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Augusta, St. George the Racquet and the Bells of Christmas

#1: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Wed Mar 31, 2004 10:56 pm

As promised, here is the beginning of the new story!

Augusta, St. George the Racquet and the Bells of Christmas

It was almost the end of term and the Christmas Play was to be performed in two days time. There had been so much to do in the last year that no-one had had time to write a new one, so one that had been performed in Tyrol some years ago was to be repeated. This mattered less than might at first be thought, since most of the performers and all of the audience were new to it. Certainly the School found it enchanting and none more so than the Juniors in general, and Augusta in particular. Despite the fact that there were few parts suitable for girls of her age (and no-one would have dreamt of giving one of them to her), she threw herself into the production of ‘The Bells of Christmas’ heart and soul. She lived and breathed for the play. She sang with all her heart, earning herself a place in the front row of the chorus partly so that Mr. Denny could keep an eye on her and partly because she actually had rather a nice voice. She painted scenery and sewed costumes, the latter, it must be admitted, with so little success that the needle and thread were forcibly removed from her hands.
Admirable as her enthusiasm was, it was also prone to be a little wearing. The mistresses in charge discovered that whatever good intentions Augusta might have, her best laid plans (and theirs), were apt to veer off in unexpected directions when she became involved. Her friends also found this new interest rather tiresome. Before Augusta’s arrival at the School they had been quite happy devising their own entertainment and mischief, and had rarely been dull. But they had quickly discovered that while they were not exactly backward in creating excitement, Augusta was capable of achieving it with apparently no effort whatsoever. Thrills and accidents seemed to follow her like children follow an ice-cream man. Adventure lay in wait for her at every corner. Even her most innocent plan or action was almost guaranteed to end in disaster. Not only this, but Augusta’s muddles always contained that element of the bizarre and unexpected which Kathie’s and Mollie’s somehow lacked. You might be certain that catastrophe would follow, but it seldom arrived in the form you had anticipated. But now their friend was engaged body, mind and soul in the Christmas play and while there were frequent minor incidents to lighten the atmosphere, they found that no longer could they expect the same sort of whole-hearted chaos that characterised the existence of Augusta.
On this particular day Mollie was suffering from acute boredom. The play was all very well, but she did not specially enjoy singing and thought that a slight change would be more than welcome. So after rehearsal that evening she joined Augusta and made an attempt to lure her off the straight and narrow path.
“I’m bored, Gus,” she complained. “Can’t you think of something for us to do?”
“You could ask Miss Linton if she needs anything doing,” suggested her friend helpfully. Mollie groaned.
“Not something to do with the play. Something interesting, I mean.” Augusta looked doubtful.
“I don’t want to do anything too bad because of the play,” she explained. “It’s got to be something not against the rules.” They wandered down the deserted, half-lit corridors. It was getting dark already, but was still too early for the blackouts to have been put up and the lamps lit. As they half-heartedly (at least in Augusta’s case) discussed vague schemes for their amusement a sudden howl rose up in the darkness outside. The two small girls came to an abrupt halt and dived as one man for the window. They flung it open and put their heads out. Everything was silent and still as the light from the full moon shone down upon the thick snow, creating a silver glow over the skeletons of the trees and hedges. Then a second howl broke the hush. It was rather eerie, and it was not surprising that for a moment the girls felt like fleeing. But they were courageous (or foolhardy), and quickly realised that it was unlikely that the house was surrounded by a hungry pack of wolves howling at the moon.
“What on earth was that?” gasped Mollie.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a person,” hazarded Augusta, her fertile imagination supplying the details of the situation. “Maybe they’ve been attacked on the road….helpless to fight back. They had walked miles and miles over the lonely mountains, hearing the howling of the wolves in the distance. Then they came this way, and saw Plas Howell……a distant shadow on the snow many miles away. Wearily he trudged on and on, his feet dragging in the snow. He’d eaten his food long ago, of course, and lost his coat in a fight with a wild bear. Closer he came to the house, and closer. Then, even as he was almost within shouting distance, someone leapt on him. He was too exhausted to do anything, and they robbed him then stabbed him…….the blood flowed from the wound, staining the snow around his inert body a deep crimson….” Her voice died away as the little scene faded. Mollie shivered.
“Don’t say things like that, Gussie. What if it was true?” They looked at one another doubtfully. “It can’t really be,” she added uncertainly.
“Of course not,” said Augusta firmly. “We’d better go and see, though.”
She slipped through the window and was joined a moment later by Mollie.

#2: Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire

Posted: Wed Mar 31, 2004 11:10 pm

Oh, goody, a new Augusta story - excellent.
Sends a box of goodies to Abi & her PB to keep them going.

#3: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Wed Mar 31, 2004 11:18 pm

Oooh, many thanks to whoever turned this into a new thread! The next bit will be here in a couple of minutes....

#4: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Wed Mar 31, 2004 11:27 pm

Apologies for double posting!

“Which way?” whispered that young lady. As though the source of the noise had heard, it came again and they set off in the direction from which it had emanated.

“It sounded like a dog,” Augusta suggested with a sudden flash of inspiration, and Mollie agreed. A moment later they found it. It was sitting by the hedge, looking round and shivering, emitting an occasional blood-curdling howl. They found it difficult to imagine how such a noise could emanate from so diminutive a creature. They puppy gazed up at them with liquid brown eyes. Instantly the two girls fell in love with him. Augusta removed her blazer and wrapped it round him.

“Lets get him inside quickly,” she said, starting off towards the window. “He must be frozen, poor darling.”

“Y-y-yes-s-s-s,” agreed Mollie between chattering teeth. “It’s j-jolly cold out h-h-h-here.” She hopped and skipped in an attempt to warm herself while Augusta hurried towards the open window.

“Come on, Moll!” she called. “Stop hopping about like a goat on a trampoline and get inside so I can pass this poor boy to you.”

They scuttled up to the attic where they could be fairly sure of remaining undetected and settled the puppy down in a couple of blankets that Augusta acquired from a cupboard in passing. Then they sat back and stared at him.

