Tales of Mr Spinach by Auntie Julie

Tales of Mr Spinach

For: Jade’s 7th Birthday

From: Auntie Julie, 2005

Once upon a time there was a garden. It was a magic garden because when no-one was around, the vegetables came to life! Only special people know about the magic garden – that’s you and me.

The Baby Cheeses

Mr. Spinach was not very nice. His mother didn’t want him (mothers have a sixth sense about the bad in people) and when he was just a leaf she left him near the compost heap. He survived though and became a strong spinach. Unfortunately, he developed a bitter personality and soon became the terror of the vegetable patch. There was one group of vegetables in the garden that were most hated by Mr. Spinach – the babies.

One day Mr. Spinach was in a particularly bad mood and had been marching up and down the garden path looking for someone to bully. Suddenly he stopped– he could hear laughing. He followed the sound of the laughter to the conservatory of the house. Rolling around on the table were some round, red, shiny balls. He climbed up on a chair next to the table, his curiosity getting the better of him. What on earth were they? His leaves slapped on the table top and the red balls stood still as statues.

“Who are you, my pretties?” asked Mr. Spinach.

There was silence. He climbed up onto the table, approached them, stroked one under the chin and tried again.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

A tiny voice whispered, “Please don’t hurt us– we’re mini cheeses.”

For a moment Mr. Spinach’s eyes gleamed, his mind racing. He’d never had the pleasure of a cheese before…

“Oh, I won’t hurt you – YET!”

And with that he grabbed the little red net bag that had been thrown down on the table top, grabbed the cheeses, and stuffed them into it. The cheeses were screaming and crying.

“Leave us alone! We’re needed at a packed lunch!”

“Not now you’re not…” muttered Mr. Spinach.

With that, he jumped off the table, bag in hand, and ran down the garden path to his den underneath the old rusty wheelbarrow at the bottom of the garden.

Outside it was a bright, sunny day, a little windy but still hot. Inside the den it was dark, cold, and damp. The little cheeses had gone quiet now. They were scared and they’d had a bumpy journey down the garden and were bruised and sore. Mr. Spinach dumped the bag on the wet floor, smiled at the cheeses (baring his brown, stubby gums), and marched across the den to a strange looking machine.

The machine was covered with a dirty cloth, and after Mr. Spinach had wheeled it into the middle of the floor he caught the eyes of the cheeses watching him and said, “Are you ready?”

The mini cheeses were shaking in their skins. Mr. Spinach whipped off the cloth to reveal a machine that comprised a round, flat plate on the floor and above it an arm like a crane that had another round plate dangling flat at the end of it. Casually he walked toward the cheeses saying,

“Who’s gonna go first?”

The cheeses pressed into each other as Mr. Spinach’s arm reached into the bag, grabbing one of the trembling red balls. Mr. Spinach stripped off the red skin of the cheese and threw it on the floor. With some effort he held down the little bare cheese on the bottom plate and pulled a lever, watching as the other round plate above them descended slowly, squeezing the cheese harder and harder until it could breathe no more. Suddenly all was quiet. The two plates were completely pressed together. Mr. Spinach pulled the lever up and with a collective gasp of horror, as the two plates parted, the mini cheeses saw that their friend had been squashed into cheese spread!

Mr. Spinach licked his lips. One of his leaves had turned hard and curly at the end and he used it like a knife to scrape off some of the "cheese spread"’. He almost had it in his mouth when a loud voice boomed

“Stop right there!”

It was PC Cucumber of the Garden. Mr. Spinach scowled at him.

“You always have to interfere don’t you PC Puke-umber?”

The tall, green policeman smiled.

“Of course I do – if it means stopping you from terrorizing youngsters in the garden. Now come along with me, you know the drill.”

Mr. Spinach went with him because he knew that he was cornered and wouldn’t be able to get away. The mini cheeses were led away by WPC Gherkin, a very nice police lady who did counseling on the side.

As for Mr. Spinach, he spent a long time in a police cell – until he managed to escape!

The Scarecrow

Very soon after Mr. Spinach had escaped from his police cell (and he did so very cleverly by using a string bean to intimidate a young cucumber officer), everyone was put on the lookout. Mr. Spinach was hiding out under the rusty blades of an old combine harvester. He had always been impatient, though, and very soon became bored waiting and waiting.

One day, on one of those days when it seems to be dark all day, Mr. Spinach decided to come out and have a look around. He crept out from underneath the combine harvester, checked that the coast was clear, and then ran to the edge of a wheat field adjoining the garden. He could see no-one around so he decided to take a gentle stroll, just to stretch his stalks. After about half an hour and having only seen field mice, butterflies, and a few dollops of horse poo, Mr. Spinach spotted a scarecrow.

“What have we here? A stupid scarecrow with mice in his hair! Hello Mr. Thicky!” he shouted.

