Little Piggy Peter

A story for children aged 3 – 7
By : Ann Johnson

Piggy Peter was a greedy little Piggy. No matter how much he ate, he could never seem to fill himself up.

“But I love eating,” said Piggy Peter to his Mummy.

“I know you do sweetheart, but you have to be careful how much you eat. Too much is not good for you,” she replied.

Little Piggy Peter didn’t want to listen to his Mummy; he thought that he knew what was best for him. So he waited for his Mummy to start hoovering up in the front room, before going into the kitchen to find something else to eat.

As he looked in the fridge he thought to himself, ‘Mmmm, that yoghurt looks nice. I wonder what sort it is.’

Without another thought, he gulped it down and quickly closed the fridge door. He checked in the mirror to make sure there was no yoghurt around his face, grabbed his school bag and ran quickly past his Mummy, shouting, “Bye Mummy. See you after school.”

Mummy Piggy looked up quickly. That was the quickest she had ever seen him dash off to school.

As soon as Piggy Peter turned the corner, he sat on the wall and delved into his bag again. Licking his lips, he stuffed a chocolate bar into his mouth. He knew that his school would not let him eat sweets, so he had to make sure he ate them before he got there.

Tilley Tiger and Hillary Hippo giggled as they walked past Piggy Peter. He could feel his face go red. He didn’t like it when people laughed at him… especially girls.

He soon began to wish he hadn’t eaten that last chocolate bar because just as Hillary Hippo turned round to look at him again, his belly made a huge gurgling sound. Piggy Peter could feel his cheeks begin to burn.

Piggy Peter soon reached the school playground. Christopher Crocodile walked up to him and said, “OK, so where are your sweets?”

Piggy Peter could feel his knees begin to shake, as he replied, “I haven’t got any sweets…honestly!”

“What do you mean, you haven’t got any? You always have sweets.”

Just at that moment the head teacher, Mrs Panther, walked straight up to Peter and said, “I have just had a telephone call from your Mother. She has asked that you go home straight away.”

Christopher Crocodile sloped off to the other side of the playground to find someone else to pick on.

Piggy Peter didn’t want to hang around, and dashed straight off home. He grabbed hold of his tummy and ran home as fast as he could.

As Piggy Peter ran round the corner to his house, he could see his mummy standing on the doorstep.

Piggy Peter ran straight past his mummy as he dashed to the toilet.

His mummy smiled to herself, because she knew exactly where Peter had to go.

A few moments later Piggy Peter appeared in the kitchen, still holding his tummy. “Oh Mummy, I’ve just had the biggest poo in the world, and my tummy is still hurting.” Feeling a little bit sorry for himself, he sat beside his mummy.

“Do you know why you have got a bad tummy Peter?”

Piggy Peter shook his head. He had no idea why he was feeling so ill.

His mummy looked at him and asked, “Well, do you remember eating something out of the fridge this morning?”

Piggy Peter was about to lie to his mummy, because he had been told not to eat any more food that morning. Then he remembered that funny tasting yoghurt he had eaten before he went to school.

His mummy smiled as she said, “Well, I take it you didn’t know you were eating a pot of home made mayonnaise?”

“Uuugghhhh,” squealed Piggy Peter, “I thought it was yoghurt.”

Little Piggy Peter felt so ashamed. He promised his mummy that, in future, he would never eat anything if he didn’t know what it was.

His mummy said, “I’m just glad it wasn’t something dangerous you ate. You should always check first.”

And you know what?

Little Piggy Peter kept his promise and never, ever, ate anything he wasn’t supposed to.

The End

Ann Johnson © 2006

A Perfect Pet For Harry

A story for children aged 3 – 7
By : Maureen Vincent-Northam

Harry longed for a pet of his own, a perfect pet. But he wanted something a little different from the usual pet. Rabbits and guinea pigs were all very well, but lots of people had those. And goldfish he thought were just a little bit ordinary. What Harry wanted was something unusual.

“I don’t think I’d like you to have one of those big hairy spiders,” said Harry’s mum. “Nor those horrible green reptiles that poke their tongues out, and stand about all day looking shifty.” Harry didn’t think he’d like hairy spiders or reptiles either.

“A dog’s the thing,” said Harry’s dad. “One of those great big, lolloping shaggy ones like Mr Ferris has next door. You could take it for walks and teach it to sit up and beg.” But Harry didn’t want a dog like Mr Ferris had. Harry wanted something different.

While Harry was playing in the garden one morning he saw something move among the leaves. A brown something. A brown, prickly something. A brown prickly something that Harry felt would make the perfect pet.

“Hello,” said Harry to the little hedgehog. “Have you come to play?”

