It had been a long, long journey from America to Sodbury Chippington. Eventually, after what seemed like ages, the passengers had been allowed to "board" the plane. That meant that they had all queued up, handed over their tickets and something called a passport, which explained who the people were and where they lived, and then got onto the big metal bird.
Cody had cried until he could cry no more, then he had fallen asleep in his seat and had even missed the moment when the plane "took off" - which meant a man called a pilot had started the engine which made the plane move and it had then gone faster and faster until its wheels left the ground and it had soared into the air.
After a while he had woken up and watched a children's film on the little television which was somehow stuck into the seat of the person in front of him. His mum had given him a set of headphones, two little plugs hanging onto a string which plugged into the TV, which he put in his ears so that none of the other passengers could hear the programme he was watching.
On board the plane ladies and gentlemen called cabin crew walked up and down between the seats asking if everything was alright, and providing them with their dinner in little metal trays.
They seemed to be on the plane for a very long time.
On occasion Cody didn't even realise he was up in the sky, until he looked out of the window and saw the clouds rushing by. He was above the clouds!
His mum tried to make him feel better by buying a new colouring book and some crayons from the nice stewardess, the member of the cabin crew who was looking after them. But although he managed to colour in a few pictures, he still felt miserable that he had lost all his other things, his sweets and, most of all, his favourite toy Stripey.
Eventually a voice boomed out, announcing that they would soon be landing at the airport in England, where they would get off the plane and make their way home. But there was still lots to do.
Once they had arrived they had to sit around a big, round thing called a carousel, which moved and brought around the suitcases that everyone had taken with them on their holiday. One by one everyone picked up their suitcases, put them on trolleys, and pushed them out of the airport to waiting buses, cars and trains.
Cody and his family first had to get onto a bus where a kindly driver rubbed his head and asked him if he had enjoyed his holiday. He said he had but it was pretty obvious looking at his face that he was tired and a little bit unhappy. "Cheer up, sport," said his dad. "I told you I will get your bag back, and I will."
After a short journey they got off the bus and then walked through a place full with loads and loads of cars. Eventually they found dad's blue one, put the suitcases is the boot, and set off for home. Within five minutes Cody was asleep again.
He woke up to find his dad lifting him out of the backseat and carrying him up the drive of their house. It seemed so long since he had last seen his little home and when they got inside his dad said: "Right, it's very late, time for you to go to bed, Cody."
It didn't seem late, however. The sun was coming up and the birds were singing outside.
"Dad, it's not even night any more," he said.
"I know, son, but that's because it is a different time in this country than it was in America. Many of the countries in the world have different times, but you have been up for ages and little boys need their sleep."
When he got into his bedroom he saw his other toys and quickly gave them a cuddle. It appeared they were glad to see him, too. His dad gently took off his clothes and put on his pyjamas, which were covered in pictures of his favourite tv character Thomas the Tank engine. He got under the sheets and, though he really did feel tired, he lay awake thinking about his holiday for a while.
As he did, he heard his dad speaking to someone in the next room. "That's right, it is a little boy's rucksack," his dad was saying, "it is covered with pictures of footballers. Please, if you find it, can you send it back to us, I don't mind paying for the postage. It's just my son is very upset about losing it, particularly the toy tiger he has in it, and it will break his heart if he doesn't get it back... ok, ok, that's good. Yes, I really hope you find it, too."
A long, long way away, the little bear and the tiger were starting to get bored. They had sat in the bag, on some kind of shelf, for ages and ages, but nothing had happened. They had seen no more sign of Ridsdale, and the people who had come in were gone, it was extremely dark and pretty cold, too, even though they were both protected by their fur.
Time drifted by and eventually they saw light sneaking in through the top corner of the bag. Eventually it got lighter and lighter until they realised the new day had started. Only a few more hours to the next game, thought the bear, wondering how on earth he was going to get out of this trap he was in.
Finally, they heard movement outside. Then a voice said, "yes, that's right, it has got a picture of some soccer players on it, have a good look around will you."
"No problem, boss," said the voice of the lady who had screamed the night before, when she had seen Ridsdale.
They heard her walking up and down for a while and then exclaim, "yes, here it is. It says England on it and has a big red cross on the front."
"That will be the one. The person phoned from England and said his son was very anxious to have it back," said the man.
The next minute they felt themselves being lifted again. "Hang on, hang on," shouted the little bear. "I shouldn't be in here. I don't belong in this bag. This is my home, Fenway Park, not England."
But no one could hear his protests. Stripey, trying to calm down his new friend, said: "Oh well, looks like you are coming home with me. If it makes you feel any better, England is a lovely country, and I am sure you will like it."
The bear wasn't so sure. He had heard rumours about this other place. And the most alarming of them all, was that they didn't play baseball there.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Chapter Five
It was very, very dark in the bag. In fact, it was pitch black.
The bear and the tiger had opted for silence now, both thinking of where they would rather be.
The tiger Stripey knew he would rather be with the master, his owner, the little boy called Cody. He longed for the brightly painted room in which he lived at the house a long, long way away in England.
All the bear wanted to be was outside in the light, sitting by his dumpster and reflecting on the game he had witnessed, another win for the mighty Red Sox.
Finally the Tiger, realising he might be stuck with his new companion for rather a long time, decided he would at least try to talk to him.
"Soooooo," he said, in his rather slow voice. "How did you end up under that seat?"
The bear shuffled to find some room and looked the tiger in his glassy eyes.
"That's kind of a long story," he replied.
"Well, we could be here a long time, so you might as well make a start," said Stripey.
So he did. The little bear told the Tiger all about the factory where he was born, the bumpy ride with 20 other bears, the arrival at the baseball park and falling off the trolley and ending up by the dumpster.
"Okaaay," said Stripey. "But how on earth did you move? You can't walk can you?"
"Umm, not really, but..."
Just as he was about to tell the little Tiger, there was a scratching noise coming from outside the bag. It was as if something was trying to get in!
The Tiger looked a little bit scared, sitting there in the dark. "Wha.... whaaat is thaaat?" he asked in a shaky voice.
"I... I don't know. I can see as much as you can!" the grumpy bear answered.
Then a speck of light shone in from the roof of the bag and both the toys peered up, wondering, on a day of nasty surprises, what was going to happen next.
Then suddenly a big, furry nose pushed its way into the bag and the Tiger, forgetting that he was supposed to be a brave, fierce jungle animal, let out a little high-pitched "yelp!"
But the bear was no longer scared. "Aaah, at last!" he said, "it looks like I am going to be rescued."
"Oh my giddy aunt!" exclaimed Stripey, using a rather strange expression. The bear wondered where Stripey's giddy aunt lived and why she was so giddy. Perhaps she chased her tail a lot.
"No, it's not your giddy aunt," he cried. "It's Ridsdale!"
"It's a dirty, black rat - that's what it is!" replied Stripey, trying to burrow his way deeper into the bottom of the bag to hide away from the new visitor under Cody's colouring books.
"Oi, less of the dirty!" came a gruff voice. "Y'all should know I 'ad a good bath in the puddle under the washroom sink before I came out tonight. Hey, bear my man, how's it 'anging? What ya doin' cooped up in this old bag?"
"Hi Ridsdale, I'm sure the tiger didn't mean to be insulting," said the bear, leaping to the defence of his fellow prisoner. "He's just a bit worried that he won't be able to get home."
"And you? I left ya under ya favourite seat, goes back to get ya, and ya in't even there. Been all over the place looking for yous, I 'ave, and so 'ave the rest of the rat pack."
Tiger was now quivering under his temporary hiding place. There were more rats? What kind of filthy, rotten place had he ended up in.
The bear sensed his unease. "Don't worry, Stripey, this is my pal Ridsdale."
"Your pal? He's... he's a dirty rat!" Stripey feared that before long the visitor would be sinking his sharp teeth into his soft, foam filled belly.
"I told yous..!" snarled the rat, angrily.
"No, no... look, please don't make him angry, Stripey, he is a very kind rat, and has helped me so much."
Stripey was a bit confused. "Helped you? But don't rats just chew on everything."
"Give me a break, pyjama pants!" growled the rat, "I'll 'ave ya know I'm quite fussy about what I eat. And in this place I get what I want, without gettin' me teeth all jammed up with fur. Bet you taste rotten compared to a nice bit of pizza, or a hot dog, or, gawd help me, a donut. Mmmm!"
Stripey felt a bit put out. "Who are you calling rotten tasting. When my master was a baby he used to like to nibble on my foot."
"Poor kid," answered the rat. "Don't they know how to look after their young 'uns where you come from?"
