Saffron & Bruno and Farmer Filbert's Cows

The yellow and red leaves whirled and twisted in the whistling wind.  They swept along the road and collected in quiet corners.  Piles and heaps of leaves were here and there and roundabout, all along the lane.   Even though the sun shone brightly, the wind was a cold one.  The people Saffron watched from the window were snuggly wrapped up in bobble hats, scarves and gloves.  The scarves flapped and flew in the gusts, if they were tied tightly.  They looked like woolly flags.  Saffron smiled and pulled Bruno closer so he too could see the patterns the leaves were making and the head down scurry of the people from the village.

Saffron sighed a contented sigh and pulled herself away from the window.  It could be as windy and as cold as it liked, out there, she thought.  In here, it’s all cosy and warm.  She jumped onto her bed and carried on with the picture she was drawing.  It was of a large custard pie hitting a ghost in the face.  The picture had a caption.  The caption had two words: food fight.

Saffron's Mum makes marvellous muffins!

 The thought of food made Saffron’s belly rumble and she wandered downstairs to see whether there were any muffins or biscuits in the kitchen.  She had timed it perfectly.  Just out of the oven and sat on the table was a mound of muffins.  Saffron picked up one of the warm cakes, said thank you to her mum, and sat at the kitchen table to eat.  She looked up at the sound of the kitchen door opening and the sight of a growing number of faces poking around the door.  There were up to sixteen faces, in fact, and all of them had eyes for just one thing: the muffins.  An unsightly pool of drool was growing on the kitchen floor.

“You’d better come in and help yourself, then,” smiled Saffron.  The Sixteen Stephens did not need asking twice.  Before you could say, “there’s a number of ghosts sat around the table eating cakes”, the Sixteen Stephens were gorging on the gorgeous muffins.  Soon, splodges of blueberry marked their mouths and contented burps and bulging bellies abounded.  The muffins were so delicious that, for once, even Stephen Number Ten hadn’t even thought about throwing one.  Saffron’s mum was going to have to make a new batch if anyone else wanted feeding.

“Hey, greedy-guts!”  Saffron’s mum ruffled Saffron’s hair and swiped the last of the muffins for herself.  “I’m glad you enjoyed the muffins.”

“They were delicious, Mum,” said Saffron, “We loved them!”

“We?”  Her mother asked.

“Me and Bruno, of course,” said Saffron, hurriedly.

“Of course,” replied her mum, “You two are inseparable!”

“Bruno’s my best friend, of course I shared the muffins with him,” Saffron declared, and then seeing the disbelieving looks of the Stephens all around her, added, “Well, amongst the best of all my friends.”  The ghosts smiled.

“Naturally, he is,” Saffron’s mum agreed.  “We would be lost without him!”  She looked in the fridge and tutted, “Oh, we’re out of milk,” she sighed.  “I was going to make you a hot chocolate but we can’t have hot chocolate without some milk.”  There was a pause.  “I know,” Saffron’s mum said, “Let’s head down to Farmer Filbert’s farm and pick up a pail.”  The sentence had hardly been spoken before Saffron had her coat and wellies on and was pulling on her mittens.

“Come on, Mum!”  was Saffron’s excited call, “Let’s go!”

*

The wind wrapped Saffron’s face up in a cold blanket but she didn’t mind one little bit.  Bruno swung her right hand and her left hand was dug deeply into her coat pocket: the coat being a blue duffle coat in honour of a Peruvian bear she had a liking for.  Her sunshine yellow wellies walloped and crashed through the piles of leaves in the lane and the deep brown puddles from yesterday’s rain were stamped in and splashed about the place.  Saffron shrieked in delight and her Mum joined in the kicking of leaves and sploshing of puddles.  The pair of them laughed like drains.

