24CARROTS

24CARROTS

Martin Meader

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:Author: Meader, Martin, ca. 1953-Title: 24 Carrots / by Martin MeaderISBN: 978-0-646-58270-2Subjects: Meader, Martin, ca. 1953-

Child and Youth FictionOther Contributors: Debasso, David Series: -Dewey Decimal Classification notation: 800

Credits and Copyright:Story and Text: Copyright © 2012 Martin Meader Design and Illustrations: Copyright © 2012 David Debasso

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or part without written permission from the publisher. Application for the copyright holder’s written permission to reproduce anypart of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.

Other books by Martin Meader:The Adventures of Charlie & Moon -Book 1: Facing the Quincequonces

Twenty Four Carrots is published by: Art from the Heart ProductionsPerth, Western Australia.

To my wonderful son, Charlie-Moon, for always inspiring me.

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

Martin Meader is a dad, writer, film maker,composer, musician, choral director, a greatcook and a lover of fish and chips, mangoesand pineapples. In 1997, Martin Co-ExecutiveProduced and Co-Wrote the $26millionstory of Paradise Road, a Fox Searchlightfeature, which starred Glenn Close, CateBlanchett, Francis McDormand, JuliannaMargulies and Jennifer Ehle. The film isbased on the true story of an extraordinarygroup of women in a Japanese concentration

camp who came together to form a vocalorchestra and created a life-affirmingsymphony of human voices.

Paradise Road propelled Martin intochoral conducting and he has conductedchoirs of varying sizes (including 1000-voice choirs)in Australia, Indonesia, Canada and the USA. He alsoruns singing workshops around the world and has releasedan album of love songs, Inside the Heart, with his goodfriend, Rob Spence,

With two other friends, Mark Higham and Louis Lim,Martin invented a game called SPELL which helpspeople learn to read (see www.alphabeticus.com).

The Adventures of Charlie & Moon was Martin’sfirst book in a trilogy and will soon be produced as afeature film. 24 Carrots was inspired by an adverseinteraction with a naughty bank. David Dabasso, whoalso interacted on The Alphabeticus Project, has drawnthe wonderful illustrations. You can expect more booksfrom the pair in the near future.

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R

Formore information on

Martin, go towww.martinmeader.com

P A G E O N E

One of the most enjoyable things I rememberabout being with my family was when we satdown for Sunday roast. At the stove, Mum

would sweat and juggle lots of pots and pans, allgurgling and churgling and hissing and spitting aroundher. The oven would shake, rattle and roll as a slab oflamb prepared itself for a two-parent, two-childgastronomic onslaught. When everything was ready,timed like a military operation, Mum would positioneach item carefully on the table, wipe her brow andslide into her seat, completely exhausted. “Trev, Bet. Dinner’s ready. Come on.”

Bet and I would race each other from our bedroomsdown the stairs to see who could get to the table first.Bet usually won! She was twelve, and two years older.

24CARROTS

We lived in a rather unusual house that was cobbledtogether over the years. Located on the bend of abeautiful river, our home sat up high, like a castle. Ithad the most spectacular views and we were the envyof all the surrounding property owners who had

offered to buy us out more times thanDad could remember. The nouveau riche couldn’t

abide what they thought was a blot on the landscape

Rising up from his armchair after having slept throughMatch of the Day, Dad would take his place. Proudly,he surveyed the lamb roast, baked potatoes, peas andcarrots that were all covered with thick brown gravycalled ‘Ah, Bisto!’

With a big loving smile, he turned to me mum andsaid, “Awright, Sheila?”

“Awright, Jim,” Mum replied.

“You awright, Trev?” she said to me.

“Yeah, I’m awright, Mum. You awright, Bet?”

“I’m awright, Trev,” answered Bet.

For the next few minutes of thisweekly ritual, we hunchedprotectively over our piledplates and asked eachother if we were“Awright.” And wewere. One happyfamily that was“Awright!”

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P A G E T H R E E

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“Sounds as flash as a rat with gold teeth. Must be abanker,” said Mum, swallowing another spud.

Bet and I looked at each other.

“Please, not more bankers,” said Bet.

“Wife?” queried Mum, attacking the carrots.

Dad raised the binoculars to his eyes again.

“Definitely bankers. She’s got more gold on her than ajeweller’s display cabinet. Suicide blond, too.” (Thatmeant she dyed her hair by her own hand.) “And Ireckon she’s been sucked into that jumpsuit like chocmilk through a straw.”

“Mutton dressed up as lamb,” saidMum disapprovingly. “Kids?”

“Boy and girl, look the same ageas Trev and Bet. Wearingmousey brown clothes,just like the others.”

“Most definitelybankers,” saidMum wrestlinga tough piece ofmeat with herfalse teeth.

We went back to ourroast and “awrights.”

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P A G E F I V E

and wanted to demolish our pride and joy and replaceit with a cookie-cutter mansion.

