Emelia Moorgrim and the Medieval Monsters of Norfolk E-Book

Isabelle King

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 131

Beschreibung

Join Emelia Moorgrim and her cat, Monty Marmalade, as they courageously use their time-travel watch to journey through history, untangle mysteries and find the monsters before they cause too much trouble. Inspired by items at Norfolk Heritage Centre and Norfolk landmarks, this book adventures through the ages with many monsters in the pages!

Leseprobe

Isabelle King(Wolf Marloh Photography)

First published 2021

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© Isabelle King, 2021

The right of Isabelle King to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 0 7509 9690 7

Typesetting and origination by Typo•glyphix

Printed in Great Britain

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION AND THANK YOUS

STORIES IN A TEAPOT

THE STORY SNATCHER

THE MAGIC WATCH

THE MONSTERS

THE MEAN MUD WRIGGLER OF THE MAGNIFICENT MARKET

THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER

THE SNEAKY SEA SNAKE OF THE STORMY SEA

THE WICKED WINGED WONDER OF THE SPECTACULAR CIRCUS

THE GRUMPY GLUMPY FROG OF THE GRAND HOUSE

THE LUMBERING LAZY LOLLOP LION OF THE AMAZING CASTLE

THE PESKY BUSY BUZZ FUZZER OF THE MAGNIFICENT MASKED BALL

THE RUGGED RUFF GRUMBLER OF THE ROUNDABOUT

THE SWIRLY WHIRLY CURLY FIREWORK BIRD OF THE BONKERS BATTLE

THE PRICKLY TRICKY TRUFFLE TRIXTER OF THE SWEET FACTORY

THE GREAT BIG HOWLING GROWLING GOBBLE, GRRRRRRRRRR!

THROUGH TIME, BACK IN TIME AND HOME IN TIME FOR TEA

MONTY MAKES A STORY MUSEUM

MONTY’S MUNDANE MUSEUM OF ORDINARY OBJECTS

MONTY’S MAGICAL MUSEUM OF EXTRAORDINARY STORIES

INTRODUCTION AND THANK YOUS

Hello marvellous readers, are you ready for some monster adventures? Well, you’ve come to the right book. Many monsters make mischief amongst these pages, magic and mayhem throughout historical ages.

You are about to learn of these curious creatures, gruesome and gargantuan with peculiar features. Presenting … The Swirly Whirly Curly Firework Bird, a big-beaked, bright-feathered spinning thing, an explosive cartwheel of colour in the sky; The Sneaky Sea Snake, a slithery, slippery sly-eyed serpent; The Prickly Tricky Truffle Trixter, a chocolate-dotted, caramel-spotted, confusingly foul-smelling hedgehog; The Mean Lean Mud Wriggler, a giant menacing beetle with jiggly little legs that leave trails of sludgy slime; The Pesky Busy Buzz Fuzzer, a furiously flappy and annoyingly noisy, buzzy thing; and The Grumpy Glumpy Frog, a great big groggy blubbery froggy, grog, grog, grog! Their home is a medieval book in a museum. Rumour has it that sometimes the book goes rumble, rumble, rumble and the monsters go roar, roar, roar from the pages. Out they spring to cause a fright, making frolics to their monstrous delight. All the best stories start in museums and the even better stories start in Norfolk museums. This particular museum is called Norfolk Heritage Centre, on site at Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library. The other day I saw The Sneaky Sea Snake slither into the children’s library and simmer down for story time, zzzzzzz. My name is Isabelle, by the way, I’m your Storyteller. Now, it’s important for you to know that I do not write this introduction alone. I’m having some help from my good friend, Monty Marmalade. You will read more about Monty later in this book; he is a magical toy cat that came to life, tremendously fluffy with ginger stripes and wispy whiskers …

‘Excuse me please, Isabelle, you might be the narrator but I can very well describe myself.’

Alright Monty, how would you like to describe yourself to the readers?

‘I am a magical toy cat that came to life, tremendously fluffy with ginger stripes and wispy whiskers.’

