound of crying.
He couldn't see anything but the crying seemed to come from quite near. So he said, "Please don't cry. I'll help you." The crying stopped. "Who are you?" said Yalmar. "I can't see you."
'I'm a lost birthday," said a voice, "and I don't know who I belong to."
"Oh dear!" said Yalmar. "That is sad. And is there a birthday cake, too?"
"Of course! There's always a birthday cake on birthdays," said the lost birthday. "This one's got six candles. Someone's six today."
"How nice to be six!" thought Yalmar. "That's a very nice age. Almost as nice as being seven. Five is nice, too, and so is four. And as for eight, well, when you're eight you're nearly half-way to being grown up. Still, I think I'd like being six best. I'm terribly sorry, though, that I can't help you. I don't know who's forgotten a birthday." Yalmar started off home.
When he got there his father had stopped standing on his head and was eating some hay. "I remembered!" he said. "I knew it was yesterday or tomorrow or perhaps today. And it is..." "It is what?" asked Yalmar.
"Your birthday!" said his mother, coming in. "You're six today." Yalmar was excited.
He trundled off as quickly as he could to the little hill by the bamboo wood.
"Hallo!" he called out. "You're my birthday. I'm six today."
"Hooray!" said the birthday. "Hooray, hooray, hooray!"
That afternoon at tea-time, Yalmar had a birthday cake with six candles and he curled his trunk round and blew all the candles out at once. "It is fun!" he thought. "I like being six."




The Sea-Gull and the Tortoise
(5a Svetlana Victorovna/Natalya Valentinovna)

Once upon a time there lived a sea-gull whose name was Oliver. He lived on a little island with his friend Simon, the tortoise.
All day long Oliver flew over the sea and caught fish. Simon stayed at home under a thick tree and ate cabbage leaves and sang songs. He had a beautiful voice.
One day a large stork flew by and saw Simon all by himself. The stork’s name was Charlie. He was feeling very hungry. “My! Myl” he said “That tortoise would make a good dinner".
He flew down and picked Simon up in his beak and flew away with him.
When he got home he opened the door of a little cage.
“In you go,” he said to Simon. “Here are a lot of cabbage leaves. You eat them up and grow fat.”
Then he shut the door of the cage and locked it.
When Oliver got home he looked everywhere for his friend but couldn't find him. The night came; still he went on looking for Simon. When he was flying over a dark forest, he heard the sound of a lovely song far below. Was it — Simon?
Guided by the sound he flew down, and there was his friend singing sadly in the moonlight. Next to him in a big nest was the stork sound asleep.
“S-s-h! Don’t make a sound,” said Oliver. He bit through the wooden bars of the cage with his strong beak and Simon came out.
But they were far from home. And Simon couldn’t fly. Tortoises can’t. So they built a raft and sailed home.
When they got home Oliver tied Simon’s tail to the tree. “You’ll be safe now,” he said.
If ever you are near the island, and, in the evening, when the moon is high in the sky, you hear a song from across the water, you’ll know that it is Simon singing to Oliver. They are very happy.


The Tiger Who Liked Baths
(5А Anna Alexandrovna/Tatiana Yurievna)