“What do we do now?” queried Mollie with a touching faith in her friend’s powers of invention. Augusta considered.

“I suppose we’ll have to take him back to wherever he came from,” she concluded.

“Well, where’s that?” said Mollie pertinently.

“Somewhere in the village, I suppose. We’ll have to find out. I know lots of people in the village.” Augusta did not appear at all disconcerted by this prospect, which filled Mollie with horror.

“But we haven’t got time to waltz round the village asking people if they’ve lost a puppy,” she protested. “It’d take hours and hours.”

“I suppose so,” admitted the originator of the scheme. “Well, in that case we’ll have to take him to the police.” Mollie seized on the idea with relief, and they planned to smuggle him down to Howells village the next afternoon when the Juniors were taken for a walk. They had briefly considered taking the puppy to Miss Annersley, but Augusta pointed out that this would involve admitting that they had been outside without permission and might have negative repercussions for the puppy. In any case, the two of them wanted to deal with the situation on their own – to let someone in authority in on it would have been an anticlimax. Now there was only one question left to consider.
“What shall we call him?” They discussed this heatedly.

“I think he should be called Prince. He looks rather princely,” suggested Mollie.
“But loads of dogs are called Prince. We ought to think of something unusual.” Mollie gazed around the attic in search of inspiration.

“Dusty? Mop-face? Barred window?” she proposed.

“Don’t be so idiotic,” snapped Augusta. “Something sensible, I mean. Those names don’t make any sense.”

“Racquet?” offered Mollie, who had just caught sight of a stack of elderly tennis equipment mouldering in a corner. “It’s a good name, because you can spell it the other way too, racket, and he probably will make a lot of noise, especially when he’s bigger.”
“I think he should be called St. George,” was Augusta’s idea. “It’s patriotic and he looks as though he might kill dragons when he gets a bit bigger. They might have to be small dragons,” she added doubtfully.

In the end they compromised on St. George the Racquet, which they thought had a noble, knightly sort of ring about it but also encompassed the possible less agreeable side of his nature. Then they went downstairs in the hope of procuring something for him to eat.

Let us now leave Augusta, Mollie and St. George the Racquet for a time, and go back a few days. The scene is in the pleasant, cosy Staff Room, where the mistresses are sitting round drinking wartime coffee and eating wartime biscuits while they chat to one another and knit socks for soldiers. In one corner sits the Headmistress of the School. She is drinking coffee and eating a biscuit, but not knitting socks. Beside her, with her feet up on another chair (a sight that would be particularly edifying to her charges), sits Matron Lloyd, the indomitable but warm hearted tyrant of the School.

“Thanks Hilda. I thought you’d agree, but you can never be certain,” Matron was saying. Hilda laughed.

“It’s only for a few days,” she said. “One small puppy can’t do much harm in four days. I don’t suppose most of the girls will even realise that he’s here.”

“I hope not,” replied Matron fervently. “If they do I shall never get any peace. Anyhow, I think Lilian will be pleased with him. She’s always wanted a dog.”

“Will you name him, or leave that to her?” queried her friend with interest.

“Oh I’ll let Lilian give him a name. I call him Monty, just for now, but I’m sure she’ll think of something more imaginative than that.”

At this point their attention was called elsewhere and the discussion changed course. But two days later Matron climbed the stairs to her room carrying a large basket which contained a small but extremely lively and eager-to-explore puppy. For a day or so he was quite well-behaved. He explored the room with commendable thoroughness, was taken for walks and fed, and generally behaved in a manner fitting to a gentleman in a girls’ school. But on the second day he grew restless. The room was not large and its only occupant was always busy. He wanted to get out and do some real investigation. So he awaited his chance and when it came he slipped out of the room and trotted down the corridor.

#5: Author: Rachel, Location: Plotting in my lair; sometimes in Hampshire, England, UK, Europe, Earth, Milky Way, Universe

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 12:01 am

Abi wrote:

Oooh, many thanks to whoever turned this into a new thread!

No probs - it makes it easier for people to notice it is a shiny new Gussie drabble Wink

#6: Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough.......

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 12:02 am

Yay, Abi!!!
Lots more lovely drabble!!!

#7: Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 12:09 am

Wonderful - more Augusta to look forward to! Laughing

#8: Author: Cumbrian Rachel, Location: near High Wycombe

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 12:13 am

Yay!!!!! Augusta is back Very Happy

Thank you Abi!!!

#9: Author: Nicole, Location: New Zealand

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 8:18 am

Big Yay!!!

Augusta's back Very Happy

More please!!!

#10: Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 11:49 am

*doing the happy dance*

hurrah! more Augusta!

#11: Author: Lisa_T, Location: Belfast

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 2:02 pm

*giggles* I can imagine how much havoc a puppy alone and create...or even Augusta alone. The pair of them..the mind boggles!*
*still fuming at the sight of wallpaper chewed off a corner by guess who*

#12: Author: Rebecca, Location: Kendal/Oxford

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 4:51 pm

Hurrah! More Augusta! Having only just discovered her (and spent the entire afternoon catching up on the rest of her adventures), I feel I need some more to keep me going!

#13: Author: catherine, Location: York

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 7:03 pm

Really pleased this is back! More please, Abi!

#14: Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 9:07 pm

What a brilliant start to my Hols....thanks Abi.

#15: Author: PatMac, Location: Yorkshire England

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 9:44 pm

Augusta and TWO puppies - who could ask for more! Hooray!!!

#16: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 10:10 pm

‘Monty’ had been thrilled to discover the outside world, but its coldness, darkness and stillness had convinced him that the inside world was definitely preferable. So he was as delighted as Augusta and Mollie to be scooped up and carried inside. He had no objection to being shut in the attic. It was a place of such diversity of smells that he felt he could spend a week there and not get bored.

Augusta and her friends were thrilled by their new acquisition, and rather wished that they could keep him. However, Kathie, who supplied the voice of common sense in most of their proceedings, pointed out the practical difficulties of such a scheme, and it was reluctantly given up. Instead the three gave themselves up to devising a means of transporting St. George the Racquet to the police station in Howells village. Kathie had, it is true, raised objections to this course of action also.

