The rude, stark-naked monstrous bear: For Keely-Rose, Logan and Ayden; for Skylar- Rae; for Aj and Bobby; for Dylan; for Georgie and Marley. With lots of love xx

    You'll love it down the woods, my dear,

Teddy-bears' picnic? Ha!

Ghoulish goggled eyes do stare

From under hoods and thorn-spiked hair.

Lop-end lizards sneak and steal

Those goggled eyes, a scrummy meal,

And spit at Criss-Cross Unicorn,

Stolen treasure on her horn!

But do be warned and keep your head,

Or you'll be skidding to your bed -

DON'T LOOK BEHIND! You must beware

The rude stark-naked monstrous bear!

    You'll love it down the woods, my dear,

Teddy bears' picnic? Ha!

You might see spiteful Land-Shark's lair,

Giant slugs with slimed-up hair,

Elethumps and fat-winged worms,

Snakes that hop, and frogs with curls -

Flowers that fart, on pogo sticks,

Bats that play mean slapping tricks!

But do be warned, and keep your head,

Or you'll be skidding to your bed -

DON'T LOOK BEHIND! You must beware

The rude, stark-naked monstrous bear.

 

     You'll love it down the woods, my dear,

Teddy-bears' picnic? No!

Tig-afferties and flies that roar,

Crows on stilts, beribboned boar;

Trees that leap, while wind can speak,

Throw grown-ups into jumbled heaps -

A place where only children see

Fellungous creatures, wild and free!

 

But do be warned, and keep your head,

Or you'll be skidding to your bed -

DON'T LOOK BEHIND! You must beware

The rude, stark-naked monstrous bear!

 Don't be curious like me,

 Be content with what you see -

    For if you turn, you're sure to find -

    DON'T LOOK...

    A monstrous....BEAR BEHIND! 

by Irena Szirtes

City of Smoke by Jennie Hart

Tropodo: photo supplied by Jennie Hart

Black smoke billows from towering chimneys; the smell of burning plastic fills the air. Patches of black ash litter the ground. Tropodo is only a village but it is known as ‘The City of Smoke.’

Annisa lives here. Her name means lovely or beautiful, but it is difficult for her to feel lovely when she is choked by fumes. Java lies along the equator and is drenched by rainfall all year round creating a perfect climate for tropical trees and exotic flowers to thrive but Annisa rarely sees them. Sometimes she leaves the kampung and wanders off alone but can never escape the acrid smoke which seems to chase her, even through the lush vegetation. Amongst the dripping leaves and tangled vines, she can at least, while she is there, clear her lungs and breathe deeply.

A Coincidence by Jennie Hart

Harry woke seconds before the early morning diesel pulled into the platform. It woke him every day even on Saturdays as their terrace house was close to the station. Mum rented from the railway authority and he knew it was a struggle to pay. His eyes felt itchy and swollen and he rubbed them with his fingers to relieve the irritation. Harry’s hay fever lasted well into July and nothing relieved it except some pills from the doctor but they made him feel like an all-day sleep walker.

Harry shared the small airless bedroom with his eighteen year old older brother, but Jo had worked a late shift at The Cross Keys and was buried beneath his duvet. Mum was on the early morning cleaning rota at Harry’s school, one of several jobs she juggled, so he knew she wouldn’t be around when he went down to the kitchen. He dressed and washed his hands and face; the shower was broken and there was never enough hot water for a bath. It didn’t matter as he felt clean after swimming at school yesterday.

St George and the Dragon – a play for children by Elizabeth Obadina

This story, which first gained popularity in the 14th century, is set in Libya (or Lydda, depending on which translation you read), where a dragon was terrorising the local populace who tried to appease it by feeding it all their flocks of sheep. When all the sheep had been eaten, they turned to human sacrifices but even so the beast continued to destroy the countryside. Finally, it was decided to sacrifice the princess in a last-ditch attempt to buy off the dragon. Fortunately for her, along came St. George on his trusty white charger and duly slew the offending dragon, freeing the princess in the process. It is said that the story is allegorical, with the dragon representing Satan and the princess representing the Christian church.

St George and the Dragon

Cast

• Narrator (s)   
• Dragon            
• St George      
• Sheep Flock leader:
• Maiden 1         
• Maiden 2        
• Princess          
• King                
• Queen
• Townspeople

A dragon is sleeping on stage. He looks up as the narrator enters.   

Narrator:        Once upon a time …

Dragon:            (shouting)  There was a DRAGON !!!

Narrator:        Excuse me – this isn’t really your story.

                        As I was saying

Once upon a time, nearly two thousand years ago in a town in Libya – that’s in North Africa – a dragon was terrorising everyone …… … and every sheep. 

Dragon:            Feed me!! Feed me!! Bring me live food.

Narrator:        All the chicken, all the goats and all but one of the sheep had been sacrificed to keep the dragon happy. Now they had only one sheep left.

