The Sylvanian Bake Offence

The Sylvanian Bake Off competition has become very popular over the last few years. The organisers have overcome many of the problems that countrywide events face in Sylvania by basing the first stage of the competition in the contestants' home village. This lessens the problems of travelling and the inconvenience of being away from home for extended periods. Expert judges travel to each village to assess the standard of baking, and if any pass muster they reach the next stage.

Since few villages have facilities to house multiple ovens and other kitchen hardware in one room, contestants are allowed to create their "showstoppers" in their own home. A judge will telephone a contestant at a pre-arranged time, the purpose being to notify them of the baking category. There would be two days to practise and create their baking masterpiece in readiness for the judges' arrival.

Cecile had entered last year. After one of the judges - Rudolf Patissier - had phoned her, I remember her replacing the receiver, looking at me with an expression combining confusion and amusement.

"My showstopper has to include a shoe!"

We had laughed, but Cecile devised a plan. A simple vanilla sponge, subtle cream fondant icing, with an elegant lady's shoe atop crafted in sugar work. She said that it had to look classy. I saw some of her preparatory work and I was proud of her.

Sadly, my pride was tempered with disappointment - I couldn't be there to support her as Chris Snow-Warren and I had a pre-arranged meeting out of the village. Lionel Grande was recording one of our songs and he wanted to include us in a discussion about its arrangement.

When we returned, the Bake Off heat was over. Cecile didn't have much to say beyond the fact that nobody from Mellowdene was successful. I had the impression something had gone wrong but - unusually - no-one seemed prepared to supply an explanation. I didn't pursue the matter aggressively, prepared to leave Cecile with her secrets in the knowledge that she would tell me when she was ready. That was nearly a year ago.

o 0 O 0 o

When I discovered a  Mellowdene Examiner article promoting this year's forthcoming Sylvanian Bake Off competition, I glanced at Cecile, busy peeling potatoes. She had made no mention of her experience last year, but the article had once again piqued my interest. Perhaps if I tried to be subtle? I cleared my throat to speak. Beverley looked up from her Bunny Craft magazine.

"I see they're gearing up for this year's Bake Off," I said, winking at my daughter. "Do you think you might enter again, sweetness?"

Cecile slowly raised her gaze to look at me. "No." She returned to her task.

"Oh, that's a shame. You are a good baker, you know."

"Thank you. But no."

"Oh, okay. I suppose after last year that's understandable." I turned back to my newspaper and waited.

There was a definite silence. From the corner of my eye, I could see Beverley alternately looking at Cecile and at me, a smile on her face. The tension grew until Cecile quietly spoke, enunciating each word.

"What do you know, Jackson?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing." I thought I may have overdone the dismissive tone, but no.

"Oh, you know, don't you?"

"I try not to pay attention to rumours, Cecile. I'd rather wait and hear the truth from your own lips."

Beverley giggled, then covered her mouth.

Cecile looked at her. "I think your aunt Eliza might like some help, dear. Go and check, will you?"

Beverley put down her magazine with a deliberation that spoke volumes. "Yes, mother."

Once our daughter had left the room, Cecile put down her peeling knife and regarded me sadly. "I'm sorry Jack. I haven't said anything because I didn't want you to think any less of me."

I smiled. "I love you, sweet wrinkle. Nothing you could do would change that."

"That's lovely," said Cecile, returning my smile. "First of all, I want you to  know that no one was physically hurt, despite what you may have heard."

I tried not to show any surprise at her words. "Of course not. Go on, my love."

With a deep breath, she prepared to tell her tale.

o 0 O 0 o

The judging took place in the village hall. All the contestants had taken their showstoppers there to await the judges' comments and decisions. Everyone was delighted when one of the judges turned out to be Mary Bear. The other judge was Rudolf Patissier, the one who had telephoned me to define my showstopper. A famous pastry chef with a questionable attitude, the dog was a new Bake Off judge, and it emerged that Mellowdene was the first time he had been given the role as senior judge. Mary Bear was there primarily for his support.

There were some lovely entries in the hall, and the contestants were admiring each other's work. However it soon became clear that not everyone thought that way.

