Daddy Monkey and the Piccolo

Well it all started because Daddy Monkey wouldn’t stop playing the piccolo. He was so pleased he’d found an instrument that made people dance, and it was small enough that he could still carry the same amount of bananas round with him).

He’d tried lots of other instruments. For example, the double bass (squish!). For example, the harp (pyoing!). For example, the clarinet (squeak! honk!). And, of course, he still had his waking-people-up-in-the-morning trumpet – although these days it tended to have one of Daddy’s socks in it, which stopped him playing so early on.

But the piccolo was perfect. There’d been that sunny day when Daddy Monkey had left the house playing a tune. Out of the letterbox he went, tootling away. Behind him came a whole cavalcade of animals – Tim Zebra, Orange Dinosaur, Blue Dinosaur, Totoro, Gruffalo, all of them. They danced their way down Southend Road and all the cats and dogs joined in. Ductor Who and Conrad Crow flew in with all their friends. Daddy Donkey chewed thistles in his field in time with the music, and even Uncle Snail did a little shuffle before going off to chew a plant, muttering “What a funny monkey.”

By the time they got to the Lady’s House everyone was exhausted, and very soon the Lady’s House had run out of cake, tea and beer!

“Hmmm,” said Mummy as she and Daddy made their fifth trip across Iffley Meadows to carry home snoring animals. “I think we need to find somewhere for Daddy Monkey to play that won’t cause all this trouble.”

“You’re right,” said Daddy, who was holding two heavy dinosaurs and a loudly snoring Big Bear. “I’ll look it up on the computer.”

Later that evening, while Emma was trying to sleep, but Daddy Monkey was practising his scales in the Chicken Room, Daddy shouted, “I’ve found it!”

Mummy came and looked, and said, “Great, I’ll get him now.”

She went upstairs and picked up Daddy Monkey by his sticky-out ears. He tootled all the way down the stairs until Mummy plonked him down on Daddy’s desk. His big bottom made the computer table wobble. “Look!” said Daddy, pointing.

Daddy Monkey thought he was pointing at the information about the next week’s banana festival, which he already knew about. He was just about to start tootling again, when Mummy said, “Look at where Daddy’s pointing.”

Daddy Monkey looked again. The notice said “New Orchestra, the Carthorse Players. All Instruments Welcome.”

“Yay!” said Daddy Monkey. “I can take my waking-people-up-in-the-morning trumpet!”

Daddy and Mummy looked at each other and sighed. They knew only one person could make Daddy Monkey understand.

Daddy called upstairs. “Emma, can you come down for a minute?”

A week later, Daddy, Mummy and Emma were sitting nervously in an Oxford café. Without thinking they had ordered banana things – banana cake, banana tea and banana milkshake.

“I hope they like him,” said Mummy.

“Well, he is a cute little monkey,” said Emma.

“I don’t want him to go back to playing that trumpet in the mornings!” said Daddy.

Daddy Monkey was across the road trying out as a piccolo player for the Carthorse Orchestra. He was very excited, and everyone wondered if it would make him a good monkey, just as Olivermonkey had become well behaved when he learned to cook.

“And at least there wouldn’t be any more dances out to the Lady’s House,” said Daddy, who still had achy arms from carrying all the animals back.

Inside the hall across the road, Daddy Monkey was waiting for his turn. He wasn’t nervous at all. Every so often he munched a banana and looked at the clock. There was a whole bunch of pigs playing French horns in the next room, and at a table by herself an anteater was practicing the violin. Daddy Monkey wasn’t nervous, but he was getting bored. He’d been waiting aaaaages for his turn to play the piccolo. Once in a while he’d reach out his long arm and tickle the anteater, who would play squeaky sounds on her violin until Daddy Monkey stopped. But this wasn’t interesting enough.

If you’ve got a naughty Daddy Monkey, the worst thing you can do is let him get bored. When the lady from the orchestra came out to ask him to come and play his best piccolo tune, he wasn’t there.

“Oh dear,” she said, and made a note on her list. “Well, it’ll have to be you, Elsie Anteater.”

The anteater looked scared, but went into the other room clutching her violin bravely.

Meanwhile, where was Daddy Monkey? Daddy, Mummy and Emma had just ordered a second round of banana things. They would have been even more nervous if they’d known that Daddy Monkey wasn’t playing the piccolo like he was supposed to, but had found somewhere for a nice relaxing snooze.

A little while later it was a chicken’s turn to stand up in front of the people who ran the orchestra and play his instrument. This was a tuba. A tuba is a big thing, made out of a long pipe of brass all rolled up so you can hold it in your arms. It’s a difficult instrument for a chicken to play. The chicken, whose name was Fraenkel, hauled and pushed the tuba into the room where the people were waiting. After a while he got it into the right position fort him to play. “Seems a bit heavier than usual,” he clucked.