Thanks Monty, I couldn’t have done that better myself. Now, I’m going to tell the readers all about the museums that inspire our stories. Norfolk Heritage Centre has some special archives, lots and lots of shelves where objects, items and books are stored. This is where Monty and I found the medieval book full of monster pictures. Back in ye olde medieval times, the monsters may have been hand-drawn by clever people, accompanied by writing in Latin. Latin is one language they spoke in medieval times. Don’t worry, I’m not going to start writing in Latin, I couldn’t if I wanted to. Ipso facto.

The monsters were not actually called monsters back then, rather they were referred to in Latin as types of animals, fish and birds. The word monsters is my idea because the pictures captured my imagination. For the stories, I made up their silly names and magic powers. This book is a work of original fiction, which means the stories are creatively made up by yours truly. However, the inspirations behind the stories are museum objects and books. Each chapter is rooted in historical fact. There are three parts to making up a historical story. Monty, would you like to explain how I do this so that the readers can do it themselves?

‘Hooray! My turn to speak. Part one, Isabelle and I go to a museum and choose an object. For example, a map of Norwich from Tudor times. Part two, we research all about the map and its historical era. We do this by sticking our noses in history books and asking questions of the very helpful archive specialists and curators.

‘For example, we learned that the map dates back to the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. The Queen visited Norwich in 1578 for a magnificent street procession. Part three, with the historical facts as inspiration, we make up the story. Isabelle invents the characters, plot and action. Armed with tea and biscuits, she writes the book. Most importantly, starring me. If a story doesn’t star me it’s probably not worth reading.’

Thank you Monty. This is the fourth book that I’ve written inspired by Norfolk history. You may also like to check out the following titles. First, can I get a drum roll please? Yes, pat your paws Monty, cheers.

The Norfolk Story Book, Once Upon a Time in Norfolk and Once Upon a Street: Norfolk Stories for Children. Now, I couldn’t have written this book without help from …

‘Me, Monty Marmalade!’

Yes Monty, we already know that you’ve helped. But other people have helped, too. Monty and I would like to give special thanks to Rachel Ridealgh and Chris Tracy at Norfolk Heritage Centre. Kath Griffiths and the staff at Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library, and Dr Cara Rodway and the staff at the British Library. Abundant thanks to The Prince’s Trust, particularly brilliant enterprise mentor Clare Stammers.

This book is also written in loving memory of Aedan Kernan, my Prince’s Trust mentor who always believed in me and wasn’t afraid to give me an extra challenge. Thank you to my good friend David Whittle. Thank you to the amazing folk at Norfolk Museums Service. In particular, thanks to Dr John Davies. Thanks to our wonderful publisher The History Press. Thanks to the legendary John McKeever, illustrator extraordinaire – we have enjoyed seeing the characters come to life in pictures.

‘Yes, I particularly like John’s depiction of me. He has captured my charm, handsome looks and delicate whiskers very well.’

You kept pestering John to redraw you as more good looking. Monty and I would also like to thank all our lovely family and friends. With love to Mum and Dad, Faith, Alice, Laura, Tony and baby Sophia. This book is written in loving memory of my grandparents, Joe and Beryl. And of course, dear reader, Monty and I would like to thank you. We hope that wherever you are, this book takes you on a wondrous adventure and hopefully inspires you to write your own story, too.

We are all storytellers, though some of us may not know it. There are many ways of making up stories: you can write stories, put pen to paper or type at your computer; you can draw stories as an illustrator; you can perform, dance, sing, play music, animate or make films. These are all types of storytelling. Much like Monty and I, you may be inspired by history and you might like to make up stories about objects. You can even make your own Story Museum at home and some ideas on how to do this are explored at the back of this book.

Now, Monty, I hope you’re sitting comfortably, our story is about to begin.

‘Does it star me?’

You’ll find out.

STORIES IN A TEAPOT

At the top of a tree in the middle of Elm Hill, Norwich, sat a giant teapot full of stories. The teapot was invisible except for Tuesday evenings, when it would suddenly appear with a flash of magical fairy lights blasting across the cobbled streets and shops of Elm Hill, a spectacular sunny beam of stories. People would gather from all over Norfolk to sit under the tree, eat snacks and listen to the teapot pour out tales of magnificent dragons, mischievous goblins, mythical beasts and enchanted forests of elves, fairies and animals.

