Giant Jim and the Hurricane Page 2

  ‘You will have to stay out here tonight,’ said Poppy. ‘But I’m sure we will find somewhere for you tomorrow. Will you be all right?’

  ‘Of course I shall,’ smiled Giant Jim bravely. ‘Giants are always all right. Goodnight.’

  3 A Bed for the Night

  Night-time came. The sky grew dark and the streets of the town were silent. People switched on their lights and turned on their televisions. Giant Jim sat on the hill and gazed down dreamily at the sleepy town.

  Quiet, chirrupy noises came from inside his big wicker basket. ‘Oh!’ murmured Giant Jim. ‘Florence Fluffybum! I forgot all about you. Come on, out you come.’ Giant Jim opened the lid of the basket and out stepped Florence Fluffybum.

  She had speckled, silvery-grey feathers,

  eyes like sparkling glass,

  a sticking-up tail,

  and long, brown legs with

  knibbly-knobbly knees,

  and huge splayed toes,

  and she was as big as a conker tree.

  ‘Prrrrk,’ said Florence Fluffybum, pecking some food from the ground. With a flutter of happy-flappy wings, she jumped on to Giant Jim’s head. He reached up and stroked her soft grey feathers.

  ‘What are we going to do, Florrie?’ asked Giant Jim.

  ‘Prrrrk,’ answered the hen softly.

  ‘Everyone has gone home to bed, and we are left outside in the dark.’

  ‘Prrrrk,’ said Florrie.

  ‘I wish we had a bed and a home.’

  ‘Prrrrk,’ said Florrie. The hen glanced quickly all around. She jumped off Giant

  Jim’s head and stalked down to the edge of the town. Florence Fluffybum looked carefully at every building, which was quite easy for her, because she was as big as most of them. Florence Fluffybum seemed to be looking for something, and eventually she found it.

  Florrie lifted her feet carefully, stepped through the town streets and stood outside the library. The library had a great big flat roof. It was just the right place for a giant hen to roost for the night.

  ‘Prrrrrk,’ sighed Florrie, climbing on to the roof. She settled her feathers, tucked her head in and closed her eyes.

  Giant Jim sadly rubbed his big, ginger beard.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ he muttered. ‘What about me? Where shall I sleep?’

  One by one the night-time stars came out. Giant Jim lay down on the hillside and tried to sleep. He tossed and he turned. He could not make himself comfy at all. He tried counting Farmer Palmer’s sheep. He picked them up one by one and put them in another field. ‘One, two, three, four…’

  By the time Giant Jim reached there were no sheep left, so he began picking up the ducks from the river and putting them in the cow field. Then he counted all the cows by picking them up and putting them in the river, which came as a bit of a surprise to the cows, who didn’t think it was bath-time at all. Luckily the river was not deep. The cows stood there watching the water swirl slowly round their big fat bellies and wondered why they felt wet.

  Finally Giant Jim gave up trying to sleep. He fetched his saxophone and began playing himself a gentle lullaby. At once windows began opening up and

  down the town in every street. Angry heads poked out and shouted at the giant. ‘Oi! Stop that horrible racket. We’re trying to sleep!’ And the townspeople threw their old boots at him. They rained down upon the giant and several boots went right inside his saxophone, making it go all squeaky.

  Giant Jim put down his instrument, lay on his back and stared up at the night sky.

  ‘I don’t think people like me very much,’ he thought. ‘They think I’m too big and noisy and clumsy. I can’t help it. That’s the way I am. If they were all big like me they wouldn’t notice.’

  He sighed heavily and gazed across the town. His eye caught something interesting and he sat up and looked more carefully.

  ‘I spy a Giant House,’ murmured Giant Jim happily, and sure enough there, right on the edge of the little town, stood the Dance Hall, and it was just the right size for a giant.

  ‘All I have to do,’ thought Jim, ‘is take off the lid.’

  He bent down, grasped the roof on both sides and pulled it off, just like taking the lid off a box. Then he lay down inside.

  BUT —

  — it was dark, and Giant Jim did not see all the chairs and tables, so they all got crushed.