“I’m going to call him Spike,” Harry told Mr and Mrs Ferris the next-door neighbours who were peering over the garden wall curious to know who Harry was talking to.

“You’ll never teach him to fetch sticks,” laughed Mr Ferris.

“He isn’t very cuddly, is he?” said Mrs Ferris.

Harry thought Spike was going to be the most exciting pet in the world. But it wasn’t long before he realised that Spike wasn’t a very exciting pet at all.

The little hedgehog didn’t want to play with balls of wool like kittens do or run round and round inside little wheels like hamsters. And Spike didn’t have the slightest interest in fetching sticks.

Of course, Spike didn’t stalk birds like cats did. Harry had seen Mrs Ferris shoo away her cat, Tiddles, when he got too close to the bird table. And Spike didn’t bite the postman’s leg like a misbehaved dog might, which was quite a good thing.

It’s just that Spike wasn’t a very playful pet. He wasn’t an active or sporty or rough-and-tumble sort of pet. In fact the thing Spike seemed to enjoy most was curling himself up into a tight, prickly ball. Harry was a little disappointed.

Then one evening, Harry’s dad brought home a wonderful surprise. “This is
Spike 2,” he said.

And from under his jacket, a puppy’s head appeared; a very inquisitive puppy’s head, with lopsided ears and wiry ginger hair that stood up in all directions. It was a rather unusual looking puppy Harry had to admit; he’d never seen one quite like it before.

Dad put Spike 2 down onto the floor and the excited little puppy circled Harry, wagging his tail so hard that Harry thought it might work loose. Harry knelt on the floor and tried to catch the lively puppy. The pup rolled over and over and then played tug of war with Harry’s shoelace.

Spike 2 was going to be a very playful pet. He certainly looked different and he was certainly unusual. Harry hugged him and somehow he knew that he’d found the perfect pet at last.


Maureen Vincent-Northam© 2006

Barnaby Rabbit and the Pesky Fox

A story for children aged 3 – 7
By : Peter Allchin

There was a loud ‘Rat a tat tat’ at Mrs. Rabbit’s front door. It was Mr. Hare, Orange Blossom Wood’s finest, and only, postman.

“I’m very sorry Mrs. Rabbit,” said Mr. Hare. “ There will not be any letters again today. The pesky fox took my post-bag, as I was about to put a letter through Mrs. Titmouse’s letterbox.”

“Well I’ll be blowed,” said Mrs. Rabbit. “That’s the fifth time this week! Something really must be done about that pesky fox.”

Word quickly spread through Orange Blossom Wood about how the pesky fox was taking the post-bags from Mr. Hare the postman. Everybody was very annoyed.

Barnaby Rabbit called a special meeting of all his friends, to take place at their secret hideout near Barnaby’s house.

“Right!” said Barnaby. “We’ve got to stop this pesky fox. Has anyone got any ideas?”

“We could go round to the pesky fox’s house and ask him, very nicely of course, to stop what he is doing,” replied Timothy Titmouse.

“Or we could guard Mr. Hare, the postman, as he delivers the letters,” added Willy Weasel.

“Erm… I don’t think either idea would work,” remarked Barnaby Rabbit.
“Firstly, the pesky fox is bigger and stronger than us, and I don’t think he would be happy if we all turned up on his doorstep. Secondly, who wants to get up as early as Mr. Hare the postman and try to guard him all morning, every morning?”

For a long while, nobody said a word.

“I think I know what we should do,” said Peter Partridge. “If we follow Mr. Hare the postman without being seen, we could all jump on the pesky fox when he takes the post-bag.”

“Even better than that,” added Barnaby Rabbit. “As the pesky fox takes the post-bag from Mr. Hare, Harry Hedgehog curls up into a ball then we roll him towards the pesky fox, knocking him over. That would give him such a fright.”

“That’s a great idea,” they all said, and agreed to meet Mr. Hare the postman, early the next day.

The following morning, Barnaby Rabbit and his pals gathered outside the post office and told Mr. Hare of the plan to stop the pesky fox. Mr. Hare then set off to deliver the letters.

It was now quite late in the morning, and nothing had happened. Barnaby Rabbit began to think that nothing would happen, when, keeping watch from a high bank as Mr. Hare walked along a ditch near farmer Brown’s sheep field, he saw the pesky fox rush out from behind a bush and grab the post-bag.

“Quick Harry, curl up into a ball,” whispered Barnaby. Then, as Harry curled into a ball, all his friends pushed him and rolled him down the slope towards the pesky fox.

Faster and faster he rolled, until Harry Hedgehog finally landed on the pesky fox’s back!

“Argh…That hurts,” shouted the pesky fox.

“Serves you right!” said Barnaby Rabbit as he took the post-bag from the fox and gave it back to Mr. Hare. “Why do you keep taking the post?” he asked.