“Why not just take him to Miss Annersley?” she asked. Augusta snorted darkly.

“Oh, yes,” she said with infinite sarcasm. “Oh, yes. Take him to the Abbess and have her treat him as she treats us. After all, he was trespassing on the School grounds.”

“But…but that doesn’t count for dogs,” protested the voice of reason. “I mean, they can’t read, can they?”

“You try telling that to a grown-up,” said Augusta even more darkly. “They’ll probably blame us for not teaching him. Anyway, I’m not having him stolen away by the Abbess for her uns…uns….”

“Unscathed?” suggested Mollie helpfully.

“No…..uns…..”

“Unsuitable? Unsafe? Unstylish?” hazarded Kathie.

“No, idiot! Why would I be saying her purposes were unstylish?” said Augusta irritably. “It means evil, anyway,” she continued giving up her fruitless search for the word ‘unscrupulous’. What I started out to say was that we’re jolly well dealing with this ourselves.”

“All right,” Kathie shrugged her shoulders. She was not averse to a little excitement, and this was something that could not get them into much trouble. “Do you know where the police station is?”

“Of course I do!” Augusta rolled her eyes expressively. “Actually, it’s not really a police station, more of a sort of house. I think he lives there.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Jones, the policeman, of course,” said Augusta. “Honestly, you are dense today.”

The main problem with the plan was that it would be simply impossible to smuggle St. George the Racquet into the village while on a walk with the rest of the Juniors and three mistresses. Someone would be bound to notice that one of them had acquired a large, mobile, protuberance in the region of the stomach and it was felt that this would excite too much curiosity for the scheme to be viable.

Augusta, Mollie and Kathie were in a quandary. What should they do?

Help! I'm stuck! Any ideas anyone? Please?

#17: Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge

Posted: Thu Apr 01, 2004 10:22 pm

Thank you Abi

*laughing to hard to be of any use to anyone*

#18: Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire

Posted: Fri Apr 02, 2004 1:50 am

A basket? though goodness knows why they would need one, unless they could ask if they could take some hobies stuff down to the village for the children.
I do hope you get unstuck soon, Abi

#19: Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks

Posted: Fri Apr 02, 2004 2:19 am

There goes another early night - after reading this I just had to go adn catch up on the archived Augusta, I now hurt from laughing & crying so much - more please

#20: Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US

Posted: Fri Apr 02, 2004 8:06 am

*has great faith in Augusta's inventive powers*

(can't guarantee she won't get caught, though Laughing

)

#21: Author: Ciorstaidh, Location: London

Posted: Fri Apr 02, 2004 2:53 pm

Abi, this is fabulous... I have a friend just like Augusta; hopefully none of the mistresses will find themselves in Holloway before this ends!

As for what to do next, well, feed your PB, of course!

*feeds PB with favourite food*

#22: Author: Nicci, Location: UK

Posted: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:35 pm

Abi, this is superb. Looking forward to more!

#23: Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle

Posted: Sun Apr 04, 2004 10:40 pm

Abi this is great, more soon please.

#24: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Mon Apr 05, 2004 10:44 pm

With many thanks to Lesley who provided the idea!

“Could we fit him into someone’s knapsack?” suggested Kathie doubtfully.

“Oh yes, and have him wriggling around and barking, or something,” said Augusta with infinite sarcasm. “I can just see Miss Linton not noticing that, of course.”

“All right then, you think of something.”

“I will, too,” said Augusta, ejecting her tongue at her friend. But she was finding the task difficult. At last she made a suggestion – albeit a vague one. “How about if we send St. George the Racquet down into Howells without us?”

“What?” The other two stared at her blankly. Augusta tried again.

“What I mean to say is, if we knew that the milkman or someone was going down to Howells village, we could hide St. George on the…”

“The Racquet,” put in Mollie pedantically.

“The Racquet,” agreed Augusta, “We could hide St. George the Racquet on the milk float and that would carry him down to Howells and when we went down later we could pick him up and take him to the police.” She sat back, beaming with pride over the scheme, which she felt showed her natural genius to its best advantage.

“Mm,” said Kathie thoughtfully. “The milkman, though?”

“Well, maybe not the milkman,” conceded Augusta. “But there must be some way we could do it like that. Who else comes to the School?” They ran through a list, but there seemed to be no really suitable means of setting the plan in action. In the end they were forced to shelve it for the time being.

The next morning the Juniors went down to the village, and St. George the Racquet was not with them. They had managed to purloin some food for him from the pig food bin that went down to the farm, but had not succeeded in inventing a means by which he could be transported to the village. Augusta pointed out to her friends the house near the main street with a large sign above the door reading ‘Armishire Constabulary’.

“We haven’t got much time,” said Kathie suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Mollie sounded slightly alarmed.

“Well, there’s only three days left of term. There won’t be any time tonight, ‘cause it’s the dress-rehearsel of the play. Tomorrow we’ll be busy with the play and performing it in the evening. If we don’t want to have to keep him till the day after tomorrow we’ll have to do something jolly quickly. And even then there might not be time. And we go home the next day.” The other two stared at her in consternation.

“Gosh. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Mollie at last. “What can we do, Gus?” But even Augusta’s fertile mind seemed to have run out of ideas.

“I don’t know,” she said mournfully. “I suppose we might have to take him to the Abbess after all.”

It was an admission of defeat.

The Juniors returned to School and removed their outdoor shoes and went off to their own devices. Some had to go for last minute alterations to their costumes. Others were assisting with scenery, and still others went to finish off Christmas presents or cards, and other occupations. Augusta, Mollie and Kathie took themselves to the attic. They smuggled St. George the Racquet out for a walk, and Augusta was moved to point out that they would easily have time to slip down to the village now. Kathie, however, put her foot firmly down.

“Oh no you don’t, Gussie. What happens if someone starts looking for us? And find our coats have gone? What if we meet someone on the way? There aren’t that many places to hide.”