  Giant Jim lifted his head and noticed the big stage where the town band always played. ‘That will make an excellent resting place for my head,’ he sighed happily, and he laid his head upon the stage.

  BUT —

  — it was dark, and Giant Jim didn’t see all the band’s instruments lying there, so they all got squashed. There were:

  squidged trumpets,

  and squodged tubas,

  and squoodged flutes,

  squeezed oboes, squoozed clarinets,

  and squozzlicated trombones.

  And as for all the violins – they had been turned into matchsticks.

  Giant Jim gave a loud snore, turned on to his side, flattened the drum-set and slept like a child. (A very, very, VERY BIG CHILD!)

  4 Disasters Everywhere

  Giant Jim slept so well that he did not wake up until he was disturbed by a strange roaring noise, and a splashy feeling all over his face. He opened his eyes, only to have a bucket of cold water tossed in his face by Mrs Careless, the Mayoress.

  Behind the Mayoress stood an angry crowd of townspeople.

  ‘Look what you’ve done!’ they yelled. ‘You’ve smashed our Dance Hall! You’ve smashed all our instruments. We are supposed to be having our Grand Disco Dance next week. Now what are we going to do?’ And they all began to shout things at Giant Jim.

  ‘You’re the biggest, clumsiest oaf in the world!’

  ‘You’re the stupidest giant that ever was!’

  ‘And your hen’s laid an egg on our library!’

  Giant Jim was even more upset than the townspeople. He muttered ‘Sorry! I’m sorry!’ over and over again. He stood up and tried to mend all the instruments, but he only made matters worse. He tried to put the Dance Hall roof back on, but it crumpled in his hands and all the tiles smashed round his feet, as if he’d just dropped a big bag of marbles.

  ‘Go away!’ cried Mrs Careless. ‘You giant, ginger, jelly-brain!’

  ‘Leave us in peace!’ shouted Mr Sniffling. ‘Giants always cause trouble wherever they go, and we don’t want trouble here. I want to change my library book,’ he complained, ‘but I can’t because your giant hen is laying eggs on top of the library. Has she got a card? If she hasn’t got a library card she’s not allowed in the library – or on the library,’ he added sniffily. Mr Sniffling was backed up by a noisy crowd who shouted that hens weren’t allowed in the library anyway.

  ‘You’d better do something,’ Poppy Palmer warned Giant Jim.

  Giant Jim reached down and picked up Florence Fluffybum, but he was in such a fluster that he dropped her egg and it fell –

  KER-SPLATT!

  – right on to the library roof, and cracked open. Egg splattered out all over the streets. It dribbled down the library walls and windows.

  ‘Urgh!’ yelled Mrs Careless, the Mayoress. ‘I’ve got egg on my best frock.’

  ‘Splurgh!’ cried Mr Goodbody. ‘I’ve got egg on my head.’

  Farmer Palmer came running up the High Street. ‘That stupid giant has put all my sheep in the cornfield, and all my ducks in the cow field, and all my cows in the river!’

  ‘Stupid, stupid giant!’ yelled the crowd.

  And then someone in the crowd threw an egg at Giant Jim.

  It hit the giant on his knee. A jeer went up from the crowd, and a moment later everybody seemed to be throwing eggs at the poor giant and shouting at him and calling him names. He hurried away, clutching Florence Fluffybum, with eggs hitting his back and trickling down to his feet.

  Poppy Palmer tried desperately to stop everyone. But nobody could hear her small vo
ice above the cheering and jeering. Poppy stood in the town square, watching the yelling crowd chase after the giant, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘How can they be so horrid?’ she

  cried. ‘He only wants to be friends.’

  Giant Jim stumbled stickily to the edge of the lake. He couldn’t bear to feel all that egg and eggshell clinging to him. He plunged into the lake with all his clothes on and started washing frantically. Water began to slop over the edges of the lake.

  It sploshed out over the top.

  It splished out over the bottom,

  and it splashed out all the way

  down the edges.

  A stream of water began to trickle towards the town and the more Giant Jim splashed around, trying to get rid of all that egg, the more water went down the hill. Soon the stream became a brook, and the brook became a river,

  and the river became a flood, and the flood became a –

  DISASTER!