Once upon a time there was a tiger whose name was Bert. He had big, white, sharp teeth and when he growled, it made a noise like thunder. But Bert was a very nice tiger, always kind and gentle, except when someone else wanted to have a bath.
He loved having a bath and lay in the water all day until Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their baby daughter, who lived with him, were very cross. Because every time they went to have a bath Bert growled and showed his teeth.
“Come on, Bert! Do come out and have your supper,” said Mrs. Smith, holding out a big plate of bones. “No, thank you,” said Bert, and growled.
Poor Mrs. Smith nearly cried. “It’s time to bath the baby,” she said, “and there’s Bert still in the bath. Whatever shall I do?”
“I know what we’ll do,” said Mr. Smith, and he went and bought twenty bottles of black ink and, when Bert wasn’t looking, he poured them into his bath. It made the water all black so that Bert got all black too.
A few hours later Bert decided it was supper time, so he got out of the bath.
“Oh, look at that big black pussy cat,” said Mr. Smith.
“Oh, yes, what a beautiful pussy cat!” said Mrs. Smith.
“Pussy cat?” said Bert. “I’m not a pussy cat. I’m a tiger.”
“Tigers have stripes,” said Mr. Smith. “They are not black all over like you.”
“Oh dear!” said Bert. “Perhaps I am a pussy cat, after all.”
“And pussy cats,” said Mrs. Smith, “don’t like having baths. You know that.”
“That’s true!” said Bert.
After supper Bert went to the garden. And Prince, the dog next door, who liked chasing pussy cats, saw Bert, and said, “There’s a pussy cat! I’ll chase him!”
He felt a bit nervous because Bert looked the biggest pussy cat he had ever seen. Still, pussy cats had always run away before when he barked at them, so he ran up to Bert barking and showing his teeth.
Bert turned his head lazily and growled just once, like this: “Gr-r-r-r!”
Prince had never been so frightened in his life, and he jumped over the fence and ran home.
A little later, when Mr. Smith came into the garden,' Bert asked him, “Am I really a pussy cat? Don’t you think I’m too big?”
“Well, you’re not really a pussy cat,” said Mr. Smith. “You’re a tiger. A special kind of tiger, who never likes staying in the bath for more than half an hour. And that’s the very best kind of tiger.” Bert was pleased. “That kind!”, he said to himself. “The very best kind!” And he purred and then licked all the black off till he was a lovely yellow tiger again with black stripes.
Then he went into the house and said to Mr. Smith, “I think I’ll just go and have a bath.” And he turned the water on and had a lovely bath. But he stayed in the water only for half an hour, and Mrs. Smith said he was a very good tiger and gave him a big bucket of ice-cream.
Bert put his head in the bucket and licked. “Yum! yum! yum!” he said. “I do like ice-cream.”



Under the Carpet
(5Б Yana Vladimirovna)

Once upon a time there was a tiger and a horse who were great friends and they lived under the carpet in the drawing-room. They liked living in the drawing-room because they liked drawing.
Sheila, the little girl who lived in the house, once asked them, “How do you get flat so as to get under the carpet?”
“Because we’re imaginary animals,” they said. “I’m an imaginary tiger.” “And I’m an imaginary horse.” “And where do you keep your hay?” Sheila asked the horse.
“Under the carpet,” he said. “It’s imaginary hay.” “And do you keep your bones there, too?” she asked the tiger.
“Yes!” he said. “Bones!” And licking his lips, he disappeared under the carpet. The horse followed him and Sheila was left alone.
Then she got some paper and drew pictures of lumps of sugar on it and put the piece of paper under the carpet.
Presently she heard a crunching sound and a pleased sort of horsey voice saying “Yum, yum, yum”.
Then she wrote on a small piece of paper, “What do tigers like?” and put it under the carpet. There was a whispering noise, then the horse poked his head out. “Hay sandwiches,” he said.
Sheila looked at him. “You’re a naughty horse. Hay sandwiches are what horses like, aren’t they'? Now, go and ask the tiger what he would like.”
The horse went and the tiger came out. “I’d like a wrist-watch,” he said. “So that I can tell the time.”
“All right!” said Sheila, and she drew the wrist-watch and gave it to him; and some hay sandwiches for the horse. He disappeared. Presently they both came out.
“Thank you very much, Sheila!” they said, and gave her a kiss. “Is there anything else you’d like tonight?” she asked them. “It’s nearly my bedtime.” “There is one thing we’d like,” they said. “An umbrella.”
“An umbrella!” said Sheila. “But it doesn’t rain under the carpet. Oh, I forgot! It’s imaginary rain!” “Of course!” they said.
So she drew them an umbrella and gave it to them. “Thank you!” they said. “Good night!”
“Good night!” said Sheila, and went up to bed. Then she thought, “Wouldn’t it be dreadful to have a lovely new umbrella and then for it not to rain!” So she drew some rain on a big piece of paper and tiptoed downstairs and slipped it under the carpet.
Next morning when she came down, the drawing-room was a foot deep in water and the tiger and the horse were sitting in the umbrella which was opened and floating upside-down like a boat.
“I must have drawn too much rain!” thought Sheila. After breakfast, when she came back to the drawingroom, Mummy was sweeping the carpet. There was no water and no umbrella and no tiger and no horse.
She sat down with her drawing-book and began to draw a tiger and a horse both sound asleep. Presently Mummy went out. Sheila sat and stared into the fire and all was quiet in the drawing-room except for the sound of snoring from under the carpet.