“We could disguise ourselves.” Augusta’s eyes lit up at the thought. “We could pretend to be nuns, or old men. I’ve always wanted to disguise myself as a man.” Kathie giggled.

“I hate to disillusion you, Gus, but I really don’t think anyone would really think you were an old man.” Augusta was forced to concede the point and discard the scheme. They continued to stroll around as far a distant part of the School grounds as they could, keeping a lookout as they walked. It was Kathie who noticed the Head and Miss Wilson coming across the playing field towards them.

The three dragged St. George the Racquet away from the exciting scent of a rabbit that was currently engrossing him, and concealed themselves in a thick tangle of overgrown hedge. The puppy barked shrilly.

“Shut up, idiot,” hissed Augusta, clapping her hand over his mouth. There was a silence. Then, “Are you sure they’re coming this way, Kath?” Kathie parted the branches cautiously, then hastily withdrew.

“Yes. They’re heading right for us.” There was another long silence, this time broken by Mollie.

“Gus, you’re sitting on my hand,” she whispered. Augusta shifted slightly and knelt heavily on a bramble.

“Ouch!” she yelled, to be instantly hushed by the other two. “I knelt on a thorn,” she protested at their somewhat rough treatment.”You can’t expect me to be…ach gll pfffrffmofrffif” As her mouth was covered by Kathie’s hand.

“Shut up, you fool,” hissed that young lady. “They’re here.”

Miss Annersley and Miss Wilson came within a stone’s throw of the girls, walking slowly.

“I think I’ll go myself,” the Head was saying.

“Very well,” agreed her friend, “what time are they expecting you?”

“Fairly early – I’ll go about ten, I think. I should only be about half an hour altogether. I they haven’t got them I’ll…” Their voices died away as they walked on. The three small girls remained crouched in the undergrowth. After some time Kathie peered out.

“It’s all right. They’ve gone,” she whispered breathlessly. They crawled out of the bushes rather painfully and brushed the dead leaves off each other. Then, with furtive glances around, they began to hurry back to School. And as they did so Augusta expounded the plan that had suddenly come to her.

“The Abbess was saying that she was going to the village,” she explained.

“She didn’t actually say that,” put in Kathie pertinently.

“Oh, well, she couldn’t have meant anything else.” Augusta waved the objection aside. “So my plan is to go with her.” There was a moment’s pause, then Kathie said rather doubtfully,

“Will she let you?”

“She won’t know, idiot!” said Augusta in exasperation. “Listen. She said she’d go about ten, so about half past nine, I’ll get into the back of the car, or maybe the boot. It all depends. Anyway, I’ll do it, and when we get there, I’ll get out and take St. George the Racquet to the police.” Mollie shook her head.

“It’ll never work, you know,” she said pessimistically. “You’ll be caught. And how will you get back?”

“Go back the same way, of course. But it doesn’t matter too much if I can’t. By then he’ll be safe with the police. No problem.” Augusta smiled as though the task had been carried out already. And indeed, in her head, it was as good as completed.

#25: Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent

Posted: Mon Apr 05, 2004 10:54 pm

Starting chant for more early, just to be on the safe side!

#26: Author: Rebecca, Location: Kendal/Oxford

Posted: Mon Apr 05, 2004 11:20 pm

Joining in the chant loudly

#27: Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England

Posted: Mon Apr 05, 2004 11:22 pm

chants along with the crowd.

#28: Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks

Posted: Mon Apr 05, 2004 11:27 pm

Adds muscial accompaniment (sp?) to chant Guitar

#29: Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 1:13 am

adds voice to the chant

#30: Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough.......

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 2:03 am

*belatedly joins the chant!!*
More please!!!

#31: Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 9:18 am

*also chanting - and loudly to make up for joining in late*

#32: Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 4:55 pm

Also late for the chant, also shouts louder than anyone else

#33: Author: Nicci, Location: UK

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 7:23 pm

*laying out a trail of chocolates to tempt Abi back*

#34: Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough.......

Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2004 8:52 pm

*puts out a glass of Baileys too* Wink

And a shiny sword.....

#35: Author: Lisa_T, Location: Belfast

Posted: Wed Apr 07, 2004 12:00 am

*giggling*
Uh oh. I'm starting to wonder if the poorn Head will get back in one piece with Augusta after her!

#36: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Sat Apr 10, 2004 11:31 pm

Hello everyone, I haven't been on since Monday.....crisis madness.....my hamster died on Wednesday Sad

But I have a new one ... he's called Ramses after... well, anyone who's read Amelia Peabody will know Wink

Here's the bit of Augusta I had done...Not much I'm afraid.

There were no lessons the next day, as the play was to be performed that evening. Everyone was rushing around mending things that appeared to have fallen apart during the night, coaching people who had suddenly unaccountably forgotten their lines and searching for costumes, in particular those belonging to Joseph in the nativity scene. Joseph’s clothes were not discovered until much later that day, and by then it was too late. He was already on the stage wearing a makeshift costume made of scraps of material sewn together hastily and not very securely by Miss Burnett, who, as she said, had never pretended to be good at sewing and especially when in a hurry, but as she was the only one available she supposed she could do something.

So it was that at half past nine that morning (when the chaos was just getting under way and people were already beginning to panic that not everything would be ready for the performance that evening), no-one noticed that three members of the Third form were absent. If any of them thought of it, it was to thank heaven devoutly that Augusta was safe with someone else and that they did not have to cope with her. As a matter of fact she, Mollie and Kathie were enagaged in the dubious task of breaking into Miss Annersley’s car. The garage doors had been locked, but the three had effected an entry through the window. The car doors, however, presented more of a problem. Augusta had advocated the use of a bit of wire, which was how her father had got into their car last time her mother locked the keys into it, but when Kathie had fetched her needle from its case (for want of any other piece of wire) their fumbling fingers had failed to unlock the doors.

“It’s going to have to be the boot, Gussie,” said Kathie at last. “It must be going on for ten o’clock already.”