"I'll have you know we are very civilisised where I live. Not like you Yanks."
The rat glared at him. "Oi, don't you insult us New Yawkers," he said. "No one does that!"
The tiger looked even more confused. What was a New Yawker?
"Oh, I suppose I had better explain," interrupted the bear. "You see, Ridsdale is from another city in America called New York. He used to sleep in the hold of a coach which transported a baseball team called the Yankees from there to other places across the country. One day, when he came to Boston he had to scarper quickly when the man unloading the bags spotted him and tried to hit him with a baseball bat. He has lived here ever since."
"Yeah, what a pain! Not only can't I see the Yankees play any more, but I ended up living at the home of their worst enemies."
"Enemies?" said the tiger, now getting very interested in the story.
"Oh the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox don't like each other much," explained Ridsdale. "They play each other all the time and people call it 'the biggest rivalry in baseball'. When the Yankees win all the fans in New York get pretty excited and all the Red Sox fans, like our friend the bear here, go around looking mopey all day. When it happens the other way around, and the Red Sox win, it is the New Yawkers like me who are down in the dumps."
"Well, you are a rat. I guess you are used to being down in the dumps."
"Ha, ha," said Ridsdale, though he didn't find the joke very funny, really.
"Well, I don't mean down in the dumps like down in the rubbish dumps. Down in the dumps just means it makes us pretty miserable."
"Oh," said Stripey, understanding now. "But if you are a 'fan' of these Yankees, and the bear likes these Red Sox, why are you friends?"
"Well, life's very short to have enemies," explained Ridsdale. "When I ended up here, the bear was very kind to me. He knows what it is like to be dumped somewhere and left alone. He let me share his spot by the dumpster and we have got on famously ever since."
"Yes," said the bear. "And Ridsdale has been very kind to me too. Before all the fans arrive for games, he grabs hold of my arm and drags me up all the steps and sits me under a seat so that I can watch the game. Then, afterwards, when all the people have gone he will come up and fetch me ... after first having his dinner, of course."
"That reminds me," said the rat, gnashing his big teeth together. He seemed to be smiling. "... I 'ad a lovely bit of hot dog, full of tomato sauce, when I went to collect you today. Ooh," he looked at the little bear's head, "seems like you had a bit, too, and the sauce stuck to your bonce."
"Oh, that!" said the bear. "Unfortunately the man who was eating the hot dogs dropped sauce on my head."
"Aah, looks like you could do with a bit of a clean up. Let me try to gnaw through these straps and we'll have you out of there in no time."
"If you could, Ridsdale, that would be great! I don't want to miss the game tomorrow."
They sat in comfortable silence, bar the sound of teeth trying to shred their way through the straps that fastened the bag shut. Eventually, the tiger spoke.
"Seems like a nice bloke, actually, your rat. I won't call him dirty again."
"To be honest," said the bear, in a whisper. "He is a little bit pongy at times. Comes with scurrying around, picking up all the food people have left out of the dumpsters I guess. But he is very kind and, quite honestly, I don't know what I would do without him."
"It's lovely to have friends," said Stripey, looking a little bit like he might cry. "I don't know when I will see mine again."
"Do you have a lot then?" asked the bear. "Loads!" answered the tiger. "There is a giraffe, and a long caterpillar, and a monkey, and even a cat. We all sit together in my master's room and have a good time lying about telling stories."
"Yeah, friends are nice," admitted the bear. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't see the rat pack again. Friends always help you. They don't care what colour you are, or that you are different from them, or that you might be a bit grubby or smelly or something. They are always there for you... and it makes you want to help them out, too."
They both went quiet again, thinking warm thoughts about their friends as the bear's best pal went about trying to loosen the straps of the bag they found themselves locked inside.
"Aaaargh!"
As they were drifting off to sleep, thinking nice thoughts, a piercing high-pitched scream interrupted their silence.
"What is it, Esmeralda?" asked a man's voice.
"It's a stinking, big black rat... that's what it is. Get rid of it, Trevor, please!"
"I've got a big broom somewhere. Ah, here it is. I'll bonk it on the head."
The two toys inside the bag heard a squeal, then a whispered, "Sorry, boys, yous on your own!"
There was a scurrying sound, then nothing.
Finally they heard the man's voice again. "Damn, think I missed it. They really ought to do something about the rats in this place. Filthy animals!"
Finally, silence fell again and the little bear groaned. It seemed his best chance of escape had gone, leaving him a prisoner in the bag.
Eventually, the tiger spoke again. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, "looks like it's just me and you. Perhaps as we are stuck in this situation, we should be friends."
"Thanks," said the bear. "I'll be your friend if you'll be mine."
And they touched paws to seal the deal.
The bear and the tiger had opted for silence now, both thinking of where they would rather be.
The tiger Stripey knew he would rather be with the master, his owner, the little boy called Cody. He longed for the brightly painted room in which he lived at the house a long, long way away in England.
All the bear wanted to be was outside in the light, sitting by his dumpster and reflecting on the game he had witnessed, another win for the mighty Red Sox.
Finally the Tiger, realising he might be stuck with his new companion for rather a long time, decided he would at least try to talk to him.
"Soooooo," he said, in his rather slow voice. "How did you end up under that seat?"
The bear shuffled to find some room and looked the tiger in his glassy eyes.
"That's kind of a long story," he replied.
"Well, we could be here a long time, so you might as well make a start," said Stripey.
So he did. The little bear told the Tiger all about the factory where he was born, the bumpy ride with 20 other bears, the arrival at the baseball park and falling off the trolley and ending up by the dumpster.
"Okaaay," said Stripey. "But how on earth did you move? You can't walk can you?"
"Umm, not really, but..."
Just as he was about to tell the little Tiger, there was a scratching noise coming from outside the bag. It was as if something was trying to get in!
The Tiger looked a little bit scared, sitting there in the dark. "Wha.... whaaat is thaaat?" he asked in a shaky voice.
"I... I don't know. I can see as much as you can!" the grumpy bear answered.
Then a speck of light shone in from the roof of the bag and both the toys peered up, wondering, on a day of nasty surprises, what was going to happen next.
Then suddenly a big, furry nose pushed its way into the bag and the Tiger, forgetting that he was supposed to be a brave, fierce jungle animal, let out a little high-pitched "yelp!"
But the bear was no longer scared. "Aaah, at last!" he said, "it looks like I am going to be rescued."
"Oh my giddy aunt!" exclaimed Stripey, using a rather strange expression. The bear wondered where Stripey's giddy aunt lived and why she was so giddy. Perhaps she chased her tail a lot.
"No, it's not your giddy aunt," he cried. "It's Ridsdale!"
"It's a dirty, black rat - that's what it is!" replied Stripey, trying to burrow his way deeper into the bottom of the bag to hide away from the new visitor under Cody's colouring books.
"Oi, less of the dirty!" came a gruff voice. "Y'all should know I 'ad a good bath in the puddle under the washroom sink before I came out tonight. Hey, bear my man, how's it 'anging? What ya doin' cooped up in this old bag?"
"Hi Ridsdale, I'm sure the tiger didn't mean to be insulting," said the bear, leaping to the defence of his fellow prisoner. "He's just a bit worried that he won't be able to get home."
"And you? I left ya under ya favourite seat, goes back to get ya, and ya in't even there. Been all over the place looking for yous, I 'ave, and so 'ave the rest of the rat pack."
Tiger was now quivering under his temporary hiding place. There were more rats? What kind of filthy, rotten place had he ended up in.
The bear sensed his unease. "Don't worry, Stripey, this is my pal Ridsdale."
"Your pal? He's... he's a dirty rat!" Stripey feared that before long the visitor would be sinking his sharp teeth into his soft, foam filled belly.
"I told yous..!" snarled the rat, angrily.
"No, no... look, please don't make him angry, Stripey, he is a very kind rat, and has helped me so much."
Stripey was a bit confused. "Helped you? But don't rats just chew on everything."
"Give me a break, pyjama pants!" growled the rat, "I'll 'ave ya know I'm quite fussy about what I eat. And in this place I get what I want, without gettin' me teeth all jammed up with fur. Bet you taste rotten compared to a nice bit of pizza, or a hot dog, or, gawd help me, a donut. Mmmm!"
Stripey felt a bit put out. "Who are you calling rotten tasting. When my master was a baby he used to like to nibble on my foot."
"Poor kid," answered the rat. "Don't they know how to look after their young 'uns where you come from?"
"I'll have you know we are very civilisised where I live. Not like you Yanks."