I was the first to meet the judges. Mary Bear was pleasant, remarking on my shoe cake in glowing terms. On the other hand, Rudy bent forward, poked the cake with his paw and curled his lip at me. "Disqualified."

Mary Bear frowned. "Disqualified? Why?"

"She has ignored the only requirement. There's no choux pastry included."

He was about to walk away but I spoke up. "Wait a minute. When you phoned me, you didn't  mention pastry. You just said 'shoe'."

"Choux, you stupid rabbit. Maybe you haven't heard of eclairs, profiteroles, croquembouche. Choux." He extended the word. "You must lack basic intelligence to get that wrong."

"Rudy, " said Mary Bear, "it sounds a simple misunderstanding. Mrs Butterglove shouldn't be excluded because of ambiguity..."

"No." He was adamant. "Disqualified. I don't need idiots." He walked away.

I couldn't believe what had happened. Mary Bear shrugged, mouthing "sorry" before following her fellow judge to the next contestant, Flo VanDyke.

Her showstopper was an impressive fruit flan, with with twisted strands of pastry atop all interwoven into a trellis cage. She stood to its side, her smile uncertain after seeing the judge's treatment of me.

Rudy gave her work little more than a glance, concentrating more on Flo. "Oh, an otter. I'm surprised you've not foisted a fish flan on us. It will have a soggy bottom, I expect." He lifted the edge of the flan and poked a claw into the base. Tasting it, he scrunched his nose. "Soggy, sour and unworthy. Typical otter work." He dropped the flan. "Next."

Flo stared at him. "We are not here to be insulted, Mister Patissier."

He sniffed. "You know where the door is."

"Totally unacceptable behaviour," said Flo, and lifting her skirt she left the village hall.

Each contestant Rudy visited received derogatory remarks about their baking but also personal jibes.

Willow Thistlethorn was speechless.

Katherine Periwinkle was near to tears when he upended her impressive sculpture of cheese straws, constructed using a variety of cheeses and building techniques.

When Rudy had completed his insults of Emma Furbanks' competency, she turned her back on him.

His rudeness reached new heights when he attacked all aspects of Mona Hazelnut's showstopper.

He remarked how she should have her children taken away rather than have them eat her cooking. She burst into tears. Not long ago she had had a difficult birth with her baby, little Joe. He had needed extra care for those first ten months, and it was only a few weeks ago that she had felt able to leave him in others' care. 

Leaving her crying, he moved onto Beatrix Spotter.

"So you're the last one. And already I can see that your efforts are overcooked, so it's not worth my attention. I don't think I've seen any worse baking in this competition than I have here in this village. Unappetising, squelchy, brittle or tooth-breaking, these amateur efforts have made this journey a complete waste of time. Do you agree, Mary?"

Mary Bear was standing back, her head having been in her hands. Rudy laughed humourlessly. "You see? The famous Mary Bear has already given up on you all. I'll make it official, although you probably have guessed. None of you will go through to the next stage."

Mona's sobs became more audible. 

Rudy Patissier sighed irritably. "Oh, will someone stop that annoying mouse wailing? I'm here to see your miserable attempts at pastry work, not to suffer your emotional baggage. You understand? Pastry work. And one of you can't even manage that."

Mary Bear came forward and took hold of his arm, but he shrugged it off. He appeared to be out of control. He bent to glare at poor Mona. "And you're giving me a headache!"

I didn't really plan what I did next; I just knew I couldn't let this continue. I picked up my cake, moved to Rudy's side and rammed it down on top of his head. The sponge compressed, buttercream spurted out, and the fondant icing resembled a cross between a hat and a toupee, all with the shoe teetering on the crown.

Rudy was shocked into silence. In fact the entire room went quiet. Buttercream dripped on his nose.

A deep voice boomed, "Enough!"

Everyone turned to see Bisto Wildwood framed in the doorway. The Sheriff of Mellowdene is an imposing figure at any time, but when he deviates from his customary "strong and silent" persona, everyone listens.

He entered the village hall, Flo VanDyke slipping in behind, and he strode towards Rudy and fixed him with a stare. "What's happened to you?" he said, sounding most official.

Rudy wiped some buttercream away from his nose, raised his arm and pointed at me. "That stupid bunny assaulted me with her cake! What are you going to do about it?"