The boot opened more easily, and Augusta scrambled in. Kathie passed St. George the Racquet in, and Augusta clasped him round the middle. When the lid of the boot had been almost closed it just about held the two of them.

“You’ll have to hold it shut,” said Kathie through the gap, “otherwise you might not be able to open it from inside.”

“All right.” Augusta’s voice sounded strangely muffled, although this may have been partly to do with the fact that St. George the Racquet had just climbed up her shoulder and over her face. “You’d better go now. She’ll be coming in a minute.”

She heard various intriguing noises as the other two hoisted themselves back through the window, then there was silence. A moment later a whisper came through the window.

“She’s coming now, Gus. See you later.”

Augusta crouched in the boot as the Head unlocked the garage doors, then the car door. The car bounced slightly as she got in and Augusta gripped the fastening of the boot a little harder. As the car started and moved off she tried to do this and stop the puppy from voicing his woes (which consisted mainly of complaints about being stuffed into small, dark spaces and hung onto by idiotic human beings) all at the same time.

#37: Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire

Posted: Sat Apr 10, 2004 11:42 pm

Poor Puppy, waiting avidly to see how this continues.
Sorry about your Hamster.

#38: Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US

Posted: Sat Apr 10, 2004 11:54 pm

Condolences, Abi. But good name for the new member of the family!

Looking forward to Augusta's arrival at police station ... assuming, of course, she gets that far Confused

#39: Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent

Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2004 12:52 am

Loving this - wonder where Augusta and puppy are going to end up?

(Sorry about hamster Crying or Very sad

)

#40: Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly!

Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2004 3:48 pm

Yay new Gussie!!! How did I manage to miss this????? More soon please Abi.

Sorry about your hamster Sad

#41: Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge

Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2004 7:36 pm

Sorry about your hamster Abi...

Latest installment as brilliant as ever: thank you Mr. Green

#42: Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough.......

Posted: Sun Apr 11, 2004 9:32 pm

*huggles Abi!!*
I'm so sorry to hear about poor old Hash-Baz!!

#43: Author: Rebecca, Location: Kendal/Oxford

Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2004 10:23 am

Thanks, Abi! Looking forward to the next installment!

#44: Author: Nicci, Location: UK

Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 7:00 pm

Abi, so sorry about your hamster. Crying or Very sad

Love the latest of Augusta though. xx

#45: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 1:38 pm

Well, here, at very long last, is some more of Augusta! Many apologies for the delay, I have been very busy!

Miss Annersley was a good driver, but even the best of drivers is apt to make a stowaway in the boot of a car slightly uncomfortable. Augusta banged her head three times. By the third time she decided that she had never been so tempted to swear in her entire life. St. George the Racquet also appeared to be less than keen on the journey, and made determined, and sometimes noisy, efforts to escape Augusta’s iron grip.

The trip ended at last with a particularly violent swing to the left and a sudden stop that threw Augusta’s hapless head against the hard boot for the fourth time.

“Damn,” she said, softly but intensely, then added to St. George the Racquet, “If you’ll excuse my saying so.” She heard the Head open the door, exit the car, and the tapping of her heels go off somewhere. Augusta prudently waited a few moments before lowering the door of the boot and peering out cautiously. Then her mouth dropped open. Her eyes bulged. A faint moaning sound issued from between her lips.

St. George the Racquet, smelling a sudden flood of new and exciting scents, barked and leapt from Augusta’s arms. Augusta jumped out of the boot, cast a hunted glance around, and snatched up the puppy, who was standing in the middle of the yard trying to decide where to go first. For the place where they had ended up was not the little main street of Howells village, with its old, crooked houses and small, friendly shops, and the tiny ‘police station’ a few streets away. Instead she found herself in a wide yard, with farm buildings dotted around and a big old farmhouse a little distance from the car. Augusta did not know what had happened, but with the instinct of self-preservation that is strong in the young, she dived back into the boot of the car and drew up the lid.

“Sorry, George,” she whispered apologetically, “You’ll have to sit still for a bit longer. I hope she won’t be too long in there.” The puppy whined, then curled up and settled down in a corner as though resigning himself to the inevitable.

Augusta made herself as comfortable as she could and mulled over the situation. It did not take her long to realise that during the brief snatch of conversation she had overheard the previous day, neither mistress had actually mentioned the name of a place. She had supposed that they were referring to Howells village, but evidently she had been under a misapprehension. Miss Annersley was visiting the farm for some reason or other, and as the farm was in the opposite direction to the village, there was little Augusta could do but sit there and wait to be driven back to School after her fruitless outing.

It seemed a long time before she heard the sound of Miss Annersley returning. But at last she did, and they drove off. Arriving back at School, Augusta waited a decent period of time before emerging from her cramped hiding place and furtively smuggling the long-suffering puppy back into School. Once there it was not a difficult matter to take him by devious routes back to the attic. Here Kathie and Mollie were waiting for her as arranged. They rose as she entered with blithe, happy smiles on their faces.

“Did you do it?” they called out, not because they were in any doubt as to whether Augusta had completed the task, but merely as an expression of their pleasure at the dog being safely disposed of. Then St. George the Racquet himself leapt to the floor, and their faces fell like barometers in a hurricane.

“What happened? Why did you bring him back?” said Mollie. Her tone was accusing. Augusta shut the door behind her and took a seat on an old box.

“We didn’t go anywhere near the police station,” she explained gloomily. “She drove all the way up to the farm, and went in there for a bit, then came out and we came back.” They stared at her with expressions of dawning horror on their faces as they began to realise what this meant.

“Then… what are we going to do with him?” Kathie’s voice rose to a squeak of consternation.

“I don’t know,” admitted Augusta, sounding even more pessimistic. “They won’t want us pestering them today about him. They probably won’t even believe us. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow at least.”

“I s’pose so,” acknowledged Mollie. “Honestly, Gus, you are a little idiot.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Augusta defended herself, “I was the one who had the idea. I was the one who actually went in the car. If you thought there was something wrong why didn’t you say so?” Mollie was silent. “You see,” went on the maligned one triumphantly, “you thought just the same as I did. Anyway, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s yours. It was you who wanted to do something exciting, not me.”

