I am Not Roald Dahl! Read online

I am Not Roald Dahl!

  Gerrard Wilson

  Copyright 2015 by Gerrard Wilson

  I am Not Roald Dahl!

  Hello

  Hello, I am not Roald Dahl, nor am I trying to imply that I am. I am Gerrard Wilson, and that is a fact. Welcome to my Treasury of Children’s Stories. I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I enjoyed myself writing them. I endeavoured to include something for everyone; from funny to scary, serious to crazy, and a whole lot more in between. There are so many stories, limericks and songs crammed into this book I found it impossible to record them onto this page with any degree of order, semblance of normality, so delve into the book, at random, and go with the flow.

  Signed:

  Gerrard Wilson.

  I am not Roald Dahl

  I am not Roald Dahl, I am not that man,

  I am not Roald Dahl; it’s not a part of my plan,

  The poor man is dead, as dead as can be,

  I am not that man, now where is my tea?

  Intended for Publication on April 1st.

  The other day I heard the Earth was flat,

  That all these years it’s been like a mat,

  That you hardly see or notice there,

  Until you are told the Earth is square.

  If it is square then I am sure,

  What I have learned was oh-so-flawed.

  But perhaps it’s all a dream of sorts,

  And when I awake all will be as before,

  And if it’s not then I must learn,

  Not to walk too far lest I fall off the edge.

  Was it a UFO?

  My story begins in June, I can‘t recall the exact date, but I think that is was close to the longest day. I was outside in the back garden, playing with my two dogs. It was quite late; close to ten in the evening, but due to the time of year was still fairly bright. As I threw the ball away from me, and my dogs raced off to see who might retrieve it first, a faint light close to the horizon caught my attention.

  At first I thought nothing more of it. That it was just that, a simple light, probably from an aircraft, but as it continued to grow in size, I began to take it more seriously.

  After only a few short minutes this small light had grown so large it was now a fiery streak racing across the sky. Thoughts raced through my mind, was in a UFO with little green men invading the Earth? Were our lives about to be changed forever? I watched the unfolding spectacle in shocked silence. There was no one there with me apart from my two dogs who, oblivious to the moment, tugged at the ball each trying to secure it.

  In less than five minutes this light had grown into a huge fireball streaking across the rapidly reddening sky. Unable and, indeed, unwilling to take my eyes from the Unidentified Flying Object, I studied this once in a lifetime experience with every bit of my undivided attention.

  Although this object, this thing streaking across the sky now seemed to be so close, not a sound was to be heard from it. Apart from a lone blackbird singing in a nearby tree, it was so quiet. It was eerily quiet.

  This UFO, for want of a beater word, was now at its closest point, directly in from of me, and the colours contained within and without it were unbelievable. I could see every colour of the rainbow– and then some. These flaming colours streaked behind the fiery object almost as far as the horizon.

  There was black too, a fiery, smoky blackness the likes of which I had never before seen, and never since. Although this happened long ago I can remember it so vividly as if was only yesterday.

  As it zoomed past in its eerie silence, I remember wishing if only I had a camera, to record the strange pheromone. But I had none. And there had been no time to go indoors and find one. As the moment passed, and the fiery spectacle began to streak away from me, and it grew smaller and smaller into the distance, I felt honoured, privileged to have been a part of the cosmic spectacle, the spectacular cosmic achievement that I had just witnessed. Many years have passed since then, so many years of worries, concerns and events that we humans feel are so important. They are as nothing compared to that evening in June…

  Conkers Bonkers – Part One

  If your child eats a conker or two this autumn,

  Don’t worry, the vitamins they contain,

  Are added value brain food.

  (Do you think this is correct?)

  Conkers Bonkers – Part Two

  Conkers is a pastime,

  That we remember every year,

  When September comes we search about,

  To find these gems so rare.

  When we’ve collected bagfuls,

  Enough for you and me,

  We rush them home to sort and grade,

  Into classes one to three.

  The first is left to use right now,

  And try our luck at play,

  The second, to treat, to cure and bake,

  Into champions, I do say.

  The third is left a whole year long,

  Stuck up the chimney flue,

  Until their day of glory comes,

  I’ll make do with one and two.

  NO!

  I Am NOT Roald Dahl,

  I am NOT, no, no!

  I am NOT Roald Dahl,

  Please let it GO!

  I am something quite different,

  From that man, it’s a fact,

  I am my very own self,

  Now where is my cat?

  Are You Normal?

  Are you normal?

  Do you want to be,

  A faceless person in a heaving sea,

  With no aims, ambitions, dreams or goals,

  Just happily plodding along that road?

  Are you quietly dying?

  Don’t you feel the magic of each new day,

  The sounds of laughter as children play,

  The warmth of the sun on your back, so good,

  The sounds of birds, the smell of wood?

  Are you passing time?

  Don’t you wonder at the sky so blue,

  The start and end so vague to you?

  I hear you say, I am happy still,

  So too is an ant that has no will!

  Wake up wake up

  It’s not too late,

  There still is time to change your fate,

  Renounce the normal, do something mad,

  Shock them all create a fad.

  Be yourself, alive with goals,

  With dreams and wonders still untold,

  Celebrate life in your own distinctive way,

  It’s yours alone; you must have your say,

  Lest you sink into oblivion (without a trace).

  Fizzy Cherry Cola

  I can imagine you thinking, what‘s so scary about Fizzy Cherry Cola? To be truthful there should be nothing scary about it, but having said that, look carefully at the bottle.

  Well, did you see anything? Did you see the troubled souls trapped inside it? Did you see the expressions on their poor, pitiful faces, knowing they have no hope of ever escaping that bottle; that the only release from their torment they might hope for is that someone happens upon the bottle, and drinks them?

  Mr Singe – Gupta – was an old man who had seen many changes over the course of his seventy-five years on this earth. When he was sixteen years of age, his family emigrated from India to the greyer and much colder climes of England. Along with his parents, brothers, and sisters, Gupta began a new life in a county so different from the hot, tropical one he was used to, and so loved.

  Snow; snow was one of the first things the notoriously fickle English weather hurled at the Singe family on their arrival one cold and bleak day in December. The snow remained stubbornly on the ground until mid February. Gupta thought it might never melt. Nineteen sixty-th
ree will always be remembered as the year of the big freeze, a time when England came to a standstill.

  As the days, weeks, months and years passed, the Singe family settled down well into their new life. Despite feeling homesick for the old ways, and the warm sun of the tropics, Gupta carved out a grand new life for himself in England.

  Four years after his arrival in England, Gupta met a beautiful young Indian woman called Sonita whom he fell madly in love with and married soon after. Two years later, after the arrival of a baby son, Gupta and his wife were about as happy and contented as they could possibly be.

  Having opened a shop, a convenience store that soon became an indispensable part of the local community, for Indian and English alike, Gupta worked day and night to make it a success. Life was good for the Singe family, and they looked forward to a long, happy and contented life together.

  One day, however, all of this changed, it changed utterly and completely, when a man – a newly arrived immigrant from India – entered the shop, enquiring if Gupta knew of anyone who had a room to rent.

  Happy to help a fellow compatriot find his feet in a foreign land, Gupta said, “I have a flat for rent over my shop.” He pointed upward. “Mind you, it is quite small.”

  His eyes beaming excitedly, the man replied, “Small is okay, if I have as much room in heaven I will be so happy. Would you like to see it?” Gupta asked the bearded man.

  “Yes, please,” he replied, offering Gupta his hand. “My name is Ali,” he said, smiling, “I am pleased to meet you.”

  Having returned the