Voices began to grumble and get louder. With a single arm movement Bisto indicated they should be silent and then turned his attention to me. "This could constitute un-Sylvanian behaviour, Cecile. Is there any truth in this?"

I looked around the room and could see everyone watching me. "It is my cake. I did put it on his head. I know it was unforgivable."

Rudy's mouth twisted into a sneer. My fellow contestants were shaking their heads sadly. Bisto stroked his chin, about to make a decision, but before he could speak, Mary Bear pushed forward to stand in front of me.

"I wish to declare that Rudy is the one guilty of un-Sylvanian behaviour, and this is nothing new. He has been rude to all the people here, and you can see some have been crying. This is entirely due to his actions today. He is a bully who insults people and likes to belittle them so that he can feel superior. He is worse than Gordon Ram with a fraction of the skill. I have kept silent too long. It took this lady's bravery to stop his unforgivable bullying. Her actions were justified."

I stared at Mary, warmed by her words, but I knew that I was guilty and was ashamed.

When the shock of Mary's words hit home, Rudy began to waffle but Bisto cut him short then addressed the rest of the room.

"Has this gentleman been bullying any of you?"

Mary Bear muttered, "He's no gentleman," but Bisto ignored her, noting the nods and verbal confirmation by the villagers. He walked around, allowing them to whisper in his ear, learning of Rudy's actions.

He returned to stand in front of me and stroked his chin again. "You all know un-Sylvanian behaviour is not to be tolerated. Assault, even though the reasons may seem justified, isn't something I wish to encourage. That applies to both cake and the insults repeated to me."

Rudy had regained his confidence. "I am Rudolf Patissier ! I'm famous! I don't have to take this..."

"Quiet, you. I've made a decision," said Bisto. "First of all, Cecile. I want your promise that this won't happen again. I know you will keep your word, but to help you with this, Mister Patissier will leave Mellowdene and never return."

I nodded. "Of course, Sheriff. I promise." 

"Hmm. Second, and this applies to all you villagers. I don't want the rest of Mellowdene to hear of this. It could encourage vigilante behaviour. Any suggestions how your silence could be explained?"

"We don't want to lie," came a quiet comment from behind him. It was Katherine Periwinkle.

Emma Furbanks made a suggestion. "We could say that we were disappointed that none of us were considered good enough as bakers and we'd prefer not to talk about it."

Bisto nodded. "Sounds good. Everyone happy with that? Good."

Rudy glared at everyone in a wild manner. "I've got a cake on my head! Surely some punishment is due!"

Mary Bear stepped forward to face her fellow judge. "Some excellent baking was done here but due to your bias, their work will be unjustly passed over. I consider that punishment enough for Mellowdene. As for your punishment, when we get back to head office, I will state that I cannot work with you due to your behaviour and insist that you no longer are part of the programme for Sylvanian Bake Off. Before you speak, consider which of us the management would wish to retain if forced to choose. And take note - how much detail I give them regarding today's events is up to you."

The two judges regarded each other in silence. Bisto Wildwood watched them with a slight smile. "That's settled then. I suggest you leave on your river boat as soon as practicable. You'd better clean up before you go. By the way, is that a shoe?"

o 0 O 0 o

Cecile sniffed. "So that's what happened. I heard Rudolf was sacked. But all those bakers who entered the competition last year won't enter again. And I share the blame. I feel so ashamed."

I moved to hug her. "I'm proud of you. You stood up for our friends. I wouldn't expect anything else. It pains me that you're suffering."

I could see that I needed to lighten the mood. "Look at it this way. You have a good sole..."

"Oh, Jack..." Cecile started to speak but I put my finger on her lips.

"...and he was a heel..."

A smile started to appear on her face.

"...so someone needed to shoo him off."

There it was. She began to laugh quietly and the pent up emotion began to dissipate.

"I've wanted to tell you for so long, Jack. I should have done so, long ago. I hope I'll start to feel easier now." She smiled. "But enough. I need to finish off these potatoes for boiling. Go and get Beverley back."

I realised that the subject was now closed, and left the kitchen. However, I didn't need to search for my daughter as she was there in the passageway.

I lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "You heard?"

"Yes, daddy."

"You realise that this is a secret? That you mustn't tell anyone about this?"