Saffron’s laughter was partially directed at the escapades of the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, who had also decided a walk down the lane to Farmer Filbert’s Farm was a jolly good idea.  She giggled as she watched Stephens Number Four and Eight try and run through a pile of leaves, forgetting, of course, that they didn’t have any feet!  The looks on their faces when they realised they couldn’t kick the leaves about was hilarious; the end result was just the same, however, as the ghostly gusts they created as they flapped and flew over the leaves sent the red and yellow and orange leaves all about, floating like confetti.  Saffron guffawed at the sight of Stephen Number Three jumping in the air and not landing in a puddle, while Stephen Number Fourteen held a pair of lime green wellies in his hands and looked forlornly about for some feet upon which to wear such a glorious pair of boots!

Leaves and puddles and lime green wellies!

Saffron shook the last laughter out of herself, held her mum’s hand and walked with her up the lane to the gate of Farmer Filbert’s Farm.

“Now, remember,” said Saffron’s Mum, “When we go through the paddock, what must we do?”
“We must always shut the gate so that the cows can’t get out on to the road,” said Saffrom.

“Exactly right,” said Saffron’s Mum and nodded her head.

“We don’t want any cows loose in the village, that’s for certain,” Agreed Saffron.  Carefully they opened the gate to the paddock, walked through and shut it behind them; taking care to fasten the chain over the hook and leave the gate secure.

The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew looked at the gate.  Now, they all knew they could fly over it and leave it well enough alone but Stephen Number Two simply could not resist the opportunity to cause a little chaos.

“It would be an awful moooostake to leave this gate open, wouldn’t it?”
 He chuckled.

“Unmooooostakeably!”  Agreed Stephen Number Seven.

“I think I might just moooooove this chain,” Stephen Number Two went on, “And swing it open.”

“I think we should mooooove out of the way,” Said Stephen Number Fifteen, as the herd began to saunter towards the mysteriously opening gate.  The Sixteen Stephens giggled and tittered as, one by one, the cows mooched out of the paddock, down the lane and toward the village.

“This could be a cowtastrophe!”  Sniggered Stephen Number Five.  The Sixteen Stephens smiled big smiles and Andrew shook his head.

*

Saffron and Bruno and Saffron’s Mum thanked Farmer Filbert for the milk and started to walk back home.  They’d only gone a few feet when they realised that the field in which the cows were herded had all gone quite quiet.  It had also gone quite empty.

“’Ere,” Said Farmer Filbert, who had followed them to the field, “Where’s me cows gawn?”

The three of them, and Bruno, looked around.  Sure enough, there were the cows – gone.

“’Ere,” said Farmer Filbert, “You did shut the gate back up affer you came through it, didnya?”

“Absolutely,” said Saffron, “We locked it up proper, didn’t we Mum?”  Saffron’s Mum nodded in agreement.

“I just don’t udderstand it,” said a suddenly spritely Stephen Number Eleven, floating at Saffron’s shoulder, “Where could they have gone?”

“It’s udderscribable!”  Laughed Stephen Number Two, floating at Saffron’s other shoulder, “They’re nowhere to be seen!”  Saffron glared at the ghosts and rushed across the field.

“Oh no!”  She yelled, as she reached the far side, the cows were out and all over the place.

The cows were all over the place!

The Sixteen Stephens could not have been happier with their work.  Mrs Anderson looked out of her kitchen window to see a cow in her garden.  The cow had managed to get into Mrs Anderson’s geraniums and had somehow plaited a gorgeous garland out of the blooms and was wearing it about its neck whilst munching on whatever was left over.  Cedric Stevenson stood frozen to the spot, just behind the counter of his café.  A cow had made it into his café and was licking all the buns.  Mr Waiting and Mr Nudge were stood at one of the bowling green wondering what that big black and white blob was at the other end?  Their eyesight wasn’t as good as it had once been.  The cow that had got on the bowling green and was giving the grass a bit more of a trim, gave a loud moo, and then gave the grass a pat.  Mr Waiting and Mr Nudge were quiet startled.  More unusually, two cows had liberated a tandem from the bicycle shop and were pedalling down the high street, much to the amusement of the villagers there.  One cow was sat on a park bench reading a newspaper and, lastly, one of the cows had got on to the railway line and was currently engaged in a staring competition with the driver of the 2:45 from Town.  The cow appeared to be winning,

Saffron, Saffron’s Mum and Farmer Filbert looked at the cows; then they looked at each other, and then they looked at the cows again.