The rat glared at him. "Oi, don't you insult us New Yawkers," he said. "No one does that!"
The tiger looked even more confused. What was a New Yawker?
"Oh, I suppose I had better explain," interrupted the bear. "You see, Ridsdale is from another city in America called New York. He used to sleep in the hold of a coach which transported a baseball team called the Yankees from there to other places across the country. One day, when he came to Boston he had to scarper quickly when the man unloading the bags spotted him and tried to hit him with a baseball bat. He has lived here ever since."
"Yeah, what a pain! Not only can't I see the Yankees play any more, but I ended up living at the home of their worst enemies."
"Enemies?" said the tiger, now getting very interested in the story.
"Oh the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox don't like each other much," explained Ridsdale. "They play each other all the time and people call it 'the biggest rivalry in baseball'. When the Yankees win all the fans in New York get pretty excited and all the Red Sox fans, like our friend the bear here, go around looking mopey all day. When it happens the other way around, and the Red Sox win, it is the New Yawkers like me who are down in the dumps."
"Well, you are a rat. I guess you are used to being down in the dumps."
"Ha, ha," said Ridsdale, though he didn't find the joke very funny, really.
"Well, I don't mean down in the dumps like down in the rubbish dumps. Down in the dumps just means it makes us pretty miserable."
"Oh," said Stripey, understanding now. "But if you are a 'fan' of these Yankees, and the bear likes these Red Sox, why are you friends?"
"Well, life's very short to have enemies," explained Ridsdale. "When I ended up here, the bear was very kind to me. He knows what it is like to be dumped somewhere and left alone. He let me share his spot by the dumpster and we have got on famously ever since."
"Yes," said the bear. "And Ridsdale has been very kind to me too. Before all the fans arrive for games, he grabs hold of my arm and drags me up all the steps and sits me under a seat so that I can watch the game. Then, afterwards, when all the people have gone he will come up and fetch me ... after first having his dinner, of course."
"That reminds me," said the rat, gnashing his big teeth together. He seemed to be smiling. "... I 'ad a lovely bit of hot dog, full of tomato sauce, when I went to collect you today. Ooh," he looked at the little bear's head, "seems like you had a bit, too, and the sauce stuck to your bonce."
"Oh, that!" said the bear. "Unfortunately the man who was eating the hot dogs dropped sauce on my head."
"Aah, looks like you could do with a bit of a clean up. Let me try to gnaw through these straps and we'll have you out of there in no time."
"If you could, Ridsdale, that would be great! I don't want to miss the game tomorrow."
They sat in comfortable silence, bar the sound of teeth trying to shred their way through the straps that fastened the bag shut. Eventually, the tiger spoke.
"Seems like a nice bloke, actually, your rat. I won't call him dirty again."
"To be honest," said the bear, in a whisper. "He is a little bit pongy at times. Comes with scurrying around, picking up all the food people have left out of the dumpsters I guess. But he is very kind and, quite honestly, I don't know what I would do without him."
"It's lovely to have friends," said Stripey, looking a little bit like he might cry. "I don't know when I will see mine again."
"Do you have a lot then?" asked the bear. "Loads!" answered the tiger. "There is a giraffe, and a long caterpillar, and a monkey, and even a cat. We all sit together in my master's room and have a good time lying about telling stories."
"Yeah, friends are nice," admitted the bear. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't see the rat pack again. Friends always help you. They don't care what colour you are, or that you are different from them, or that you might be a bit grubby or smelly or something. They are always there for you... and it makes you want to help them out, too."
They both went quiet again, thinking warm thoughts about their friends as the bear's best pal went about trying to loosen the straps of the bag they found themselves locked inside.
"Aaaargh!"
As they were drifting off to sleep, thinking nice thoughts, a piercing high-pitched scream interrupted their silence.
"What is it, Esmeralda?" asked a man's voice.
"It's a stinking, big black rat... that's what it is. Get rid of it, Trevor, please!"
"I've got a big broom somewhere. Ah, here it is. I'll bonk it on the head."
The two toys inside the bag heard a squeal, then a whispered, "Sorry, boys, yous on your own!"
There was a scurrying sound, then nothing.
Finally they heard the man's voice again. "Damn, think I missed it. They really ought to do something about the rats in this place. Filthy animals!"
Finally, silence fell again and the little bear groaned. It seemed his best chance of escape had gone, leaving him a prisoner in the bag.
Eventually, the tiger spoke again. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, "looks like it's just me and you. Perhaps as we are stuck in this situation, we should be friends."
"Thanks," said the bear. "I'll be your friend if you'll be mine."
And they touched paws to seal the deal.
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Chapter Four
The cars were tooting.
They went toot, toot, toot.
The people were gabbling.
They went gabble, gabble, gabble like geese.
There were just as many people walking and running, pushing and prodding as had been at the baseball game.
Suddenly all the noise was drowned out by a roar.
It wasn't a roar like a bear would make, or maybe a tiger, or perhaps a lion.
Instead it was a loud, loud deep noise with, now and then, a squeal.
It got louder and louder and louder until, overhead, a big winged creature blotted out the sun.
For a brief moment Cody felt a flutter in his chest. He had to admit he was a little bit scared.
Once he realised what it was, though, he gazed up at the thing in wonder.
No, not a creature. Not an animal at all. Not even a giant bird.
It was big and made of metal. A metal machine. Made by men.
It was a plane.
Cody had learnt all about planes. He had seen them in his books at school and heard the teacher talk about them. She had told the class that she had gone on holiday on one of these big metal machines to a place called My Orca. In fact, she had shown them it on the globe in the classroom.
The globe was a big round ball. It was bigger than a cricket ball. Bigger than a baseball. Bigger, even, than a football.
It sat in what looked like a metal cup, only the cup had big holes in it and you wouldn't be able to pour anything into it because it would just splosh out again.
The big ball - the globe, was decorated with all colourful patterns and between the patterns were big spaces coloured in blue. The teacher had told Cody and his class mates that the blue represented water and that the other coloured shapes were land.
What the globe represented was a map, she said, which showed where every place was in the world.
"What is the world, Miss?" asked one of Cody's classmates.
"Well the world is where we all live," she explained.
"On a ball?" Asked the boy, Roger.
Cody and some of his friends laughed. Of course not, he thought to himself, we would all fall off!
"Yes," said the teacher, and Cody abruptly shut up. "We live on this giant ball that goes around and around very slowly. You wonder why we don't fall off?" That was exactly what Cody had been wondering. "It is something called gravity which holds us down like a magnet."
Strange, thought Cody. He didn't FEEL like anything was holding him down. But, then again, why did he and his friends not fall off the ball. It was all a bit silly, he decided.
He looked out of the window. It all looked pretty flat. There was no sign at all that he was standing on a ball.
The teacher almost guessed what he was thinking.
"Cody, you are looking out of the window. How far can you see?"
"A long way," he said. "I can see as far as the church on the top of the hill."
"And what can you see after that?" she asked.
"After that?" it seemed a stupid question. "Well, nothing, after that. Only the sky."
"Where do you live Cody?" she asked.
He knew this one. His mum had told him to tell a policeman if he ever got lost.
"25 Willow Tree Road, Sodbury Chippington," he said proudly.
"And do you have to walk PAST the church to get to your house?"
"Yes, Mrs Flimble," he said.
"So can you point to where your house is?"
He looked out of the window. He could see where it SHOULD be, but he couldn't see it. It wasn't there. Why couldn't he see it?
"The farthest point you can see is called The Horizon," said the teacher. "You cannot see past the horizon because it curves away... like the curve on the ball."
Wow! thought Cody, so my house is on the other side of the ball. Did that mean Mum would be clinging on to the wall as she put out the washing in the garden. It was all a bit TOO confusing.
Anyway, if the teacher SAID the world was round, who was he to argue.
Another little voice piped up.
"Why don't the people on the bottom fall off?" he asked.
"It is again because of gravity but, because there is no real top and no real bottom, everyone thinks they are on top. I know, it is all very confusing but hopefully one day when you are older you will understand."
Hmm, thought Cody. He WISHED he was older and knew everything there was to know about the world. Still, he had learnt the world was round. The teacher had told him. And the teacher was much older than him. So that was how she knew.
The teacher then pointed to one of the coloured shapes on the map.
"This is where we live," she said. "It is a country called England."
"But I don't live in England," said Cody, now getting rather annoyed. "I TOLD you... I live in Sodbury Chippington!"
"Yes, Cody, you do. And Sodbury Chippington is just one of the little towns that makes up the country called England. It is very small. If you imagine a very small ant sitting on the Globe about..." she pointed her finger "... here. That would be about where Sodbury Chippington is. You see, it is very, very, very small compared to the size of the world."