The scarecrow said nothing. He did nothing. He was a scarecrow and they’re not real. Are they? Feeling mischievous Mr. Spinach approached the scarecrow intent on tormenting him. What he didn’t realise was that the scarecrow knew exactly who he was and had sent one of his field mice to fetch PC Cucumber.

Mr. Spinach stood toe to straw-stuffed-trouser-leg with the scarecrow and ran a leaf down the scarecrow’s face. Grinning madly, Mr. Spinach grabbed a handful of face straw and plucked it out! It hurt terribly but the scarecrow didn’t flinch. He continued to stare mutely ahead.

“How brave you are Mr. Thicky scarecrow!” muttered Mr. Spinach.

All of a sudden, without warning, the scarecrow grabbed Mr. Spinach and stuffed him into his straw belly! Mr. Spinach was shouting and swearing and kicking but the scarecrow was strong (the farmer gave him porridge oats every day) and Mr. Spinach stood no chance.

Eventually, Mr. Spinach gave up and was quiet and still. The scarecrow smiled and readied himself for the arrival of PC Cucumber. Unfortunately, the field mouse who had been despatched to Vegetable Police Headquarters had been scampering over the field when he tripped over a discarded rusty combine harvester blade. Oh dear.

Meanwhile, time was ticking by and the scarecrow was beginning to worry. Mr. Spinach, always quick to take advantage, hatched a plan……

All night the scarecrow stood, resolute, Mr. Spinach laying still and sweaty in the scarecrow’s stomach. The next morning Mr. Spinach’s plan was starting to take effect. The scarecrow felt poorly. He wasn’t standing upright like he usually did, he was distinctly droopy. Guess what Mr. Spinach was doing? He was letting himself begin to rot and was slowly poisoning the scarecrow! Mr. Spinach knew that he only needed a few more hours and the scarecrow would be a useless heap on the ground and he would be free to escape.

Time was of the essence and as the scarecrow grew weaker, Mr. Spinach, although weak himself, was determined to get out. Eventually, the scarecrow collapsed. Mr. Spinach pushed his way out of the scarecrow’s tummy, a terrible rotting vegetable smell coming out as well. Mr. Spinach was very thin and pale and wobbly on his stalks and as he looked around for PC Cucumber, he noticed two field mice huddled next to the scarecrow heap. The poor little things were wearing black armbands and were sobbing into red and white spotty hankies. The coast was clear so Mr. Spinach made a clean getaway. Again. As he walked slowly across the field, the sunshine warming his leaves, he saw the farmer running towards the scarecrow, a big bowl of porridge oats in his hands. Mr. Spinach made a mental note: don’t go near that scarecrow ever again.

The Baby Tomatoes

It wasn’t long before Mr. Spinach was back in the garden living in his den under the rusty wheelbarrow terrorizing the other vegetables. Now, you’d think he’d be back under lock and key wouldn’t you, for breaking out of his police cell. Owing to a technicality he was let off with a caution. (A technicality means someone had made a mistake in the paperwork so Mr. Spinach had to be let off a bit. What really happened was that PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin were both working the late shift and ended up gazing into each other’s eyes, fancying the green knobbly skin off each other, and the relevant paperwork ended up in the bin.) Mr. Spinach was given an ASVO (an Anti-Social Vegetable Disorder) and a snag. A snag is like an ankle tag. In the garden, however, a snail is stuck to the offender, a ring of salt is placed around the perimeter of the offender’s allowed roaming area, and if the snail senses the salt (and it will because salt kills slugs and snails) it will make all sorts of noises, alerting PC Cucumber at once. The most common noise is:

“Get away from that salt!” or “Aaaaarrrggghhhh!” or “fizz, fizz, foam, gurgle.”

Out on the prowl, very early one morning, Mr. Spinach was checking for anything different in the garden. He soon found it! It was a chilly morning, frosty dew covered the plant leaves like a diamond blanket and most of the vegetables were still tucked up in their beds. In the greenhouse, however, it was a different matter.

It was very warm and noisy in the greenhouse. The tomatoes were laughing and rolling about (a bit drunk on that special plant food that makes tomatoes grow better) and the cucumbers and courgettes were basking in the heat in the skimpiest bikinis you’ve ever seen. There were beautiful flowers growing in the greenhouse and they were swaying and murmuring to each other how gorgeous they were. Mr. Spinach wandered into the greenhouse and everything went quiet.

“Good morning. Anything you want to tell me?” he asked.

It was still silent. Mr. Spinach continued looking around. A couple of the tomatoes rolled towards the back of the table they were on, trying not to look shifty but, of course, Mr. Spinach, being an expert in shiftiness spotted them immediately. He lept onto the table and in one swift movement had shoved them out of the way with his large leafy arms and was investigating what it was that they were trying to hide.

“Well, well, well,” muttered Mr. Spinach. In front of him, fast asleep were six baby tomatoes still on their vine.

“Ah, how sweet,” he said.