  ‘Help!’ yelled Mrs Careless, the Mayoress. ‘We’re all going to drown! Now look what you’ve done!’

  ‘There’s a fish swimming round my living room,’ complained Mrs Goodbody.

  ‘There are frogs hopping up and down my stairs,’ squeaked Mr Sniffling.

  Constable Dunstable got out his bicycle and rode through the wet streets waving his pair of handcuffs.

  ‘Now I shall really have to arrest the giant,’ he said severely.

  Poppy and Crasher were most upset.

  ‘It’s not the giant’s fault,’ they cried. ‘He was only trying to get himself clean, and the only reason he was dirty was because you threw eggs at him.’

  ‘Well, he threw an egg at us,’ sniffed Mrs Sniffling, ‘and it was a very big egg.’

  ‘He didn’t throw it. He dropped it and it was an accident. You threw eggs at him on purpose. It’s not fair.’ Crasher jumped on to his inflatable crocodile and went chasing after Constable Dunstable, crashing into everything on the way.

  Nobody would listen to Poppy or Crasher. They were too upset because there was water all over their carpets and their furniture was floating away down the streets. Some of them pulled on great rubbery boots and went wading after the giant. Some of them climbed into rowing boats and went splashing after him.

  Giant Jim looked out from his giant bath (which didn’t have much water left in it) and saw the enormous crowd of townspeople coming after him. They were waving their fists and shouting

  angry words. Some of them were carrying big pieces of wood.

  Giant Jim was much, much bigger than any of them, but he was very scared.

  ‘I don’t think I like it here any more,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t go!’ cried Poppy. ‘It’s just that they haven’t got used to you yet.’

  ‘We all like you!’ yelled Crasher, as his crocodile crashed into a tree and got stuck among the branches.

  But Giant Jim put Florence Fluffybum back in her basket and strapped his saxophone to his back.

  ‘I thought it would be nice here,’ he told Poppy and Crasher. ‘I thought I could be helpful and have lots of friends and people to talk to. But I’m too big and clumsy.’ He got to his feet and strode away over the far hills and quickly disappeared.

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted the townspeople. ‘That got rid of him.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ murmured Poppy sadly.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Crasher, and he climbed off his crocodile, fell from the tree and crashed into the flood.

  ‘You silly, clumsy boy!’ laughed Mrs Crasher, and she waded into the flood water, rescued her son and gave him a big hug. Crasher turned to her.

  ‘How come when I’m silly you laugh and give me a hug, but when Giant Jim is silly you all throw eggs at him and chase him away?’

  Mrs Crasher looked rather surprised. ‘I don’t really know,’ she admitted. ‘I have never thought about it, but I can tell you one thing. That giant is much too big to hug.’

  5 Help!

  Once Giant Jim had gone, things quickly went back to normal in the town. The flood waters went down. The houses dried out. All the animals went back to the right fields. The library was cleaned.

  ‘What a nice town this is,’ said Mrs Careless, the Mayoress.

  ‘It’s clean,’ smiled Mr Sniffling.

  ‘It’s a peaceful town,’ nodded Constable Dunstable with great satisfaction.

  ‘That’s because it doesn’t have a giant,’ said Mrs Goodbody cheerfully.

  ‘It’s boring,’ muttered little Poppy Palmer. ‘It was much more fun when Giant Jim was here.’

  ‘Thank goodness he isn’t coming back,’ cried Mrs Sniffling. ‘We are well rid of him. He was hopeless.’ And all the townspeople felt very pleased with themselves because they had got rid of Giant Jim.

  But the very next day the hurricane came. It started a long way off. The wind whistled round and round. First of all it spun slowly, picking up dust and specks of dirt and swirling them round. Then it spun faster and grew bigger. It plucked stones and clods of earth from the ground, and whisked them round like beans in a coffee grinder.

  The hurricane grew bigger,

  and stronger,

  and taller,

  and wider,

  and faster.

  Now it was so strong it could pick up dog kennels, and cars, and people on bicycles. It began to twist and turn and snake its way across the countryside, and all the time it was getting stronger and heading straight for the little town.