The dazed fox sat down and explained that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but he needed the post-bags for Mrs. Fox to lay on before she gives birth to the new cubs. “I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,” he said. “All the letters are safe, and I haven’t read any of them…Honest.”

“There must be something better than post-bags for Mrs. Fox and her cubs to lay on,” said Barnaby. Then he noticed all the lamb’s wool stuck to Harry Hedgehog’s spines. “That’s it. That’s what we need,” he exclaimed. “If we roll Harry along the fence by farmer Brown’s sheep field, all the loose wool will get caught on his spines.”

The pesky fox hung his head in shame. “You’d help me, after all the trouble I’ve caused?” he said.

“What you did was wrong,” answered Barnaby Rabbit. “You cannot take things which do not belong to you; that is stealing. But Mrs. Fox needed help, so why should we not help you? ”

All Barnaby Rabbit’s friends and Mr. Hare the postman agreed. Soon, lots of soft lamb’s wool had been gathered and taken back to the pesky fox’s home. The post-bags, which had been stolen, were gathered up and the letters put back inside them. In their place was a warm woollen bed for Mrs. Fox to lay on.

The pesky fox insisted on delivering the letters himself, so he could say sorry to all the people he had upset.

A few days later, Mrs. Fox gave birth to the cubs. The pesky fox, now no longer pesky, was a very proud father, and never took any post-bags, nor anything else that didn’t belong to him, ever again.

The End

Peter Allchin © 2006

Barnaby Rabbit and the Big Bad Badger

A story for children aged 3 – 7
By : Peter Allchin

It was a warm sunny day in Orange Blossom Wood and two of Barnaby Rabbit’s best friends, Peter Partridge and Philipa Pheasant had called to see if Barnaby could go with them into the wood to play.

“Don’t go too far.” said Mrs. Rabbit, “There’s a Big Bad Badger out there and I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“We won’t,” they replied, and off they went.

“I wonder what a Big Bad Badger looks like,” said Philipa Pheasant.

“I dunno,” answered Peter Partridge. “Just like any other badger I suppose.”

”Only bigger and badder, I guess,” added Barnaby, then continued, “I wonder what we’ll do if we if we see him? I suppose I could dive into a small burrow and hide.”

“And I could fly away,” said Philipa Pheasant.

“And I suppose I’ll get eaten by the Big Bad Badger,” said Peter Partridge. “Because I’m not as quick as you two.”

Barnaby went up to his friend and put his arm around him. “You’ll be ok. Peter, I don’t think we will see the Big Bad Badger at all. I bet my mum is just trying to scare us, just so we don’t wander off too far.”

During their conversation they had walked far into the woods without realising just how far they had gone, and were totally unaware that they were being followed.

“It’s getting awfully dark,” Philipa Pheasant remarked, noticing that the path had become quite narrow and the trees and bushes were getting very dense.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Peter Partridge.

They all stopped and listened.

“Hear what exactly?” said Philipa, a little nervously.

Peter turned and looked in every direction. “That noise,” he replied. “Like a Big Bad Badger.”

“Don’t be silly Peter,” said Barnaby Rabbit. “The wood is always full of noises, and anyway, how do you know what a Big Bad Badger sounds like?”

Before Peter Partridge could answer, a big bellowing voice boomed out, “BOO!”

Philipa Pheasant flapped her wings and tried to fly, but the trees and bushes were too close and she couldn’t get off the ground.

Barnaby Rabbit saw a hole in the ground and dived for cover, but a large tree root had almost filled the hole.

Peter Partridge just stood where he was, eyes closed. “Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me,” he muttered

Something tapped him on the shoulder. “Who’s going to eat you?” asked the voice.

“Y, y, you are,” answered Peter, opening one eye then quickly shutting it tight. “Y, y, you’re the Big Bad Badger.”

“Why,” said the voice, “I’ve never eaten anyone in my life. I may be big, but as for being bad, well…a little naughty perhaps. I do go through the woods making people jump by shouting out ‘BOO!’ but that’s all.”

The three friends gathered in front of the Big Bad Badger. “Why don’t you play normal games like other woodland folk?” asked Barnaby Rabbit.

“It’s my size,” replied the Badger; “Nobody wants to play games with someone as big as me, so I just wander around the woods making people jump. It passes the time of day I suppose, although it isn’t really fun.”

The three chums looked at each other and smiled. “If you stop frightening people, then we will be your friends and play games with you,” said Barnaby Rabbit. “Do you know how to play football and hunt the acorn?”

The Big Bad Badger looked very thoughtful. “I don’t think I do,” he replied, “But I really would like to learn.”

