Von Gobstopper's Arcade Page 4

  When the song was finished and everyone seated again, Dr Hurtle rose to address them. He cleared his throat, pushed up his spectacles and then broke into an uncharacteristic grin. In fact, the usually sober-faced headmaster was beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘Good morning, Sparrows and Starlings, and welcome to another week at St Erudite’s. I’m sure you must all be wondering what could be so important as to justify the interruption of your lessons this morning. You will note that this assembly involves only the juniors as what I have to say pertains especially to you. I have no doubt that my announcement will result in much excitement and I now ask that you curb that excitement once you resume class so the rest of the day may proceed as normal.’

  How ridiculous, thought Milli, to be asked to curb your excitement before you even knew what it was you were meant to be excited about. She noticed that the headmaster was carrying a rolled newspaper under one arm.

  ‘I don’t suppose any of you have had an opportunity to see this morning’s paper?’ he asked. Dr Hurtle’s questions were usually of a rhetorical nature and so his pause for a reply was met only with an uncertain silence. ‘I thought not, but let me tell you that it contains an item which I am sure will be of great interest to you. Rather than describing its contents, allow me to read it to you in its entirety.’

  He unrolled what looked to be a copy of the Drabville Bugle and read aloud the following front-page article:

  TINY TOWN, VALIANT HEARTS!

  To commemorate the recent bravery and resilience shown by the children of Drabville, billionaire philanthropist and renowned toymaker Gustav Von Gobstopper has most generously funded the construction of a Toy Arcade right here in our town.

  The construction of the arcade, situated on the site formerly known as Hog House, is due for completion within days and has been kept secret from all children in order not to spoil the surprise.

  The reclusive Von Gobstopper was living quietly in his Austrian castle when news of our intrepid adventurers reached him. So touched by the story was he that he felt compelled to do something in response. Some months ago Von Gobstopper’s representatives approached Drabville authorities with an idea they were delighted to support.

  The arcade will officially open this coming Friday, and the juniors of St Erudite’s Academy have been invited to make the inaugural visit. As the arcade’s first visitors the children will have their photos taken and be invited to sign the official guest book. The students will be taken on a tour of the facility and will enjoy a complimentary afternoon tea in the Teddy Bear Bakery. This special group of children will also have access to items from Von Gobstopper’s private toy collection never before seen by members of the general public. Members of the media will not be permitted to intrude on this special experience and have been asked to show restraint.

  The world has been stunned by Von Gobstopper’s sudden emergence from retirement. Von Gobstopper is widely hailed as a master toymaker and a genius and Drabville can only feel privileged to have been chosen to showcase his talents. This event may well change the course of history for the little out-of-the-way town and put Drabville on the map. Some have predicted that the arcade will prove a popular tourist destination, drawing visitors from around the globe.

  Mr Von Gobstopper himself was unavailable for comment, but one of his staff conveyed on his behalf his wish ‘to pay homage to some inspirational children’. A spokesperson for the Custodians of Concord, Rosemary Klompet, said she could not be happier. ‘We all feel that the children deserve this recognition, given what they have been through. We are very fortunate that Mr Von Gobstopper shares our view. He has devoted his life to delighting the young through his unique toys and I can think of no worthier recipients of his generosity than the children of this town.’

  Hildebeast Wordypants

  Dr Hurtle’s admonition that things should proceed as normal was a touch unrealistic. The children could not focus on anything other than what they had just been told. They made their way back to their classrooms while the older students they passed gave them covetous looks and grumbled about injustice. Classrooms were full of excited whispers even the sternest of teachers could not suppress. In the end many just gave up and modified their lesson plans accordingly so that in English they postponed Subject and Predicate and wrote Haikus about their favourite toys.

