The Day the Ear Fell Off (18 page)

‘Is it a Noble Chafer?’ asked Jonno.

‘No. A common mistake – it’s a Rose Chafer. Same family but larger.’

‘Have you found anything else?’ I asked.

‘Several interesting finds. A longhorn, rhinoceros beetle . . . but no —’

‘There!’ said Jonno in a loud whisper.

Back down they went, heads over the stinky tree stump.

‘So you were right,’ said Mr Morris. ‘Well done. Well done indeed.’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘The mighty stag. One of the largest insects in Britain, and, importantly, a protected species.’

‘Does that mean . . .?

I didn’t finish my sentence because Mr Morris was already nodding.

‘I think a visit to the Head might be in order. I would never have agreed to be part of the kitchen garden if I’d known what a wealth of creatures were inhabiting the tree stump
alone!’

Jonno held out his hand, I put mine on top.

‘One, two, three.’ Our hands shot up.

Mr Morris smiled. A rare thing.

‘Is that some sort of clan ritual?’

‘It’s the Tribe handshake,’ said Jonno. ‘Known only to Tribers . . . and a few others.’

‘Well, the secret is safe with me. Does that mean there are more of you? I noticed in the rather unorthodox assembly this morning that there were —’

‘Five of us,’ I said. ‘There are three more.’

‘Very fine. Just like the Famous Five of my youth. Well, I’ll arrange a conference for morning break. Gather up your lieutenants and meet me outside the Head’s
office.’

‘Thank you, Mr Morris,’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now, run along back to your class. I might spend a few minutes . . .’

Whatever the end of his sentence was, only the stag heard it because Mr Morris was already back down on the floor with his bum in the air.

‘Like a pig snuffling for truffles,’ said Jonno as we charged through the door into the corridor.

More like Probably Rose,
I thought, but I didn’t say it because I had something more urgent to ask. ‘Have we really done it?’

‘I think the answer is yes,’ said Jonno, peering over his specs as usual. ‘We’ve saved the stag.’ His grin was so shiny it was like he’d had his teeth
polished.

‘I didn’t mean the stag. I meant our patch. Have we really stopped Copper Pie’s combine harvester?’

‘It’s the same. Saving the stag saves our patch. Saving our patch saves the stag. Everybody wins.’

‘Except Callum, who won’t be able to grow lettuces at Gardening Club,’ I said.

‘Shame,’ said Jonno with a smile. ‘Perhaps he could go to Dance Club instead. Learn the waltz.’

I slammed a friendly fist into Jonno’s shoulder. He did the same back.

It was hell having to wait until break to tell the others. All my spellings had extra letters because I couldn’t concentrate. I kept looking at the Tribers and making big
smiley faces. I even dared to do a few thumbs ups but all I got back were I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-on-about looks from my mates and dissing looks from non-Tribers who could see I was either
excited about something or desperate for the loo. Jonno, unbelievably but believably for Jonno (if you get what I mean), kept his head down. I know because I kept willing him to look at me so we
could grin madly.

‘Right, 6W. Attention on me, please. Spelling test on Monday as usual. Over the weekend I want you to write the words out three times making sure you put the
i
s and the
e
s in
the right order.’ She paused and looked at each Triber in turn. ‘The five class members who disrupted assembly stay behind, please.’

Oh no! More waiting.

Miss Walsh stood and watched everyone troop out before she spoke. ‘You may have been well meaning, but in future I suggest any bright ideas are discussed with me before being presented to
the whole school. Understood?’

She looked at me, I looked down. No way was I going to nod. We’d won, she just didn’t know it yet.

She looked at Bee. Bee did the smallest possible downward tilt of her chin.

Miss Walsh sighed. I think she thought we’d act a bit more sorry.

‘Yes, Miss,’ said Fifty, even before her eyestalks swivelled round to him.

‘Jonno?’

‘Yes, Miss Walsh?’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand, thank you.’ He smiled at her, and pushed his glasses back up from somewhere near his nostrils.

She didn’t like that. There was something about the way he said it that meant, ‘I absolutely understand but it doesn’t mean that I agree.’

