Featured below is an exclusive preview from the forthcoming novel "Peg The Pigasus" by Phil Lucas.
The autumn day dawned on Hollybush Farm much as it had done for the past fifty years. The sun appeared slowly over the lower field and the old holly bush yawned and turned its leaves to catch the first rays of the morning light. In the distance the sea lapped the rocky shore and all was good with the world.
Sidney the farm cockerel was already wide-awake and making himself busy in the farmyard.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” he shouted loud as can be. “Get up, get up, it’s another lovely day, cock-a doodle doo.”
The sheep were also awake and having their breakfast of lush
green autumn
grass.
“That’s a silly cockerel,” they all thought. “Of
course it’s a lovely
day. There’s all this sunshine to bathe in and all the food
we could wish
to eat.”
The horses stirred and looked out across the fields at the early morning dew, then beyond to the sea and thought about all the ploughing they had to do that day. The cows mooed to each other in the upper field.
“Good morning – moo, good morning – moo,” and the young calves went to their mothers for their first milk of the day.
In the farmhouse a light went on in the bedroom and a cracked old window opened from a crinkled old wooden window frame. Mrs Bramble the farmer’s wife stretched her arms and put her head out of the window to catch the first sun of the beautiful morn. Then she turned to her husband.
“Get that good for nothin’ lazy frame o’ yours out o’ bed Mr Bramble, there’s work to be a doin’, and I gotz breakfast to be a makin’.”
In a creaky old bed Mr Bramble the farmer stirred, then pulled the covers up over his long johns and nightshirt until all you could see was his craggy old face wrapped up in a blanket sausage roll.
“Get up I tell thee,” roared Mrs Bramble. “I is goin’ downstairs into the yard to get some eggs, and if you aint up in five minutes you won’t get no breakfast and I’ll feed your eggs to the pigs.”
Mr Bramble stirred again but wrapped himself up more cosily in his little sausage roll.
“Mmm, get ups, I must get ups,” he said to himself as he turned over and went back to sleep.
Mrs Bramble got dressed and went out across the yard to the chicken shed in the far corner.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo, get up, get up it’s another lovely day,
cock-a doodle
doo,” sang Sidney upon seeing Mrs Bramble.
“That really is a very silly cockerel,” thought Mrs Bramble to herself, and threw him some grain as she entered the chicken shed.
“Good morning my lovelies, and what you gotz for me this fine day?”
All the chickens liked Mrs Bramble and clucked a chorus of hello.
“Ah, twelve big golden eggs good and true,” she smiled. “Thank you.” The chickens all replied; “You’re welcome, you’re welcome.”
Just as she was coming back across the yard she heard a commotion in the pig shed. There was oinking, scrabbling, stamping and all sorts of other bangs, bings and bongs.
“What be all that fuss?” she said to herself out loud, and on hearing this Sidney replied, “Cock-a-doodle-doo, get up, get up it’s another lovely day, cock-a doodle doo.”
“Silly cockerel,” she thought and headed over to the
pig shed where the
bangs, bongs and bings were getting louder. She heaved open
the large old
wooden door.
“What in the name of the sun is all this kerfuffle?” she
said rather sternly.
All the pigs stood still and looked at Mrs Bramble.
“Oink, oink, oink,” they all went and trotted to a little corner of the shed where a big mother pig was lying down. There next to her were five lovely new born little piglets, all nestling asleep in the hay with their mother who was keeping them warm and cosy.
“Well I never,” said Mrs Bramble; “Five new little friends I gotz here and no mistake. Let’s be ‘aving a look at yer.” In turn she picked up each of the little piglets and in turn each one squealed until they looked into the eyes of Mrs Bramble and saw a kindly face.
“Number one - now you is an ‘andsome little fella and that be true. Number two - you gotz yourself big trotters there, you’re gonna make a fine pig, sure you will. Number three - nice long ears - a proper pig you be. Number four - a good long curly tail. Yes, you is all goin’ to grow up to be fine pigs of that I’m sure,” and she turned to pick up the fifth pig, and then stopped.
“What in the name of the sun is that?” she said rather loudly and scratched her head. A couple of pigs oinked. She knelt down and there in the hay fast asleep was a piglet, it’s little tail in the air and it’s trotters splayed out, deep in a dream.
“Well I never in all my years,” said Mrs Bramble moving closer to the little piglet. The other pigs in the pen all followed behind Mrs Bramble and made the occasional low ‘oink’ to each other. There coming out of each side of the little sleeping piglet were two tiny but very definite little wings with fluffy pink feathers on.
“It can’t be,” said Mrs Bramble, “it just can’t
be. Everyone knows that
pigs don’t have wings.” She scratched her head again and
turned round to
all the other pigs.
“Well, well well, what shall we make of this?”
“Oink” they replied, and from behind the mother pig gave
an affirming ‘Oink’ too.
“Just wait till I show Mr Bramble this little bundle o’ trotters,” she
said, getting up and heading straight back towards the farmhouse.
The
little winged pig stayed in a deep sleep dreaming of juicy
rotten apples.
“Whatever’s to be made of it?” she said to Sidney.
“Cock-a doodle-do,” he replied. “Get up, get up it’s another lovely day, cock-a doodle.”
“We gotz ourselves a flying pig,” she said. “Who’d have thought, a flying pig.”? And Sidney fell silent for a moment and looked at Mrs Bramble rather confused as she went back into the farmhouse.
“You up yet Mr Bramble?” she shouted from the bottom of
the stairs. “Get
them lazy bones out that big bed, I gotz something amazing
to show you.”
From under the blanket sausage roll Mr Bramble murmured.
“Amazin’, aint nothing amazin’ here, just sheep and chickens an’ old‘orses. Amazing I ask thee... tsk, pigs might fly.” And he went back to sleep.
Out in the yard Sidney heard Mrs Bramble’s shouts and flew to the top of his favourite old fencepost and started to sing.
“Cock-a doodle-do, something amazing’s happened, get up, get up it’s another lovely day, cock-a doodle do.”
The sheep looked up from their grass. “Something amazing’s happened,” they all baaah’d together. The horses turned their head away from the harvest fields and neighed. “Something amazing’s happened,” and slowly they ambled across the field to the corner nearest the yard. The cows mooed a little but were more interested in eating grass.
The little winged piglet slept on in the shed next to his mother, unaware of all the interest he’d caused and still having the sweetest warm dream.
Peg The Pigasus will be published soon.
