There was a banging noise. Dad was sitting in the car and he heard it first. He turned off the key and looked at mum. “That’s doesn’t sound too good,” he said. Then Mum heard it too. She nodded.
Dad opened the door and got out, but the banging had stopped. Mum said the noise seemed to be coming from the garden shed. Dad made a ‘hmmmm’ noise and said, “I’d better go and see what those two children of ours are up to.”
It was coming from the shed. Mum and Dad peered in through the window and there were Jack and Poppy, Jack was holding a hammer and Poppy was tying a long piece of very strong string to a piece of wood. There was wood everywhere. On the floor, nailed together on the bench, stacked under the window, piled in heaps in a corner. There was hardly any space left. Sawdust, shavings, an old pot of paint, crumpled newspapers. And in the middle Jack and Poppy were beaming and smiling and waving for mum and dad to go in for a look.
Dad went first. “What’ve we got here?” he wanted to know. “It sounded like elephants smashing our shed to pieces.”
Jack said, “Dad, we’re just about finished making the most marvellous cart.” And sure enough, they looked again and there it was. Surrounded by pieces of wood and wire and string and bent nails and Dad’s saw and mum’s hammer.
It was long and narrow. With two wheels at the back and a place to sit. Dad was beaming now. He said Jack and Poppy were the cleverest kids in the whole neighbourhood; they’d manage to make their cart without any help from him!
Jack said, ‘thanks dad’, but then he mumbled, “There’s a problem. A big problem. We’ve only got two wheels.” Dad had noticed that. “And we need two more,” Jack went on. Poppy said, “We’ve looked for wheels all through the shed and wracked our brains trying to think. But we’re stumped, Dad. We’re wheeless.”
Now it was Mum’s turn to smile. She said, when Jack and Poppy were too big for their pram, years ago, she’d given the pram away. But the family she gave it to didn’t need the wheels on the pram. So mum had put the wheels away, high up in the shed. And with that she asked dad to lift her up.
He gave a big dad-laugh and scooped her up and held her high, right next to the ceiling. And up there, in a dark place that Jack and Poppy had never noticed before, she reached in and pulled out two wheels! “Will these do?” she asked although of course she knew the answer.
Jack and Poppy did a little mum-you’re-amazing dance and before you could turn around they’d fixed the wheels to the cart and there it was ready to go.
At that point dad had a question. “What’s it for?”
Jack said, “It’s for the race, Dad. There’s going to be a race down the hill.” Poppy said, “Everyone’s got carts and we’re going to have this massive race. It’s all organized.”
Mum’s face screwed up a little bit and she asked, “Down the hill? From the top? Isn’t that going to be, you know … dangerous?” Jack rolled his eyes and said, “Mum! It’ll be as safe as houses.” And Poppy said, “Our teacher’s going to be there. And our cousins. Everyone! Even Mrs Threadbare’s made a cart!”
Well, now it was dad’s turn to screw up his face. He spluttered, “Mrs Threadbare is going to race? Down the hill?” Poppy laughed and pointed out the window. “She sure is. And she’s ready now and waiting for us at the gate!”
That was true. There was their kind old neighbour with the floppy hat and big handbag. She was coming out of her gate, beaming and waving, and pulling a cart behind her.
What a cart it was. It had four big wheels. At each end there were flags and a smothering tangle of flapping ribbons all yellow and red and blue and green and pink and hi-viz yellow. With a row of lollypops running around the edge. Perched on the top of all this was the seat. An armchair! A massive, padded, bright red armchair. Stuffing poked out of the arms.The seat part was lumpy. There was a spider’s web tucked at the back. No-one had ever seen a cart like it.
“What do you think?” Mrs Threadbare asked. Everyone crowded around to have a close look. Poppy said, “It’s going to win the ‘most original design’ prize, Mrs Threadbare.” Everyone laughed.
Then mum said if Mrs Threadbare was going in the race then it would probably be OK. Dad did a quick check of the wheels on Jack and Poppy’s cart. Jack found two bike helmets. And off they went; out the gate, along the footpath and up the hill pulling their carts behind them.