  You may well be wondering what all the commotion was about. Toys are simply toys to many of us, and we’re not too bothered which company makes them. As long as they open, shut, squeak, roar, fly across the room or perform whatever other function they are designed to perform, we are happy. But a toy made by Gustav Von Gobstopper was no regular toy. It was unique. Von Gobstopper toys didn’t come off an assembly line; each one was individually handcrafted with an astounding attention to detail. It is said that one of Michelangelo’s admirers, standing before one of the master’s sculptures, was so overwhelmed by its lifelike quality that he invoked it to speak. Such was the awe you felt if you were lucky enough to own a Von Gobstopper toy. The man was an artist, and some said his talents were wasted on creating toys for the entertainment of children. But children were bewitched by them and toys with the Made by Von Gob seal were coveted and yearned for. Most of Drabville’s children had at least one such item in their collection and rarely was it passed on to younger siblings. The Von Gobstopper logo was a red toy box crammed with bears, dolls, trains and trucks, all trying to clamber out to play. On the box in a black script was the message: Handle with love. Herein lies a friend for life. And no matter how many knocks or falls the toys suffered, they never dented or broke. Von Gobstopper was to toys what Luis Vuitton is to luggage or Mr Lindt to chocolate. In other words, pretty darn hard to beat.

  Although Milli and Ernest had been a little disappointed when their investigations of the activity at Hog House had been brought to an abrupt end, it now all made sense. And it was impossible to resist the contagious excitement that was spreading amongst the first and second years. Not only had Von Gobstopper travelled across continents in recognition of their achievement but he had invested many thousands of dollars to celebrate their return.

  ‘And to think we were suspicious!’ Milli commented to Ernest. ‘When all along they were planning a surprise!’

  ‘What about the silver bell?’ Ernest asked, reluctant to get excited too quickly.

  ‘It’s a toy arcade!’ Milli scoffed. ‘There’s bound to be gadgets lying around.’ Ernest, who could not dispute this logic, was forced to agree. ‘Von Gobstopper must be very generous,’ Milli continued. ‘I wonder if we’ll get to met him?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. He hasn’t been seen in public for the last ten years.’

  Ernest’s nonchalance irritated Milli who was not done with her dissection and analysis of the news.

  Back in class, Ernest made them sit at the desk right at the front of the classroom at a right angle to the teacher’s desk. He said he needed to sit there as he had trouble seeing the blackboard but Milli knew it was to ensure he didn’t miss something important that might crop up on an end-of-term exam.

  The classroom was poorly ventilated and the arched windows so ancient they only opened a fraction. As a result the room was freezing in winter and permanently stuffy in summer. On shelves on one side resided a dusty globe, a collection of well-worn encyclopaedias and assorted periodicals. A large blackboard took up almost the entire front wall. Sitting on its ledge was a metal tin full of chalk in every colour other than white. Miss Macaw perversely refused to use white, claiming it bleached the colour out of learning. But some colleagues suspected it might have more to do with the Baron’s penchant for wearing only suits made of white linen.

  When the students arrived for Miss Macaw’s lesson they found her smacking the radiator with a ruler in an attempt to fire it up. The radiator was so ineffective that it only reached a cosy temperature towards the end of the day, by which time they were all getting ready to go home.

  ‘Well, well, what astonishing news!’ M
iss Macaw exclaimed in her sing-song voice. ‘And what wonderful timing—so close to Christmas! You are fortunate children indeed, and I’m sure the experience will be an unforgettable one. But now, in keeping with Dr Hurtle’s instruction to maintain a business-as-usual approach, I’d like us to begin looking at the Viking invasions.’

  In the time it took Miss Macaw to draw breath, Ernest had the relevant exercise book open and was already entering the date and topic heading. All of Ernest’s books were covered in white contact and his personal details were clearly printed on the inside cover. These included his name, telephone number, postal address, date of birth and, in the event of an emergency, his blood type.

  Milli asked to borrow some paper.

  ‘No,’ Ernest grumbled. ‘I don’t want my book looking tattered just to bail you out.’

  ‘Take the pages from the middle and it won’t make any difference.’

  As Ernest was about to reluctantly comply, Milli had one of her brainwaves.