She retied her knot of hair while she spoke. ‘So, let’s forget about assembly and concentrate on good behaviour for the rest of the day.’

At last! Free to talk.

‘Head’s office, now,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

‘Are we in big, big trouble?’ asked Fifty. ‘Mum’ll never agree to have a Tribe headquarters in our garden if we’re in the poo.’

‘No. The opposite,’ said Jonno. ‘Goodies through and through. Ecologically speaking.’

‘Sounds too good to be true,’ said Bee.

We legged it, arriving right behind Mr Morris.

‘Ah! The infamous five.’ He winked at us. ‘Leave it to me.’

He looked down and smiled at Copper Pie’s drawing of the stag beetle on our poster as though it was real.

Without waiting for an invitation, he knocked and strode in. We followed.

The Head was sitting behind her desk. ‘And what can I do for you?’ she said, meaning, ‘GO AWAY, YOU IRRITATING KIDS, IT’S NEARLY THE WEEKEND AND I DON’T WANT ANY
BOTHER.’

We didn’t say a word. We didn’t need to. Mr Morris told the Head all about the charismatic beetle and how its habitats were being destroyed. And more importantly, more absolutely
unbelievably fantastically, he told her it was illegal to disturb them. Amazing.

Touch our patch and we’ll have the law on you,
I thought.

The Head looked like she wanted to mow us all down with something horrible (C.P. suggested an M4 carbine when we talked about it later), but what could she do? She didn’t want to find
herself on the front pages of the newspaper:

Headmistress slaughters Britain’s favourite beetle against wishes of senior members of staff and junior school pupils, many of whom have suffered bad dreams as a result of the
thoughtless massacre of the harmless insect.

Or in the clink.

Tribe tea at Fifty’s

School was over for the week. We decided to go to Fifty’s to celebrate saving our territory from whatever vehicle, tool or weapon was meant to flatten it. I wanted to go
to Jonno’s so the others could see his room and meet Frances, but if we were going to build a Tribehouse in Fifty’s garden, we needed to be nice to his mum, so I was overruled.

While we ate tea (lasagne – a bit runny but it went down all right), we spilled the beans about saving our patch. It was too fantastic to keep secret.

‘I’m not sure what to say – it’s extraordinary. Well done,’ said Fifty’s mum.

She was right. Everything that had happened since Tribe began was extraordinary.

‘And it’ll be even better when we’ve got a clubhouse,’ said Fifty, who was feeding Probably Rose pulverised lasagne.

‘Tribehouse,’ said Jonno.

‘I’m not sure about your idea of building it in the garden. It’s going to take a lot of work,’ said Fifty’s mum. ‘And an adult or two!’

‘My dad will help,’ I said.

‘And mine,’ said Copper Pie.

‘And we’ve got a plan,’ said Fifty. ‘I’ll get it.’

He leapt up and disappeared, shouting, ‘Keener, feed Probably Rose.’

Oh great!

I picked up the spoon and fed Rose the last few spoonfuls without getting too close to her.

‘Probably Rose is a good eater, isn’t she?’ said Bee.

‘Don’t you think it’s time you called her Rose?’ said Fifty’s mum.

‘But Probably Rose is cute.’

‘Ba,’ said Rose.

Fifty came back in with a rolled-up piece of green paper and spread it out on the table. There was a picture of a house, drawn by Copper Pie, and lots of labels and arrows. It looked good.

‘We can have a go, can’t we, Mum?’

‘Wait a minute . . . Do you want some pudding, Rose?’ she said.

‘Ba.’

Fifty’s mum got a banana from the fruit bowl, opened the drawer and picked up a fork and then fetched a pink plastic bowl. She mashed it, put the bowl on the tray of Rose’s high
chair and gave me a clean spoon.

I must remember not to sit near Rose next time,
I thought.

‘Right,’ said Fifty’s mum. ‘Let’s have a look at this.’ She bent over the plan.

‘Dad says someone at work wants to get rid of his shed,’ said Copper Pie. ‘If we take it away, we can have it.’

‘Well, that would certainly help things along.’