"I know, daddy. I won't."

"Good girl."

We turned back to the kitchen. Before we re-entered, Beverley beckoned me and whispered in my ear.

"Isn't mummy brilliant?"

o 0 O 0 o

Out of the Mouths of Babes

When I look at my children, the love I feel is often accompanied with a swell of pride and a cloud of wonder. How did Cecile and I produce such amazing little people?

Beverley is cleverer than she chooses to show, yet I have seen her occasionally reveal insights far beyond her years. I can see aspects of Cecile in her nature  She has begun to present a mature outlook on life, but this is peppered with the wild abandon of a little girl and a wicked sense of humour that can be hilarious. She tempers this when lightly teasing her brother, and the affection she feels for him is always close to the surface.

Brendan, eighteen months younger, takes the comments from his sister with good humour. He instinctively extracts any useful information therein, rejecting the rest, knowing Beverley will always be there for him. On the few times Beverley gets carried away, Brendan somehow is able to craft a short, appropriate retort that cuts through everything and leaves them both in peals of laughter. Sometimes they'll decide to work together on a project, bringing their individual skills together; watching them is one of life's pleasures. It is beautiful to see that relationship and being aware their closeness will continue throughout their lives... well, it is comforting.

Our son is imaginative, and some of the play stories he enacts with his best friend Lucky Snow-Warren can be complex in their narrative. I occasionally find myself watching them in their role play when I should be working, it's so entertaining.

I used to have a slight worry that he wouldn't stick with a task for too long, especially when something else attracted his attention. Cecile remarked that it showed he has an active mind and pointed out a flexibility that allows him to return to an earlier task and continue from where he broke off. Seeing this, I was amazed what an adept and complex little boy I had. Another aspect of his nature, highlighted recently, was his sensitivity and empathy for others. Following the Telly Party incident of a few months ago, we have noticed him adopt a subtle protectiveness towards his cousin Biddie. He's full of surprises too. I didn't expect him to take so much from his recent attendance at Kittie Camp; forming new friendships was a bonus.

And then there's our titchy Russell. So affectionate - he loves his cuddles. A happier child I've never known. Content to sit and play with a toy for hours on end, he will chatter away to himself - no proper words as yet, but we're not worried; it's lovely to see. I've discussed this with Cecile and Eliza, who spend a lot of time with my tiny boy, but neither are concerned; Cecile says that she was told she didn't speak much until she was three, and she's made up for it since! We've all seen him at nursery, and he makes jolly little noises when he's with the other tinies. And when he's with his cousin Nugget, they both jabber away like there's no tomorrow. Cute!

It occurs to me you don't know how Nugget fits into our family, so I'll briefly explain. We call him a cousin but he's not a blood relation. His mum Athalia is sister to my brother Newton's wife Audrey, and the two families live in different wings of Newton's modern house. As Nugget and Russell are virtually the same age, they have spent quite a lot of time together. Hearing them playing, it often seems they are having proper conversations! About what, I have no idea...

o 0 O 0 o

Only a couple of weeks ago I had been at Newton's place, chatting to Athalia and watching our tiny ones play. When it came time to leave, a door to Newton's home office opened and he came through.

"Hello Newt," I said, "I didn't know you were at home. How's things?"

He blinked, noticing me for the first time. "Oh, hi Jackson. Sorry. I was miles away."

This was nothing new. I suppose the word "boffin" was meant for him. Years ago he started off teaching advanced classes at the school - he was known as The Professor - but it was clear that couldn't last forever. When his expertise was sought elsewhere in Sylvania, the rewards and resources he was offered were too much of a temptation. He still visited Mellowdene periodically, but for a few years he wasn't that visible. He never spoke about his work, but I had the impression that he was a valued member of a think tank, developing secret items for the benefit of Sylvania.

When he met the Bonny twins - Audrey and Athalia - things began to change. It was clear he was attracted to Audrey, and his time in Mellowdene increased. We were not surprised when they announced their marriage engagement. The interest increased when Athalia also announced her engagement - this to one Trafalgar Cornflower, and a double wedding followed a few months later. Newton moved back to Mellowdene and did more of his work from home - a new house paid for partly by his employers - but he still needed to travel away from time to time.