As they got higher they could see other kids pulling their carts. Lots of them. More and more. Soon they were surrounded by kids streaming up the hill pulling carts. Long thin carts and short ones and carts made from wood and from old rusty drums and carts with Bluetooth speakers blaring out music and ones that wobbled and some with flags. Dozens and dozens of kids with carts. Poppy said there might even be ten, raised to the power of two, minus one hundred, kids. Jack said he didn’t know about that, but there were probably at least 200.
Their cousins were there. They saw the fat boy from school. And when they got to the top their teacher was there, blowing a whistle and pointing and trying to get everyone lined up. Everyone was huddled and pressed together in huge mash, shouting and laughing and pushing and trying to get their carts ready. The wind was tugging at their teacher’s coat. Mrs Threadbare’s flags were whipping and snapping. And then everyone was lined up and ready.
Their teacher held up her hand. All eyes were on her. No-one moved. There wasn’t a sound. Then, “Go!” She dropped her hand and they were off!
Jack and Poppy pushed hard and down the slope they started. Next to them a small boy was tugging at a rope, trying to make his cart go straight. Behind them a mean black cart with bright lights for eyes was bumping them. “Get out of my way!” someone yelled at them.
Down and down they went. The whole great crowd of kids and carts was flying downhill now, like a tidal wave. Like a tsunami. A waterfall of wheels and flags and seats and ropes and kids with helmets. There was yelling and rumbling and crashing. Through the long grass and scratchy weeds they all tumbled and raced. Bang! A cart in front of them hit something and flew into the air. Crash! It landed and wobbled … but somehow managed to keep going.
Now Jack and Poppy were in the trees. Flying between tall tree trunks and dodging under low branches. Jack yelled, “Watch out!” Poppy shouted, “Hang on!”
Down they went. Next to them a long yellow cart went whizzing past. Too fast! Crash! It smashed into a rock! The cart exploded into a thousand pieces. Wood and wheels and a helmet and dust and noise shattered into the air. Poppy called, “You OK?” The rider grinned. Then, they were past, bounding and thumping down the hill
Suddenly their cousins came roaring out of the crowd and were next to them. In a long blue cart. Jack yelled, “Hi!” And just as his cousins were starting to say something back their cart dipped and lifted and plonked. A wheel had broken! Oh no! Poppy yelled, “We should help them!” Jack said, “We’re going too fast. We can’t stop!” He swerved to go past another big tree and by the time they could look back their cousins were far far behind them.
On they went. All around them kids were pouring down the hill. Here and there carts were lying on their side, broken and wrecked. Next thing, a cart banged into Jack and Poppy. It was the fat boy. “Sorry!” He was swerving and going from side to side and looking very worried. “How do I steer?” he yelled. But before Jack and Poppy could help him a big green cart banged into both of them. The fat boy was pushed to one side. Jack and Poppy were shoved to the other side. The green cart sliced through the middle and ploughed down the hill. It was madness. Now they were near the bottom. Racing through long grass and scratchy weeds. Almost at the footpath.
Suddenly Jack looked up. “Poppy! Look!” Ahead of them. High and grand. Towering over all the carts. Rolling down. Steady and sure. Mrs Threadbare! Sitting on the armchair. Smiling and beaming down at everyone. Reaching into her big handbag. Bringing out lollypops. Passing them to the kids swarming around her. Poppy laughed and waved and managed to yell out “Mrs Threadbare!” Then she and Jack were on the footpath, racing through the gate and jumping off their cart at the kitchen door.
“Mum!” They were so puffed and excited they could hardly speak. But mum and and dad came out and slowly slowly they got the story. What a magnificent race. How exciting to fly down. Carts smashing. Wheels breaking. Other carts racing ahead.
Dad said, “Wow! I wish I’d been there.” Mum looked at him and wagged her finger. “No,” she said. “Much too dangerous, dear.” He just chuckled and said, “You know what that race reminds me of? Remember that story we read one bedtime? About the man sowing seeds? Some soil is good and some isn’t.” Jack said, “Right, Dad. Like some carts made it and some just didn’t.”
Mum smiled and she said, “Well, you know what this race makes me think of?” Poppy looked up at her and said, “Muffins for tired riders?” Mum chuckled and said, “And for a mum and dad too.” She led the way inside and there was a whole table stacked with delicious, freshly baked mum-muffins.