  She wasn’t going to need his precious paper. Viking invasions was about to be abandoned. She raised her hand to ask the question everyone was itching for.

  ‘Miss Macaw, could you please tell us a little bit about Mr Von Gobstopper?’

  Miss Macaw, who loved nothing more than to impart knowledge, needed no further inducement.

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘every couple of centuries, the world offers us an individual so remarkable that his contribution changes the course of human history. Gustav Von Gobstopper is one of those people.’

  ‘But he just makes toys, doesn’t he?’ asked one cynical junior.

  Miss Macaw gave an audible gasp, clutched her chest with both hands as if struggling for air, and looked at the child as if she’d just discovered he had a terminal illness.

  ‘You must never, ever, think that!’ she implored. ‘Von Gobstopper is a legend in his own time, a true artist.’

  ‘Why is he no longer seen or heard of?’ Harietta Hapless called out eagerly.

  ‘Sometimes, for artists, the world is just too imperfect to handle,’ Miss Macaw explained. ‘But Mr Von Gobstopper was not always a famous personage. In fact, he came from rather humble beginnings. Shall we put the Vikings aside for today so you can hear his story? After all, a little background information can only enhance the excursion. Harietta, dear, just shut the door so we don’t disturb any of the other classes.’

  Being of the opinion that the truth should never be allowed to interfere with a good story, Miss Macaw told them everything she had gleaned from her own reading plus some extras thrown in for effect.

  ‘Gustav Von Gobstopper was born in Austria and grew up there with five brothers and sisters. His family were honest but impoverished and his parents couldn’t afford to buy their children expensive toys and games at Christmas or on birthdays. They were so poor, in fact, that a new pair of shoes or socks meant a great deal to them. Every year, Gustav, the youngest of the children, would stand outside the toy store in the town’s main street and watch the children of affluent families come out clutching brightly wrapped parcels full of new delights to entertain them when they got home. Gustav would look at the dolls and bears in the toy shop window and imagine conversations with them. He would fantasise about playing with the handcrafted marionettes with their painted faces or about riding on the wooden rocking horse with its gleaming saddle and silky mane. Every year he hoped for even the smallest pocket-sized toy that he could call his own, but no one ever bought it for him.

  ‘His passion for toys did not desert him even as he grew into a young man. Finally, when he was about eighteen, Gustav could stand it no longer. He began to stitch his own toys, scavenging materials and scraps from wherever he could. He discovered that all he needed was a lump of rough wood and a handful of screws to make a toy soldier that walked and talked. He used to take his toys into town in a sack and give them away to those children too poor to ever have toys of their own. One day, when he was squatting on the pavement and showing a little girl how to wind up her clockwork doll, a rich merchant noticed him. It was the man who owned the toy store on the main street. He could see at once that Gustav had a gift and immediately took him on as his apprentice. When the merchant died, Gustav inherited his shop and business went through the roof. In no time at all his toys became world-renowned and he opened more shops all around the globe.

  ‘As his fame spread, Mr Von Gobstopper could no longer work in his shop as people queued up just to catch a glimpse of him, tried to talk to him and invariably interrupted his concentration. He began to travel widely, looking for characters upon whom he could model his creations. On one of those trips he met his soul mate, the Parisian dancer Pascal Le Plastierre. They married, but Pascal contracted a fever, lapsed into a coma and died, exactly a year to the day of their wedding. Gustav never recovered from his tragic loss and became a recluse. Few have laid eyes on him since. That is why his interest in our little town is all the more astonishing.’

  Miss Macaw paused for breath. A glance at the clock told her there was only a minute to the end of the lesson but the faces around her seemed in no hurry to move.

  ‘I can only conclude that your story of abduction and your clever escape touched Mr Von Gobstopper’s philanthropic soul,’ she finished. ‘And now, thanks to him, we have a toy arcade, the first of its kind, right here in Drabville. And you children will be the first to visit it. What do you say to that!’