Nelson’s Egg
(5Б Svetlana Victorovna/Natalya Valentinovna)

One warm summer day Lord Nelson was standing on the top of his tall column when a little cloud came sailing by.
“Please wash my face,” said Lord Nelson.
“Certainly,” said the cloud, and it rained on Lord Nelson till his face was clean.
“Thank you,” said Nelson, “I suppose you are a magic cloud, aren’t you?”
“Well, my lord, I suppose I am,” said the cloud.
“Of course you are,” said Lord Nelson, “only magic clouds can talk and that proves it. But, you know, little cloud, I’m rather lonely up here, just being a statue, with no one to talk to.”
“You just look through your telescope,” said the cloud, “and if you see someone you’d like to talk to, I’ll go and tell him”
So Lord Nelson pul his telescope to his good eye and looked all round Trafalgar Square and along St. Marlin’s Lane and there, in St. Martin’s Lane, he saw a chicken crossing the road.
“Why does a chicken cross the road?” said Lord Nelson to the cloud. “I don’t know,” said the little cloud, “shall I fetch her?” “Yes, please!” said Lord Nelson.
So the little cloud went and said to the chicken. ‘Lord Nelson would like to talk to you.”
The chicken was very pleased and went over to Nelson’s Column and Lord Nelson let down a piece of string and the chicken climbed and climbed until she got to the top. Nelson was pleased to see her. “What is your name?”, he said.
“Martha, my lord,” said the chicken.
“Now,” said Lord Nelson, “why do you cross the road?”
“Well, my lord,” said Martha, “when I lay an egg on one side of the road — so that someone on that side can have an egg for breakfast, I cross the road and lay the next egg there — so that someone on the other side can have an egg for breakfast, too.”
“An egg for breakfast!” said Lord Nelson, dreamily. He gave a big sigh and a tear rolled down his cheek.
“Don’t cry, my lord,” said Martha. “I’ll stay with you and lay you an egg for breakfast every morning.”
And so she did. Sometimes the little cloud passes and rains so that they can wash their faces, and sometimes they have a little talk.
Lord Nelson isn’t lonely any longer and he always has an egg for breakfast.



Big Dot and Little Dot
(5Б Anna Alexandrovna/Tatiana Yurievna)