The teacher went on to explain how there were millions and millions and millions of places exactly the same size as Sodbury Chippington ALL over the world. And, while some were in England, others were in different countries where people spoke different languages, wore different clothes and had vastly different weather.
In some countries it was very hot all the time, like My Orca, whereas in others it was freezing, freezing, freezing cold like Iceland. Ah, that was why it was called Iceland, thought Cody.
And, of course, said the teacher there was Lapland, where Father Christmas and his reindeer lived. There it was snowing nearly all year round which was why the reindeer had warm coats and Father Christmas had a big white beard to keep his chin warm.
At last, something that made sense.
"So how do people get across all that water to go to different countries?" one of the other children asked.
"Well," said the teacher. "There are various ways. Some people would take a boat, while others might take a plane. Some countries like England and France are even linked by a tunnel through which a train can pass."
"How did you get to My Orca?" asked Cody.
"I went on a plane," she said. "It is like a big giant bird that can fly across the sky and take you from one country straight to another."
Shortly after that lesson his dad had told him, "Well, Cody, we are going away on holiday. We are going to go to another country called America. And we are going to travel on a plane."
He was so excited!
His dad told him they were going to see his Auntie Amanda, his mum's sister, who had em-ee-grated there from Sodbury Chippington about 10 years earlier. She had married a man from America and had gone to live with him in his country.
It all sounded interesting.
"And guess what sport, if you are good I will take you to a game of baseball."
Hmm, thought Cody. I wonder what that is. Still, it sounded fun.
Just before the game of baseball was over Cody's dad had tapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, sport," he had said, "We have to go and meet your mum. We are flying back home in a couple of hours and we have to go to the Airport."
Cody knew what the airport was, he had already been to two of them. They were where they kept all the planes. And where the passengers had to gather to get on them and fly to wherever in the world they were going.
Pushing past the big man who was queueing to buy what must have been his FIFTH hot dog of the game, they hurried down the steps and out of the ground. "We mustn't miss our flight," warned Cody's dad.
But try as he might Cody's legs couldn't move very fast.
He was tired.
He had only woken up a little while ago, but he felt very sleepy again and just couldn't go any further. He had to sit down. So he did.
"Cody come on, we have to hurry up," said his dad.
Cody didn't want to hurry up. He couldn't hurry up. It was so frustrating. He started to cry.
"Oh come on, Sport," said his dad, stopping and bending down to wipe away his tears with a handkerchief. "I know, it has been a long day. Come here."
And he lifted the little boy up, up, up into his arms.
That was the last little Cody could remember till just a minute ago when his dad had bent over and gently woken him up.
"We are at the airport, Sport," he told him quietly. "We must get out. Mum is waiting."
He lifted the boy from the back seat and they emerged into the mass of people, scurrying here and there.
They had been in a taxi, a car that people used to get them from one place to another when they didn't have their own car with them.
A man climbed out of the driving seat and came around to open up the boot of the taxi, and lifted out his dad's bag.
His dad found some money in his pocket and gave it to the taxi driver.
He bent to ruffle Cody's hair. "Now, y'all have a nice day!" he said rather pleasantly.
Then he got back into his taxi and drove off into the night.
As the plane passed overhead, very low, Cody felt himself being lifted up again. His dad put him over one shoulder and put his bag over the other and they went in through the sliding doors at the front of the airport. "Oh look who's here?" his dad said and, turning around, Cody's eyes lit up. "Mummy!" he shouted.
His mum came over and lifted him off his dad's shoulders, then gave him a hug.
"Did you have a nice time at the baseball?" she asked.
"Yeeah!" he shouted. "It was great. This big man ate all these hot dogs!"
Pretty soon they were pushing through lots of people again, Cody now lying in his mum's arms. First they had to do something called "check in" where they waited in a huge queue before dad gave over some papers and put their suitcases - the big bags that contained all their clothes - on something called a conveyor belt that carried them away. A lady then gave them some tickets and they went off to a place called the departure lounge where they sat and waited for their plane to arrive.
They waited... and waited... and waited. It seemed to be taking a very long time.
Eventually Cody could wait no longer. "I'm bored!" he said.
"Ok," said mum, "Then we had better find something for you to do to take your mind off things. Why don't you do some colouring."
"Yeah!" said Cody, with excitement. He liked colouring.
He looked around.
But where was his bag?
"Dad, where is my bag?" he asked.
His dad turned around and suddenly a strange look crossed his face.
"Oh no," he said, "We must have left it at the baseball!"
Suddenly, Cody thought about what that meant.
His bag. His bag and all his things. His colouring books... his pens... those nice sweets that Auntie Amanda had given him and... oh no, Stripey.
Gone. All gone. Lost forever.
He felt a feeling come over him. A horrible feeling. His eyes began to get wet and a tear dropped onto his cheek, followed by another, and another.
His friend, his best friend, his tiger, Stripey, had gone.
Before long Cody was crying so loud that all the people around him began to stare at him.
He didn't care.
"B... b... but I wannnnnt Striiipey!" he wailed.
His dad looked like he might cry, too, but he bent down until he was looking into Cody's tearful eyes.
"I promise you, sport, I promise you... I will do everything I can to get him back. We can't go back now because we will miss our plane but as soon as we land I will ring the baseball ground and see if they have found your bag. I promise."
For the little boy it seemed like a promise that would never be kept.
He thought of the globe and how far America was from England. It was a long, long way.
How on earth could his dad get his things back once they were on the other side of the world?
They went toot, toot, toot.
The people were gabbling.
They went gabble, gabble, gabble like geese.
There were just as many people walking and running, pushing and prodding as had been at the baseball game.
Suddenly all the noise was drowned out by a roar.
It wasn't a roar like a bear would make, or maybe a tiger, or perhaps a lion.
Instead it was a loud, loud deep noise with, now and then, a squeal.
It got louder and louder and louder until, overhead, a big winged creature blotted out the sun.
For a brief moment Cody felt a flutter in his chest. He had to admit he was a little bit scared.
Once he realised what it was, though, he gazed up at the thing in wonder.
No, not a creature. Not an animal at all. Not even a giant bird.
It was big and made of metal. A metal machine. Made by men.
It was a plane.
Cody had learnt all about planes. He had seen them in his books at school and heard the teacher talk about them. She had told the class that she had gone on holiday on one of these big metal machines to a place called My Orca. In fact, she had shown them it on the globe in the classroom.
The globe was a big round ball. It was bigger than a cricket ball. Bigger than a baseball. Bigger, even, than a football.
It sat in what looked like a metal cup, only the cup had big holes in it and you wouldn't be able to pour anything into it because it would just splosh out again.
The big ball - the globe, was decorated with all colourful patterns and between the patterns were big spaces coloured in blue. The teacher had told Cody and his class mates that the blue represented water and that the other coloured shapes were land.
What the globe represented was a map, she said, which showed where every place was in the world.
"What is the world, Miss?" asked one of Cody's classmates.
"Well the world is where we all live," she explained.
"On a ball?" Asked the boy, Roger.
Cody and some of his friends laughed. Of course not, he thought to himself, we would all fall off!
"Yes," said the teacher, and Cody abruptly shut up. "We live on this giant ball that goes around and around very slowly. You wonder why we don't fall off?" That was exactly what Cody had been wondering. "It is something called gravity which holds us down like a magnet."
Strange, thought Cody. He didn't FEEL like anything was holding him down. But, then again, why did he and his friends not fall off the ball. It was all a bit silly, he decided.
He looked out of the window. It all looked pretty flat. There was no sign at all that he was standing on a ball.
The teacher almost guessed what he was thinking.
"Cody, you are looking out of the window. How far can you see?"
"A long way," he said. "I can see as far as the church on the top of the hill."
"And what can you see after that?" she asked.
"After that?" it seemed a stupid question. "Well, nothing, after that. Only the sky."
"Where do you live Cody?" she asked.
He knew this one. His mum had told him to tell a policeman if he ever got lost.
"25 Willow Tree Road, Sodbury Chippington," he said proudly.
"And do you have to walk PAST the church to get to your house?"
"Yes, Mrs Flimble," he said.
"So can you point to where your house is?"
He looked out of the window. He could see where it SHOULD be, but he couldn't see it. It wasn't there. Why couldn't he see it?
"The farthest point you can see is called The Horizon," said the teacher. "You cannot see past the horizon because it curves away... like the curve on the ball."
