Stomping Good Stories for Children

By LiterEight

Stomping Good Stories for Children - amazing aliens, brave beasties, curious children, fantastic fairies, greedy grown-ups, inquisitive insects and of course a mighty giant. Thirty-five tales of magic, mischief and mayhem. Designed to enthral and entertain a young audience, these varied stories bring to life an enchanting world, filled by many fascinating characters. Written by seven well-known female Scottish authors, the stories will help to excite active imaginations. Some of the tales are illustrated with delightfully evocative line drawings, created by author and artist Maggie Bolton. What more could you ask for?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfie Dog Limited
• Release date: Mar 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310104312

LiterEight

LiterEight is a group of eight enterprising female writers, based in Ayrshire, Scotland, who have published three anthologies, A Literary Confection, Dark Twists and New Horizons.Stomping Good Stories for Children - 35 stories penned by six LiterEight members – Fiona Atchison, Maggie Bolton, Janice Johnston, Catherine Lang, Helena Sheridan and Greta Yorke plus guest writer Pam Ramage – brings to life an enchanting world of magic, mischief and mayhem for young readers.

Book preview

Mrs Wilkinshaw’s Giraffe

by Janice Johnston

Fin! Fin! Mum’s voice rocketed up the stairs. Time to get up.

Fin cuddled under his covers, trying to stay asleep. He was in the middle of a really good dream. He was wrestling a crocodile that had ambushed Tarzan’s pet monkey.

Finlay! Up now! Mum’s voice rumbled along with the grunts and groans of the crocodile.

Tarzan was just thanking him for rescuing his pet when Fin heard her again.

Finlay James McCafferty get up right now or you’ll be late for school!

Boy, thought Fin, Mum sounds wilder than the crocodile. Maybe I should get up. But while he was thinking all this, he snuggled down for another few minutes.

Fin, you’ll need to rush, you’re late. Mum hauled the covers off, making puffs of cold air tickle him all over. Honestly, one of these days I’m going to make you go to school in your pyjamas, with no breakfast!

Fin crawled out of bed at last, thinking She wouldn’t really make me go to school in my pyjamas, would she?

The next morning Fin didn’t hear his mum call him at all. The first thing he knew was a whoosh of cold air as the covers came off. Then, whiz bang, he was standing outside the front door rubbing his eyes.

Right. Mum smiled, marching down the path. I’m off to work. She opened the car door. See you at home time.

Fin’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t really leaving him outside the front door, was she? Not in his, he looked down – No! – He wasn’t even wearing his pyjamas.

It was far, far worse.

He was wearing his sister’s pyjamas. The pink ones with little red hearts all over them.

This was too, too much!

He began to run.

He ran right down his street; past Mr Jenkins on his way to the train, past Lauren and her mum off to the nursery, past Mrs Wilkinshaw’s giraffe who was hanging out her washing… Hang on, thought Fin, Mrs Wilkinshaw doesn’t have a giraffe! He walked slowly back to her garden.

Hello, said the giraffe, through a mouthful of clothes pegs. Lovely day! and she pegged a yellow ballerina’s tutu – giraffe size – on the line.

What are you doing in Mrs Wilkinshaw’s garden? asked Fin.

Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m hanging out the washing. The giraffe shook out a very large fluffy towel and hung it beside the yellow tutu.

What I mean is… Fin tried to figure out exactly what he did mean, why aren’t you in Africa with all the other giraffes? And why do you have a yellow tutu? And how come you can talk?

That’s easy. The giraffe hung up a giraffe-sized pair of trousers – green with little leaves all over them. (Fin guessed they must be for camouflage in the jungle.) You’re dreaming me.

Fin’s eyes snapped back from the trousers to the giraffe. I’m dreaming you?

And if I were you, continued the giraffe, I’d dream up something better to wear. Pink is so NOT your colour.

You mean I can change?

Of course, just think what you would like to wear.

Fin thought of his nice ordinary school clothes and, gee-whiz, he was wearing them. Phew, that’s better.

Then he thought, I could wear anything I like. In the blink of an eye he changed from a fireman,

to a policeman,

to Tarzan.

For one horrible moment, when he looked at the washing line, he even wore a yellow tutu, but he quickly thought of Superman, and felt much better.

If I’m Superman, he thought, I wonder if… He felt himself wobbling.