I believe Mellowdene is seeing some benefit from Newton's work. In a consultancy role he met with Ashley Maces, and some of the recycling technology used by Mice & Clean improved their waste management. Newton also meets up with the village council from time to time, although he doesn't discuss his reasons. In any case, it's good to see my brother more often following his time spent away.

Maybe because they are twins, Audrey and Athalia are still incredibly close, and it wasn't a surprise when Newton agreed that the house should accommodate both families. That closeness continued when the sisters gave birth within a week of each other - my nieces Donna and Dinah continued the Bonny tradition of twins, and Nugget was Athalia and Trafalgar's baby boy. I happened to remark on Nugget to my brother.

"Busy with your work I expect," I said. "I've just been watching Nugget and our Russell play. We were remarking how funny it was that they seem to be having a conversation."

"Hmm? Oh, maybe they are," said Newton.

"How do you mean?"

"Communication develops from need. Maybe they developed their own language."

"Is that really possible?"

"Oh yes, it's possible. I suppose if I recorded them, fed the audio into a digital converter, customised my Worthville pattern-matching software and tied this in with results from facial analysis using another package, we could have a good stab at finding out what they were talking about. Given enough data."

I didn't even try to understand the technicalities. I just heard "record them" and "finding out what they were talking about" and nodded.

"No time to do that, though," Newton mused. "Speaking of which, I can't stop. Just taking a bathroom break."

He flashed a quick smile then disappeared out of the room. I watched the door swing in his wake and pondered Newton's words. Was he serious? Or was I victim of his dry sense of humour?

Russell tugged at my paw. He said something like "Gawa gagala" which I took to mean he wanted to go home. Maybe Newton's fancy technology wasn't necessary...

o 0 O 0 o

A few days after my brief meet up with my brother I came across a small pile of photographs on the table.

The pictures looked like they'd been taken by Newton's fancy camera, and all featured Russell and Nugget. Accompanying each photo was a small slip of paper bearing typewritten words. I was intrigued, and started to read through them.

Nugget: Kikki pupu lala.
Russell: A mimmy mimmy pubba.

- The clouds are purple in the laundry.
- And the silver lining is tarnished.

Nugget: Wah gigoh.
Russell: awawa neeek. Nana nyig kee?

- Greetings Agent Russ.
- Well met Agent Nug. Isn't it time we changed our passwords?

Nugget: Bluh bluh bluhbluh.
Russell: amma neeeek.

- Perhaps, but there is more pressing business.
- Do tell, Agent Nug.

Nugget: Egga diggi.
Russell: Oo gaga?

- It relates to Big Daddy.
- Yours or mine?

Nugget: Migga gigoh. Agga gugguddy.
Russell: Bluggle?

- Mine, Agent Russ. He returned from the docks with a package.
- Was this unexpected?

Nugget: Iggy, ooka gaga galoo kawah.
Russell: Aaga gullagulla agalee? Laga wiggi?

- Yes, however my contacts have told me the Sea Dog has given him contraband.
- Agents Donut and Dinner are on the case? Are they sure of their facts?

Nugget: Ag gagga waba - e gohgoh
Russell: Aarr.

- They are, Agent Russ. As much as it pains me, it appears Big Daddy is involved in... well, you know the technical term since it is your area of expertise.
- I see. Piracy.


As I came to the last photograph, Beverley and Brendan entered the room. They saw the photographs spread out before me and they looked at each other and giggled.

"Anything interesting, daddy?" asked Beverley, her eyes wide and twinkling.

Finding a final sheet of paper, all became clear.

Starring

Russell Butterglove as Agent Russ

Nugget Cornflower as Agent Nug

Photographs: Beverley Butterglove

Story: Brendan Butterglove

Editor: Beverley Butterglove

Project Manager: Brendan Butterglove

Concept: GreyRabbit

Thanks for the loan of

Instant Camera: Newton Butterglove

Typewriter: Darcy Fielding

I looked at my amazing children. Laughing, they ran to my side.

"We heard you talking to mummy," said Brendan, "so I thought we should do a project. I took notes while Beverley took photos".

