And so ends this little retelling! This was a reimagining of the first chapter of The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat by Enid Blyton. Thanks to those who followed along!
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64.
“That’s Mr Tupping, the gardener next door,” I said. “I hope we never see him again!”
But we were to see more of Mr Tupping that summer. More than we imagined.
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62.
A minute later, he reappeared with an enormous suitcase. Larry and Pip helped him get it down. Fatty clipped a lead on to Buster’s collar, and I put the black Scottie down cautiously. Buster sent a volley of barks after the man, who was just disappearing out of the gates.
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61.
“Gah! I HATE dogs. And CATS. Nasty little creatures running around your legs and tripping you over.” Turning around, he saw us. “Get outta my way,” he said, pushing past me.
Buster was still barking. I ran to Fatty, who handed the squirming dog to me. “For goodness sake, don’t let him escape! Let me get my luggage!”
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60.
A burly, untidy man was climbing out of the compartment, his back to us, dragging two heavy bags out. “That dog belongs on a leash, it does,” he said. Placing the bags down, he shook his finger at Fatty, who had appeared at the door with Buster in his arms. “Nipping at me legs like that!”
“Calm down, sir,” Fatty said. He looked furious. “Buster only barked because you kicked him! Surely you are not scared of a little dog?”
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59.
Horrified, I came to a stop by the last door. How could anyone even think of kicking darling Buster!
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58.
The racket was coming from the very last compartment. Buster seemed besides himself. For such a little dog, it was amazing the noise he could make. Fatty’s voice could be heard, trying to calm someone, but was being drowned out by a man’s voice.
“Keep that yapping dog away from me,” the man was shouting. “If it comes anywhere near again, I’ll kick its head in! Nasty little mutt!”
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57.
It sure was. We could hear the excited barks of the little Scottie coming from the end of the train. Leaving the luggage in a pile, we ran down the platform.
“Goodness!” Daisy said. “Buster seems to be in a frightful state! I wonder who he’s barking at!”
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56.
“Where on earth is old Fatty?” Pip said. “I hope he hasn’t missed the train.”
“Let’s walk down the platform, come on,” Larry said. “Maybe he needs help with his suitcase or something — listen, is that Buster?”
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55.
Doors banged open. A few people got out and made their way sedately out of the station. But no Fatty.
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54.
Just then we heard the distant whistle. Soon we felt little tremors on the platform and the train pulled into view. It was the small train, the Beaconsfield local, which connected with the train Fatty was taking from London.
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53.
Everyone roared with laughter when I told them what had happened at the bakery. It did seem funny, now that Mr Goon was not glaring at me, though I hoped he wouldn’t come around to “have a word” with my parents.
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52.
“Yes, good old Buster — he is as good as one of us!” Pip said. “Bets, any news? Any mysteries turned up for us to solve?”
“No, nothing!” I said. “It has been so quiet since you left! But I ran into old Clear-Orf today!”
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51.
“In about 20 minutes,” I said, looking at the station clock. “Oh, I just can’t wait to see him!”
“Me too,” Daisy said. “Honestly, I had thought it was the end of Five Find-Outers when he left after Easter!”
“Five Find-Outers — and the DOG,” I said. “Don’t forget Buster!”
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50.
I handed around the ginger buns and we stood around chatting happily.
“What time does Fatty’s train get in?” Larry asked. “What luck he is moving here! You could have knocked me down with a feather when he wrote to me with the news!”
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49.
“Pip! Larry! Daisy!” I shouted rushing to them. “How I have missed you all! Gosh, how brown you are!”
“You are not so bad yourself, Bets!” said Daisy, giving me a big squeeze. Larry, too, hugged me. My brother stood grinning, then tousled my hair.
“You are taller,” he said. He punched me in the shoulder, and asked, “Got anything to eat?”
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48.
By the time I got to Penny’s Corner, I could hear the train whistling in the distance. I panted on to the platform just as the engine pulled in. Larry, Daisy and Pip were in the front compartment. They tumbled out, dragging their school suitcases behind them.
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47.
The butcher was sitting outside in the sun, smoking. “Where is the fire, Betsy?” he shouted. “Tell cook my boy’ll be along with a fine leg a little later!”
“Late for the train, Mr Lambkin,” I shouted back. “Can’t stop now!”
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46.
Paying up, I rushed out of the shop. Across the road, I could see the Flower Market was open. If I had time, I would have gone over and said hello to Mrs Mukherjee at the Market. She let me wander around the place, which always smelt heavenly — especially the foyer, where she stocked the potted heather and pink dianthus.
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45.
Relieved that Mr Goon had left, I walked to the counter, where I got Mr Crumble, the baker, to pack me six ginger buns — one each for us, two for Fatty — and a pack of liquorice. The clock behind Mr Crumble showed a quarter to eleven. I was going to be late!