He stroked them and the whole greenhouse seemed to shudder. One of the babies woke up with a start, saw Mr. Spinach, and panicked. Within a few seconds, it had wrenched itself off its vine, rolled at speed across the table, flew over the edge, and then was nothing more than a big red, splat on the greenhouse floor. The other babies stayed absolutely still. Mr. Spinach gathered them up and rested the vine over his shoulder, slid down the table leg, and loped off towards his den. The rest of the greenhouse inhabitants were frozen in shock. They knew how evil Mr. Spinach was and they also knew they’d have to find some bravery from somewhere to stop him.

Meanwhile, in the den, the vine-draped across his moldy teabag beanbag chair, Mr. Spinach stood stroking his chin (do spinaches have chins?) contemplating what to do with the baby tomatoes. Eying his cheese spread machine he suddenly got it! Tomato ketchup! With a little alteration, he knew he could make a brilliant ketchup machine. He rummaged around in his toolbox and produced a tea strainer– one of those tiny sieve things that you put tea leaves in and pour hot water through to make tea instead of using tea bags. The baby tomatoes were staring at Mr. Spinach wide-eyed with terror. He climbed up on top of the cheese spread machine and hit it with a hammer until the round plate at the top fell off with a crash. He climbed back down, picked up the tea strainer and, with difficulty, climbed back up with it in his leafy arms and fixed it in place of the fallen plate.

Mr. Spinach smiled as he stood back admiring his handiwork.

“Right, who’s first?” he asked the baby tomatoes.

They didn’t seem to understand and huddled closer together. Mr. Spinach tutted.

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t understand – you’ll all get a go. I know, I’ll choose who goes first.”

He bent down and plucked a tomato off the vine, its green leaves quivering in fear and placed it on the bottom plate of the ketchup machine. Using one leafy palm to keep the tomato in place, Mr. Spinach pulled down the lever at the side, like he did with the mini cheeses and with a quick slam the baby tomato was sieved through the tea strainer. Mr. Spinach wiped his curly edged leaf through the paste and tasted it.

“Mmm, delicious!” he said. He turned to the other baby tomatoes.

“Who’s next?”

PC Cucumber was off duty that day; there was a tomato bloodbath under the rusty wheelbarrow. Mr. Spinach was caught quite soon after, his arrogance surrendering him to the Vegetable Constabulary when he was seen wandering around the garden casually picking tomato pips from between the few teeth that he had left. His punishment was time in a police cell and, for six months, all he had to eat was chopped up spinach leaves...

Mr. Spinach Gets A Bionic Arm

There was a time when Mr. Spinach thought roaming the garden and hurting innocent vegetables was a bit boring. He wanted to be more than just a nasty old spinach – and, for a short time, he was.

The weather had turned cold and wet and that’s always a dodgy time of year for the garden. The trees and bushes were bare and the only fruit and vegetables out and about were the ones who could sleep in the greenhouse. Mr. Spinach himself was thin and a bit floppy.

He was braving the cold one morning, flapping his leaves around himself to keep warm when he slipped on some frost on the garden path. He flew into the air and landed on a metal trowel (one of those small spades you use to dig earth with). The tip had snapped off and embedded itself in Mr Spinach’s arm.

Now, do you know what bionic means? It means mechanical, machine-like. Most bionic people have just a bionic arm or leg which gives them super strength.

Mr. Spinach tried to get the trowel bit out of his arm but it just wouldn’t shift. It hurt a bit but Mr. Spinach was always suspicious of other vegetables and would not ask for help – no way! – which was a shame because Madame Chouxfleur was a very caring nurse cauliflower and would help anyone given half a chance. She was French and had arrived in England in the bag of a poor asylum seeker who had had his food confiscated at a local detention centre.

Anyway, Mr. Spinach loped off to his den, wrapped a bit of old rag around his wounded arm and settled down in his moldy teabag beanbag chair for a cold winter’s day snooze.

It was hours later when Mr. Spinach awoke with a start. He lept off his chair, ran around and around his den, leapfrogged over his machine (which was very, very tall I can tell you), flung open his door, and ran full speed down the garden path and back! He stood in his den, hardly panting, licking his lips. He wasn’t tired at all but he was rather hungry. His mind turned to the fruit and vegetables snuggled up in the greenhouse. Suddenly he remembered something. During the cold days, the greenhouse door was kept shut. How would he get in? For some reason, with his lip curled and his fists clenched, he decided not to worry about that and headed for the greenhouse anyway.

When he got there all he could hear was the sound of heavy breathing– the fruit and vegetables were asleep! Mr. Spinach grabbed the edge of the door and pulled. Nothing happened. He tried again and still nothing happened. Some of the fruits had woken up and were wondering what was going on.

“Mr. Spinach is trying to get in!” worried the blackcurrants in their squeaky voices.

“Don’t worry!” warned the marrow, “I’m a superhero – I’ll save you hic!”

Nobody paid him any attention. He was slowly becoming marrow wine. Every day he was a bit tipsier than the day before.

