Noah and the Finlayworld Theme Park

1

Happy birthday

For Noah, today was the first day of tomorrow. He knew the post was coming but still he rushed to the door and whipped it off the wire brush doormat. The first post he had received in his life. He sprinted to his room and turned it over in his hands. It was a thick cream envelope that had his name written on the front in bold, elegant strokes: Noah Marshall, and his address; The Orphanage, Rotten Colley Farm, Maidstone. Today was Noah’s birthday and as with every child on their 12th birthday, he had received a card from Otto Finlay, animator and creator of the Finlayworld theme park.

As he sat at the table, he looked over his shoulder whilst he showed his fellow orphans what Otto had written inside. They huddled together in front of the pine, plate dresser as Noah underlined the words with his finger.

“Don’t you get it?” Noah asked.

“But that’s what he writes in every card,” Ethan said.

“This changes everything,”

“Does it? Or is this just another day harvesting rotten cauliflowers?” asked Kevin.

Rotten Colley Farm was an orphanage and a working farm. It was set in acres of farmland and when the strong east wind blew, it could be smelt a mile away because of the rotten cauliflowers. Unfortunately, the orphans who resided in the yellow brick farmhouse, were also farmhands labouring in the furrows of the brown fields. Directly, west of the farm was Finlayworld, the globally famous theme park, and Noah thought that it looked so much fun. It had coasters which arced into the sky, waltzers that whizzed and spun, dodgems that crashed, banged and walloped and drop slides which fell from the sky. Nevertheless, Mr Megson had sworn he’d never take them there because in his words, “It’s a waste of money, to queue for hours, for a ride that lasts a few seconds.”

Noah stuffed the card in his pocket as the housemaster, Mr Megson slid a bowl of porridge towards Noah with a set of kippers on top that looked like an old yellowing book. Meggo shoved a toothpick into his pocket and plucked out a sheath of doner meat which he dropped into his mouth.

“Let’s read the newspaper,” said Mr Megson.

He unfurled it in front of his face and sucked in through his teeth.

“The number of people in Great Britain who live in potholes has risen to 500,000. Count your lucky stars, you’ve got a roof over your heads.”

He turned the page over, “No one can get a job. Thank goodness, you’ve got work, stay here forever, and you’ll have a job for life.”

He turned over the page, “10 out of 10 people say that they’ve had their dreams crushed.”

He looked around at the residents, before he placed the paper down on the table.

“I don’t envy the youngsters of today, it’s so tough. Shall we take the Rotten Colley Farm pledge?”

All the children stood up with their hands on their hearts and Meggo led them in the pledge but for the first time Noah remained tight lipped.

“I pledge my allegiance to Rotten Colley Farm. I am lucky to have a roof over my head, food on the table and work. Life isn’t fair, so I should be happy with my lot. I will always remember that the grass is never greener.” they all said.

The children began to load their bowls and cutlery into the sink with a clunk and a clang. Noah felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mr Megson eyeballing him, nasal hair sprouting from his nostrils.

“Why can you never do as I say?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“You didn’t recite the Rotten Colley Farm pledge,”

“I got a card from Otto Finlay, and it says that no matter where I am, if I use what I have to hand, I can lead a rewarding and fulfilling life…”

“He writes that to every 12 year old. Didn’t you hear the news, cloth ears?”

“But I believe that life can be magical…”

“Magic is an illusion, sleight of hand and diversion. If you want a job here, or to stay here after you’re 18, don’t bite the hand that feeds you, cause life can be tough without your kind Uncle Bernard here to look after you,”

“The only person you look after is yourself,”

“And do you think Otto Finlay will look after you? You’re obsessed, you stand at your bedroom window staring at his theme park like some dog looking at a steak in a restaurant, pathetic. You better watch yourself Noah, you’ve got everything to lose…”

“And everything to gain.”

2

The Weekly Net Session

After breakfast, Bernard Megson led the residents in their weekly cricket net. He was at the batter’s end, willow in hand, he took his guard and then scratched his mark like an angry bull pawing at the ground. Noah waited at the bowler’s end, his black skin stark against his cricket whites, the sun beat down on his tight, curly hair. He rubbed the ball on the patches sewn onto his knees. He looked at Harinder, her jumper hung off her like a rice sack, Kevin’s t-shirt was so tight that his belly hung out of the bottom and the hem on Ethan’s trousers had come loose.

Noah hurtled in, with his front arm he stretched up to the sky and yanked it down like a man pulling a cord as he released the ball from the other. Thwack. Noah looked up as the ball became a cherry red meteorite that sailed over his head.

“Six! Rubbish from Noah Marshall, you can’t play test cricket like that. Absolutely batty.”