(A procession of townspeople led by the king and queen lead out the last sacrifice – a sheep beautifully groomed. They tie the sheep to a stake.)

Sheep:             (shouting and protesting) S’not fair! S’not fair! Why’s it always the sheep what gets it!

Dragon:            Yum yum yum ……… 

King:                 Mighty dragon here’s our last sheep.

Dragon:            Excellent – top quality lamb – my favourite!

Sheep:             I’m not a lamb. I’m the leader of the flock!

Dragon:            Even better! (Dragon laughs an evil laugh and gobbles up the sheep.)  More! I want more!

King:                 You’ve had everything. Now leave us alone.

Dragon:            Everything? … Everything????

                        … I don’t think so.

                        Bring me your maidens!         

Queen:            Not our maidens! Take the grown-ups instead!

Dragon:            Too stringy! Too tough! Too fatty!

                        No. It’s got to be the maidens. 

                        They’re sweet and tender and oh so yummy! 

(The townspeople walk sadly back to the town – the maidens are all sobbing)

Narrator:        One by one all the maidens of this North African kingdom were sacrificed to the Dragon. Every day a sad procession – all dressed up as if for a wedding - would leave the city and lead out the maiden who was dressed like a bride. They tied her to the stake outside the dragon’s cave and left her to her fate.

After several weeks there were only three maidens left: the king’s daughter and her two best friends.

King:                It’s your turn now.

Maidens:          No, no, no – not us. Someone save us!

(The first maiden is led out to be sacrificed. She’s dressed like a bride.)

Narrator:        Sadly – this being real life – no one came to save the maiden.

(The dragon gobbles up the first maiden, burps and takes a nap. He wakes up rubbing his tummy.

Dragon:            I’m hungry … (He roars a mighty roar) Bring me another maiden!!!

(The second maiden is led out to be sacrificed. She’s dressed like a bride. The dragon gobbles her up.)

Narrator:        The second maiden died as well – sacrificed to the terrible dragon – to keep him out of the city.

Dragon:            Excellent, excellent. Tasty maidens !

                        Keep them coming or I’ll come for the men (evil laugh)

King:                Oh no! not the men! Here have my daughter instead. She’s the last maiden left in town.

(The third maiden, the princess, is led out to be sacrificed. She’s dressed like a bride)

Narrator:        Luckily for the king’s daughter – and because this is really a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after – except for the sheep and the sacrificed maidens – a young, handsome hero had just arrived in town.

(Trumpet fanfare. Enter St George swinging his sword and striking heroic poses for the townspeople)

St George:      What’s this I hear about you sacrificing the weakest amongst you. You wimps! I’ll rescue your maidens …

King:                There’s only one left – she’s my daughter and I’ll give you half my kingdom if you can save her!

St George:      Typical! Only the princess gets to be saved!

                        I don’t want half your kingdom.

                        I don’t want any reward except this:

                        You are pagans,

                        You have no honour,

                        You have not protected the weak and innocent.

                        Become Christians!

                        Turn every temple into a church!

                        Put a Cross on every building!

                         Do this and I will rescue the princess.

Narrator:        The king ordered all the temples to be turned into churches and the city sprouted crosses everywhere.

                        St George galloped off to rescue the princess.

(The dragon is preparing to eat up the princess. He’s set out his best knife and fork and is tucking in a napkin. He doesn’t notice St George arriving)

Dragon:            Yum. Yum. Yum.

                        This is the best one yet.

 Princess:         Save me! Save me!

Dragon:            Well, I’ll save bits of you to snack on later.

Princess:          You beast! 

Dragon:            That’s me.

(St George creeps up behind him and thrust his sword under the dragon’s wing just as he was lifting up his knife and fork to eat the maiden.)

 Princess:         My hero!!

Dragon:            What! I thought all the men round here were cowardly wimps.

St George:      I’m not from around here. I’m a Turk!                   

Dragon:           You’ve killed me! (makes a big show of dying)

Narrator:        St George returned the princess to her father the king.

                        The kingdom became Christian and St. George rode out. His legend grew throughout the dark ages and mediaeval times. To be a good Christian you must defend the weak and the innocent, turn away from all the old gods, turn your temples into churches and fight evil – especially dragons.

(St George returns to the dragon to spear a cross through his heart)

Dragon:            I give up.

(The dragon stops twisting and turning, sighs and lies still and DEAD.)

 THE END

 

STORY, STORY 1 : OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE IN LAGOS by Elizabeth Obadina as told to our grandchildren

    Listen carefully and today I will tell you the story of Granny and Grandad’s first Christmas Dinner in Nigeria.

    It was the Christmas before Big Sister was born and Granny and Grandad were young, younger even than your mummies and daddies are now! We hadn’t been very long in Lagos but had made lots of friends and lots of them were going to be in the city all by themselves on Christmas Day, so Granny and Grandad invited them for a real English Christmas Dinner. Great Grandma, Grandad’s mummy, planned to spend Christmas Day in church but had promised us a turkey for our special meal.