Dad always refused the offers from their real estateagents. His mum had left him the house in her will andhis wish was to honour her memory. He looked afterour wonderful palace with great pride, growing prize-winning carrots and selling them at the localmarkets. What an idyllic life we had!

On the day we were ‘awrighting’each other and eating ourSunday roast, the rumble oflarge removalist truckscould be heard arriving atthe mansion on the nextproperty. We rushed to thewindow to see what thecommotion was. Anotherfamily was moving in. Dadpulled out his binoculars totake a peek.

“Description, please,” said Mum, shoving a large,crispy potato into her mouth.

“One middle-aged male, caucasian, wearing a sportsjacket, cravat, perfectly ironed trousers and spotlesswhite crocodile skin shoes. Moustache, thin,Brylcreamed hair (that meant oily slicked back) and ajaw that looks like it’s stretched by safety pins attachedto the back of said person’s neck,” reported Dad.

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P A G E F O U R

Later, on our daily afternoon walk, we strolled pastthe gates of the driveway of our new neighbours. Ahuge sign was being erected. It read, “Welcome to thehome of Lord and Lady Sneaky.”

“The Sneaky Lord and Lady,” said Dad. We all lookedat each other and broke into laughter.

Returning home, Dad found an envelope pinned to ourfront door. He opened it and passed it toMum.

“You are invited tohigh tea with Lord and Lady Sneaky at 4:00 pm,Sunday next,” said Mum. “Please come suitablyattired.”

“That should be interesting. Not!” said Dad and hetoodled off to tend to his magical carrots inpreparation for his trip to market later that week.

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P A G E S I X

The following Sunday, dressed in our best outfits, weknocked on the door of the Sneaky mansion. A sad-looking, extremely tall man, like a human skyscraper,opened the door. He was wearing a butler’s uniformand spoke with a voice as deep as the Grand Canyon.

“My name is Bootle and I am the Lord’s long su-su-su-serving butler.”

“Wouldn’t want to mess with him oryou’d be toast,” I whispered to Bet.

As we followed Bootlethrough to the drawingroom (I knew it was thedrawing room because ithad a sign on the door thatread, ‘Drawing Room’), wepassed another door thatwas slightly ajar. Two pairsof miserable-looking eyes

peeped out at us. When theysaw us looking, they quickly pulled the

door to a close.

In the drawing room, we sat down on sofas that wereas soft as marshmallows. Bet and I had to keephoisting ourselves up; scared we might disappearamidst the cushions, perhaps never to be seen again.

With a fanfare, the doors burst open and Lord andLady Sneaky entered the room. He wore a satin

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P A G E E I G H T

smoking jacket, the obligatory cravat and shiny, blackriding boots. She was adorned uncomfortably in apink ball gown with matching hair and a tiara that hadso many diamonds on it the sparkles almost blindedyou. The Sneakys sat down on two thrones andwatched us squirming on the sofas.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” said Lord Sneaky,his mouth permanently stretched from ear to ear.

“Yes, welcome,” said Lady Sneaky with a voice thatshook like a bad soprano’s vibrato.

As one, we all said, “Awright.”

“Where are the drawings?” I asked.

“Ssshhh!” said Mum.

“We thought you might like some of my prize-winningcarrots,” said Dad.

“Cawots. Wahhhhyyy, how nace,” said Lady Sneaky,passing the carrots to Lord Sneaky who slipped theminto an ornate rubbish bin, as if we didn’t see.

Lord Sneaky clicked his fingers very loudly and Bootlewheeled in a trolley full of the most wonderful cakesand goodies. Mum licked her lips and Bet and I drooled.Only Dad remained composed.

“I say, wa-hooould you lake some tay?” asked the Lord.

“Awright,” we said as one.

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P A G E T E N

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Standing very close to the cake trolley, my mother triedto make small talk with Lady Sneaky.

“Lovely home you have here. Where are your kidstoday?”

“Some-wa-here,” replied the cheerless Lady, wavingher hand off to a distant part of the house. She leanedover to Mum and grasped her hand.

“Wa-hoooould you la-hake something abit stronger?” she whispered.

Lady Squeaky seemed onthe edge.

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“Four tays, Bootle.”

“Yes, my Lod,” said Bootle.

“And wa-hooould you lake some cay-hake?” croakedLady Sneaky.

“Awright,” we all answered again.

“Cay-hake for four, Bootle,” strained the Lady.

“Yes, my La-hady,” said Bootle, serving us a variety ofcreamy delights.

When we were full to the nostrils withcake and tea, Lord Sneaky called myfather to one side. They stood by ahuge French window, lookingout towards our property.I could see my fathershaking his headvery politely. Atone stage, steamseemed to pourout of the Lord’ssnout and hestamped hisfoot like ahorse.

P A G E T W E L V E P A G E T H I R T E E N

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