Whizz for Atomms Read online

  And where will the sports comentaries be?

  Here come the eggs of 761 st. custardhuss..…they look tremendously fit..…they all hav their log books..…brown and shiny, curled up at the edges..…i see that one of the players hav writen ‘if my name you wish to see turn to p. 103 – ha–ha – that used to be done hundreds of years ago..…and now there’s a tremendous cheer as of porridge court 979..….THIS should be a grate match..…now they’re kicking a few logarithms about and at the other end they’re runing over the reactions involving the recombination of ions before the whistle go for the start..…

  As a mater of fact it is all quite pappy becos all thinking is done with a machine e.g. the molesworth-peason electronick brane Mark VI which any fule kno was invented by those 2 grate pioneers to do multiplication and long div for them and thus fool sigismund the mad maths master and others of his kind. The early Mark 1 brane that these intreppid inventors achieved was just a simple digital computor working with electric pulses. (I won’t explane further as the masters sa when they don’t kno the answer.) The brane soon became involved in the study of super-sonic flite and all went well until molesworth 2 creep up and ask it a cunning question e.g. brane, wot is 2+2 eh? At this the brane larff so much that it bust into a trilion pieces.

  The œufs of the future, however, are fitted with the much superior Mark VI electronick brane and you can imagine wot it is like in skool.

  Scene. A classroom of the future. Twelve branes sit at there desks sploshing infra-red ink at each other. The head eggs helicopter is heard approaching despite its speshul silencing device.

  AN OEUF NEAR THE DOOR: Cave! Hear comes the Pukon!

  All look keen and inocent.

  HEAD BRANE: Today we will do a little comon computing. 8765 MOLEGRUB 1: It’s relativity sir not..…

  (The automatick kaning machine deliver 6)

  HEAD BRANE: As i was saing. Now wot is the polynomial equation of degree n in one variable or unknown.…?

  LES OEUFS: (in chorus) a0×n+a1×n−1+a2×n−2+ … + an − 1×+an=0(A.≠0.)

  HEAD BRANE: A very nice little rational integral equation–

  8765 MOLEGRUB I: Sir please sir it really is relativity –

  HEAD BRANE: Write out the law of electromagnetic induction 5000000000 times.

  8765 MOLEGRUB I: (thinks)

  molesworth 2 zoom down with his rotors whirring

  The head brane drone on until brake when cocoa and buns are fed in on a conveyor belt and we are allowed to pla around on big field with our helicopters.

  ‘Lets go to mars,’ sa fotherington-Tomas. ‘Come on molesworth o you mite. We can go up there and hav a lovely think.’

  ‘No,’ i sa, ‘i hav thort myself stupid already.’

  molesworth, 2 zoom down with his rotors whirring.

  silly sossage can’t think for toofee, he sa and zoom away. If only it were like the old days when the tuougher you were the more you were respected chiz! Now it is the opposite and if you can’t think they all buly you espeshully fotherington-Tomas who hav a huge brane. But there is no hope. It is 200000 years ahead and I am still learning ‘amo’.

  ‘You are a clot-faced wet,’ sa fotherington-Tomas, aiming a thort at me. ‘Thou canst not hurt an insecta siphonaptra or comon flea.’

  No wonder i sigh for the old days as we oeufs hav it in our spechul hist. broadcasts and telyfilms. e.g.

  PLAYS FROM HIST

  This illustrates a well-known incident in the uranium age of the 20th century.

  Musick: The Gondoliers. Scene: A dorm at st. custards. Enter molesworth the gorila of 3B cursing.

  MOLESWORTH: who are these weedy ticks who lay their golden locks upon their pilows? I will uterly bash them up until their own maters whose fotos grace these sordid shelves will not kno them. Charge!

  (Comentator: Observe the low beetling brow the hair which hang over the eyes, the knees with noughts and croses scribled on them in ink. What a short step is this specimen from the ape chiz chiz chiz. What progress hav we made.)

  In the dorm pilows fly about in clouds of feathers.

  A SKOLAR: Cave! As they all rush back to bed the HEADMASTER GRIMES enter.

  (Comentator: This horid creature is no beter than the boys. Look at him if you can bare it. It make you think do it not? To think that an objeckt like that could hav thort to teach boys cheers cheers cheers. In his right hand he grasp wot was known in those days as a kane or swish, his face is contorted in fury. Such barbarism o woe o woe it is enuff to bring tears to the eyes.)