All the people who were waiting to hear him smiled, but also looked at the clock. How long was thing going to take? Fraenkel wrapped his wings round the tuba, and blew hard.

Well, the tuba makes very low notes, like a man with a deep voice humming. At first there was a proper tuba “Booom,” but then it stopped. Fraenkel blew and blew, but no sound came out. He was a very worried chicken.

Suddenly there was a new sound. A light, tweetling sound, a sort of dancing tune. All the people at the big table tapped their feet. Even Fraenkel started to flap his wings in time.

“How are you doing that?" asked the lady who was in charge.

“I don’t think I’m doing anything!” said Fraenkel.

The tune carried on. Everyone in the room crept up to the tuba, and peered down the big funnel the notes come out of. The saw two sticky out ears, some fur, a cheeky grin, and a piccolo.

“Oi, what are you doing here?” shouted Daddy Monkey out of the tuba, “I was just trying to wake Daddy up!”

Well, no one could believe their eyes – and they couldn’t look for too long, because Daddy Monkey was playing quite a good tune, and they all danced and danced and danced until there was a terrible rummmmmbling sound. Someone had not had enough bananas.

“Is it time for lunch?” said Daddy Monkey. Everyone stopped, as if they were playing Musical Statues.

“Lunch?” said the lady in charge.

“Lunch?” said Fraenkel the chicken.

“Yes, lunch!” shouted Daddy Monkey, and his tum made such an echoey boom that people all through Oxford looked up and thought about thunder.

“It must be time for lunch!” shouted the lady in charge, and everyone else’s tums rumbled too. So they put all the instruments away (except that Daddy Monkey kept his piccolo) and went across the road to the café where Daddy, Mummy and Emma were sitting.

“Here he comes,” said Daddy, looking up from the cake.

“He’s brought a whole orchestra with him!” said Emma, looking at all the people, and the chicken, who were talking to Daddy Monkey.

Well, when Daddy Monkey explained who everyone was, and he’d given another piccolo tune that made them all dance up and down the floor, it really was time for lunch. The lady in charge surprised everyone by eating a whole fish pie (Daddy Monkey asked her if she was really a penguin). Fraenkel liked grubs, and the other musicians had very small sandwiches. Of course, Daddy Monkey had banana masala, which filled the café with steam.

“Help, help, we can’t get out!” said the musicians suddenly. They stumbled around in the steam, knocking into everyone’s eating arms. Daddy Monkey’s arm was so long that his fork full of banana masala went splat! on the street when he was joggled.

“Oh dear,” said Daddy Monkey, “I’ll have to help them.” So he tickled his way to the door, took out his piccolo, and played a “finding your way out” sort of tune. As each musician staggered out into the street, Daddy Monkey prodded them with his tail. They went “Oi!” and looked round, but the tail had gone back into the mist inside the café.

The only one who was left inside was the lady in charge, who was telling Daddy (it was a very looooong story) about the year she played the cello to some carrots in the garden every morning. Fraenkel the chicken was still there, but he’d fallen asleep.

“Well,” said the lady in charge when she’d finished her story (Daddy looked very relieved), “you are a musical monkey!”

Daddy Monkey smiled.

“And you are quite cute.”

Daddy Monkey said, “I’M NOT A CUTE LITT – omnyomnyom…” Emma had very quickly put a spoonful of banana masala into his mouth so he couldn’t finish his shout.

“We’d definitely like you to join the Carthorse Orchestra.”

“Hooray!” shouted Daddy, Mummy and Emma.

Daddy Monkey just grinned his cheekiest grin, and said, “That’s nice. Is it time for cake?”

So they all had cake. The lady in charge ate an enormous carrot cake – all of it! Daddy Monkey ate a whole banana cake. And then, with an enormous tum, he fell asleep. His snores made ripples in everyone’s tea.

“We’d better take him home,” said Mummy to the lady in charge. But she was asleep too. They had to leave her, and Fraenkel the chicken, and lift that heavy monkey up. They took him to the bus (all the passengers got joggled from their seats when Daddy Monkey snored) and then home (all the doors in the house went rat-a-tat when Daddy Monkey snored).

“Well, he’s in the orchestra,” said Emma.

“What a clever monkey,” laughed Daddy.

“I hope he’ll be good from now on,” said Mummy.

Well, that didn’t last long. Next morning Daddy Monkey blew his waking-people-up-in-the-morning trumpet.

“Agh!” said Daddy.

“Bottoms to you!” said Daddy Monkey. “Time for piccolo practice!”