“Well, we didn’t mean finding a dog and having to hide it for days and days and days. We meant something – well, something fun, like we generally do,” said Kathie, feeling that Augusta was getting the best of the argument.

“Yes, and you expected me to think of it,” retorted her friend. “Well, you can jolly well do something about St. George the Racquet now. I’ve done enough.”

“But Gussie!” wailed Mollie. “What can we do?” She shrugged.

“I honestly don’t know. We’ll think of something. We’d better go. Someone’ll be wanting us.” So they did.

#46: Author: Rosie, Location: Huntingdonshire

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 1:45 pm

WAHOO!!!! MORE AUGUSTA!!

#47: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 2:21 pm

Augusta was in the dressing room, costumed and sitting quietly. Prompted, perhaps, by her guilty conscience, she had changed in record time, and was sitting in a corner trying to think out ways of dispensing with the lost puppy without handing him over to the mercies of Miss Annersley. But the only thing that came to her was Miss Linton, who was in charge of the younger members of the choir and had her hands full. She had just discovered that the music for half of the performance had been left in one of the practice rooms. Glancing round the room, she discovered that the only person who was free was Augusta, and with some trepidation she sent her off to fetch it. No-one was more surprised when Augusta accomplished the task with no unusual occurrence whatsoever.

It was, of course, coincidence that even while Augusta was picking up the music, St. George the Racquet was essaying out of his attic, having found that the door had not been securely closed after the rapid exit of his three friends.

Twenty minutes later the Bells of Christmas had begun. It went off extremely well and even Augusta did not disgrace herself. That is to say, most of the play went off extremely well. And Augusta did not disgrace herself until the very end of it.

St. George the Racquet had explored the School quite thoroughly by the time she found him. He had investigated a number of the dormitories, poked a nose into Matron’s room, then slithered clumsily down the back stairs to examine form rooms, common rooms and other areas of interest. At last he tired of the shoes in the Senior Splashery and trotted down another corridor. This, as it happened, was the one that led to the room that was being used as dressing room, since it opened onto the big hall.

Inside, the choir had just surged into the room. They had finished their last song, except the one that would end the performance, and had to make room for the other performers and scene-shifters to set up the nativity scene at the end. Various people were rushing around, and Joseph was bemoaning the shabbiness of his makeshift attire and hoping it would hold together for the few minutes that it would be on view. At this point it was apparently time for those who were present at the nativity to take their places, and they hurried onto the stage, behind the heavy curtain. Daisy Venables was halfway through the solo that covered for the scene-shifting.

Meanwhile, in the dressing-room, chaos reigned. Afterwards Augusta blamed the person who opened the door, but as no-one could remember doing this it did not help her much. The fact remains, however, that it was done, and St. George the Racquet, ever eager to add more territory to his knowledge of the School, saw the open door, heard the sounds, and was unable to resist the temptation. He made for the doorway and entered the room.

It was, perhaps predictably, Augusta who saw him first. In a voice that reached the audience, listening to Daisy, as a faint, shrill echo, she screeched in horror,

“St. George!” The dressing room, buzzing with whispers, fell suddenly silent. Then Mollie saw him.

“St. George!” she squeaked, a little more restrainedly than Augusta had. Kathie repeated the cry, with a feeble moan.

“Quick! Catch him!” said Augusta urgently and dived forward to snatch the puppy up. St. George, however, did not appear so keen on this idea, and slipped through her legs to dart across to the other side of the room. She staggered, almost fell, righted herself, then gave chase, followed by Kathie and Mollie. The puppy seemed to find this a highly entertaining occupation, and waited till she had almost reached him before galloping under a chair, through people’s legs and round and round the room.

“Quick, we’ve got to get him,” wailed Mollie, tripping over the chair. The rest of the choir and performers who were not on stage at the time were not quite sure what was happening, but they were willing to assist in the chase.

“Chuck something over his head,” suggested Gwensi Howells, who had just launched herself at the puppy, only to be eluded at the very last moment with something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Augusta snatched a brown garment that was screwed up in a corner and flung it over the puppy. Unfortunately he was moving so fast that it merely draped itself across him, creating a rakish looking hood that flopped over one eye. St. George the Raquet, piqued by this treatment, made for the door that led to the stage.

“Stop him!” screamed someone, and as the puppy shot through the door, Augusta, who was nearest, missed grabbing his back leg by an inch. She dashed after him, closely followed by about forty girls, comprising the choir and various other individuals who had nothing else to do.

And at this inauspicious moment Miss Burn gave the signal for the curtain to be raised.

#48: Author: Nell, Location: London, England

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 3:04 pm

Hooray more Augusta and I've caught up on the earlier stuff too!

#49: Author: Abi, Location: Alton, Hants

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 3:15 pm

And here is the end of this particular story. The next one is all written and just needs to be typed up.

The audience had been greatly moved by the play, which even in these dark days seemed to bring a ray of hope to them. As the curtain rose for what would be the last scene – the nativity – a little gasp of awe went up. There was Mary, cradling the baby Jesus in her arms. Joseph, standing beside her looking lovingly at his son and concealing admirably his fear for the safety of his costume, one part of which felt dangerously loose by this time. Then there were the rest of the worshippers, all gazing at the little baby. For one second the audience feasted its eyes on the scene.

There was a yell of,

“St. George! St. George!” from off the stage somewhere. The actors turned their heads, and the audience, unsure whether this was a part of the performance or not, also shifted their eyes to the side. A moment later a figure appeared, charging across the front of the stage. Not many people caught sight of the dog – he was not very large and the stage was dimly lit. After the one solitary figure silhouetted against the footlights came a whole host of others – tall, short, fat, thin, clad in various costumes from the play (and one or two, who had been in the middle of changing, not wearing very much at all).