“Mes enfants! Calm down!” ordered Madame Chouxfleur. She bustled over to the blackcurrants and was just telling them that Mr. Spinach would not be able to get into the greenhouse because the door was shut when in he burst!

Mr. Spinach never looked so scary. His brown, stubby gums were bared and yellow dribble dripped down his front. He clenched and unclenched his fists and his leaves were stiff with rage. He looked more terrifying than anyone had ever seen him before.

“Right, I’m hungry. Someone’s gonna die and no-one’s gonna stop me.” His voice was low and serious as he scanned the room until his eyes rested on the blackcurrants.

“Aaaaaarrrggghhh!” they screamed.

Some of them were so scared that they juiced all down their stems. Like greased lightning, Mr. Spinach lept upon the table and tore a handful of berries off the plant. He didn’t seem to hear the screaming of the little, purple-black berries as he crammed them into his mouth.

Madame Chouxfleur (which is French for cauliflower by the way) frowned. She was a big cauliflower (she used to be a champion shot putter for the FVAS – French Vegetable Athletic Squad.) She smoothed down the leaves around her neck, cracked her knuckles and marched towards Mr. Spinach.

“No-one touches my babies!” she muttered between clenched teeth (do cauliflowers actually have teeth?).

Mr. Spinach saw her coming and lashed at her with his bionic arm. She tried to dodge out of the way but being a big old vegetable she was a bit out of puff and Mr. Spinach’s blows landed again and again.

Eventually, the tipsy marrow decided to help out. He tried to move but just fell over onto the propagator (a mini greenhouse inside the greenhouse used for really baby seedlings). The door of the propagator fell off revealing the magnetic catch.

Mr. Spinach, meanwhile, was beating down on Madame Chouxfleur until she was unrecognizable. She didn’t care though– she was protecting her currants. Mr. Spinach had realised that it was, somehow, the trowel tip in his arm giving him his energy and boy! Was he enjoying it! All of a sudden, though, his arm with the trowel tip in it went stiff and pointed towards the propagator. He tried to bend it back but it was as stiff as a really stiff thing. Everyone stopped squealing and screaming and panicking and just watched Mr. Spinach’s arm, mesmerised.

The marrow had got up by now and was complaining of a headache again. He was staggering a bit.

“Wassup? What happened?” he asked in a slurred voice.

Just then the trowel tip in Mr. Spinach’s arm shot out and hit the magnetic catch of the propagator with a loud clunk! There was silence. All you could hear was a drip, drip sound.

“Ah, my leetle berries are dripping with fright.” Madame Chouxfleur was soothing the currants, her face all bumpy now from Mr Spinach’s punches. She soon realised that the dripping was not coming from the little fruits. All the fruit and vegetables of the greenhouse looked round for the source of the dripping. They soon found it. As the trowel tip had flown across the greenhouse it had pierced poor old marrow before it had stuck to the propagator catch. The marrow lay in a pool of wine, unconscious. The wine was thin and was trickling fast over the table.

Before he knew it Mr. Spinach (who had been paying attention only to his sore arm) was soaked with wine. He suddenly felt completely exhausted now that his bionic arm was back to normal and to make things worse, his leaves were sodden, heavy, and difficult to lift.

Madame Chouxfleur dashed over to the marrow to administer Thirst Aid while Mr. Spinach tried to get down off the table.

The blackcurrants soon recovered from their ordeal. The marrow is now having counseling with WPC Gherkin and Madame Chouxfleur is learning to live with her new lumpy look (strangely enough, all cauliflowers have bumpy faces, have you noticed?).

But did Mr. Spinach make it home?

The Rough and Ready Onion

One morning when the sun was shining brightly and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, Mr. Spinach woke up and stretched in his bed. He had a good feeling about the day ahead and lay there considering what mischief he could get up to in the garden.

PC Cucumber was strolling around that day, keeping an eye on things and the fruit and vegetables were having a lovely day, feeling safe with PC Cucumber around. Even when they saw Mr. Spinach wandering up the garden path they didn’t feel too frightened. Mr. Spinach too, felt calm, and not so edgy. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do when suddenly a voice yelled out:

“Where’s Mr. Spinach? I want Mr. Spinach!”

Mr. Spinach stopped in his tracks. All of the other fruit and vegetables stopped playing and looked towards the direction of the mysterious, angry voice. There at the top of the garden near the back door of the house, stood a great big onion. He looked a bit tatty, bits of brown skin hanging off, and little holes gouged out in places. He sighed and looked at the floor before raising his head slowly, surveying his awe-struck audience.

“I’ll ask you again. Where’s that SPINACH!!”

“Here I am,” said Mr. Spinach. “Who are you and what are you doing in my garden?”

The onion smiled and walked down the garden path towards Mr. Spinach, his arms outstretched as if to hug him. Mr. Spinach certainly didn’t recognise this onion and stepped back away from him.