And so, the Big Bad Badger, Peter Partridge, Philipa Pheasant and Barnaby Rabbit played football and hunt the acorn, which of course, the Big Bad Badger, with his strong claws, always won.

It was rumoured that the Big Bad Badger had left the woods and gone away, but each day, he and his friends would play games deep the heart of Orange Blossom Wood.

The end

Peter Allchin © 2006

Barnaby Rabbit Saves the Day

story for children aged 3 – 7

By : Peter Allchin

Barnaby Rabbit was hot, very hot. It was the middle of a beautiful summer in Orange Blossom Wood. High above the trees and bushes, the sun shone in a blue cloudless sky, and even the leaves on the trees failed to stop the heat of the sun from penetrating through to the woodland floor where Barnaby Rabbit lived.

The birds, too hot to sing or fly, remained perched on the branches of the trees. No animals, large or small, scurried through the grasses and fallen branches looking for food, and it was certainly far too warm for the youngsters to play. Only the bees seemed to be going about their daily chores collecting nectar from the wild flowers. Their humming was a reminder to Barnaby Rabbit that life carried on in Orange Blossom Wood.

As Barnaby was lazing in his mother’s armchair, daydreaming of cooler days and playing with his friends, there came a knock at the door. “I’ll get it mum,” he said, glad for something to do.

It was Mrs. Hedgehog. “Hello Barnaby,” said Mrs Hedgehog. “Is Harry with you?”

“No,” replied Barnaby. “I haven’t seen Harry all morning.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Hedgehog. “I’ve been to see all his other friends and no-one knows where he is. You were my last hope. Now I don’t know what to do.”

Barnaby Rabbit smiled at Mrs. Hedgehog. “Don’t worry Mrs. Hedgehog,” he said. “I’ll find him for you. Harry has probably curled up in a hollow log somewhere to keep cool.”

After saying goodbye to Mrs. Hedgehog, Barnaby Rabbit called an emergency meeting with his best pals, Peter Partridge and Philipa Pheasant, and soon they were all looking for Harry Hedgehog. First, they looked in all the hollow logs; no Harry Hedgehog. Then they searched under the thickest bushes; still no Harry Hedgehog.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do now,” said Philipa Pheasant. “Harry has never got lost before.”

Barnaby Rabbit suggested to Philipa Pheasant that she flew over Orange Blossom Wood to see if she could spot Harry Hedgehog from the air. Philipa flapped her wings, but it was no good; she was too hot and exhausted.

“I wish I were a duck so that I could fly over the wood,” said Peter Partridge.

“That’s it!” said Barnaby Rabbit. “The duck pond. I wonder if Harry went to the duck pond to cool down?”

“But Harry can’t swim,” said Philipa Pheasant.

“Then we had better hurry,” Barnaby Rabbit said, and headed off in the direction of the duck pond, followed closely by his two friends.

“Help! Help!” It was the voice of Harry Hedgehog. “Help! Help!”

The three friends arrived at the duck pond and saw Harry in the water, being held afloat by Mr. and Mrs. Duck. “We can’t hold him much longer,” said Mr. Duck. “And we are unable to push him to the bank; he’s too heavy. If we let go, Harry will sink!”

Barnaby Rabbit thought very quickly and soon came up with a plan. “We must find a long stick or branch that we can all carry,” he said.

“Hurry, oh please hurry!” spluttered Harry Hedgehog as his friends searched around the duck pond.

“Over here!” called Philipa, and soon, Barnaby Rabbit, Peter Partridge and Philipa Pheasant were dragging a long branch towards the edge of the duck pond. They lowered it onto the water and pushed it towards Harry Hedgehog, being careful not to let the branch out of their grip.

“Grab the end of the branch Harry and we’ll pull you out,” said Barnaby, and Harry Hedgehog grabbed the branch. With the help of Mr. and Mrs. Duck, who pushed, and Barnaby, Peter and Philipa, who pulled, Harry Hedgehog was soon on dry land. The four friends thanked Mr. and Mrs. Duck then made their way home.

“What on earth were you thinking of Harry? You could have drowned!” said Mrs. Hedgehog, annoyed that her only son could be so foolish.

“I’m sorry mum,” answered Harry, still dripping wet despite the heat. “The water looked so cool and inviting, so I just ran and jumped in. I didn’t know the duck pond was so deep!”

“It’s a good job Barnaby and his friends turned up when they did,” said Mrs. Hedgehog. “Never, ever, go in water that you don’t know the depth of, and always be with friends, especially when near water, in case something does goes wrong.”

The lesson was learned. Harry Hedgehog thanked Barnaby Rabbit, Peter Partridge and Philipa Pheasant and never went near water, without his friends, again.

The End

Peter Allchin © 2006