Augusta was still shouting the puppy’s name in an unsuccessful attempt to cow him into obedience, and most of the motley crew behind her were also yelling. Elizabeth Arnett, part of the crowd, realised that the curtain had risen. Putting on a spurt she grabbed Augusta by her skirts and tried to drag her to a halt. The attempt, though it achieved its aim, could not be said to have been a complete success. Augusta lost her head and turned on Elizabeth, apparently under the impression that she was attacking her. The two of them grappled and rolled on the floor, shouting insults (some of Augusta’s in particular would have shocked anyone who stopped to listen).

Some of the crowd were unable to stop themselves and fell over the fighters. Others, keeping sight of their objective with true British grit and determination, skirted round the mass of bodies and pelted after the puppy, who had halted to investigate a couple of sheep which had been brought in to add verisimilitude to the scene. As Beth Chester launched herself towards him he glanced round, gave a yelp of horror at having been caught out, and tore off again. Unfortunately for Beth he decided that it would be fun to run in tight circles round the pair of sheep (who lay there placidly and regarded him with a complete lack of interest). Beth ran after him and by the time he became bored of the exercise and darted off in another direction she was so dizzy that when she attempted to walk in a straight line she promptly collapsed on top of Mary and the baby. As the baby was a real one, borrowed for the occasion, it objected strenuously to this and a piercing wail echoed round the hall.

At this point the mistresses came out of their stupor of horror and dived into the fray. Miss Linton tried to separate the combatants who were still attacking one another vigorously and enjoying the pure thrill of the fight. Miss Burn shouted ineffectual orders which only added to the confusion. Miss Wilson tried to snatch the puppy up as he sped towards her, but she grabbed too late. He intended to shoot between her legs, but as she moved just then he crashed into one of them instead. She almost recovered her balance but was thwarted by Joseph, who was determined to exact vengeance on St. George for ruining the climax of the play. She cannoned into the Science mistress and the two landed on the floor, Miss Wilson underneath. In the audience Joey Maynard collapsed with a peculiar, banshee-like wail of mirth.

“The second suppression of Bill,” she squeaked to her sister and next-door neighbour. Madge wiped her tears of merriment from her cheeks – she had lost her handkerchief some time before – and staggered to her feet.

“Come on Joey, we’d better go and help.” She hauled her sister to her feet and with enthusiasm the two clambered up onto the stage and entered the battleground.

Miss Annersley had been sitting in the audience, transfixed by dismay and outrage. Seeing Joey and Madge haul themselves athletically up and disappear into the crowd, however, she came to her senses. She rose and walked up onto the stage. Standing in the middle of it she said absolutely nothing. Her presence was enough. Joseph saw her first, and scrambled to his feet to help Miss Wilson up. As each girl suddenly caught sight of the tall, awful image of Nemesis in person and stood up, attempting to brush the dust from her garments and look as though she had not been engaging in a free-for-all in front of a large local audience, the Headmistress completed her discomfiture with a petrifying glare and sent her to wait – in silence – in the dressing room. At last even Joey and Augusta realised her presence and ceased to kick, scratch, bite, hit and pull one another’s hair. They sat up, received the full impact of Miss Annersley’s look, and without a word scuttled off to join the rest in the dressing room.

Miss Annersley turned to the audience. She apologised to them for the shocking and childish behaviour of her charges and assured them that they would be seriously dealt with. A moment later the chorus, a motley crew now, was conducted by Mr. Denny in the final song of the evening, Adeste Fideles. The audience gave generously to the collection: the final fiasco of the performance had been greatly enjoyed by most of them and supplied them with a story to tell to their friends and relations for many a winter evening in a freezing air raid shelter.

Meanwhile, the forty or so girls who had participated in the extravaganza were having an uncomfortable time. The Head had sent the mistresses off to clear up and they absented themselves hastily, aware that they had hardly helped the situation. Joey and Madge fled from the room with them. Miss Annersley turned to the girls.

“Who is responsible for this disgraceful display of bad behaviour?” she asked in tones that made their stomachs sink into the soles of their feet. Augusta struggled through the crowd to the front.

“Please, Miss Annersley,” she said, “it was me. I was trying to catch St. George, you see. I think he must have got out of the attic. And the others were – er – trying to help, I think.” Miss Annersley sighed inwardly and set herself to disentangle the story.

“Who is St. George and why was he in the attic?” she queried, quaking to fear what the answer might be.

“Well,” began Augusta confidentially. “We found him out in the snow, you see, and he was awfully cold and he might have walked miles and miles, and fought bears and things. And he was frightfully hungry. He ate a lot of stuff out of the pig food bin, and someone was trying to stab him, you see,” she went on, muddling up reality with the story that she had concocted around the spooky noises she and Mollie had heard at the beginning.

“No they weren’t!” contradicted the latter young lady, joining her friend and followed a moment later by Kathie. “We only thought they were because he was howling like anything.”

“Yes,” agreed Augusta ghoulishly. “It sounded like a soul in torment. You know,” she added to the Head, “being tortured for all eternity, or forced to walk this earth because of some dark, dastardly deed he’d done on earth. Maybe he was a pirate and killed people, or a spy. Yes, I bet he was a spy. He’d done terrible things and…”

“Be quiet, Augusta!” Miss Annersley’s voice cut through the small girl’s ramblings. Augusta looked faintly surprised, but fell silent. “Now, you found him in the snow. Why did you put him in the attic?”

“We were going to take him to the police station,” explained her pupil. “We didn’t want to tell anyone, ‘cos he was trespassing on the School grounds and we thought he’d get into trouble, but he’s awfully sweet really and didn’t deserve it, so we were going to take him to the police and see if they could find out who he belonged to.” Miss Annersley was puzzled.

“Couldn’t you have asked him?” she said. Augusta stared at her in bewilderment.

“I suppose we could have, but he wouldn’t have answered. I mean, he can’t actually talk, can he?”

“Can’t he?” echoed the Head, rather faintly. Then she rallied and said firmly, “Augusta, I think you’d better show me this lad. Where is he?” Augusta looked round.