Once upon a time there was a pencil, and it liked drawing lines and shapes and shady bits and scribbles. But one day it said to itself, “I know, I’ll draw some dots.”
So it drew a big dot and a little dot.
“You can be the mother dot,” it said to the big dot. “And you can be the baby,” it said to the little dot.
For a while the dots were very happy. “We like being dots!” they said. “It’s much more fun than being a straight line or a scribble.”
“Humph!” said a scribble, nearby. “You are just ordinary silly dots. So be quiet and remember your manners.”
They kept quiet for a while and then the big dot said, “I’d like to go and play!”
“Oh, no!” said the little dot. “I’m the baby. I can go and play. You’re big. You must work and do serious things.”
“I don’t want to!” said the big dot. “I’m going out to play.”
“Oh, no, you’re not!” said the pencil and drew a circle round the big dot so that it couldn’t get out.
It was angry, and thought, “How can I get out of the circle? Perhaps if I cried I’d float over the edge.” So it tried hard to cry. But it couldn’t.
“Anyway, it wouldn’t do any good if you did cry,” said the circle, “because the blotting-paper would dry all the wet away.”
“Perhaps if I was friendly to the circle,” thought the big dot, “it would let me out. I could curtsey and say, ‘Good morning, Circle dear! How are your little arcs today? Is the Inner Circle quite well?’ —Oh dear, no, I don’t think that would work.”
Just then the pencil thought, “I think I’ll write a story!” So it did. And it said to the little dot, “Would you like to be the little dot over an i?” “Yes, please!” said the little dot.
“All right!” said the pencil. “You shall be!” And it made a little i and then the dot went on top — i.
“That’s fine!” said the pencil and it went on writing the story and had finished it all except for the full stop at the end when it broke its point. It was vexed.
“Don’t cry!” said the India-rubber that was near. “I’ll rub out part of the circle, then the dot can get out and be the full stop at the end of your story.”
“All right!” said the pencil. “Thank you very much, India-rubber.”
So the rubber rubbed out part of the circle and the big dot got out and became the full stop at the end of the story which the pencil had written.
And that’s the end of the story, full stop.



Bumpety! Bumpety! Bump!
(5B Yana Vladimirovna)

Once upon a time there was a bump who lived in the road and it was very happy because every time a bus came along it went “bump!” and all the people inside said, “Oh, what a bump!”
And the conductor said, “My, that is a big bump!”
“I do like being a bump!” said the Bump.
Just then a little boy on a bicycle came along. “Here we go again!” said the Bump. But the boy steered round it and didn’t go bump at all. The Bump was very sad.
“Never mind!” said the road. “Here comes another bus!”
The bus came along and BUMPED and the driver said, “Oh, what a bump!”
And the conductor said, “My, that is a big bump!” And all the people said, “What a BUMP!”
The Bump felt quite happy again.
One day, in the spring, some road menders came along and put up some red flags to warn the traffic; then they got out their spades and pickaxes and repaired the road and put some tar on it.
“Now,” said the foreman, “it won’t go bump any more.”
The men picked up their pickaxes and spades and red flags and went away. Then a bus came along and it didn’t bump; and some more buses came and they didn’t go bump either.
“I wonder where it’s gone?” said one side of the road to the other. “It was such a nice bump.” Just then a little girl came along on her scooter and didn’t look where she was going and fell off with a great big bump.
“Oh, there it is!” said the road. “The little girl’s got it.”
“I hope I don’t hurt,” thought the Bump. It did hurt a bit! But the little girl’s mother put some ointment on it to make it go away.
The Bump didn’t want to go away but it had to and it felt quite sad and went and sat in the toy cupboard by an old tennis ball.
“Nobody really seems to like bumps,” it said. “I wish I could be something really useful like a bounce.”
“Well, come and stay with me and be a bounce,” said the ball.
“All right, I’ll try!” said the Bump.
So it tried very hard, and, that afternoon, when the little girt went to play with her ball it bounced higher than it ever had before.
Higher than the top of her head. Higher than the top of Mummy’s head. Higher even than the lamp post, She was pleased and so was the Bump, “I do like being a bounce!” it said.



St. Pancras and King’s Cross
(5B Svetlana Victorovna/Natalya Valentinovna)