“How are we going to get them back?”  Asked Saffron’s Mum.

“’Ere,” said, Farmer Filbert, “I’m not too sure ‘baht that.”

Saffron turned to Andrew and stared at him.  Andrew shrugged.

“Cows don’t udderstand finger clicks, I’m afraid,” he said and shrugged again.  Saffron humphed a bit and then, seizing Bruno’s hand just a little bit tighter, she walked off into the village to start to round the cows up.

Getting the cows out of people’s gardens and out of the bowling club was pretty straightforward.  Convincing the two cows to return the tandem and head back toward the paddock was a touch harder but Saffron, using one of her sterner voices, managed to do it (especially when the cow at the front realised the cow at the back hadn’t been pedalling for the last fifteen minutes and had, in fact, been sat with her hooves up, taking in the view).  Next Saffron turned her attention to cow on the park bench.  She simply wouldn’t be moved.  Saffron realised why once she had looked over the cow’s shoulder; she was in the middle of the crossword.  Saffron patiently waited, helped out with seven down (the clue: muscles in the lower part of the leg…the answer: calves).  Once she had finished the cow folded the newspaper and tucked it behind her ear and merrily made her way back to the farmer’s field.

The cow staring down the train was something else.  Saffron tried shooing the cow.  It didn’t work.  Saffron tried pushing the cow.  It didn’t work.  Saffron tried rustling some delicious hay in the direction of the obstinate cow in an attempt to tempt her with some bovine cuisine.  It didn’t work.  Saffron could hear Farmer Filbert getting restless.  He was saying “’ere” again and she knew she had to do something to get the cow back to the paddock.  All of a sudden, she knew exactly what to do.  She needed a stare, not just any old stare, of course, but a stare for the ages.  A stare that was steady.  A stare that was sure.  A stare that could outstare a staring cow.  And the answer was right there in her hands.

Saffron put Bruno right in front of the errant cow.  The cow met Bruno’s stare.  The cow stared at Bruno.  Bruno stared at the cow.  The cow mooed, and continued to stare at Bruno.  Bruno didn’t moo but continued to stare at the cow.  Slowly and steadily, Saffron moved Bruno; always making sure her eyes met the cows.  The cow followed.  The cow mooed and stared at Bruno.  Bruno didn’t moo but stared at the cow.  Saffron guided the cow back toward the paddock and Farmer Filbert stopped saying “’ere” and, as he saw the cow and the toy frog eye to eye, in fierce staring competition, said, “Well, I never!” instead.  Saffron closed and chained up the gate and all the cows were home.  They all started to munch on the clover, as if nothing had happened at all.

The Sixteen Stephens all stood looking a bit guilty; desperately wishing they had feet to stare at instead of having to every now and then catch Saffron’s eye.  The air was tense.  The Sixteen Stephens could feel a bit of a warranted tongue-lashing was about to take place.  It wasn’t a very nice feeling, at all!  It was at this point that Stephen Number Ten decided to take matters into his own hands.  He didn’t enjoy feeling guilty…especially when he had actually done the thing he was being made to feel guilty for!  He could see the look in Andrew’s eyes and he could see the look in Saffron’s eyes…and he could see the look in Bruno’s eyes, although to be fair, this was the same look Bruno always had.  He was a toy frog.  Stephen Number Ten could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his brow.  His cheeks were beginning to glow from pink to red.  Two words were building up from inside his head and he just knew they were going to burst out pretty jolly soon!  In preparation for these two words, two custard pies appeared in his hands.