She was going to agree, I could tell.

‘Pudding,’ I said to Rose, using a cheesy voice.

Rose shoved the bowl and it fell on the floor and splattered everywhere.

‘Rose!’ Fifty’s mum looked almost cross, even though she says babies can’t be naughty until they’re two because they don’t know how.

‘Sorry,’ I said. The banana was all up
my
leg.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Bee. She got some kitchen roll and started clearing the mess up. ‘You go through the plan.’ She winked at Jonno.

He took Fifty’s mum through all the details. He made it sound like we’d built hundreds of Tribehouses before.

I was listening, and paying no attention whatsoever to Probably Rose, when she poked my arm and said something like ‘Yog-ert’.

I turned round so I could look straight at her. ‘What did you say, Probably Rose?’’

Fifty heard me. He nudged Jonno and everyone stopped talking.

‘What did you say?’ I said again.

‘Yog-ert!’ she shouted.

Fifty threw his fist in the air.

‘Told you so, Keener. Told you. She can speak!’

I was too amazed to do anything . . . but Bee wasn’t. She gave up smearing the banana and said, ‘Probably Rose, say “banana”.’

Nothing.

‘OK, say “Fifty”.’

Nothing. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps ‘yog ert’ is another version of ‘ba’.

Bee had one last try.

‘Probably Rose, do
you
think we should build the Tribehouse in your garden?’

There was complete silence. We stared at Fifty’s sister. She looked back at us and said, as clear as a newsreader, ‘Yes.’

We all clapped. She smiled and clapped too. And then she said, ‘Yog-ert,’ and pointed at the fridge.

Fifty’s mum got up and fetched a strawberry and vanilla yoghurt. Before she’d finished peeling off the shiny lid, Rose had her mouth open ready for the first spoon.

‘It seems Rose is in charge,’ she said. ‘So you’d better tell your dad to get that shed, Copper Pie. It looks as though building is about to begin.’

the Tribers all want to say one last thing

Bee: ‘Tribe should save more things. The stag beetle was a cinch. We could try and save something bigger, more important . . .’

Fifty: ‘Like a triceratops?’

Everyone started laughing.

Jonno: ‘A woolly mammoth?’

Copper Pie: ‘I like them.’

Keener: ‘A velociraptor?’

Bee: ‘Ha ha, very funny, my name’s Bugs Bunny. But I bet we can find something else, maybe not an animal, maybe a special building or a person . . .’

Jonno: ‘Ravi – you know, my best friend from Glasgow – he says we should spread the word. Using the internet. He reckons that every school should have a Tribe. And we could all
join together and do good things everywhere. All over the world. An army of kids.’

Fifty: ‘Sounds good to me. We could have our own site and they could pay to join. We’d make a fortune.’

Copper Pie: ‘There’s nothing we can’t do. We forced the Head to throw out the kitchen garden, didn’t we? Yes, Tribe can do anything. We should take on Callum. We could
make that thing you had at Jonno’s . . . bootybooty, make bootybooty out of him.’

Bee: ‘Or just mince.’

Fifty: ‘But first we need to build our headquarters in the garden. Does anyone have a clue how to go about it?’

Keener: ‘Building our HQ is definitely important but we’re not meant to be making squillions from an internet business and we’re not meant to be conquering the playground
– we’re Tribe, remember. What we are meant to be doing is written on that rolled up bit of paper in the safe. And it’s no good going around rescuing beetles, mending statues and
feeding Alley Cats if we don’t do all the ordinary stuff too. Tribe needs to get organised or it’ll be time for the summer fair and we won’t get round to making the identity cards
and filling up the time capsule. And what if there’s another emergency? And you know, we should really have a logo . . . All important things have —’

Bee: ‘Enough, Keener! The last word is mine. Whatever’s coming next, bring it on. That’s what I say. Bring it on.’

She put her hand out and four others followed.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP.

‘One! Two! Three! Go Tribe!’

(for now)

Here’s a sneak peek at the next
Tribe
story!

the school summer fair

‘Can you believe it?’ said Fifty.

I shook my head.