Beverley clarified. "Auntie Audrey lent us Uncle Newt's camera, and I thought it would be good to use a typewriter. You were using yours, but I knew Mr Fielding had one. We told him what we were planning he had a good laugh."

"I bet he did." I hugged them both. "Pirates. I might have known."

Brendan and Beverley were as one voice. "Arrr!"

o 0 O 0 o

Kittie Camp

Arriving home unaccompanied after Rowan, Denzel and I had spent an afternoon with our daughters, I found Cecile on the coral sofa, a book by her side. She seemed happier than when Beverley and I had left her earlier in the day.

"Hello, lovebud," she smiled, "how was your Daddy Daughter Day? Is Beverley not with you?"

"We had a nice time," I replied. "She's at Denzel's and she'll be back soon; Lena wanted her to see the quads. But what about you?"

"What?" she said, dropping her gaze but maintaining an amused expression.

"From your happy face I'm guessing Brendan's back from Kittie Camp."

"He is. He's having a bath."

It had been the first time Brendan had spent nights away from his family, and Cecile had missed her little boy throughout the period. This had been particularly obvious when we had our breakfasts and evening meals and her reaction to laying out the table place settings. My lovely wife has been close to tears on one occasion.

I settled down next to her, kissing her cheek. "And he's alright, isn't he?"

"Yes. I know I've been silly..."

"No, my love. He's our little man and of course you care for him."

"You're being lovely, but I know what I've been like. I suppose it didn't help that Brendan didn't really want to go when he found Lucky wasn't going. I didn't like the idea of him being sad when he left."

"And now?"

"He enjoyed himself. He started to tell me all about it, but I had to interrupt him as he was absolutely filthy and stank to the high stars! He'd obviously fallen into something smelly. I sent him up to get clean."

I sniffed. There was a faint memory of his passage through the room.

"No doubt we'll get the full story when he re-emerges - in his role as Mink the Muckyless, do you think?" I commented, bathing in Cecile's happiness. "Come here and let me give you a cuddle."

We shared hugs a while, and when the sound of movement upstairs was supplemented with a front door click signifying the return of Beverley, we prepared for the family reunion. (Oh, in case anyone was wondering, Russell was asleep in his bed. He's always tired after spending time with his cousin Nugget.)

o 0 O 0 o

I realise some people won't know about Kittie Camp, so some background information will be useful. It's a comparatively recent event organised by a contingent of hill cats, and an opportunity for groups of Mellowdene youngsters to meet up and have fun learning new skills. They do this for four groups spread over the month so that numbers aren't too high at each meet.

These summer camps are located just outside Mellowdene County heading northeast, but before one would reach the hill cat community. One of the canal boats drops off the youngsters close to a small secluded valley in the foothills.

As I understand it, there's a shallow pond there for supervised swimming, and it's sheltered enough for camping. Having said that, a couple of years ago the Waters family were engaged to build a log cabin there as a more permanent base of operations. Helps cope with poor weather too, I guess.

It's pleasing how the feline quota has increased in Mellowdene as they are lovely people. For a long time it seemed that cats didn't want to live here. I remember reports of Cecile's great grandfather not really trusting them, which was totally unwarranted. I know historically cats are considered independent, and it seemed grandpappy Ivory misinterpreted this. It made sense that they didn't need to settle in our village when they effectively had their own small village in the foothills. The canals allowed trade, and that was how things remained until a dozen or so years ago.

My sister-in-law Eliza had good connections with the canal cats as she worked in Rocky Babblebrook's store. A couple of cats from the Harvey family used to tag along on these trips and they became good friends. It was a pleasant surprise when they decided to move to Mellowdene, bringing their entire family along. Bert Harvey and his wife started to work for Rocky too. So the Harveys were the first cats to settle here. Their relations, the Fishers, came a few years later. And we now have a family of Persian cats here who look after a number of small kittens. Maybe the hill cat village has insufficient space? Whatever the reason, the cats living in Mellowdene have resulted in stronger ties with the hill cats.

One theory is that the Kittie Camp - or Pussyfoot Scout Camp, to give it its proper name - was set up for the benefit of the young cats brought up in Mellowdene, ensuring that they are aware of their heritage. The reason doesn't really matter, since it wasn't long before the intake of the summer camps was extended so that it was available to rabbits, squirrels, beavers and any other young crittizens that lived here and were of suitable age.