“FOOD FIGHT!”

He flung the flans.

SPLAT!  Custard pies collided with faces, with tummies, with arms, with the backs of heads, with everything!  The yellow gloop was flying everywhere.  Stephen Number Ten furiously threw pie after pie, a grim look of determination on his face.  He seemed to have a sixth sense about him, he avoided, dodged and ducked from all and any custardy comestible heading his way.  He managed to make the trifle miss him.  The éclairs did no damage to this spectral visage.  And Saffron noticed this.  And so Saffron took careful aim and Saffron threw her custard tart.  Bullseye – which seemed quite appropriate given the nature of things! – The pie landed slap bang in the middle of Stephen Number Ten’s face.  He didn’t see it coming.  Underneath the crust and custard there was a look of extreme surprise on the ghost’s face.

Stephen Number Ten looked just like the picture Saffron had been drawing!

Stephen Number Eight had been transformed.  He had gone through staring at the ground and picking at his fingernails, swathed in guilt, to trying to sneak away from the group of ghouls at the back, to running around desperately trying to cram more and more of the custard pies into his ever expanding mouth.  He looked like a sweet, yellow ghost of a hamster.  His cheeks were puffed out so much he was in danger of not fitting through doorways.  Globs of custard dribbled from his stuffed full mouth.  His mouth turned up in the form of a smiley smile!

Tarts and pies zoomed through the air.  The Sixteen Stephens were absolutely smothered in cream and custard and hundreds and thousands and jelly and bits of fruit and chocolate and gloop and goo and mess and laughter.  The cows looked over the hedge of their paddock and slowly chewed the cud.  Nothing seemed to faze the cows.  One of them reached out, grabbed a pie, popped it in her mouth and slowly started chewing that instead.  The cow moo’d her appreciation of the creaminess of the custard.

Saffron looked at the complete contrast between the unhurried and slow chewing bovines and the gloop encrusted ghouls and she giggled.

“What on earth did you start a food fight for?”  She asked.

“FOOD FIGHT!”  Yelled Stephen Number Ten again and each of the ghosts readied a pie in each hand.

“Stop!”  Exclaimed Andrew, “Enough pie throwing for one day.  There’s hot chocolate to be had, remember?”  There was much licking of lips and putting away of custardy missiles.  “Well?”  He asked, staring straight at Stephen Number Ten.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time?”  was the best Stephen Number Ten could manage.   There was a pause and the pause was broken by the sound of Saffron’s laughter.

“Fancy a cow doing a crossword,” Saffron laughed, “Or cows riding a tandem,” She sniggered, “Or a cow and train driver in a staring competition,” she snorted.

“What was that, darling?” Asked Saffron’s Mum.

“Oh, I was just laughing at how much fun it was getting those cows back in the field,” said Saffron.  She clutched Bruno in one hand and helped her mother carry the pail of milk back home.

The Sixteen Stephens, now a giggling gaggle of ghouls, trailed along behind Saffron and her Mum.  A yellow river of custard ran after them too.  The wind was still biting cold and the thought of hot chocolate seemed like one of the best ideas ever.  Andrew paused and looked about the village and at the Sixteen Stephens.  He sighed.  And then he gave a sharp click of his fingers and all returned it all to however it once was.  Fortunately, bicycle shops, 2:45s from Town, gardens and newspapers (and custard) all understand finger clicks.  One of the cow’s stomachs was slightly emptier than it had been moments before.  The cow hardly noticed and carried on chewing the cud…slowly.

Back in her kitchen, Saffron’s mother got going with warming the milk.  The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew and Saffron and Bruno sat and licked their lips in anticipation.  The hot chocolate was the creamiest, most chocolaty and most delicious they’d all had in a long time.  A contented sigh swam in the cosy kitchen and the red and yellow leaves swirled and swept about in the wicked wind outside.

Gorgeous, delicious, creamy hot chocolate!