The Mobile Phone of Jeremy Bone

By Ken Frodsham

Jeremy Bone is a retired schoolmaster who lives alone in a large schoolhouse. He dislikes modern technology, so is appalled when he mistakenly receives a mobile phone through the mail. Roger Bennet is a boy of junior school age who has some learning difficulties. Each week he delivers an apple pie to Mr Bone in exchange for an hour's tuition. He activates the phone which has mystical powers and a great adventure begins.
During the story's progress an interesting relationship is formed between the pair, as they endeavour to return the mobile phone to its rightful owner. However there are evil forces at work which lead to some exciting and hilarious situations. A pleasant combination of satire and pathos is delivered in poetic form in this ideal book for reading aloud either to children or by children.
A story for young people regardless of age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491879511

Ken Frodsham

Born during World War Two, the son of a limestone quarry man, in a village above Buxton Spa in Derbyshire, England, the author was not very successful in his early years at school. He failed to gain admittance to grammar school and went instead to a secondary modern school (Intended for those not so academically gifted). Whilst there he excelled in school dramatic productions, became head prefect and dramatically lead them on a one-day protest strike. In his fourth year he was fortunate to be taught maths by the deputy headmaster, who inspired him with confidence and mathematical insight, something which has never left him to the present day. The headmaster persuaded his father to allow him to spend an extra year at school, until sixteen, and he was successful in exams which were a fore runner to present day G.C.S.E.

Book preview

Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Epilogue

For Francesca, my wife and best friend

Part One

There once was a village called Little Rising;

Had a church and a pub, that’s not so surprising;

With a tall-windowed school alongside a stream;

Where boys and girls used to play, laugh and dream:

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A tall-windowed school

There’s a schoolhouse too, just over a bridge;

A draughty old place as cold as a fridge;

The headmaster retired there, age seventy six;

Spends much of his time now, gathering sticks:

The new headmistress who came from Crewe;

Knew all the things her pupils must do;

Some maths, some language or even a sonnet;

But she failed to put it across to one Roger Bennet:

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Rogger Bennet

Roger was from a family who lived down The Lane;

His brother was David, his sister was Jane;

Their mother was kindly, she kept them from harm;

Oh—and Mr Bennet, he worked on a farm:

Well that’s enough detail about them for now;

There’s a tale I must tell you and explain just how;

Strange things began to happen after the delivery of a phone;

To The Old School House of Mr Jeremy Bone:

It was a wet, windy morning and it wasn’t yet seven;

Mr Bone lit his fire then watched the smoke go up to heaven:

A loud rat-a-tat on the oak-panelled door;

Sent him scurrying through the hallway on a stone-slab floor:

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Afraid you'll have to sign

A parcel! said the postman, Afraid you’ll have to sign;

So Jeremy indicated that this would be quite fine;

What is it? he asked curiously. Are you sure it’s meant for me?

It says so on the label sir, and held it out to see:

"It says it’s from a company that manufactures phones;

The ones that can be used by folk when not within their homes;"

"What? You mean it’s a mobile? I won’t use such a thing;

They follow people everywhere and ring and ring and ring:"

Perhaps it is a present sir. Now I really must be off;

The postman handed it over as he stifled a spluttery cough:

But what if it is dangerous? May be it is a bomb!

I hardly think that possible with security where that’s come from:

So there it was wrapped in a box. It really was suspicious;

He left it by the kitchen sink and began to wipe the dishes:

When they were done he left the room and placed it on a table;

He’d leave it there, so sit and stare, make sure it was quite stable:

An hour had gone. There was no bomb. Poor Jeremy had the vapours;

Though his spirits rose as he supposed it was time for the morning papers:

The papers were late, well after eight and the boy began to apologise;

You’d best come in. You had a swim? Hope you’ve brought one of your mum’s apple pies:

Mrs Bennet was kind, she had it in mind to look after old Mr Bone;

On a Saturday morning after the dawning, she’d send the lad round to his home;

Without any capers Roger delivered the papers and also a pie to the door;

With little success the man tried to stress the importance of maths and much more:

Roger struggled for an hour before retrieving his hat;

On seeing the box he said, What’s that?

It’s some sort of phone, but it’s not much use;

Then he tried to think of a better excuse:

Do you mind if I see? asked the lad with a smile;

No. It’s probably safe, it’s been there for some while;

At which young Roger reached down to his socks;

And pulled out a penknife to open the box:

Gosh! It’s a voice activated special, the latest kind:

"That’s all very well, but if you don’t mind;

It’s not what I want. Please put it away:"

It’s the biz! It’s the best! How much did you pay?

Old Mr Bone shook his head in dismay;

It’s going to be trouble, that’s all I can say:

But can’t we just try it? I know how they work;

He put in the SIM, then gave it a jerk:

A strange, high-pitched noise suddenly pierced the air;

The man and the boy, both startled they stare;

Then a voice, which says, ‘Putting you through now sir’;

Followed by a click, a buzz and a whir:

Prime Minister Downing, says a deep voice;

The pair just listen. They have no choice:

Now what’s this about? Can you keep it quite short?

They’re both stuck for words. They don’t know, they’ve not thought:

Then the boy took the phone and with all his might;

Said, "Mr Prime Minister, I don’t think it right;

Old folk having to work until they’re much older;

And it’s so pathetic for if you’re a soldier:"

The Prime Minister sighed. Very well! Will that be all?

Yes. It’s all just for now, until my next call:

Well thanks for being brief. Next time make it text:

Yes sir! said the boy. I can’t wait for the next:

That was not the Prime Minister. It’s some kind of hoax;

You may think so, Said Roger, "-but I shall tell my folks;

That I told him how to make our world so much better;

Oh I’d best get off home now. I can’t get much wetter:"

"Will you make sure it’s off, then I’ll see you to the door;

Next Saturday there’s algebra which we must explore:"

Thanks Mr Bone, for the lesson and your phone;

With that he braved the