to start it with a push. He would run along the driver’s side with the door open, steering wheel in left hand and pushing with the right hand. When he got a bit of speed up he would jump into the driver’s seat, put the car in gear and, hopefully it would start. On this occasion and with Timmy pushing as well it started first time and they roared off in a cloud of exhaust smoke.
Jenna’s second-hand bookshop, a run-down red brick building on the corner of Market Lane and Main Street had not changed in forty years. It mainly covered the first floor with an overflow into the second by means of a rickety wooden staircase. As they entered through the green framed wooden door Jenna was descending the creaky stairs. In her old beige cardigan and long grey skirt she blended into the panorama of discoloured tomes reposing in equally discoloured shelving. She eyed her visitors up and down.
‘What you got there, young fella?’ she barked.
‘Books missus,’ said Timmy.
Bill interjected.
‘Not just any old books, madam. These are valuable early editions of great educational value.’
Jenna flicked through the bundle of old books.
‘Whouee, you could have cleaned the dust off them.’
‘Naw, you could bin ’em or give them to some jumble sale or charity.’
‘Come now, madam, take a closer look, see the hard covers.’
‘Tell you what, for the sake of the young fella here I’ll give you five bob for the lot.’
‘Thanks, missus,’ said Timmy, ‘Come on Uncle Bill, take the money and we’ll head for home.’
Bill Clogher had no intention of going without a haggle over the old books. As the haggling continued, Timmy began to root around at the back of the shop.
‘Phew, this place smells of old boots,’ he muttered. ‘Attishoo!’
The dusty old books made Timmy sneeze and sneeze.
‘Hey, Uncle Bill, are you near finished? I want to go home,’ he shouted in between sneezes.
After a particularly loud sneeze, Timmy tripped over a torn carpet and knocked over a pile of books at the side of the stairs. This started a chain reaction and the books which lined the banisters cascaded to the floor in an untidy heap.
‘What’s that young lad doing out there?’ shrieked Jenna.
‘Nuttin,’ missus, I’m just tidying the shop for you.’
Timmy shoved the heap of books under the stairs and out of sight. He started sneezing again.
‘Uncle Bill, are you coming?’
Bill stayed put. He had got the price up to six shillings.
‘This calls for drastic action,’ Timmy murmured to himself.
He remembered seeing a film with strange horrible worms crawling around and scaring the life out of people and this gave him an idea. He took from his pocket the box of fishing bait he had gathered in the garden that morning. It was full of live maggots. From another pocket he took a small plastic bag of flour (also part of his fishing stuff). He sprinkled flour until the maggots were a wriggling white mass. Then, opening a large flat book, he emptied the maggots onto it and rushing out to Jenna he shouted.
‘Hey missus, missus, the worms are eating your books. Look, look.’
Jenna screamed. ‘Get that dirt out of here immediately.’
Timmy quickly emptied the maggots back into his box and shoved it into his pocket.
Bill (who was used to his nephew’s antics) said, ‘Tut tut, Timothy lad, this won’t do at all.’
Jenna chased both of them out and Bill found himself having to come back next day to apologize and to collect his old school books. But he had another surprise. Jenna had looked through the books and had found an old single pound note inserted between the pages of one.
‘Madame Jenna,’ said Bill, in his most beguiling manner, ‘will you do me the honour of helping me to spend this unex pected windfall?’
Bill and Jenna’s was the first wedding that Timmy ever attended. He sat at the top table.
City folk came to holiday with joy
Amid meadows they ate rabbit pie
But their humour soon dropped
In the
Jenna’s second-hand bookshop, a run-down red brick building on the corner of Market Lane and Main Street had not changed in forty years. It mainly covered the first floor with an overflow into the second by means of a rickety wooden staircase. As they entered through the green framed wooden door Jenna was descending the creaky stairs. In her old beige cardigan and long grey skirt she blended into the panorama of discoloured tomes reposing in equally discoloured shelving. She eyed her visitors up and down.
‘What you got there, young fella?’ she barked.
‘Books missus,’ said Timmy.
Bill interjected.
‘Not just any old books, madam. These are valuable early editions of great educational value.’
Jenna flicked through the bundle of old books.
‘Whouee, you could have cleaned the dust off them.’
‘Naw, you could bin ’em or give them to some jumble sale or charity.’
‘Come now, madam, take a closer look, see the hard covers.’
‘Tell you what, for the sake of the young fella here I’ll give you five bob for the lot.’
‘Thanks, missus,’ said Timmy, ‘Come on Uncle Bill, take the money and we’ll head for home.’
Bill Clogher had no intention of going without a haggle over the old books. As the haggling continued, Timmy began to root around at the back of the shop.
‘Phew, this place smells of old boots,’ he muttered. ‘Attishoo!’
The dusty old books made Timmy sneeze and sneeze.
‘Hey, Uncle Bill, are you near finished? I want to go home,’ he shouted in between sneezes.
After a particularly loud sneeze, Timmy tripped over a torn carpet and knocked over a pile of books at the side of the stairs. This started a chain reaction and the books which lined the banisters cascaded to the floor in an untidy heap.
‘What’s that young lad doing out there?’ shrieked Jenna.
‘Nuttin,’ missus, I’m just tidying the shop for you.’
Timmy shoved the heap of books under the stairs and out of sight. He started sneezing again.
‘Uncle Bill, are you coming?’
Bill stayed put. He had got the price up to six shillings.
‘This calls for drastic action,’ Timmy murmured to himself.
He remembered seeing a film with strange horrible worms crawling around and scaring the life out of people and this gave him an idea. He took from his pocket the box of fishing bait he had gathered in the garden that morning. It was full of live maggots. From another pocket he took a small plastic bag of flour (also part of his fishing stuff). He sprinkled flour until the maggots were a wriggling white mass. Then, opening a large flat book, he emptied the maggots onto it and rushing out to Jenna he shouted.
‘Hey missus, missus, the worms are eating your books. Look, look.’
Jenna screamed. ‘Get that dirt out of here immediately.’
Timmy quickly emptied the maggots back into his box and shoved it into his pocket.
Bill (who was used to his nephew’s antics) said, ‘Tut tut, Timothy lad, this won’t do at all.’
Jenna chased both of them out and Bill found himself having to come back next day to apologize and to collect his old school books. But he had another surprise. Jenna had looked through the books and had found an old single pound note inserted between the pages of one.
‘Madame Jenna,’ said Bill, in his most beguiling manner, ‘will you do me the honour of helping me to spend this unex pected windfall?’
Bill and Jenna’s was the first wedding that Timmy ever attended. He sat at the top table.
City folk came to holiday with joy
Amid meadows they ate rabbit pie
But their humour soon dropped
In the
Similar Books
