Free Aunt Effie and Mrs Grizzle by Jack Lasenby Page A

Heads, and Why My Father Warned Me Against Red-Haired Double-Jointed Women .
    While we’d been listening to the story of Mrs Grizzle, the fire in the stove had gone out. Ann lit it again, cooked tea, and we sat around Aunt Effie’s enormous table.
    “I like Mrs Gristle,” Lizzie said as we grabbed and gobbled.
    “Mrs Grizzle!” Daisy corrected her.
    “Gristly grizzle!” the four little ones chewed and chanted with their mouths open. “Gristly grizzle! Grizzly gristle! Gristly grizzle!”
    “That wicked story is making the little ones forget their table manners,” Daisy complained. “Close your mouths while chewing.”
    “I like the School Inspector,” said Jessie.
    “I want some more about the crocodiles,” said Casey.
    “And the monster pukekos,” said Jared.
    We argued over whose turn it was to do the dishes and, suddenly, it was time for bed. We climbed into our bunks and looked at the logs burning in the enormous fireplace.
    “Look up!” Alwyn pointed at shadows that flapped across the ceiling as the flames rose and fell. “Monster pukekos waiting to fly down and eat you in the dark,” he told the little ones.
    “You’re silly,” said Jessie. “Tomorrow, will Aunt Effie tell us some more about when she was a little girl?”
    “If you’re good,” Marie told her.
    Daisy frowned and said, “I’m not sure stories about witches are suitable for small children. Especially when they’re just going to bed.”
    “Bed to going just,” echoed from Alwyn’s bunk.
    We were all dropping off to sleep when Lizzie asked, “Do you think Aunt Effie has forgotten about sending us to school?”
    “I should hope not!” Daisy cried.
    “Not hope should I,” Alwyn whispered.
    Daisy huffed, and the little ones snickered. “Those infants will have nightmares,” she said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    We grinned towards each other in the dark, pointed at Daisy’s bunk, then at our heads, turned our fingers round and round, and went to sleep.
    “Aaaaah! Get away from me!”
    “What’s wrong?” We sat up in our bunks. “Who shrieked?”
    “Go back to sleep,” said Peter’s voice. “It’s just Daisy having a nightmare.”
    “It’s the red-headed witch! Riding a monster pukeko and chasing me with a carving knife. Aaaaah!”
    Shadows raced up the walls and across the roof as Peter lit a lamp, got up, and quietened Daisy. “The stove’s still hot. I’ll put the kettle over the ring. It won’t take a moment to heat up, and I’ll make you a nice cup of cocoa,” he told her.
    “With a teaspoon of honey in it?”
    “With a teaspoon of honey in it. Here.”
    “Don’t blow out the lamp!” said Daisy, as Peter got back in his bunk. “Leave it going for the little ones. In case they wake up with nightmares.”
    Daisy guzzled her cocoa and went straight back to sleep, but the rest of us were kept awake by her snoring and the light from the lamp. We lay there for ages then, one by one, we got up, took our pillows, and leaned against each other on the lionskin in front of Aunt Effie’s enormous fireplace. Peter and Marie heaved a couple of logs on top of the embers and got the fire going again. The little ones wriggled into the middle, and we lay looking into the flames.…
    We woke to the sound of voices. “What say we keep Aunt Effie telling us the story of Mrs Grizzle?” Bryce was asking.
    “It’s not a bad idea,” Ann said. “If we cook her a big enough breakfast and give it to her in bed, she’ll tell us another bit of the story till she goes back to sleep and, when she wakes, we’ll have another big feed cooked for her, and a bottle of Old Puckeroo, and she’ll tell us some of the story, and we’ll never have to go to school – ever.”
    When we woke again, Daisy was telling Peter off for leaving a lamp going. “Burning good kerosene when everyone’s asleep,” she said. “How wasteful!” Peter turned down the lamp, blew it out, and said nothing. We looked at each other