  The HEADMASTER GRIMES look around the dorm and sa: ‘Any boy who was out of bed to own up.’ Silence. ‘Curses’ sa head master ‘i could hav sworn i heard something perhaps it was the matron plaing darts againe.’ A well-aimed tomato hit him in the face..…

  (Comentator: Do you see that, eggs eh? In those dark days skools were full of mutiny and disorder. The pupils ran wild with wizard wheezes jokes and pranks. They aktually throw a tomato at the headmaster..…PING..…Wot egg did that?..…Own up or i shall kepe the whole clutch in..…CRASH WAM BONK..…i saw you oeuf 8765 molegrub..…do not deny it..…you shall hav half an hour in the automatick kaning machine..…as i was saing it make you sigh to think of the misery and injustice of those prehistorick times ect. ect.)

  The next part of the film show a game of criket but as this is still going on all cheer. There may be a result by 15678 a.d.

  ‘Curses’ sa headmaster ‘i could hav sworn i heard something’

  2

  THE UGGLY TRUTH

  WOT HAV HAPPENED SO FAR

  The scene is still the dark, doom-haunted skool of st. custards chiz chiz moan drone where the tiny pupils live a life of friteful sufering at the hands of the headmaster GRIMES and his band of thugs who hav the impertnence to call themselves masters.

  GRABBER, dark, dashing debonair (compliment hem-hem he is perfectly weedstruck actually) is head of the skool. He is approached one day by a foul-looking specimen called PEASON who is my best friend.

  ‘Look at ickle pritty baby,’ sa peason in mocking tones. He run away and not before it is time becos the skool is on fire.

  Terible cries come from the roof where MOLESWORTH 2, and FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS, the skool gurly are traped on the roof with the matron and a string of skool sossages. Who will save them? The crowd parts for a mysterious figure which zoom headlong into the fire on his erand of mercy – it is me MOLESWORTH 1, the gorila of 3 B, the masked clot. (wot is the use of writing a book if you don’t give yourself a good part, eh?) In 5 minks he hav saved the LOT which is pritty good work. Begrimed and exorsted he is aproached by the headmaster. ‘Your face and hands are filthy,’ he sa. ‘Go and wash, boy. Do also 500 lines.’ Smarting under a sense of injustice MOLESWORTH 1 decide to run away but, before he can turn, a voice sa ‘Stop! Stop him!’ It is SIGISMUND THE MAD MATHS MASTER who point an acusing finger. ‘There,’ he sa, ‘is the boy who start the fire. I saw him do same.’ Wot will hapen to MOLESWORTH? Is the can of petrol inflammable? Who hav tampered with the headmasters protractors?

  (Now read on.)

  ‘Nearer and nearer crept the ghastly THING’

  For story turn to p. 1096b, col. 2.

  A GRIM SUBJEKT

  CLANG-PIP. CLANG-Pip.

  The craked tones of the skool bell sumon all weeds and skolars to xsemble in big skool. This is most unusual just before brake and in the middle of lessons. ‘Wot can it mean?’ ask grabber.

  ‘It mean,’ sa molesworth 2 litely, ’that 99 sparrows hav fallen from their nest in the bell, the masters are interupted doing their foopball pools, the skool dog will eat the buns and – and –”

  ‘Yes? Yes?’

  ‘It mean that thou, o weedy clot, are the biggest wet of them all.’

  With this riposte molesworth 2 ignite the fuse and zoom vertically up in rocket flite to safety as HEADMASTER enter. Silence you can hear a pin drop.

  ‘molesworth 2, were you the boy who sai ZOOSH as i entered with the staff?’

&n
bsp; ‘Yessir.’

  ‘Can my ears hav deceived me when i heard you calling up mars?’

  ‘Yessir – nosir – yessir.’

  ‘A remarkable feat, molesworth 2. You should be congratulated. Kindly do fifty lines.’

  Bad luck aktually getting cobbed but such is the fate of all pioneers. Now to the business of the meeting. HEADMASTER look stern. Tremble tremble quake quake. Wot can it be? Air is blak with sins rising before boys eyes.