“I’m not sure,” she said doubtfully, “he was running away. He’s a jolly fast runner. Ah!” she exclaimed suddenly as the puppy appeared in the doorway, still wearing his brown hood coquettishly. “There he is! Got you!” She leapt forward and scooped him up. “Naughty, naughty, naughty boy,” she scolded him. “Here he is, Miss Annersley.”

She presented the puppy proudly to the Headmistress. Miss Annersley, by a tremendous effort of will, supressed a deep moan. She recognised the puppy. He had escaped two days ago from Matron’s room. They had searched the house for him, and all the surrounding area. They had informed the police of the loss as well as the farmer from whom St. George had been purchased. But all to no avail. Miss Annersley reflected that they should have known Augusta had something to do with the disappearance. She waved a feeble hand.

“Go to my study, Augusta, and wait there for me. You two as well,” she added to Kathie and Mollie.

Once the three had vanished from the room she recovered herself and dealt firmly with the remainder of the girls, who had been listening to the story with interest and not a little amusement. She informed them that they were no better than six-year-olds and that if they had had any sense they would have shut the doors and fetched someone in authority. She had no doubt that they had found the entire episode tremendously amusing and that their parents would fully appreciate their explanations when they read their reports. She added that no doubt they had also considered the view such an incident would give the local people of the School and hoped they were satisfied to be thought of as a bunch of hooligans. Then she made a number of comments about mental ages, about thinking for oneself instead of following other people blindly, and about not thinking before one acted. How, she asked, could Britain hope to win the War if its girls, some of whom would soon be contributing directly to the War effort, could not even use the common sense that had been given them? By the time she had finished what was left of most of them would have fitted into a thimble. Deeply ashamed of themselves they assisted with the clearing up of the debris. Joseph discovered that the hood worn by the puppy, which had been discarded when Augusta left the room, was in fact his missing costume but was too depressed to do anything about it.

Miss Annersley said similar things to the three small girls, before sending Kathie and Mollie off. To Augusta she added that if it had not been the end of term and everyone departing the next day she would have been punished, but that if anything like it happened again she could expect no mercy.

“But Miss Annersley, we were only trying to help,” protested Augusta. “We didn’t know he belonged to Matron.”

“What you should have done was to tell someone immediately you found him,” explained the Head patiently. “Then we would have dealt with the matter without all this secretive stalking about.” For by this time she had heard the whole story.

“He was trespassing, you see,” urged Augusta, “We didn’t want to get him into trouble.” Miss Annersley resignedly explained that the School rules did not, in general, refer to members of the animal kingdom.

“Well, I’m sorry,” said her pupil at last. “We – I didn’t mean to be stupid. I thought I was doing it for the best.” She sighed in an elderly fashion. “I’ve often found that what I think is the best thing to do isn’t what other people think it is.”

“Yes,” said Miss Annersley, trying to calculate how much longer Augusta would be in the School and feeling slightly faint at the result, “I’ve noticed that too. Go to bed now, Augusta, and over the Christmas Holidays you can write me an essay on common sense and how best to use it.”

“Yes Miss Annersley,” said Augusta. She curtseyed and withdrew. A moment later the door opened again and her head popped round it, wearing a cheerful smile.

“See you next term, Miss Annersley!” The door closed. Miss Annersley rang the bell and demanded a strong cup of coffee.

#50: Author: Nell, Location: London, England

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 4:21 pm

Poor Miss Annersley how will she cope with the rest of Augusta's school life! Laughing

Wonderful, thanks Abi!

#51: Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 4:35 pm

Hurrah! Hurrah! Thank you Abi Mr. Green

#52: Author: caz, Location: Cambridge

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 6:24 pm

Fantastic! Thank you.

#53: Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough.......

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 6:50 pm

Abi, that was great!
More Augusta soon please!!!

#54: Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 9:17 pm

Poor, poor Hilda! Laughing

Given the time this is happening -do you think she faked her head injury just so that she could get a year away from Augusta?

#55: Author: Ann, Location: Newcastle upon Tyne, England

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 10:58 pm

*dances happy drabble dance with wild abandon*

#56: Author: BethC, Location: Worcester, UK

Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2004 11:09 pm

Brilliant, Abi - great to see this back! And since you've admitted to the existence of further instalments, you'll excuse the chanting...

#57: Author: Chelsea, Location: Your Imagination

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 12:11 am

Quote:

At last even Joey and Augusta realised her presence and ceased to kick, scratch, bite, hit and pull one another’s hair. They sat up, received the full impact of Miss Annersley’s look, and without a word scuttled off to join the rest in the dressing room.

Love the idea of Joey sparring with a kid years younger than her Laughing

LOL at the whole scence - poor Hilda!

#58: Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 1:19 am

Wipes Baileys off the keyboard & monitor Embarassed

That was brilliant - well worth waiting for, but hoepfully it won't be as long before the next Augusta - will it??? Wink

#59: Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 4:23 am

I am so glad to see this back.
May Augusta have many, many more adventures! ROFL

#60: Author: Rebecca, Location: Kendal/Oxford

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 10:27 am

Yay! Thank you Abi!

#61: Author: Nicci, Location: UK

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 5:56 pm

Lesley wrote:

Poor, poor Hilda! Laughing

Given the time this is happening -do you think she faked her head injury just so that she could get a year away from Augusta?

LOL Lesley. Can't say I'd blame her if she did!

Abi, thank you a billion times for completing this latest Augusta. Looking forward to the next.

#62: Author: catherine, Location: York

Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2004 9:28 pm

Thanks, Abi!

Augusta is such a wonderful creation!! Poor Miss Annersley - will she have any hair left by the time Augusta's finished at the school?!!

Looking forward to the next story.

#63: Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle

Posted: Tue Jun 15, 2004 4:09 pm

Abi so glad to see this back. Just love the spectacle of all the girls at the end of the play. Looking forward to the next bits.

#64: Author: Nicole, Location: New Zealand

Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:06 am

Abi, this is just hilarious. ROFL

I'm very much looking forward to reading the next installment of the Adventures of Augusta.

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