The teapot simply tipped its spout and, sure as sugar sprinkles softly, stories would pour out. Sometimes, the children would climb up the tree and ride down the slide of flowing stories. Needless to say, Tuesday evenings were very popular and the Elm Hill community did extremely well from teapot story time, shops set up stalls selling fancy sandwiches, steaming hot drinks, sun umbrellas, rain coats, snuggle blankets and teddy bears. On special occasions there would be street parties and fancy dress competitions, a chance to dress up as your favourite fairy-tale characters. Word of teapot story time spread like butter on a biscuit and soon it was one of Norfolk’s most famous events.

No one knew quite where the teapot came from, when it had arrived or why it sat at the top of a tree of all silly things. Still, it was the most terrific fun and no one was complaining.

Until, that is … until one Tuesday summer’s evening. People gathered under the tree sharing glasses of fruit squash as the sun flickered through the branches like little butterflies of speckled light. What sort of story will the teapot pour out this evening? The teapot tipped its spout and sure as sugar sprinkles softly … no stories poured out! Oh no, the teapot was empty. No more stories, all the tales had been told. Was this goodbye forever to teapot story time? Would Tuesday evenings ever be fun again? The disappointment hung over everyone like a moody old rain cloud. Even the most cheerful of teddy bears took a quiet moment to sulk. Some of the grown-ups climbed the tree and carefully lifted the lid of the teapot but it was utterly empty of stories. Together they gently shook it and out of the spout there trickled, slow as treacle, a single drop.

The story drop lay on the cobbled ground and echoed a mysterious sound. ‘In the annoying event that stories run out please contact Emelia Moorgrim, Story Snatcher, at her home in Tombland. Emelia will sort this out and you’ll soon have stories pouring from the spout. To get to Tombland from here simply … actually, don’t bother; I’ll go myself. Never could give directions. Make way please …’ The story drop rose into the air and flew away, graceful as a bubble on the breeze. Until it got caught up in a jam with a kite, then it was positively fierce. Then it went back to being graceful. The people watched in appreciation and wonder. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait and hope that this Emelia Moorgrim (whoever that was, and really, whoever heard of such a name?) would be up to the task. Come on Emelia, we’re counting on you. Bring back teapot story time, do!

THE STORY SNATCHER

‘I’ve done it Monty, I’ve bottled another story.’ Emelia skipped down from the ladder of the story shelf. The story shelf whirled up, up and way up high to the wonky ceiling of Emelia’s wacky library. There were lots and lots of shelves dotted with glass jars full of stories that fizzed, whizzed and bubbled. Emelia went on all sorts of adventures. She travelled the world, through time, back in time and home in time for tea. Her mission was to collect stories, bring them home and bottle them on the story shelf. She would share these stories with friends, communities and anyone who cared to hear them. Emelia believed that stories were told to be heard and she wanted to make sure that as many people as possible had the chance to enjoy them. On her travels she took two very curious and special objects.

The first was the Story Snatcher, a strange golden object that looked like a trumpet with buttons stuck all over it and a pump under the handle. Emelia would aim the mouthpiece of the trumpet at a story or picture in a book, then press the pump so that the essence of the story or picture would be sucked into the mouthpiece. It was then stored safely inside the Story Snatcher until filtered into one of her glass jars. Emelia kept the Story Snatcher in the pocket of her enormous pointy patchwork hat (complete with cobwebs dangling from the top). Then all she had to do was reach up and whip out the Story Snatcher to easily capture the essence of any story.

The second object was a magic watch. It could take Emelia to any time or place in history, she just had to turn the dials to her chosen time, shake the watch and whoosh; she was somewhere else in the blink of an eye. Emelia kept the magic watch in a secret drawer of her great big dress. The dress of midnight violet was spotted with swirly moons and sparkly stars so that Emelia on the move looked like a floating night sky. One of the stars was an eject button. All she had to do was press it and out would pop a secret drawer containing the magic watch.

‘The story I’ve just bottled,’ explained Emelia in her chirpy sing-song voice, ‘is a Russian folk tale of a mean old witch called Baba Yaga who lived in a house on chicken’s feet. Imagine walking through a dark forest only to see a house on chicken’s feet! Oh, I do love collecting stories from all over the world but I have to say, Monty, my favourite stories come from right here, Norfolk, my home. Let’s have a listen to one … now see here Monty, don’t go to sleep, it’s not nearly bedtime yet and you’ve already had seven naps today.’