  SILENCE

  ‘St. custards,’ sa HEADMASTER, ’hav always prided itself upon its long tradition of

  good maners strike out word

  which do not aply

  discipline

  decorum

  honour

  sobriety

  musical apreciation

  We are all proud of that. i and the staff (he gives a contemptuous look over his shoulder at the sheepish colection of branes and louts behind him) hav laboured long and hard to preserve it. We have done our best to discourage

  gambling strike out words which do not aply tho sometime HEADMASTERS use all of them.

  poker

  drink

  smoking

  gurls

  Of corse this is only the beginning. It is not for this that we hav been sumoned. These fine phrases are like when molesworth 2 pla fairy bells on skool piano – it take a minit or two before it sound like an H-bomb.

  HEADMASTER continue

  ‘Some boy,’ he sa. (This is it. Always is when a headmaster sa ‘Some boy’) ‘Last night – or in the early hours of this morning – some boy broke out of his dormitory and

  strike

  out

  CRIME

  which do

  not aply discharged pellets at skool pig.

  hung by his heels from the weather cock.

  bunged up the drane with a pair of socks.

  scared the matron stiff.

  Painted the gymnasium purple.

  Raided the larder.

  O woe tremble tremble agane. Who can hav been so beastley? Wot cad could hav sunk so low? At first there is a feeling of exquisite relief that it wasn’t that little business of dougnuts in the deaf master’s mortar board in which you were hem-hem involved. Then you look about at the little cherub faces for the criminal. Who look guilty? ALL of them, which do not get anyone very far.

  And the HEADMASTER? His eyeballs pop out his hair stands on end and the fur on his gown emit electric sparks. His face is purple and his hands twitch convulsively. One would judge him to be angry.

  ‘Some boy,’ he sa agane, ‘is guilty. Let him own up now before the whole skool. Let him admit his guilt. Let him step before his judges.’

  Silence

  ‘Come on!’ he roar. ‘Oo dunnit, eh?’

  Silence

  There you hav the weakness of his case. The clot hav not got an earthly – i mean, well, lets face it he simply doesn’t kno. One should really feel sorry for him. He – well, every boy kno wot is coming next.

  IF THE BOY DOES NOT OWN UP THE WHOLE SKOOL WILL BE KEPT IN.

  It is not always like that sometimes it is the whole skool given six or fifty lines or made to go to bed at six. But it is always the same principle – the Inocent punished on acount of the Guilty in contravention of paragraphs 2 and 3, Sixth Schedule of Standing Orders on British demoracracy. As any fule kno it is therein stated clearly that a guilty party must be arraigned therto and evidence therunto duly and properly brought hem-hem. Any boy kno that and give us 5 minits alone and this is wot would hapen –

  Caption: Come on grab him by the neck scrag him give him a chinese burn beat him up. Tung Fifth dynasty? You surprise me

  DET. INSPECTR THE HON NIGEL MOLESWORTH: Now you kno the rule in cases like this the smallest tick hav to own up. What an exquisite vase Lord Weevil. Is it ming?

  A VOICE: Wot hav that got to do with it?

  DET. INSPECTR THE HON NIGEL MOLESWORTH: Detectives are very cultured. Come on grab him by the neck scrag him give him a chinese burn beat him up and let him hav it. Tung Fifth dynasty? You surprise me. i would not hav thort that tint of eggshell blue – no matter, tie his hands behind the chair. Now, scum, are you going to own up?

  No, o no i am inocent.

  O.K. Work him over, butch. Headmasters do not care who is inocent, they only want someone to confess. You will only get 6 with the kane – why hav it both ways? And do not bleed on this rich aubusson carpet which lie upon the floor of Big skool etc.

  In the end the victim confess and once agane British justice is served cheers cheers cheers.

  Aktually in some cases there is no need for these extreme measures. When the headmaster sa he want to see the boy outside who hav been pinching the raspberries the whole Skool surge to the exits trampling all before them in the rush. But, i ask you, wot petty trifles headmasters get worked up about, eh? A few raspberries, a paltry pair of socks in a drane pipe, tadpoles in the tea – you would think such trivial affairs were beneath their notice it show how mentally undeveloped skoolmasters are.

  At this moment HEADMASTER glare round.

  ‘Well, the culprit hav had the good sense to confess. If this horid crime is comited agane he will not get off so litely ect..…’

  As he go out deaf master take off his mortar board and 12 doughnuts fall out.

  ‘SOME BOY..…!’