When Brendan and his pals became eligible, they were excited at the prospect. Both Lucky Snow-Warren and Coco Chocolate were looking forward to going with our boy. We later discovered that Lucky couldn't go because he was going away on holiday with his family. Coco was assigned a different week - apparently the organisers want a wide range of critters at these meets and didn't want any particular race to predominate. Given Brendan's original excitement, we thought his subsequent disappointment wasn't a good enough reason for him to back out - and although Cecile was tempted to allow this, she relented.

With Brendan's joyous return, Cecile was happy she'd made the right choice. We now awaited our boy's account of his stay at Kittie Camp. Even Beverley was curious.

o 0 O 0 o

We were sitting around the dining table when Brendan made an appearance, clad in a towelling robe.

"No," explained Brendan when he had taken a seat and the subject of his pongy adventures were raised, "I slipped in some stinky mud when I left the canal on the way home. I didn't do it at Kittie Camp."

I expected some retort from Beverley but she was still revelling in her own memories of the day, culminating in ice cream and a visit to see her four cute baby cousins. I doubted her restraint would continue much longer.

"I'll tell you what I did do there; I caught three fishes!" Brendan exclaimed, delighted to hold centre stage with a list of his exploits. Beverley moved some peas around her plate with her knife, smiling at her brother's joy, gently shaking her head as he continued. "We had a special net and I used that to catch two of them. I tickled the third until Hughie scooped it out."

Hughie is Rickie Grunt's son, and a new acquaintance for Brendan since they were in different classes at school. I gathered they had got on very well and - together with Nollie Persis - they had formed a little trio of friends that, I suspected, was likely to continue long beyond the conclusion of Kittie Camp. Brendan wanted to invite Hughie for tea next weekend.

Beverley squashed a pea. "How did you tickle the fish? And why, come to think of it?"

"I can show you," said Brendan, wiggling his fingers at her. "And it's just a different ten kick we were shown."

"Don't bother," said Beverley, "And I think you'll find the word is 'technique', not 'ten kick'."

"Suit yourself," said Brendan, sticking out his tongue.

Cecile interrupted the exchange. "Tongue back in mouth, please. What else did you do apart from fishing?"

"We did some climbing. Nollie was really good at that."

"You were careful?"

"Aw, Mum. 'Course we were. The instructors showed us. We used ropes and everything."

"Fancy that," I said.

"It was good," nodded Brendan, and his eyes widened as another memory popped into his head. "And there was some caves."

"Were some caves," corrected Beverley, her eyes rolling.

"That's what I said."

Thoughts of Rowan's tales of magic tunnels came to my mind. "You didn't go too deep into them did you? You can get lost if you're not careful."

Cecile regarded me quizzically. I mouthed to her, "I'll tell you later," as Brendan responded to my remark.

"The caves were only little, Dad. But they had some swirly patterns from different kinds of rock. They were neat."

"Glad to hear it," said Cecile. "Perhaps you can make your room neat tomorrow."

"Huh?" said Brendan, not realising the connection with his tale.

"Never mind," I smiled, "Go on, son."

"The best was the hunt."

Cecile's eyes widened with concern but I forestalled her by speaking first. "What sort of hunt?"

"Well," Brendan explained, "Over the first two days Mr Keats had been showing us different ten ki... 'techniques' ...to track and trail things. On the last day we had to follow tracks and stuff to find clues and stuff. Then we used them to hunt Mr Sandy.

"We had to work together to find him, but he kept moving. It was great. Hughie and me found him first."

"Hide and seek?" asked Beverley, sweetly.

"No! Well, a bit. But better. You had to use your head," he said, tapping his forehead.

I caught Beverley's eye and gave her a stare as a friendly warning to prevent further teasing.

She chuckled. "That sounds great, Brendan. I'm glad you had a good time."

Brendan beamed. "It was great, sis. I wish you could've seen us."

"I'm sure I will," she smiled in return, "I'm guessing you'll be using your ten kicks in your games."

Our son frowned at her, momentarily confused before laughing. Cecile reached under the table and squeezed my hand.

In the corner, Russell watched the exchanges between his family, then giggled.

Life is good.

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