“It’s OK. I’ll be quick…” started the onion “Once I’ve gotcha I’m gonna kill ya so be a good boy an’ just come to daddy…”

Mr. Spinach was very worried. Nobody had had the nerve to confront him like this before. Well, except PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin, but then they were police and as far as Mr. Spinach was concerned, filth. Mr. Spinach kept his cool though and asked the onion who he was and why he wanted to kill him.

“My name’s not important but I’ll tell y’anyway – I’m Hal, short for Halitosis, I’m one of the Greeks come dahn from London. You murdering scumbag killed my bruvver sometime ago an’ I come dahn to sort you aht!” He ran at Mr. Spinach, fists flying.

Mr. Spinach fell flat on his back, struggling to fight back but Hal was definitely on a mission. PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin ran over to break up the fight but they got slapped in the face with bits of flying onion skin and had to back off.

Whatever was Mr. Spinach going to do? As usual, in situations like this, Mr. Spinach found strength from somewhere and he managed to throw Hal off into the compost heap. Back he came and this time Mr. Spinach had an idea. He approached Hal, head down and grabbed hold of a bit of the onion’s white skin and pulled.

“AAARRGGHH! Wotcha doin’?” screamed Hal.

“Sorting you out!” yelled Mr Spinach right back. He ran backwards away from Hal still gripping his white skin.

PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin felt able to step in now and grabbed on to Hal. He screamed again as both police officers fell back with big lumps of onion flesh on their hands.

“Step away WPC Gherkin, that onion’s manky!” PC Cucumber ordered.

She stepped away and stared at the onion. Mr. Spinach was now near his den at the other end of the garden. Hal had been unraveled almost to nothing. He was scrawny now and very weak. Mr. Spinach was going to carry on running and unraveling but as he looked back over his shoulder and saw the state of Hal, he stopped. With a gasp and a thud, Hal hit the floor. He wasn’t going to be sorting anybody out now.

PC Cucumber had a chat with Mr. Spinach about the rights and wrongs of what he did to Hal but not an awful lot was said because Hal was a strong onion and PC Cucumber, WPC Gherkin, and Mr. Spinach were all crying their eyes out.

The Carrot Tops

This is a story that will make some things clear.

It was spring and Mr. Spinach was in his den exercising with a particularly heavy twig, when he heard cheering in the garden. Of course, happiness was something that Mr. Spinach didn’t like (unless it was his happiness when he was killing or maiming someone). So he decided to investigate.

In the vegetable patch, Mr. Spinach saw crowds of vegetables slapping each other on the back and laughing. He was not very happy about that I can tell you and he went straight over to see what was going on.

“Aren’t they lovely?” he heard someone say. He was very curious now.

“They’re so sweet!” someone else sighed. That did it – Mr. Spinach barged through the crowd, elbowing everyone out of the way until he saw what the commotion was all about. And then his heart seemed to stop, his mouth fell open, and dribble dripped all over the ground (and on a couple of nosey snails who were loitering around). There in front of Mr. Spinach were the sweetest, greenest, juiciest leaves that ever sprouted out of the Earth. It could only mean one thing – the baby carrots were grown!

The other vegetables gasped and held onto each other. The girls started sniffling into their spotty hankies and the boys frowned at the floor – they wouldn’t frown at Mr Spinach in case he killed them or something. All of them though were hoping with all of their might that Mr. Spinach would not touch the baby carrots. They all were secretly scolding themselves for being too noisy and attracting the attention of their resident veggie killer. They knew deep down that he would because baby carrots were his absolute favourite treat in the whole world.

Finally, Mr. Spinach came to his senses and turned to face the other vegetables.

“Come on then, aren’t you going to try to stop me?” he asked.

Of course, they all shook their heads.

I expect you’re wondering where PC Cucumber was at this time. Well, he was in the garden but was a bit tied up (snogging WPC Gherkin actually).

Mr. Spinach decided not to wait. He bent down and ran his leafy fingers through the green, feathery shoots. The baby carrots trembled under the soil and you could have heard the sighing with pleasure, poor things. With one yank Mr. Spinach had pulled out the shoots of one of the baby carrots. The sighing turned to screaming and a small fountain of carrot juice squirted out of the ground. Mr. Spinach stuffed the shoots into his mouth, groaning with delight and then licked the carrot juice off his spinachy fingers. Now, he thought, should he uproot that carrot and eat it or start on the shoots of the next carrot? He decided on the latter and moved along to the next baby carrot, grabbing a leaf full of shoots, and shoving it into his scabby brown hole of a mouth.

Some of the girl vegetables had had enough and ran down the garden path, tears streaming. PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin were still snogging in the greenhouse when, out of the corner of his eye, PC Cucumber spotted a girl veggie curled up next to a pile of plant pots. Immediately he felt his sense of duty, dropped WPC Gherkin on the floor and marched out of the greenhouse to find out what was going on. (WPC Gherkin was used to this and if you look carefully you’ll see that gherkins have little bumps all over them from where they’ve been dropped when they’ve been snogging!)