  All at once Farmer Palmer saw half his cows go whizzing up in the air. Round and round they went, like fat brown balloons on legs.

  ‘Help!’ yelled Farmer Palmer. ‘My cows are flying away! This is even worse than Giant Jim! Everybody hide – the hurricane is here!’

  It was truly terrifying. Up in the air went Farmer Palmer’s sheep, a great big fluffy cloud of them, bleating and baaing. Then the hurricane hit the town. Buildings were plucked from the ground and went swirling round, high in the air. Some still had people inside.

  ‘Help!’ screamed Mr Sniffling, who was sitting on the toilet when all at once the whole thing took off like a rocket. ‘Put me down! I don’t like this. Stop – I’m getting giddy!’

  But the hurricane didn’t stop. It whizzed faster and faster. One by one it wrenched buildings from the streets of the town and whisked them into the air. Most of the townspeople were running away as fast as they could.

  ‘Save us! Somebody save us!’ they screamed as the hurricane came after them, but there was no escape from the great, roaring monster wind.

  And then Giant Jim came striding back over the hills from far away. He stopped at the edge of the town and opened his wicker basket. Out jumped Florence Fluffybum. She closed her sparkly eyes against the bitter wind, plonked herself down in front of the hurricane, and dug her strong, sharp claws into the earth so that she could not be blown away.

  ‘You must all hide under Florrie,’ shouted Giant Jim. ‘You will be safe among her feathers.’

  The townspeople pushed and shoved and squeezed and squeezed until they were deeply buried beneath Florence. It was warm and dark and soft.

  ‘It’s like being right inside a great big duvet,’ whispered Poppy in the darkness.

  They couldn’t even hear the great hurricane outside, roaring across the countryside, and battering Giant Jim

  and Florrie until they felt as if they were locked inside a giant concrete mixer.

  The wind whirled round and round Giant Jim. It whistled in his ears. It twisted his hair. It roared right up one giant nostril and then back down the other.

  ‘You can’t hurt me!’ bellowed Giant Jim. ‘I’m a giant and hurricanes are nothing to me!’

  It was true too. The hurricane could not hurt him. It went roaring over the hills, away from the little town, and slowly it grew weaker and weaker and weaker, until at last it could not even lift up a ladybird it was so spent.

  The townspeople came hurrying out from beneath Florence Fluffybum. ‘You save
d our lives!’ they cried. ‘Thank you!’ Then they saw their town. At least they didn’t see their town. It had gone. The hurricane had picked up all the buildings and whizzed them round and jumbled them up and set them down anywhere it felt like.

  Some houses were the right way up, and some houses were on their sides, and some houses were upside down, and some houses were piled on top of each other.

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Mrs Careless, the Mayoress. ‘Now what are we going to do?’

  Giant Jim grinned. ‘Easy-peasy,’ he said. ‘I can soon put things right.’

  ‘Be careful,’ warned Poppy. ‘Don’t hold the houses too tightly or you will crush them, just like our Dance Hall.’

  With immense care, Giant Jim picked up the houses one by one. Constable Dunstable stood on Giant Jim’s shoulder and told him where each house went.

  After an hour’s hot work the town was almost back to normal. There was only one building left over. It was a great big, empty barn and it stood on top of the hill right next to the little lake. (It was only a little lake now because of Giant Jim’s bath.)

  ‘That’s not mine,’ said Constable Dunstable.

  ‘It’s not ours,’ said Mr and Mrs Sniffling.

  ‘And it’s certainly not one of my barns,’ said Farmer Palmer. ‘So whose is it?’

  ‘It’s a building from nowhere,’ murmured Mrs Goodbody.

  ‘It’s a Giant House!’ shouted Poppy. ‘Look – it is just the right size for Giant Jim.’

  And it was too. Giant Jim lay down inside and the barn roof covered him over like a great big metal eiderdown. He grinned back at everyone.

  ‘This is a Giant House,’ he chuckled. ‘My house!’ Then Giant Jim grinned even more. ‘I have an idea. Why don’t you all come to my house, and we shall have the Grand Disco Dance here, and it can be a house-warming party too?’