Next up trundled Kevin, right arm spin. Smash, the ball went further than Noah’s.

“Six! I’ve seen ostriches with more flight than that!”

Harinder walked to the crease, her straight, black hair swished before she stopped and lobbed an underarm ball that arced high into the air. Mr Megson danced down the wicket and launched her over the tree, before he signalled a six. Then came Ethan Ambrose, he had dark crescents under his eyes and dirty, blonde hair. His ball was a little too short, so the housemaster lent forward and scooped it back over his own head before signalling another 6.

Noah was forced to send down delivery after delivery for the housemaster who smashed each and every one back over his head. He’d then have to run and retrieve the ball. Noah exhaled big, gaspy pants and he shook his arm several times, in the hope that the housemaster would take the hint that he was tired, but Meggo was a Yorkshireman, and the subtlety of hints are wasted on a Yorkshireman.

After lunch, Noah had to do his Sunday chore which was laundry: so, he hunkered down in the laundry room that was shrouded in a humid, claustrophobic fog which just aggravated the sweat he had on. He put his finger inside his collar and pulled it away from his chest, he blew out like a kettle giving out steam. His tasks included putting the dirty clothes in the washing machine, ironing the bedsheets and folding the clean clothes. Mr Megson popped his head around the door.

“Here, hand wash me cricket pants, the gusset won’t take the machine, I’ve had these kecks since I was a lad.”

Mr Megson held them up. The briefs looked like they’d fit Meggo’s bum like a clingfilm wrap. He chucked them at Noah’s head causing him to duck out the way. Noah searched for the cleanest part of the grimy and stained briefs and picked them up reluctantly in a pincer.

“I want them ironed properly not like last week when they were all creased. Honestly, lad you’re so useless, you can’t even use an iron, do you think you’ll do anything with your life?”

“I’m good at lots of things,”

“You’re hiding it well lad. What happens if they’re not spotless?” Mr Megson asked.

“Solitary confinement?”

“Aye lad, and we wouldn’t want that to happen on your birthday, would we? Ta ra.”

After Mr Megson had left, Noah hatched a plan that brought a smile to his face, and if it came off it would make him laugh forever. Noah waited for 15 minutes, then he crept upstairs to the housemaster’s bedroom. He scanned the corridor once, then twice and then a third time. He gently opened the door and closed it behind him, before he tiptoed over to the sink in the bathroom.

“I’ll make sure they’re the cleanest pants in the whole world,” Noah whispered.

3

Revenge is a dish best served cold

Inside the laundry room, Noah was on his knees as a runnel of sweat dripped from his forehead. He placed the blue and white Jey cloth inside the bowl of washing up liquid and wiped his hands on the towel. He reached inside his pocket and pulled something out that would give the housemaster’s pants that extra sheen. Noah scrubbed away at Meggo’s precious gusset with exceptional care. There was a soft knock at the door, Noah quickly hid something away.

“Noah! It’s me Kevin.”

Noah exhaled a lengthy breath and removed his cleaning utensil from his pocket.

“You cleaning Meggo’s cricket pants?” Kevin asked.

Noah nodded.

“Handwashing again?” Kevin asked.

“No, I’ve had enough of that.”

Noah held something up like the Statue of Liberty with her torch.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kevin asked.

“Meggo’s toothbrush.”

“You know what will happen if he finds out,”

“Bring it on,”

“He’s our carer Noah, don’t be horrible to him. He wants you to come down for your birthday.”

The clock was showing half 8 in the evening; the housemaster always left the birthday celebrations until late. On the way down Noah asked Kevin to stand guard whilst he shuttled back into Mr Megson’s room with his toothbrush.

“I’m not sure about this, Noah,”

“Well you can say something if you want but you know he’ll punish all of us.”

His 12th birthday felt like a milestone; 11 felt like a boy, 12 felt like a grown up, he now knew that he was tall enough to get on all the rides at Finlayworld. He looked around. This was his life. He considered what Otto had written, but what could be gained from rotting cauliflowers, some old furniture, some smelly fields and steep hills that they had to climb? Could he really use any of this to achieve anything? Could he set up his own Cauliflower Cheese Stall? What did Otto mean?

In the living room, Noah spoke to the other residents; they were close. They were the only four residents and only they knew what it felt like to live at Rotten Colley Farm. Their togetherness was almost telepathic expressed in the exchanged looks, the shared sighs and the weary flop onto the bed after a day in the field.

When the housemaster turned the lights off to the living room, Harinder perched her violin upon her shoulder and struck up Happy Birthday. Kevin brought in a cake with candles that flickered on the top. After Noah had blown them out, Mr Megson threw a package at him. Taken by surprise, Noah flapped and dropped it.