Wow! thought Cody, so my house is on the other side of the ball. Did that mean Mum would be clinging on to the wall as she put out the washing in the garden. It was all a bit TOO confusing.
Anyway, if the teacher SAID the world was round, who was he to argue.
Another little voice piped up.
"Why don't the people on the bottom fall off?" he asked.
"It is again because of gravity but, because there is no real top and no real bottom, everyone thinks they are on top. I know, it is all very confusing but hopefully one day when you are older you will understand."
Hmm, thought Cody. He WISHED he was older and knew everything there was to know about the world. Still, he had learnt the world was round. The teacher had told him. And the teacher was much older than him. So that was how she knew.
The teacher then pointed to one of the coloured shapes on the map.
"This is where we live," she said. "It is a country called England."
"But I don't live in England," said Cody, now getting rather annoyed. "I TOLD you... I live in Sodbury Chippington!"
"Yes, Cody, you do. And Sodbury Chippington is just one of the little towns that makes up the country called England. It is very small. If you imagine a very small ant sitting on the Globe about..." she pointed her finger "... here. That would be about where Sodbury Chippington is. You see, it is very, very, very small compared to the size of the world."
The teacher went on to explain how there were millions and millions and millions of places exactly the same size as Sodbury Chippington ALL over the world. And, while some were in England, others were in different countries where people spoke different languages, wore different clothes and had vastly different weather.
In some countries it was very hot all the time, like My Orca, whereas in others it was freezing, freezing, freezing cold like Iceland. Ah, that was why it was called Iceland, thought Cody.
And, of course, said the teacher there was Lapland, where Father Christmas and his reindeer lived. There it was snowing nearly all year round which was why the reindeer had warm coats and Father Christmas had a big white beard to keep his chin warm.
At last, something that made sense.
"So how do people get across all that water to go to different countries?" one of the other children asked.
"Well," said the teacher. "There are various ways. Some people would take a boat, while others might take a plane. Some countries like England and France are even linked by a tunnel through which a train can pass."
"How did you get to My Orca?" asked Cody.
"I went on a plane," she said. "It is like a big giant bird that can fly across the sky and take you from one country straight to another."
Shortly after that lesson his dad had told him, "Well, Cody, we are going away on holiday. We are going to go to another country called America. And we are going to travel on a plane."
He was so excited!
His dad told him they were going to see his Auntie Amanda, his mum's sister, who had em-ee-grated there from Sodbury Chippington about 10 years earlier. She had married a man from America and had gone to live with him in his country.
It all sounded interesting.
"And guess what sport, if you are good I will take you to a game of baseball."
Hmm, thought Cody. I wonder what that is. Still, it sounded fun.
Just before the game of baseball was over Cody's dad had tapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, sport," he had said, "We have to go and meet your mum. We are flying back home in a couple of hours and we have to go to the Airport."
Cody knew what the airport was, he had already been to two of them. They were where they kept all the planes. And where the passengers had to gather to get on them and fly to wherever in the world they were going.
Pushing past the big man who was queueing to buy what must have been his FIFTH hot dog of the game, they hurried down the steps and out of the ground. "We mustn't miss our flight," warned Cody's dad.
But try as he might Cody's legs couldn't move very fast.
He was tired.
He had only woken up a little while ago, but he felt very sleepy again and just couldn't go any further. He had to sit down. So he did.
"Cody come on, we have to hurry up," said his dad.
Cody didn't want to hurry up. He couldn't hurry up. It was so frustrating. He started to cry.
"Oh come on, Sport," said his dad, stopping and bending down to wipe away his tears with a handkerchief. "I know, it has been a long day. Come here."
And he lifted the little boy up, up, up into his arms.
That was the last little Cody could remember till just a minute ago when his dad had bent over and gently woken him up.
"We are at the airport, Sport," he told him quietly. "We must get out. Mum is waiting."
He lifted the boy from the back seat and they emerged into the mass of people, scurrying here and there.
They had been in a taxi, a car that people used to get them from one place to another when they didn't have their own car with them.
A man climbed out of the driving seat and came around to open up the boot of the taxi, and lifted out his dad's bag.
His dad found some money in his pocket and gave it to the taxi driver.
He bent to ruffle Cody's hair. "Now, y'all have a nice day!" he said rather pleasantly.
Then he got back into his taxi and drove off into the night.
As the plane passed overhead, very low, Cody felt himself being lifted up again. His dad put him over one shoulder and put his bag over the other and they went in through the sliding doors at the front of the airport. "Oh look who's here?" his dad said and, turning around, Cody's eyes lit up. "Mummy!" he shouted.
His mum came over and lifted him off his dad's shoulders, then gave him a hug.
"Did you have a nice time at the baseball?" she asked.
"Yeeah!" he shouted. "It was great. This big man ate all these hot dogs!"
Pretty soon they were pushing through lots of people again, Cody now lying in his mum's arms. First they had to do something called "check in" where they waited in a huge queue before dad gave over some papers and put their suitcases - the big bags that contained all their clothes - on something called a conveyor belt that carried them away. A lady then gave them some tickets and they went off to a place called the departure lounge where they sat and waited for their plane to arrive.
They waited... and waited... and waited. It seemed to be taking a very long time.
Eventually Cody could wait no longer. "I'm bored!" he said.
"Ok," said mum, "Then we had better find something for you to do to take your mind off things. Why don't you do some colouring."
"Yeah!" said Cody, with excitement. He liked colouring.
He looked around.
But where was his bag?
"Dad, where is my bag?" he asked.
His dad turned around and suddenly a strange look crossed his face.
"Oh no," he said, "We must have left it at the baseball!"
Suddenly, Cody thought about what that meant.
His bag. His bag and all his things. His colouring books... his pens... those nice sweets that Auntie Amanda had given him and... oh no, Stripey.
Gone. All gone. Lost forever.
He felt a feeling come over him. A horrible feeling. His eyes began to get wet and a tear dropped onto his cheek, followed by another, and another.
His friend, his best friend, his tiger, Stripey, had gone.
Before long Cody was crying so loud that all the people around him began to stare at him.
He didn't care.
"B... b... but I wannnnnt Striiipey!" he wailed.
His dad looked like he might cry, too, but he bent down until he was looking into Cody's tearful eyes.
"I promise you, sport, I promise you... I will do everything I can to get him back. We can't go back now because we will miss our plane but as soon as we land I will ring the baseball ground and see if they have found your bag. I promise."
For the little boy it seemed like a promise that would never be kept.
He thought of the globe and how far America was from England. It was a long, long way.
How on earth could his dad get his things back once they were on the other side of the world?
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Chapter Three
The cheers were still ringing out around the ground as the players left the field.
The crowd was happy. The home team, the Red Sox, had won. They had beaten Oakland Athletics by eight runs to three.
Cody had enjoyed the game. He thought he would like to play it himself one day. But at the moment he was feeling very tired and if the truth were known he had even fallen asleep at one stage. His dad took one look at him and knew what he had to do.
"Come on Code," he said, picking him up and lifting him over one shoulder. Within seconds the little boy had fallen asleep.
Underneath the bench the little Teddy Bear was glowing with pride. His team, the team he had supported since leaving the factory, had won again. He had enjoyed the game and, though the sun had now gone in and it was really quite dark, the little spark in his eye was still there. Fenway Park, his home, the only home he had ever known, was a happy place to be on a night like this.
As the crowd dispered and the litter blew in circles around him he didn't mind that he was a bit grubby and dirty, that he had tomato sauce sticking to his fur and a crisp bag hanging from his foot. It was all part of the experience. He would sit here now, with the dark sky overhead and the silence only interrupted by the sound of distance cars honking their support from the freeway, and wallow in his feeling of satisfaction.
As he replayed the game over in his head he thought about how he had originally ended up in this place and what a miracle it had been. He had been part of a shipment of bears that had been sewn together and stuffed in the factory, then loaded into a big packing crate and squashed together before being deposited into the back of a van.
In pitch blackness they had made the half hour journey from the Boston Bear toy manufacturers to a warehouse, where he had spent the night lying crushed against the other bears with nothing to see apart from the million beady eyes around him.
In the morning there had been a loud, crunching sound and suddenly daylight flooded in and two men in blue overalls had roughly lifted them out of the crate and thrown them onto a trolley, where they were wheeled into a big building.
From here a man shouted instructions and they were divided up. The little bear and around 20 of his fellow travellers were put into a big box. A sticker was slapped on the side and a man ordered "this one's going to the ball park shop".
The box had been bumped and banged, and eventually unloaded. Looking up, the bear saw a large sign reading: "Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox". What did it mean? At that time he didn't have a clue.