The tearful girl veggie – a spring onion - quickly told PC Cucumber what had happened and he ran off as fast as he could to stop the evil spinach. When he found him though, he was shocked. Mr. Spinach had eaten so much his belly was sticking out, his leaves were podgy, and he had carrot juice all around his mouth and down his chin. PC Cucumber could see that he had eaten all of the shoots of the baby carrots but that the carrots themselves were still all there. Luckily Mr. Spinach had eaten so much that he could hardly move and it wasn’t difficult for PC Cucumber to take hold of him and drag him to the police cell. Of course, the slightest movement was uncomfortable for Mr. Spinach and you’ll know if you’ve ever eaten too much and had tummy ache that you sometimes feel a bit sick.

Well, that’s exactly what happened. Mr. Spinach was sick. It flew out of his mouth, all over PC Cucumber, runny and smelly with big bits of green carrot shoot in it – of course the greedy devil had swallowed without chewing some of it because he had very few teeth! The stench was terrible, carroty and rotten like poo and cheese and manky socks. PC Cucumber locked up Mr. Spinach for quite a long time, mostly because of the carrot incident but also because he couldn’t get all of the sick out of his uniform. And if you ever cut open a cucumber you’ll see that it’s mostly water. That’s because after that awful day PC Cucumber couldn’t face eating ever again, he only drank raindrops.

And what of the baby carrots? Well, they were dug up and replanted in intensive care in the greenhouse. They survived but never grew properly. Next time you go to the supermarket you’ll find bags of baby carrots in the freezer section and they’re the sweetest carrots you’ll ever taste!

The Wedding That Nearly Wasn’t

PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin had been sweethearts for a long time and the day came when PC Cucumber asked her to be his wife. She was so happy because she loved him very much and she knew that he loved her too. She could see a future with him and lots of little pickles running about the place. The exciting thing for WPC Gherkin was getting to choose her bridesmaids!

Several fruit and vegetables shyly asked who she was going to pick in the hope that she would say, “You, of course,” but she never said who she had in mind. She thought about the fruit plants and their gorgeous blossom but she thought them a bit too frilly (and, besides, they were expecting her to pick them so she decided not to on principle). WPC Gherkin thought about the flowers in the greenhouse and the garden. There were some beautiful flowers, some colourful, some pretty. But in the end, she decided on something simple. Nothing too frothy or too sweet smelling. No, she wanted plain but pretty. After all, she was a gherkin and they’re not exactly the supermodels of the garden, are they? Most important rule at a wedding: never look better than the bride. So the bride-to-be asked the potato plants. If you ever see the fields where potatoes are growing you’ll see their pretty white flowers on the shoots.

The potato plants were shocked but delighted. They never thought they’d be asked to be bridesmaids. After all, people only wanted the potatoes – they always threw the flowery shoots on the compost. WPC Gherkin was pleased. Everything was going to plan. But that’s a bad thing in the garden isn’t it?

True to form, the day before the wedding, a rumour went flying around: Mr. Spinach had left the garden! After a short while, the rumour changed: The bridesmaids had left the garden! After another short while, the rumour had changed yet again: Mr Spinach had left the garden with the bridesmaids and was having a love-in at a nearby shabby shed!

WPC Gherkin was hysterical. PC Cucumber was at his wit’s end because WPC Gherkin was hysterical and then the penny dropped, everyone realised that Mr. Spinach must have taken the bridesmaids by force! PC Cucumber went to the potato patch to see if he could find any evidence and sure enough, there on the ground where the potatoes used to be, was a note:

IF YOU WANT YOUR BRIDESMAIDS BACK YOU’D BETTER LEAVE SOMETHING TASTY HERE TONIGHT AT 6 PM – NO TRICKS OR THE BRIDESMAIDS GET IT!

PC Cucumber tutted. This was all he needed. Normally there was no way he’d give in to Mr. Spinach’s demands but he wanted his wedding to go without a hitch and having no bridesmaids was definitely a hitch! But what could he leave for Mr. Spinach that was tasty and didn’t involve the murder and mutilation of innocent fruit and vegetables? Tricky! But PC Cucumber was clever.

Back in the garden, WPC Gherkin was on special leave (that means she didn’t have to go work because she had a special reason, in her case hysterics). She was trying to keep her mind off her bridesmaids problem, with little success and was pacing up and down the garden path nervously looking about in case her beloved husband-to-be should turn up with the bridesmaids in tow. Of course, he didn’t show up for hours because he had been working on a plan.

He took a chance and actually went into the Big House. He knew that in the kitchen there would be plenty of food and it was one particular type of food he was after. Sure enough, upon the worktop, PC Cucumber spotted a row of white jars. They contained tea, sugar, coffee, rice and, the one he was looking for: porridge oats!

He managed to scramble up the legs of a kitchen stool until he was up on the worktop. He could knock off the top of the porridge oats jar quite easily because it was just a cork stopper and it hadn’t been pushed in properly (and PC Cucumber was very strong). Now his problem was this: how was he going to get the porridge oats from the kitchen to the garden – he’d forgotten to bring a bag! He was at the point of giving up when he had a thought – was it tea leaves or tea bags in the jar marked TEA?