“Dreadful, he couldn’t catch a tuk tuk in Bombay.”

The housemaster shook his head, plucked the toothpick from out within his teeth and skewered some doner meat from his pocket.

Noah ripped at the parcel feeling the wrapping paper as it crinkled and tore in his fingers. He tugged at the parts that were sellotaped and discarded the paper onto the floor until he was left with a pair of ……batting gloves. Noah groaned.

“Couldn’t you buy me a ticket to Finlayworld?”

“Pah, Finlayworld bills itself as the greatest family day out on the planet, and if you haven’t noticed you don’t have a family,” Mr Megson said.

Noah swung the gloves around, “You could fit a jumbo sausage in each finger,” Noah said.

“You’ll grow into them,” Mr Megson grunted.

The housemaster swiped them away, “Until you’re 18, I’ll look after ‘em,”

“I should’ve known, you spend all our money on stuff for yourself, like that bat you got Ethan for his birthday, that bowling machine you bought Kevin for his and the set of scoring books you bought Harinder,”

“All held on trust, look if you don’t like it, you can go and live with someone else. Except you can’t because no one else wants any of you, do they? Except your kind Uncle Bernard,”

He glared at them, and they all looked away except for Noah who met his gaze with intensity. Mr Megson cackled, so you could see the minced doner meat swirling around his mouth like Jonah in the belly of the whale.

“He who laffs last laffs the longest,” said Mr Megson, “raight you lot, upsturs to bed, I wanna get some kip after I’ve brushed me teeth.”

And all the children laughed.

4

Skull Mountain

The next morning, Noah and Kevin were stood in the middle of the courtyard next to a giant mound of putrid cauliflowers with black leaves and white heads. They were piled high like a mountain of skulls with black collars and for this reason, they called this place Skull Mountain. At the top was a chute that ran down into a rusting skip at the bottom. The area was covered in a swarm of flies that buzzed around feverishly as they feasted on the rotting vegetables. The smell was a curious combination of carrion and cauliflower. Noah was sure that kids shouldn’t be working on farms, but he was also sure that Mr Megson didn’t care.

“Now, the caulis need to be placed inter skip so that they can be taken ter tip, and I’ll be back at lunch in’t cricket,” said The Governor.

“Can’t you hire someone to take them away?” Noah said wafting his hand in front of his nose.

The Governor smiled, “When I took over this place 15 years ago, after seeing action in the Army during the flood relief effort, this place were making a loss but now, it’s making money so you lot can be housed. So, you dimwits will load ‘em, and I’ll drive them when you’re done.”

Mr Megson was so tight, if he could, he’d charge his farts a toll to leave his bottom. The orphanage, Rotten Colley Farm, consisted of a yellow brick farmhouse in acres of land with cauliflowers that tended to spoil. When he took over, he had no idea how to make the orphanage profitable until he found an old, grainy, black and white photo of yesteryear that showed the orphans in the fields with hoes, knives and wheelbarrows. Inspired, he sprung up from his chair and shouted, “Kerching!”

The Governor swept his hand through his grey, flecked hair, he had a stern look on his thin, heavy lined face and his grey eyes were like tombstones.

Noah scaled the rotten cauliflowers, his feet sunk into the mulch, he scrunched up his nose and held his breath. His boilersuit hung off him like a coat hanger and the trouser legs flapped around his spindly shins. He had sunken brown cheeks but beneath his tight afro hair there was a glint in his caramel, brown eyes. As usual he worked with Kevin Holding who was rotund with thick lensed glasses which blew his eyes up like saucers atop his chubby, rosy cheeks. The stems of his spectacles were held together by grimy plasters.

At the peak, Noah picked up a cauliflower which fell apart in his hands and turned into a grey, mushy slush. He picked up another, dropped it into the tube and heard it clang into the skip below. He then repeated the process knowing that he was barely making a dent into the mountain. Kevin was silent, his shoulders slumped and his bottom lip quivered. Then Noah’s thoughts turned to the words in the card, then he picked up a cauliflower and hurled it at Kevin.

“What are you doing Noah?”

“Trying to have some fun,”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry,”

“Good one wiseguy,”

“Well, we’ve got a choice, we can make the best of it if we try.”

Kevin paused and his brow furrowed.

“I’m going to try, like you say.”

“We’re gonna get through this, Kevin, and when we come out of it, we’ll be even stronger,”

“On the volley into the skip?” Kevin suggested.

Kevin started lobbing caulis towards Noah who volleyed them, some crashed off the side to which they responded to with Ooohs. Others missed by a mile to which they responded to with Aaahs, then Kevin threw a cauliflower that looped up and invited an overhead kick. Noah jumped up, bicycled his legs and made a good contact. Their eyes followed it as the