But a man came and picked up the box, carrying him and his fellow travellers through a gate and into the stadium that was to become his home.
"Right you lot," he said. "It's the shop for you. If you are lucky you will have some nice little child come along and buy you and take you back to their house."
For the little bear it sounded comforting and he hoped he would be going to a nice home.
But he was never to get that far.
"Hurry up, we want to get them on display before the game starts," another man shouted and, with that, the ride suddenly became more bumpy as their carrier started to run. Before he knew it the little bear was bouncing about, then falling, falling over the edge of the box and onto the stone hard ground, before coming to rest behind a big, smelly dumpster full of half empty takeaway boxes and cartons of Coca Cola. So much for a nice, comfortable home, thought the bear. Little did he realise, then, that he had found the perfect place to live.
"Well, what do we have here?" said a gruff voice.
The voice belonged, as far as the little bear could see, to a pair of gnarled hands with dirty fingernails.
Before he knew it the teddy bear was being lifted up in one hand by the fur on the back of his neck. He came face to face with a spotty faced, ginger haired man in overalls. "Who left you behind?" he asked.
"No one," the bear wanted to say. "This is my home!"
But spotty face had obviously not heard him.
"Aah, what's this?" he said. Reaching down again he picked up the bag.
Putting the bear on a seat, he opened the bag and looked inside. There were pens, a colouring book, some sweets and a stuffed toy tiger.
Looking at the bear he said: "Oh, someone will be missing you, that's for sure."
He reached down and lifted the bear as before. "Ouch!" said the bear, but the man was obviously deaf. Either that or just plain rude. Whichever, he failed to register the bear's protests.
"Better get you back to your rightful owner," he said, then roughly pushed the bear into the bag so that he was jabbed in a rather uncomfortable place by a rather pointy implement. "I've got a pen up me bum, be careful!" said the bear. But the man pretended not to hear him.
"You're sitting on my tail," came a rather slow, mournful voice from the recesses of the bag.
The bear froze. There was somebody in the bag with him!
He looked about as best he could and noticed a yellow and black striped thing at the bottom of the bag.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Stripey and I'm a ti-ger. Who are you?"
"Well, I'm a bear and ..."
Suddenly, the little bear realised. He didn't have a name.
"I don't know who I am, to be perfectly honest. You see, I've never had an owner. I guess you could call me a Free Bear."
"Oh, right," said Stripey. "Never heard of one of them."
"Well, you have now," said the little bear rather grumpily. "And I have to get out."
"Hmmmm," said Stripey slowly. "Maybe a bit difficult that. We have just been locked in."
"Oh no," said the Bear. "But... there is another game tomorrow. I CAN'T miss it. I really don't want to be here."
Stripey looked at him now and let out a weak growl. "Yeah, can't say I want you here either. You're very dirty and a bit smelly... and you've got tomato sauce on your head."
The crowd was happy. The home team, the Red Sox, had won. They had beaten Oakland Athletics by eight runs to three.
Cody had enjoyed the game. He thought he would like to play it himself one day. But at the moment he was feeling very tired and if the truth were known he had even fallen asleep at one stage. His dad took one look at him and knew what he had to do.
"Come on Code," he said, picking him up and lifting him over one shoulder. Within seconds the little boy had fallen asleep.
Underneath the bench the little Teddy Bear was glowing with pride. His team, the team he had supported since leaving the factory, had won again. He had enjoyed the game and, though the sun had now gone in and it was really quite dark, the little spark in his eye was still there. Fenway Park, his home, the only home he had ever known, was a happy place to be on a night like this.
As the crowd dispered and the litter blew in circles around him he didn't mind that he was a bit grubby and dirty, that he had tomato sauce sticking to his fur and a crisp bag hanging from his foot. It was all part of the experience. He would sit here now, with the dark sky overhead and the silence only interrupted by the sound of distance cars honking their support from the freeway, and wallow in his feeling of satisfaction.
As he replayed the game over in his head he thought about how he had originally ended up in this place and what a miracle it had been. He had been part of a shipment of bears that had been sewn together and stuffed in the factory, then loaded into a big packing crate and squashed together before being deposited into the back of a van.
In pitch blackness they had made the half hour journey from the Boston Bear toy manufacturers to a warehouse, where he had spent the night lying crushed against the other bears with nothing to see apart from the million beady eyes around him.
In the morning there had been a loud, crunching sound and suddenly daylight flooded in and two men in blue overalls had roughly lifted them out of the crate and thrown them onto a trolley, where they were wheeled into a big building.
From here a man shouted instructions and they were divided up. The little bear and around 20 of his fellow travellers were put into a big box. A sticker was slapped on the side and a man ordered "this one's going to the ball park shop".
The box had been bumped and banged, and eventually unloaded. Looking up, the bear saw a large sign reading: "Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox". What did it mean? At that time he didn't have a clue.
But a man came and picked up the box, carrying him and his fellow travellers through a gate and into the stadium that was to become his home.
"Right you lot," he said. "It's the shop for you. If you are lucky you will have some nice little child come along and buy you and take you back to their house."
For the little bear it sounded comforting and he hoped he would be going to a nice home.
But he was never to get that far.
"Hurry up, we want to get them on display before the game starts," another man shouted and, with that, the ride suddenly became more bumpy as their carrier started to run. Before he knew it the little bear was bouncing about, then falling, falling over the edge of the box and onto the stone hard ground, before coming to rest behind a big, smelly dumpster full of half empty takeaway boxes and cartons of Coca Cola. So much for a nice, comfortable home, thought the bear. Little did he realise, then, that he had found the perfect place to live.
"Well, what do we have here?" said a gruff voice.
The voice belonged, as far as the little bear could see, to a pair of gnarled hands with dirty fingernails.
Before he knew it the teddy bear was being lifted up in one hand by the fur on the back of his neck. He came face to face with a spotty faced, ginger haired man in overalls. "Who left you behind?" he asked.
"No one," the bear wanted to say. "This is my home!"
But spotty face had obviously not heard him.
"Aah, what's this?" he said. Reaching down again he picked up the bag.
Putting the bear on a seat, he opened the bag and looked inside. There were pens, a colouring book, some sweets and a stuffed toy tiger.
Looking at the bear he said: "Oh, someone will be missing you, that's for sure."
He reached down and lifted the bear as before. "Ouch!" said the bear, but the man was obviously deaf. Either that or just plain rude. Whichever, he failed to register the bear's protests.
"Better get you back to your rightful owner," he said, then roughly pushed the bear into the bag so that he was jabbed in a rather uncomfortable place by a rather pointy implement. "I've got a pen up me bum, be careful!" said the bear. But the man pretended not to hear him.
"You're sitting on my tail," came a rather slow, mournful voice from the recesses of the bag.
The bear froze. There was somebody in the bag with him!
He looked about as best he could and noticed a yellow and black striped thing at the bottom of the bag.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Stripey and I'm a ti-ger. Who are you?"
"Well, I'm a bear and ..."
Suddenly, the little bear realised. He didn't have a name.
"I don't know who I am, to be perfectly honest. You see, I've never had an owner. I guess you could call me a Free Bear."
"Oh, right," said Stripey. "Never heard of one of them."
"Well, you have now," said the little bear rather grumpily. "And I have to get out."
"Hmmmm," said Stripey slowly. "Maybe a bit difficult that. We have just been locked in."
"Oh no," said the Bear. "But... there is another game tomorrow. I CAN'T miss it. I really don't want to be here."
Stripey looked at him now and let out a weak growl. "Yeah, can't say I want you here either. You're very dirty and a bit smelly... and you've got tomato sauce on your head."
Chapter Two
If anyone had looked under Cody's seat at that moment they might have spotted a little, dirty, fawn-coloured bear. Not a real bear, of course, but a rather scruffy, bedraggled, portly teddy bear.
He was also a rather grumpy teddy bear.
After all, this was his place. He had been sitting here all day.
He had been waiting... and waiting... and waiting.
Waiting for the baseball to start.
And now, just when the game was about to get into full swing, someone had invaded his space.
A little boy, perhaps twice as tall as the bear, but nowhere near as big as the fat man with the hot dog sitting just in front of him, had plonked a big rucksack down right by the side of him.
Not only that, but the silly, round man had managed to drop a big dollop of red, sticky ketchup, not just down his shirt, but also onto the teddy bear's head. This was not the day the bear had planned.
Was it any wonder he was grumpy?
Still, if the fat man sat still for a minute there was just a chance that he would see what he was hoping to see. If he leaned slightly to his side, and rested against the bag, he could just make out the action by peering through the fat man's legs.