  SIX-GUN MOLESWORTH

  Peace broods over st. custards, that cloistered seat of learning hem-hem. Grabber the head boy – brave, noble, fearless true as all head boys are is smoking a furtive cig in the lib as he reads about Jane. Other seniors lie at ease reading the works of c. dickens and sir w. scott which would be a chiz if they were only covers to conceal RUDE BOOKS within. In his study the headmaster gravely peruses SPACE ACE: a boy reaches for the bell to order tea..…

  Hopo! Hopo! Hookahey!

  Bang!

  Ya-hay. Ya-hay.

  Crack! ‘You’re dead i shot you you’ve got to lie down maplethorpe no you didn’t yes i did..…’

  ‘Injuns!’ gasps grabber, reaching for his winchester. ‘Get the wagons in a circle, corral the ponies..…’

  A senior stirs languidly.

  ‘It’s only molesworth 2 and fotherington-Tomas plaing with the new bugs. Calm yourself, clot.’

  Grabber flushes at his mistake. No one speke but they kno that only a few years ago he also was plaing cowboys. They kno that they were plaing cowboys themselves and they flinch at the recolection. Are such games worthy of the new weedy generation who are to blaze a trail of fearless adventure in the new age?

  Inspired, i spring to my feet.

  ‘Chaps, felows, custardians i am dashed if this is good enuff. Are we not meant to be folowing the footsteps of drake, howard effingham and other good men who are sleeping tha’ below? Are we not suposed to be making a beter world? This low, vulgar game of cowboys and injuns – beg pardon, indians – ort to be stoped for it teaches the tinies ideas of violence. Shall i therefore tuough them up?’

  ‘Do that thing,’ sa grabber. ‘Knock their heads together squish their ears and hack their young shins until they stop.’

  It is a mision after my own heart. i spring to the saddle and joris and he etc i zoom he zooms we zoom all three out into the shrubery where i am greeted with a horid sight e.g. molesworth 2 wraped in a blanket.

  ‘How,’ he sa.

  ‘Wot do you mean “how”? it is uterly wet to sa “how” you mite as well sa “when” or “where”.’

  ‘How,’

  ‘Look molesworth 2 you mite as well listen becos i shall be a prefect next term.’

  ‘How.’

  ‘A box of cigars to the headmaster 20 players to the masters, 5/– to the matron, bone to the skool dog and a box of chox for the maids. That is how.’

  ‘How.’

  i am about to bash him when the situation is saved by 16 new bugs who arive saing bang bang and charging round. The weediest one stroll up and say, ‘Howdy, stranger?’

  To me!!!
The gorila of 3B. My veins stand out like whipcords my fists clench and unclench.

  ‘This game,’ i snap, ‘must cease. Cowboys are weeds and wetstruck.’

  ‘You’re a kinda crazy galoot, pard,’ sa the new bug. ‘Heck, we’ll drill you fuller of holes than a seive. Take my advice stranger and git – git outa town – git.’

  The poor pipsqueak must be bats. No other explanation can be possible. Quite mad and so young.

  ‘Tell us why you don’t like cowboys,’ come the chorus. ‘Tell us why you do not like them.’

  ‘How!’ sa molesworth 2.

  ‘That’s enuff,’ i sa. ‘i shall go bats also. i do not like cowboys for one reason. When the posse chase the hero he always go up a side turning and they always charge past. That is uterly wet. Q.E.D.’

  My veins stand out like whipcords

  ‘Pla with us,’ chorus the new bugs. ‘Go on molesworth 1 pla with us o you mite. Show us how it is done.’

  They dance round me weedily like little gurlies all the same they touch my hart poor weak fule that i am.

  ‘O.K.,’ i sa, ‘bags be a cowboy..…’

  10 mins 20 secs. later

  ‘Wot is yon object with a face like a squished turnip which approaches?’

  ‘i kinda figger its tarzan of the apes. Or mabbe there’s a resemblance to Vora king of space. Wot does big chief Blue Nose think?’

  molesworth 2 give another grunt.

  ‘How?’ he sa.

  ‘Pardners i guess it’s grabber.’

  ‘Yep it’s grabber O.K.’

  Tremble tremble moan drone grabber approche looking tuough. ‘Look here ticks there’s a jolly sight too much din you will even wake the headmaster which takes a bit of doing at this hour. Wot are you doing, eh?’ He see me and his jaw drop. ‘You molesworth, a senior, playing cowboys?’