    We’d looked in the supermarkets but couldn’t find turkeys, we looked in the markets where most people bought meat and chicken, but we couldn’t find turkey so we were very happy when Great Grandma said she would find us a turkey for our Christmas Dinner. 

    We bought everything else we needed: potatoes, carrots and cabbages – there were no brussel sprouts in the Lagos markets.  We bought bacon and sausages from the supermarket and we bought sweet white Ghana bread from the girl who sold it outside our flat and we grated the sweet loaf into breadcrumbs for stuffings and breadcrumbs for bread sauce  made with powdered milk and a deep red onion studded with cloves. It was the first time we’d seen red onions. We bought extra tins of Nido milk powder so that we wouldn’t run out of milk for the custard and Christmas pudding we had brought from England. We decorated our flat with an artificial Christmas tree and tinsel decorations bought from street traders selling to drivers stuck in long, long traffic jams on the motorways. Nigerians called these traffic jams, go-slows and if you waited long enough you could buy almost anything you wanted from these traders – but we never saw a turkey for sale.

    Getting a turkey from Great Grandma was a very special present.

    By Christmas Eve we were all ready. The decorations glittered in the bright African sunshine and tinkled as the chilly Harmattan wind blew through the apartment covering everything with thick Sahara dust, which looked like frost and made us wrap up warmer. It was even looking  like an English or Norwegian Christmas! When there was a power cut in the late afternoon – as there always was – Granny and Grandad lit candles and felt very cosy and Christmassy.

    But something was bothering us. There was no turkey. Then as the sun sank low sending warm red sunbeams into every room, we heard a clattering and clanging of the compound gates opening, a car engine stopped and car doors banged and soon we heard people coming up the stairs. It was Great Grandma and her household. 

    Soon the balcony door was opened, and Great Grandma entered the sitting room as the setting sun made the gold and silver threads in her head-tie sparkle with Christmas spirit. We greeted her. Behind Great Grandma came Auntie Cissy who bobbed her head in greeting and evening sunshine shimmered over the two ladies in Christmas delight. Behind Auntie Cissy came Great Grandma’s house-girl in her new Christmas clothes holding Great Grandma’s handbag in one hand and a bunch of plantain in the other. The plantains were a present. Behind the girl came Muyiwa, Great Grandma’s driver who was carrying Christmas presents for us that Father Christmas had had to leave at Great Grandma’s house because he didn’t know his way around Lagos so well and had got caught in a go-slow. He still had to get to the children in Norway who were waiting for their presents on Christmas Eve and then he had to deliver presents to all the children in England too. 

    This was lovely – but where was the turkey? Muyiwa put the presents under the tree as Father Christmas had told him to and pushed open the balcony screen door.

    The turkey walked in.

About Sid - by Sarah Baker and Hazel Alemany

About Sid!

We are so pleased that you want to find out more about the book, its creators and the journey travelled to get to this point. So, let’s start at the beginning.

And the winner is . . .

Sarah started writing children’s picture book texts five years ago. With ten stories in her portfolio, Sarah asked fellow writers and professionals working with children to rate their preferences. And yes, you’ve guessed it! The Catapult Kid came out as a resounding favourite!

Despite being a self-confessed diabolical artist, the process of reading hundreds of picture books to her three young children gave rise to strong views about the type of illustrations Sarah wanted to accompany her text. Every verse she created came with a visual image in her mind. From the very first draft to the final days of going to print, Sarah knew the quality and style of the illustrations could make or break her story.

Sarah commissioned graphic designer, Hazel Alemany to bring Sid to life in line and colour. Hazel not only produced illustrations that delight Sarah every time she turns a page, she also single handedly managed the entire ‘print-ready’ process, designed and produced all the promotional material and is entirely responsible for this website design. In the words of two particularly speed-loving little crazies, ‘Hazel is epic-amazeballs!’ Neither Sarah or Hazel had any previous experience creating a picture book, so theirs really has been a baptism of faith; a process of learning by doing.

Along the way they have cautiously (on a few rare occasions) opened their scrap books to friends and family for moral support. In particular, Sarah has delved into the minds of a few brilliant friends and family members endowed with editorial genius. For their guidance, she is eternally grateful. But for the most part, this creation has been a two woman show.

Two and a half years later, their brilliant book is print ready and due for publication in summer 2019!

Who will enjoy The Catapult Kid?

If you enjoy picture books by the incredible Julia Donaldson (for style) and the hilarious Tom Fletcher (for silliness) you are the perfect reader for this book!

The Catapault Kid by Sarah Baker and illustrated by Hazel Alemany

 Sarah Baker

Hightown Writer, Sarah Baker, published her first children's book last summer.

You can buy it on-line here:

https://thecatapultkid.co.uk/about/

and read more about Sid tomorrow on this blogspot.

Hazel Alemany - illustrator