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44.
“Don’t you let him upset you, my pet,” she said in a loud whisper. “His bark is worse than his bite! I got meself twins, Sid and Perce, ’bout your age, and he’s always yelling at ’em too! His own nephews!”
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43.
She swooped down and picked up the sandwich, which she put back in the bag, and handed to Mr Goon.
“There! No harm done! Now let’s go home and put the kettle on. I would like me a bacon sandwich and a nice cuppa!”
“Gah!” Mr Goon said. But he got up, and, still glaring, followed the woman to the door. She ushered him out, then turned to me.
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42.
“Stop yelling at the little girl, Theo,” said the woman who was with Mr Goon. I noticed she looked a lot like him. She had the same protruding eyes and large, red face — only, hers looked cheerful.
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41.
Mr Goon wasn't mollified. “Running into people like that! Running into the Law himself!”
“Mr Goon, I am terribly sorry! But I didn’t run into you! I didn’t even touch you!”
“Ho! So it is my fault now? I have half a mind to have a word with your parents!”
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40.
“Look what you did!” Mr Goon said, glaring at me. “Can’t you see where you are going?”
“I-I am so sorry, Mr Goon,” I said, horrified. “I really didn’t mean to make you fall!”
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39.
It was Mr Goon! He was clutching several brown paper bags to his chest and talking to a woman over his shoulder. He noticed me too late and tried to step to one aside. Unfortunately, Mr Goon was not the most agile of people. He lost his balance. He did a little dance trying to regain, lost it anyway, and sat down heavily into a chair. One of the paper bags fell to floor, spilling a breakfast sandwich at his feet.
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38.
“Good morning, dear,” she said and smiled. Suddenly she looked kind.
“Good morning, Mrs Blyton,” I said, entering the shop — and almost bumping into a burly blue wall.
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37.
She looked a bit like Mrs Severeling, our school mistress. She was thin, with short iron-grey hair that stood up a little at the top. She wore a green blouse with pretty white collars over a black skirt. She looked very stern.
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36.
The bakery was within sight of the police station. It stood sandwiched between a hairdresser’s and Mr Lambkin’s butcher shop. Someone was coming out as I approached. It was the woman from London who had come to live at the place where the cottage burnt down.
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8.
Option B: Jump in, at any point, on the thread (once the story gets going, that is). Start a subthread (reply to any toot, continue replying), and take the story in any direction you want. Again, reading the original #EnidBlyton version might be useful. It's here: https://mastodon.social/@Chindu/109602123627648585
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7.
Option A: Start a thread with your own version of the first chapter of The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat. This link provides the original text, and the steps to follow: https://mastodon.social/@Chindu/109602123627648585
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6.
Rather than #EnidBlyton's omniscient narration, I will attempt the point of view of Bets — for the little girl who plays Watson to Fatty's #Sherlock has always been a favourite of mine. So, below, my version of the beginning of The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat, complete with Blytonian exclamations!.
Before I get going, if you would like to jump in into this 'participatory storytelling' — and I would be honoured if you did! — here are four ways you do it:
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5.
In case your memory is hazy on this series, the #FiveFindOuters are Fatty, Larry, Daisy, Pip, Bets, and Buster (the dog). In each of the 15 books in this series (and two little-known short stories), they solve mysteries that baffle Mr Goon, the village policeman.
The stories are all set in the village of Peterswood, modelled on #BourneEnd in #Buckinghamshire.
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4.
What I am setting myself up to do is toot, in this #thread, a retelling of the first chapter of a 'Mystery' book. I have gone for The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat, one of my favourite Blytons.
I would love it if other #EnidBlyton fans joined in, too, either with your own thread of retelling, jumping in on mine, or joining the discussion (more on that, coming up shortly). Let's walk down memory lane, be #ChildrenAgain, have some fun! 😀
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3.
Why the #FiveFindOuters? Because: Fatty turned 92 this month. Imagine. He made his first appearance in 1943, as a 12-year-old in the Mystery of the Burnt Cottages. Soon after, at Christmas time in The Secret Room, he turned 13. All of which makes December rather special. (Not to mention the fact that yours truly has time on his hands!)
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2.
What I have in mind is #EnidAnew (!) — a reimagining/retelling of a bit of the 'Mystery' series (also known as #FiveFindOuters). Lest you confuse this with the (more popular) #FamousFive, this is the one with Frederick Algernon Trotteville ('Fatty'), #EnidBlyton's version of #SherlockHolmes.
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1.
Powerful is the hold of nostalgia, which can make grown folks curl back into childhood. With that as context, here's a query for #EnidBlyton fans (and those who love #FanFiction): fancy a walk down memory lane, in the company of a few of Blyton's more interesting characters? If you do, talk to me!