Yes! I can fly! He pushed off with his feet and zoomed as high as the roofs. It was brilliant, flying. It was like running without touching the pavement and not getting out of breath. He flapped his arms, just once, then soared over the trees, rustling the leaves with his toes. They felt like thick paper, you know, the sort that’s best for painting.

A crow gave a surprised squawk and swerved to avoid him. He felt a breeze as its wings flapped past.

He swooped over the roofs and circled round the chimney. Fin tumbled over and tried to loop the loop. He turned, swerved, and skimmed the rooftops. He felt himself diving down, down, down. Then he heard his mum’s voice again.

Fin! Fin! Time to get up!

He thumped down on the bed and opened his eyes. He thought about snuggling down for a little while longer but decided not to risk it. One of these days mum might, just might, really make him go to school in his pyjamas!

The Cow with a Lump on her Nose

by Maggie Bolton

"I don’t want to stay at a mouldy old farm, said Tracy-Ann pulling a grumpy face. I want to go on a proper holiday."

Well I’m sorry, said Mum, we haven’t much money to spend on holidays, but the farm will be fun. We can have picnics in the fields and there will be lots of animals to meet. You’ll like it, Tracy-Ann.

But Tracy-Ann didn’t like it one bit. It was smelly and it rained… and rained… and rained.

So no picnic then? said Tracy-Ann, looking out of the rain-spattered window.

Maybe tomorrow, said Mum

Sure enough, next day the rain stopped, so Tracy-Ann put on her nice new trousers and her nice new trainers and rushed outside… straight into a muddy puddle.

Aagh! squealed Tracy-Ann. Look at my new trainers. They’re ruined!

You should have worn your wellies, said Ted who was chopping wood in the big shed next to the farmhouse.

Wellies? said Tracy-Ann scowling. "I don’t wear wellies!"

Maybe you should, said Ted.

He rummaged about at the back of the shed and pulled out some dusty old boots that looked about the right size.

Here, try these. You could stand in some really big puddles with these on you know.

Tracy-Ann wrinkled her nose as she looked at the dirty old boots all covered in cobwebs. But then she looked at the puddles and she had a little think. Tracy-Ann pulled on the boots and then stepped carefully into the nearest puddle. She tried a little jump. It was fun and it made a lovely big splash. Tracy-Ann jumped in lots and lots of puddles. Ted was right – you could jump in some really huge ones with these on!

Goodness! said Mum when, at last, they set off for their picnic. "What have you got on?"

"I got them from Ted.

He works in the shed," said Tracy-Ann.

I think that’s a poem, said Mum.

Early next morning Tracy-Ann heard a lot of mooing. She put on her wellies and went to the cowshed to see what was going on. It was rather dark in there and all she could see was a row of cows’ bottoms. They had funny gadgets fastened to their pink, dangly bits.

"That doesn’t look very nice," said Tracy-Ann.

Oh, they don’t mind, said Mary, the girl who was feeding the cows. They’re just being milked.

Suddenly there was a lot of squawking and clucking and a hen fluttered in. Something large and hairy was chasing it and Tracy-Ann was in the way. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself flat on her back in a big pile of muck that Mary had been shovelling up.

Waaah! wailed Tracy-Ann, I’m all wet and my new trousers are spoiled. Waaah!

Oh poor Tracy-Ann, said Mary. "Ben, you bad dog! Never mind, I’ve got just the thing for you to wear while we wash your nice clothes."

Mary put Tracy-Ann’s clothes into the washing machine and found her a nice checked shirt and some dungarees to wear until her own clothes were dry.

I used to wear these when I was a little girl, she said, Would you like to come and see the dairy?

Tracy-Ann’s new friend showed her a cool, airy room that smelled very clean.

This is where we cool the milk and put it into bottles, explained Mary. "At bedtime Tracy-Ann thought about everything she had seen that day. She told her Mum:

"There’s a dog called Ben who chased the hen.

Then there’s Mary. She showed me the dairy."

That’s another poem, said Mum, "but I think you missed a bit -

Then there was you

who fell in the pooh!"

That made Tracy-Ann giggle as she went to sleep.

Next morning she put on her shirt, her dungarees and her wellies and went to the cowshed.

You’re too late for milking this morning, but you can help me drive the cows to the field if you like. Here, you’ll need this, said Mary handing Tracy-Ann a