"Please let it be teabags, please let it be teabags…" PC Cucumber was muttering under his breath.

He stood in front of the jar, took a deep breath, and knocked the top off. It was teabags! He took one out and carefully tore off a strip along the top and tipped out the tea. Have you ever made a cup of tea, squeezed the teabag after brewing only to find the tea leaves floating around in your tea? That’d be PC Cucumber training new recruits in the art of being resourceful. Anyway, now he had a little bag perfect for carrying porridge oats. And that’s what he did. Working quickly he filled the teabag, climbed back down the stool leg and ran out of the back door.

Time was ticking on and he knew he had to get to the potato patch before 6 PM. He went and found WPC Gherkin first.

“Ah, there you are,” PC Cucumber wrapped his arms around his girlfriend.

“Is everything sorted out now?” WPC Gherkin’s green, bumpy forehead was wrinkled with worry.

“I’m working on it – all will be well by tonight, I promise,” said PC Cucumber giving the gherkin a kiss and a squeeze. He dropped her on the floor again and made his way down the garden path to the potato patch. He stopped off at the water butt on the way, filled up an empty peapod, and took that with him as well. It was hard carrying both the water-filled peapod and the teabag full of porridge oats. I bet you’re wondering why he wanted the water, aren’t you? Well it was all part of the plan….

At the potato patch, PC Cucumber found Mr. Spinach’s note and replaced it with the porridge oats and the water. Before he left he took a sharp blade of corn and sliced his own skin. Juice trickled out and dripped onto the porridge oats. PC Cucumber knew that Mr. Spinach would not be able to resist the oats with the vegetable juice on them. Then he left. He didn’t go far, he just waited behind a nearby tree holding a leaf over his wound.

At precisely 6 PM, Mr. Spinach turned up with the potato plants and what a sorry sight they were! They were all tied together, shuffling along with garden twine tied to their ankles. It had rubbed and you could see how sore their ankles were because the skin had broken and juice had oozed out. The potato plants had been crying and their flowers were seriously wilting.

“Oh, what have we here? Porridge oats? Is that it?! Mr. Spinach looked angry and was about to fling the teabag of oats away when he sniffed the air. He could smell something very, very tasty. What was it? Then he realised – vegetable juice! His tummy rumbled and dribble dripped down his chin.

Behind the tree, PC Cucumber was murmuring ‘eat it, eat it’ when Mr. Spinach tipped open the teabag and greedily tucked into the porridge oats. He ate and ate until all the oats were gone and then, of course, he was thirsty. This was PC Cucumber’s masterstroke. As Mr. Spinach drank the water what do you think happened? The oats began to swell! They grew and grew and grew. Mr. Spinach began to feel a bit strange and rubbed his belly – it was beginning to hurt and it seemed to be getting even bigger! It was and very soon Mr. Spinach fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, moaning, "it hurts". Eventually he fell in a heap, unconscious, his tummy swollen huge and hard.

PC Cucumber ran over from behind his tree and untied the potato plants. They all started crying with relief, after all everyone knew what terrible things Mr. Spinach could do if he put his mind to it. PC Cucumber took them back to the garden where they could spend some time in the greenhouse recuperating before the wedding. He wasn’t too worried about Mr. Spinach, he knew he’d be out of action for at least a week and had decided to leave him in the field with the hot sun to dry him out and the bugs of the field to nibble him. It might just teach him a lesson.

WPC Gherkin was overjoyed. Unfortunately, the wedding still didn’t go quite as planned. But that’s a different story…

Poor Peas!

It was another sunny day in the garden and most of the fruit and vegetables were lounging around sunbathing. Mr. Spinach was lurking about in his den because too much sun dried out his leaves. He was frustrated too – he knew that the girly vegetables would be wearing their skimpy bikinis. He loved a veggie in a bikini – he could eat the vegetable and then use the string of the bikini to floss his gums. He decided he would brave the sun for just a little while, after all, there was some rainwater collected in the wheelbarrow if he felt too hot.

So out he went. The first thing he heard was the sighing of the fruits. The peaches and nectarines, in particular, were hot. I mean, peaches wear furry coats all year, don’t they? Mr. Spinach watched them for a while and tutted. Stupid fruit! He took a few steps toward the flower beds. The asters (big daisy-like flowers) were always good to wind up. You know when you pick a daisy and then pull off the petals one by one saying "he or she loves me, he or she loves me not:, to see if the one you love loves you back? Silly but fun. Unless you were thinking of Mr. Spinach’s version – kill you, kill you not. And he meant it. The flowers started to close their petals in fear but luckily for them that evil spinach didn’t make it to the flower beds. He stopped at the allotment. That’s where the peas, sweetcorn, and onions are grown. He looked up at the peas on their triangular frame and knew instantly that it was their turn. And why? They could sunbathe and he couldn’t. Well, the peapods could sunbathe, not the peas…

Mr. Spinach climbed up the frame. The creepy thing was that he had not said a single word since he left his den and he was still silent. Of course, the peas didn’t know he was coming because they were zipped up inside their pods. Mr. Spinach wrapped an arm and a leg around the pea frame and comfortably leaned across to the unsuspecting peas. With one swift movement, he unzipped several pods exposing the peas to the blistering sun. The noise was unbearable to normal people but to Mr. Spinach it was like sweet, sweet music.