Yes! It wasn't the best seat in the house, but it would do for the moment.
As the pitcher, the man who throws the ball, warmed up on the little brown tump in the middle of the diamond - the mound it was called - the little bear began to record the action in his head.
"It's a lovely sunny day at Fenway Park and the crowd has flocked to the ball game," he said to himself. "It's the top of the second inning and the Oakland Athletics are in the field. Their pitcher, Horowitz, is hiding the ball behind his back. He winds up... his leg thrusts forward... and bang! he sends in a fast ball which Pedroiaa leaves alone. Strike one!"
Darkness.
A chunky, big, hairy leg, covered in a short, white sock and blue striped sneakers, now blocked the little bear's view. He wasn't best pleased. "Oh, Crackerjacks!" he muttered under his breath. It was a word he had picked up from his many days sitting around in the gloomy recesses of the stadium. A word that he heard, every now and again, shouted at the top of their voices by young human beings wearing stripey coats and hats and carrying big metal containers over their chests.
What was a bear to do?
Suddenly a cry went up.
"Hot dogs! Hot dogs!"
And, as if the bear had willed it, the chunky leg that had blocked his view straightened, moved to the side, and then disappeared. Suddenly the diamond was in full view again.
The bear grumbled but, if there was such a thing, this was a satisfied grumble. "Thank goodness for that," he said to himself.
Then he resumed his commentary.
"The pitcher is poised again. He throws a curve ball. Pedroia leans back and... smashes it into the air.
"It is going up, up, up into the sky. The fielders are looking up at it. One of them is running back, back, back. He is holding his hands in the air as he runs. But the ball is sailing over his head, it's still going up, up, up and... home run! It has gone clean over the green monster."
Now anyone who had never heard of the green monster might be a bit worried about the fact that a scary, grass-coloured giant had appeared at the ground. They might have expected the spectators to run from their seats, screaming and shouting and heading for the exits, knocking each other out of the way in an attempt to make their escape.
But this green monster was not dangerous. In fact, it was just a big, green wall that sat in one corner of the baseball ground. And if the batter hit the ball well enough that it sailed over the wall then it amounted to what was known as a home run. It meant the batter had hit a good shot and was allowed to run around the diamond until he got back to where he had started, thus scoring what was called a run. It was what every batter wished to do when he was thrown the ball by the pitcher. And Pedroia had scored a home run for the Red Sox.
The cheer was enormous. Even the little boy beside him had stood up and was clapping his hands together with excitement.
The little bear was no longer grumpy. In fact, there was a little twinkle in his eye.
It could have been caused by the reflection of the sun, but anyone who saw him at that moment might actually have thought he was smiling.
He was also a rather grumpy teddy bear.
After all, this was his place. He had been sitting here all day.
He had been waiting... and waiting... and waiting.
Waiting for the baseball to start.
And now, just when the game was about to get into full swing, someone had invaded his space.
A little boy, perhaps twice as tall as the bear, but nowhere near as big as the fat man with the hot dog sitting just in front of him, had plonked a big rucksack down right by the side of him.
Not only that, but the silly, round man had managed to drop a big dollop of red, sticky ketchup, not just down his shirt, but also onto the teddy bear's head. This was not the day the bear had planned.
Was it any wonder he was grumpy?
Still, if the fat man sat still for a minute there was just a chance that he would see what he was hoping to see. If he leaned slightly to his side, and rested against the bag, he could just make out the action by peering through the fat man's legs.
Yes! It wasn't the best seat in the house, but it would do for the moment.
As the pitcher, the man who throws the ball, warmed up on the little brown tump in the middle of the diamond - the mound it was called - the little bear began to record the action in his head.
"It's a lovely sunny day at Fenway Park and the crowd has flocked to the ball game," he said to himself. "It's the top of the second inning and the Oakland Athletics are in the field. Their pitcher, Horowitz, is hiding the ball behind his back. He winds up... his leg thrusts forward... and bang! he sends in a fast ball which Pedroiaa leaves alone. Strike one!"
Darkness.
A chunky, big, hairy leg, covered in a short, white sock and blue striped sneakers, now blocked the little bear's view. He wasn't best pleased. "Oh, Crackerjacks!" he muttered under his breath. It was a word he had picked up from his many days sitting around in the gloomy recesses of the stadium. A word that he heard, every now and again, shouted at the top of their voices by young human beings wearing stripey coats and hats and carrying big metal containers over their chests.
What was a bear to do?
Suddenly a cry went up.
"Hot dogs! Hot dogs!"
And, as if the bear had willed it, the chunky leg that had blocked his view straightened, moved to the side, and then disappeared. Suddenly the diamond was in full view again.
The bear grumbled but, if there was such a thing, this was a satisfied grumble. "Thank goodness for that," he said to himself.
Then he resumed his commentary.
"The pitcher is poised again. He throws a curve ball. Pedroia leans back and... smashes it into the air.
"It is going up, up, up into the sky. The fielders are looking up at it. One of them is running back, back, back. He is holding his hands in the air as he runs. But the ball is sailing over his head, it's still going up, up, up and... home run! It has gone clean over the green monster."
Now anyone who had never heard of the green monster might be a bit worried about the fact that a scary, grass-coloured giant had appeared at the ground. They might have expected the spectators to run from their seats, screaming and shouting and heading for the exits, knocking each other out of the way in an attempt to make their escape.
But this green monster was not dangerous. In fact, it was just a big, green wall that sat in one corner of the baseball ground. And if the batter hit the ball well enough that it sailed over the wall then it amounted to what was known as a home run. It meant the batter had hit a good shot and was allowed to run around the diamond until he got back to where he had started, thus scoring what was called a run. It was what every batter wished to do when he was thrown the ball by the pitcher. And Pedroia had scored a home run for the Red Sox.
The cheer was enormous. Even the little boy beside him had stood up and was clapping his hands together with excitement.
The little bear was no longer grumpy. In fact, there was a little twinkle in his eye.
It could have been caused by the reflection of the sun, but anyone who saw him at that moment might actually have thought he was smiling.
Chapter One
The popcorn was popping.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sausages were sizzling.
Sizzle. Sizzle. Sizzle.
The food sellers were shouting.
"Popcorn!" "Hotdogs!" "Peanuts!" "Crackerjacks!"
And the smell, oh the smell, was delightfully delicious.
Little Cody James took his dad's hand as they pushed their way through the crowd.
He couldn't see much, just a tangle of legs, and feet, and shoes, and bags.
But he could hear the rumble of excited chatter, smell the enticing food, sense something special in the air.
That morning his dad had said: "we're going to the baseball."
Cody didn't have a clue what that meant. Baseball?
He was only five years old, and came from a little town in England.
He thought he knew a lot of words, but this one was new.
His dad explained: "It's a game. A bit like cricket. You know what cricket is, don't you, Cody?"
Cody nodded enthusiastically. He liked cricket.
On their last holiday they had bought a little bat and a little red ball and three white sticks that they stuck into the sand on the beach. His dad had given him the bat and told him that he should try to hit the ball when it was thrown at him.
He tried it out. Swish, swish, swish.
His dad told him to stand in front of the stumps and then had thrown the ball towards him.
He had shut his eyes and, with an almighty swish, waved the heavy bat through the air.
Nothing happened. He had opened his eyes afterwards and looked around to see where the ball had gone.
It was nowhere to be seen.
He turned around. It was behind him, nestling against the white sticks which his dad referred to as "stumps".
One of them had been knocked over. His dad picked it up and stuck it back into the sand.
"Never mind," said his dad. "Next time."
His dad threw the ball again. Swish. No luck this time either.
Cody threw the bat down. "I can't do it!" he shouted, rather angrily.
"Oh, Cody. You can't just give up. It takes practice."
"What is practice?" asked Cody.
"Well," said his dad, "every time you try to do something you must keep going until you can do it."
Cody reluctantly bent down and picked the bat back up.
His dad walked back to his spot on the sand.
"Ready?" he asked Cody.
Cody nodded.
"Watch the ball carefully," said his Dad.
His dad threw the ball.
Swiiiish!
This time it felt different. Cody had done exactly what his dad had told him.
He didn't shut his eyes. He watched the ball carefully. He felt the bat twist in his hand. He looked up and saw the ball flying through the air, heading for the sea.
"I did it!" said Cody.
"Yes, you did. Well done!" said his dad, ruffling his hair. "Why did you hit it this time do you think?"
"Practice," answered Cody, beaming.
So baseball was like cricket. Cody thought he would enjoy baseball.
