Down with the Dirty Danes!
An hilarious story, told in letter form, about King Alfred – he who burnt the cakes, and his battles with the Vikings.Berwin, son of Egfrith, writes to Wulfric, son of Elred using his miraculous new talent of reading and writing. Berry’s spellings leave a lot to be desired and in his hilarious letters he tells a tale of mixups and mayhem when King Alfred hides in his family’s cottage but is mistaken for a Dirty Dane – their word for the Vikings. A completely new perspective on why and how those cakes got burned!Fast and very, very funny from the prize-winning author of The Demon Headmaster and other books.
Читать Down with the Dirty Danes! онлайн беплатно
From Berwin sun of Egfrith to Wulfric sun of Elred
Dear cosen,
Yes – a letter from me! Surprise!
You dident think Id ever learn to rite did you? Nor did Mum. She thinks riteing is only for monks.
‘No monking for you, Berry,’ she says.
‘Pleese, pleeeeeese,’ I said. ‘Let me be a monk and learn redeing and riteing.’
But no luck. I had to do dull stuff like fiting and digging all the time. And when there was no fiting, it was
WORSE!!
Yes, you got it. Minding the baby and looking after the gote and the geese.
NO FUN!!!
So how cum Berry is riteing a letter, I heer you say?
Its a long story but Ill tell you.
Larst month everything was V.V. BAD heer. Lots of misty mist and nasty news. Espeshally – King Alfrid was being smashed to smithers by the lowsy old Danes. The English were doing really badly in all the fiting.
ENGLISH O DANES ZOOO
Becoz King A was losing, everywun was running out on him. Rotten swines! Whats the point of having a king if you dont stick by him?
Thats what Mum said. ‘Rotten swines they are, Egfrith,’ she said to my dad. ‘Sumwuns got to stand by King Alfrid. Youll have to go and be in his army.’
‘Me?!’ said my dad. He dosent like fiting any more than me. Hees a bit of a passi passyfist pasi he dosent like being hit.
‘Dont be a wimp, Eggy!’ my mum said. ‘If you dont go I will.’
That did it, of corse. Everywun nose women cant fite for toffee. Theyd trip over there skirts if they tride.
‘No fiting by women!’ says Dad. ‘Get out my axe and stuff and Ill go and find King Alfrid. But make shore you feed the pig and the geese. And dont forget to
MILK THE GOTE.’
‘Corse I wont forget,’ Mum says. ‘Silly old fuel!’
‘You better not,’ Dad says. ‘And dont blame me if the Dirty Danes cum to eat the baby up while Im out helping King Alfrid.’
Ho ho ho. Everywun says the Danes eat babys, but what I say is – no such luck. If people had to cleen up babys, they wouldnt say that. Whod eat a BABY?!
Yuck, yuck, yuck!!!
So my dad took his hat and his boots and his cleen socks, and off he went, trying to look feerce and bad to scare any Dirty Danes that were abowt.
Only what did Mum find the next day? Stuck in the basket of logs by the side of the fire?
You got it!
DADS AXE!
‘Oh no!’ Mum says. ‘When the Dirty Danes chop off his hed, he wont be able to chop them back! What can I do?’
So – what did she do?
Well, Im not telling in this letter, so HARD LUCK. My hand is v.V.V. tired and I cant rite any more. Riteing is really tuff. Im going to do sum finger X-ercises to bild up my mussels and then Ill rite anuther letter and tell you what Mum did abowt the axe.
From your cosen,
Berry
Dear Wulfric,
What do you mean why was the axe in the log basket? It was for chopping logs of corse. But Dad needed it for chopping Danes. Mum went mad when she fownd it.
‘Silly old fuel!’ she says. ‘Hows he going to kill Dirty Danes without this?’
‘He could use his socks,’ I say.
But Mums not larfing becoz shees WORRID abowt my dad.
‘What can I do?’ she says. ‘I’ve got to find him and give him the axe. But if I leeve you and the baby and all the animals the Dirty Danes will eat you.’
‘Weel be all rite Mum,’ I say. (Going shiver shiver shiver becoz of the dirty Ds.) ‘If they cum, Ill practise my fiting on them.’
‘Dont be a fuel,’ Mum says. ‘You cant fite them on yore own. And anyway, youd let them eat the baby.’ She went on cooking the dinner. Moning and groning all the time. ‘What shall I do? (Boohoo boohoo.) Poor Eggy’s going to get chopped to smithers by the DDs. He wont stand a chance!’
Shed just made the barley cakes and put them on the bakestone when –
NOCK! NOCK!! NOCK!!!
We look at each other and think Help Help the DDs are HEER!!
NOCK! NOCK!! NOCK!!! it goes agen.
‘Who – whos there?’ goes Mum.
‘Pleese let me in,’ says a mans voice.
Mum grabs the baby. ‘Its them! Theyve cum to eat us!!’
‘Dont be stupid,’ I say. ‘Annywun nose Dirty Danes cant speak English.’
I open the dore. ‘Hallo,’ I say. ‘English or Danish?’ (Just checking.)
‘English for ever!’ he says, so I let him in.
Hees English all rite (everywun nose Danes have tails and green hair and stuff) but hees not exactly tuff. He stands in the middle of the hut going drip drip drip. (You no it always rains heer. Thats why most places are marshy and go SKWELCH. This drippy English person looks like he walked through a marsh or two. Or ten.)
‘Pleese can I stay heer for the night (drip drip drip)?’ he goes. ‘Its wet out there.’
I thort Mum wood say ‘Not on yore life. Yore a stranger.’ But shees still thinking abowt Dad and the axe.
She looks at the stranger. ‘What do you think of babys?’
He trys to look polite. ‘There OK,’ he says. ‘But dogs are better.’
‘You woodent eat wun?’ Mum says.
The man looks at her as if shees mad.
‘Good!’ says Mum. ‘You can stay then. But youll have to cook the dinner yoreself. And theres Berry and the baby and all the animals.’ She grabs Dads axe and opens the dore.