“Aaaarrgghhh! Aaaarrgghhh! The heat! No! Please! No! Aaaarrgghhh!” squealed the peas.

They rolled around in their pods trying to escape the burning sun but if you ever look inside a peapod you will see that the peas are held in place by a tiny stem. It’s easy for us to pull the peas out but terribly difficult for the peas to get themselves out.

Mr. Spinach was laughing and suddenly having a great time. After several minutes he stopped to survey his handiwork. Yep, several pea pods thrust wide open with rows of four or five peas shriveled and dry. Mr. Spinach decided he should get himself back to his den before he dried out himself. But he was too late! He couldn’t unwrap his leaves from the pea frame and panicked. The more he panicked, the hotter and drier he became. Eventually, he ripped his leaves off the frame and fell to the ground, breathless, dried and hot and in agony.

He managed to limp to his den but he was never quite the same again. PC Cucumber made his investigations and left it at that. He couldn’t punish Mr. Spinach any more than the sun had. What he didn’t account for was how much more angry Mr. Spinach had become and what the garden had coming in the form of his next plan...

A Black Day in the Garden

After the pea frame incident Mr Spinach was rarely seen out in the garden. Everyone was suspicious at first, expecting him to appear with juice on his lips or to hear screaming coming from somewhere in the garden. But time went on and Mr. Spinach still did not appear. Everyone became complacent (that means they stopped caring about Mr. Spinach instead of keeping an eye out for him).

Now there was a time when garden insects and small creatures were man’s best friend. No-one needed slug pellets. No-one blamed the snails when big holes appeared in the cabbage leaves. The flowers welcomed greenfly and blackfly because they’re always good for a gossip, flying from flower to flower. They know everyone’s business you know.

One day, however, it all changed. It was quite a moist, drizzly grey day. Some of the more delicate fruit and vegetables were staying in the greenhouse but a lot were out in the garden enjoying the coolness after the heat of the summer. One of the Swedes stopped chatting and looked around.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” someone replied.

“That slurping noise, listen…” The swede cupped his hand to his ear to hear better. Sure enough, there was a slurping noise, a sort of, "ssshhlluuuurrpp," sound.

Everyone instinctively stared towards Mr. Spinach’s den. There he stood but not alone. In each hand, he had a long leash and at the end of each of the leashes was a snail. Most of the garden sniggered. If that was the best he could come up with a couple of friendly snails on a leash, well, that wasn’t scary was it?

With one flick of the leashes Mr Spinach let the snails go and they headed (very fast for snails) straight towards the crowd of fruit and vegetables who were suddenly feeling a bit nervous. The snails seemed different somehow. They weren’t smiling like they normally did but had dribble frothing at their mouths. They didn’t make eye contact with anyone but, like tanks without drivers, they ran over some brussel sprouts who were in the way. They barged into the leeks and ran over them too. All they left behind were slime covered bits of vegetables. Bits of leaves and broken off stalks lay in puddles of juice on the path.

The remaining fruit and vegetables were too shocked to breathe let alone speak and when they heard more noise coming from Mr. Spinach’s den they turned like robots, silent.

From Mr. Spinach’s den came more killer snails but this time they were accompanied by vicious slugs and swarms of bloodthirsty green and blackfly. They rampaged around the garden until it looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. Cabbages had huge holes all over their leaves. The flowers were moaning in pain as the green and blackfly nibbled their delicate stems. Meanwhile, the slugs made their way to the allotment plot to dine on sprouts, cauliflowers, and sweetcorn. It was terrible. Not many garden inhabitants survived intact. It was indeed a black day for the garden. Mr. Spinach limped up the path laughing at the scene before him, pleased that his plan of revenge had worked so beautifully.

And where were PC Cucumber and WPC Gherkin? They were heroes that day. They knew they wouldn’t be able to stop Mr. Spinach’s trained killers so they attended to the wounded and saved as many lives as they could. Both were trained in First Aid and don’t forget WPC Gherkin did counseling on the side too. Madame Chouxfleur was on hand as well to lend her medical expertise. None of them had forgotten Mr. Spinach and knew that they would have to deal with him later.

The sad thing is, even when Mr. Spinach had gone forever, his revenge lives on. Every person who has a garden will complain of the snails, slugs, greenfly, and blackfly. And that’s because they’re still carrying out orders from Mr. Spinach...

JAM 2005