They climbed lots and lots and lots of steps and little Cody's legs were getting very tired. He didn't know how much further he could walk. Not only were the steps steep and he couldn't see where he was going, but he was also carrying his rucksack over his shoulder which felt very heavy. It contained some pens, a new colouring book and a big bag of fruit sweets given him by his Auntie Amanda as "a treat" before they had left her house. "Don't eat them all at once, you will be sick," she had warned him.
Last but not least was a little cuddly tiger, which was called simply "Stripey". Stripey was his friend. He had owned Stripey since he was a baby, and they went everywhere together. He thought Stripey might like the baseball.
Cody realised he could climb no further. "Pick me up," he cried, tugging at his dad's leg.
"Ok sport," said his dad, and bent down to hoist him up, up, up.
Up past his knees. Up past his slightly rounded belly. Up past his rather pointy chin. Up past his short, stumpy nose. Up past his blue, smiling round eyes. Way up into the sky.
When he came down again his little legs went either side of his dad's sticky out ears and rested on his shoulders, either side of his round, hairless head.
Cody looked around and suddenly the world was different. His mouth dropped open. "Wow!" he said, staring in wonder.
In front of him now was a big, vast, green diamond. It was like his back garden only bigger, MUCH bigger. It was huge. Everywhere there were people sitting, talking, eating, singing. They sat in seats all around the big diamond.
On the diamond were little people, like ants, dressed in white uniforms and wearing little hats. They were throwing balls at each other.
On one corner of the diamond a man was holding a long stick. He was swishing it around.
Swish, swish, swish.
A loud, rumbling voice came from nowhere. "Batting at number 3 for the Red Sox," it said. "Dustin Pedroiaaa." The crowd cheered, and whistled, and chanted the second word back.
"Pedroiaaa... Pedroiaaa... Pedroiaaa."
Looking down, Cody saw a man with a big, rotund belly dressed in the same clothes as the people on the diamond, except his shirt didn't seem to fit him as well as theirs did. He opened his mouth wide and lifted up a giant hotdog, bigger than any sausage sandwich that Cody had ever seen. The hot dog disappeared into the huge cave that was his mouth and his teeth came chomping down on it. Chomp!
Something red and sticky shot out of the sides of his mouth and deposited itself on the bulge in the middle of his shirt. The man didn't seem to notice, he was too busy looking out at the diamond, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Here we are, sport," said Cody's dad, lifting him off his shoulders and placing him on a seat.
Now Cody's world returned to normal. Rather than the big green diamond all he could see was the back of hot dog man's bulbous head. What a disappointment.
But Dad sensed he wasn't happy and produced two big green cushions from behind his back. "Stand up a minute, Code, these will help you see," he said.
Cody did as he was told. He lifted the rucksack off his shoulders and placed it on the ground. Then he watched as dad placed the two cushions, one on top of the other, onto his seat.
"Ok sport," he said, and held his hands out, tucking them under Cody's armpits and lifting him onto the top of the cushions.
Miraculously, he could see the diamond again. And the players. And the crowd. And only the top part of hot dog man's big, round head.
He would be able to see the game, after all.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sausages were sizzling.
Sizzle. Sizzle. Sizzle.
The food sellers were shouting.
"Popcorn!" "Hotdogs!" "Peanuts!" "Crackerjacks!"
And the smell, oh the smell, was delightfully delicious.
Little Cody James took his dad's hand as they pushed their way through the crowd.
He couldn't see much, just a tangle of legs, and feet, and shoes, and bags.
But he could hear the rumble of excited chatter, smell the enticing food, sense something special in the air.
That morning his dad had said: "we're going to the baseball."
Cody didn't have a clue what that meant. Baseball?
He was only five years old, and came from a little town in England.
He thought he knew a lot of words, but this one was new.
His dad explained: "It's a game. A bit like cricket. You know what cricket is, don't you, Cody?"
Cody nodded enthusiastically. He liked cricket.
On their last holiday they had bought a little bat and a little red ball and three white sticks that they stuck into the sand on the beach. His dad had given him the bat and told him that he should try to hit the ball when it was thrown at him.
He tried it out. Swish, swish, swish.
His dad told him to stand in front of the stumps and then had thrown the ball towards him.
He had shut his eyes and, with an almighty swish, waved the heavy bat through the air.
Nothing happened. He had opened his eyes afterwards and looked around to see where the ball had gone.
It was nowhere to be seen.
He turned around. It was behind him, nestling against the white sticks which his dad referred to as "stumps".
One of them had been knocked over. His dad picked it up and stuck it back into the sand.
"Never mind," said his dad. "Next time."
His dad threw the ball again. Swish. No luck this time either.
Cody threw the bat down. "I can't do it!" he shouted, rather angrily.
"Oh, Cody. You can't just give up. It takes practice."
"What is practice?" asked Cody.
"Well," said his dad, "every time you try to do something you must keep going until you can do it."
Cody reluctantly bent down and picked the bat back up.
His dad walked back to his spot on the sand.
"Ready?" he asked Cody.
Cody nodded.
"Watch the ball carefully," said his Dad.
His dad threw the ball.
Swiiiish!
This time it felt different. Cody had done exactly what his dad had told him.
He didn't shut his eyes. He watched the ball carefully. He felt the bat twist in his hand. He looked up and saw the ball flying through the air, heading for the sea.
"I did it!" said Cody.
"Yes, you did. Well done!" said his dad, ruffling his hair. "Why did you hit it this time do you think?"
"Practice," answered Cody, beaming.
So baseball was like cricket. Cody thought he would enjoy baseball.
They climbed lots and lots and lots of steps and little Cody's legs were getting very tired. He didn't know how much further he could walk. Not only were the steps steep and he couldn't see where he was going, but he was also carrying his rucksack over his shoulder which felt very heavy. It contained some pens, a new colouring book and a big bag of fruit sweets given him by his Auntie Amanda as "a treat" before they had left her house. "Don't eat them all at once, you will be sick," she had warned him.
Last but not least was a little cuddly tiger, which was called simply "Stripey". Stripey was his friend. He had owned Stripey since he was a baby, and they went everywhere together. He thought Stripey might like the baseball.
Cody realised he could climb no further. "Pick me up," he cried, tugging at his dad's leg.
"Ok sport," said his dad, and bent down to hoist him up, up, up.
Up past his knees. Up past his slightly rounded belly. Up past his rather pointy chin. Up past his short, stumpy nose. Up past his blue, smiling round eyes. Way up into the sky.
When he came down again his little legs went either side of his dad's sticky out ears and rested on his shoulders, either side of his round, hairless head.
Cody looked around and suddenly the world was different. His mouth dropped open. "Wow!" he said, staring in wonder.
In front of him now was a big, vast, green diamond. It was like his back garden only bigger, MUCH bigger. It was huge. Everywhere there were people sitting, talking, eating, singing. They sat in seats all around the big diamond.
On the diamond were little people, like ants, dressed in white uniforms and wearing little hats. They were throwing balls at each other.
On one corner of the diamond a man was holding a long stick. He was swishing it around.
Swish, swish, swish.
A loud, rumbling voice came from nowhere. "Batting at number 3 for the Red Sox," it said. "Dustin Pedroiaaa." The crowd cheered, and whistled, and chanted the second word back.
"Pedroiaaa... Pedroiaaa... Pedroiaaa."
Looking down, Cody saw a man with a big, rotund belly dressed in the same clothes as the people on the diamond, except his shirt didn't seem to fit him as well as theirs did. He opened his mouth wide and lifted up a giant hotdog, bigger than any sausage sandwich that Cody had ever seen. The hot dog disappeared into the huge cave that was his mouth and his teeth came chomping down on it. Chomp!
Something red and sticky shot out of the sides of his mouth and deposited itself on the bulge in the middle of his shirt. The man didn't seem to notice, he was too busy looking out at the diamond, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Here we are, sport," said Cody's dad, lifting him off his shoulders and placing him on a seat.
Now Cody's world returned to normal. Rather than the big green diamond all he could see was the back of hot dog man's bulbous head. What a disappointment.
But Dad sensed he wasn't happy and produced two big green cushions from behind his back. "Stand up a minute, Code, these will help you see," he said.
Cody did as he was told. He lifted the rucksack off his shoulders and placed it on the ground. Then he watched as dad placed the two cushions, one on top of the other, onto his seat.
"Ok sport," he said, and held his hands out, tucking them under Cody's armpits and lifting him onto the top of the cushions.
Miraculously, he could see the diamond again. And the players. And the crowd. And only the top part of hot dog man's big, round head.
He would be able to see the game, after all.
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