Once upon a time there were two railway stations who lived right next door to each other. One was called St. Pancras and the other King’s Cross. They were always quarreling as to which was the better station.
“I have diesel-engines as well as steam-engines at my station,” said St. Pancras.
‘‘Humph! So have I!” said King’s Cross.
“And I’ve got a cafeteria,” said St. Pancras.
“So have!”
“Open on Sundays?”
“Yes, open on Sundays!”
“Humph!”
There was silence for a few minutes, then King’s Cross said, “Well, I’ve got ten platforms and you’ve only got seven.”
“I’m twice as tall as you are!” replied St. Pancras. “And, anyway, your clock is slow.”
The King’s Cross clock was furious and ticked away as fast as it could to catch up. It ticked so fast that soon the St. Pancras clock was away behind, and it ticked as fast as it could too, so as not to be outdone. They both got faster and faster; and the trains had to go faster too so as not to be late. Quicker and quicker went the clocks and faster and faster went the trains, till at last they had no time even to set down their passengers but started back again as soon as they had entered the station.
The passengers were furious and waved their umbrellas out of the windows.
“Hi, stop!” they called. But the engines wouldn’t. “No!” they said. “We can’t stop or we’ll be late. Can’t you see the time!”
By now? the clocks were going so fast that almost as soon as it was morning it was evening again. The sun was very surprised. “I must be going too slow!” it thought. So it hurried up and set almost аз soon as it had risen and then rose again. The people all over London were in such a state: they got up and went to bed, and then got up again with hardly any sleep at all and ran to school and hardly had time to say twice two were four and then ran home again.
Finally the Lord Mayor of London said to the Queen, “Your Majesty, this won’t do. I think we ought to go and give a medal to Euston Station, then the other two will be so jealous they may stop quarrelling.”
“That’s a good idea!” said the Queen. So she set out from Buckingham Palace with the Lord Mayor and the Horse Guards, and in front of her walked the Prime Minister carrying a gold medal on a red velvet cushion. When they got to King’s Cross the two stations stopped quarrelling and looked at them.
“Do you see what I see, St. Pancras?” asked King’s Cross.
“I do indeed!” said St. Pancras. “A medal to Eustojj Station, just because it’s got fifteen platforms. It’s not fair. Why, you’re a better station than Euston!”
“And so are you, St. Pancras,” said King’s Cross,
St. Pancras was surprised, but it thought it would be nice to be friends after all the quarrelling, so it said, “Let’s be friends.” “Yes, let’s!” said King’s Cross.
So they became friends and stopped quarrelling, and their clocks stopped going too fast and their trains stopped having to hurry. Everyone was very pleased.
“You are clever, Lord Mayor!” said the Queen. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” said the Lord Mayor.



Binky and His Stripes
(5B Anna Alexandrovna/Tatiana Yurievna)

Once upon a time a tigress was making some tarts. She banged away at the pastry with her rolling-pin till the air seemed full of flour.
Just then a little tiger was born. But he hadn’t got any stripes. His mother said: “Never mind, dear, we like you just as much without stripes.” But Binky, that was the little tiger’s name, knew he must have stripes. So he set off to look for some stripes.
He met a sergeant who had three stripes on his arm. “Could you give me some stripes, please?” said Binky.
“Stand to attention when you talk to me,” roared the sergeant. “Of course, you can’t have any of my stripes.” Binky ran away. Then he saw some iron railings. A man was painting them. At last the man finished painting and went away.
Binky went and leant up against the railings, first with one side and then the other, and the paint stuck to his coat and made lovely stripes. He began to run home very fast to show his mother, but he got very hot and the sun shone, and the wet paint dripped off him till all his new stripes were gone. Just then a zebra, called Sam, walked by. Binky couldn't believe his eyes. All those stripes on one animal! It didn’t seem fair.
“Why are you crying, little tiger?” he asked Binky. “Because I haven’t got any stripes,” said Binky. “You poor little thing,” said Sam, and he gave Binky a lick. “But you taste rather nice,” he said, and gave him another lick. “Like jam tarts,” and he licked him again and again.
And there was Binky with lots of beautiful stripes. He ran all the way home, and shouted: “Mummy, look, I’ve got some stripes!”
“Well,” said the tigress, “would you believe it! I think it was the flour that hid them when I was making the tarts.”
She was very pleased and asked Sam to stay to tea. They had hay and orange jelly. And after tea, they played with Binky’s bucket and spade.