  Part II

  Rewards and Surprises

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Excursion Fever

  School excursions can be a bother for teachers but for students they represent a welcome departure from routine—a light at the end of a dark tunnel, an oasis that offers refuge from the parched desert of classrooms and textbooks. It was little wonder that all of Milli’s lethargy had evaporated by the time she skipped her way down Peppercorn Place at the end of the day. A toy arcade erected in their honour and constructed for the express purpose of their enjoyment—now that was something to look forward to! She would bet all the money in her piggy bank that no other group of children had ever been singled out by someone as famous as Mr Von Gobstopper. Perhaps this momentous event might one day be featured in history books and be the cause of envy for students all over the globe. And if that was a little far-fetched, perhaps the fact that someone with an international profile had acknowledged their efforts would help dispel the suspicion that had followed Milli and Ernest of late. Milli inhaled deeply in an attempt to curb her excitement before she reached home but it would not be tamed. It bubbled inside her so fervently that she literally squirmed and wriggled her way through the front gate.

  Milli’s elder sister, Dorkus, was sitting in a cane chair on the front porch. It had taken months of coaxing by Rosie to get Dorkus to have an outdoor experience; however, persistence had paid off, even though Dorkus still refused to venture beyond the porch steps in case the house should float away and leave her behind while her back was turned. If anyone ever did suggest she move beyond the porch, Dorkus would launch into a hyena howl and cling obstinately to the veranda posts, causing even Stench to slink away in fear.

  Milli’s return from school was the highlight of Dorkus’s day. During the hours that Milli was at school, Dorkus filled the time with reading, needlework, shelling peas and other sedentary activities. Occasionally, she watched the people in their street coming and going. She had an eye for detail and could tell you who had left their house at exactly what time and what they were wearing. Milli could imagine her sister running her own business one day: Dorkus Investigations—No Stone Left Unturned. Once she could be enticed to leave the house, that is.

  As was their usual routine, Dorkus followed Milli indoors to exchange the news of the day.

  ‘Mrs Nutcup went shopping with her wicker basket and came home with nothing but plums,’ Dorkus informed Milli.

  ‘Perhaps she’s making jam,’ Milli replied, feigning interest.

  She dropped her satchel and rummaged quickly through t
he kitchen cupboards in search of a snack. Once she’d decided on some Wopple Juice and a plate of Nitty-Gritty Biscuits, she charged into the living room with Dorkus at her heels. Her parents were both there, heads together over the local paper and sharing a private joke.

  ‘You both knew about this all the time!’ Milli blurted. ‘You knew and didn’t say a word!’ It wasn’t a reprimand because at the same time she threw herself at her parents, hugging them so tightly that they struggled for breath.

  ‘Well, we didn’t want to spoil the surprise,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Your name’s in the paper,’ Milli told her. ‘The headmaster read it out at assembly and everyone knew that my mother was involved. I was really proud. Do you need help with anything? I could help with dinner if you like.’

  ‘Let’s just say this cancels any planned trips to find the Fountain of Youth?’ Rosie said with a wry smile.

  ‘Deal,’ agreed Milli.

  Milli telephoned Ernest immediately after supper. The Perriclof family had recently installed a new Bakelite telephone as a concession to the advance of technology, but Milli rarely called as she knew the ringing unsettled Mrs Perriclof’s nerves. One of Ernest’s siblings answered, using his best phone manner.

  ‘Hello, Barabbas Perriclof speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Bas,’ Milli said. ‘Is Ernest there, please?’

  ‘This is Ernest,’ Bas replied in a high-pitched squeal.

  ‘Quit fooling around and put your brother on. Tell him it’s Milli.’

  ‘Milli who?’ Bas asked cheekily. ‘I’m sure Ernest doesn’t know a Milli. You don’t by any chance mean Millipop, do you?’

  ‘I’m not going to ask you again,’ Milli threatened. She could hear peals of laughter in the background and other little voices whispering together.

  ‘Pop goes the weasel!’ they shrieked before someone wrangled the phone from them.