Stories for children and adults by the crazy-mad writer

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

 

 

Wot and Nott: Walking with Statues

 

Chapter Six

Rest and Recuperation

 

Opening his eyes, Nott saw his best friend sitting patiently on the chair next to his hospital

bed.

 

“I have something for you,” said Wot, handing him a brown paper bag.

 

“Thanks. What is it?”

 

“Grapes.”

 

Looking into the bag, Nott saw less than a dozen grapes languishing within it. An eyebrow

rising, he asked, “Where are the rest of them?”

 

“Oh, sorry about that, I got a bit peckish while you were asleep.”

 

Withdrawing one of the grapes, Nott placed it into his mouth. “I suppose it’s the thought

that counts,” he said. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Giving Nott’s chart at the end the bed a quick inspection, Wot asked,

“How are you feeling? It says, here, you have only a strained ankle…”

 

“It might only be a strain, friend, but it hurts like mad,” Nott answered defensively.

 

Noticing that Nott had a visitor, the matron said, “I see you have a visitor. Is he bringing

you home?”

 

“Home?” Nott spluttered.

 

“Home?” Wot asked. “Can he go home?”

 

“Yes, of course he can,” she replied. “Mr?”

 

“It’s Wot, the name is Wot.”

 

“Yes, Mr Wot, Nott can indeed go home. He was told that over one hour ago.”

 

Lying in his hospital bed, Nott looked incredibly small, like a bold child who had disobeyed

his parents’ instructions. “I…” he said, trying to wriggle his way out of it.

 

“Take him away, Mr Wot, we have need this bed for more serious cases,” the matron told

him.

 

Leaving Nott sitting in a wheelchair adjacent the hospital entrance, Wot set off for the

car park, to get his car. Each time the doors opened, freezing cold wind blew into the

hospital, freezing Nott to the bone. “Where is he?” he griped. “He’s been gone for ages.”

Hearing the familiar, throaty sound of Wot’s car, an ancient Volkswagen Beetle, Nott

readied himself for the off.

 

Pulling alongside the curb in front of the hospital, Wot opened the door, stepped out from

it, then returned to the hospital. As he opened the door another blast of freezing cold air

assaulted Nott. “Are you ready?” he asked.

 

“I am,” he answered, pulling his suit jacket tighter around him. “Will you give me a push?

My fingers are freezing.”

 

“Freezing?”

 

“Don’t go there,” he warned, “just get me out of here.”

 

“Okay, then, here we go…”

 

Chugging away from the hospital, the ancient car headed for Sunbury-on-Thames.

Saying nothing, though happy to be going home, Nott was amazed by the amount of

snow that had fallen while he was in hospital. “How are the roads?” he asked. “They look

a bit slippery!”

 

“They are,” Wot answered. “The snowploughs and gritters haven’t made it down this neck

of the woods yet.” Hearing this, Nott watched the street with a renewed interest. “This little

beauty, though, will get us through,” he said, patting the dashboard. “No matter how much

snow the heavens chuck at us, Gertrude will get us home.”

 

“Gertrude!” said Nott, thinking his friend short of a few pennies.

 

The ancient car chugged happily along the slippery streets until they reached Wot’s house.

“This isn’t my house!” said Nott. “It’s yours!”

 

“I thought it best if you stay with me for a couple of days,” Wot told him. “To rest and

recuperate. Then you can go home. It will be easier for both of us, so. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes, and thanks,” Nott answered. “You are a good friend, even if I don’t always say so.”

 

Braving the icy blast, Wot opened the door and got out of the car. As he opened the

passenger door a blast of icy cold wind assaulted his friend. “Here are your crutches,”

he said, handing them to him. “They said you will need them for a couple of days.”

 

“Thanks,” Nott replied, accepting the pieces of wood. Tucking them awkwardly under his

armpits, he attempted to stand.  After taking a few faltering steps, thinking he had mastered

their use, Nott said, “It’s alright, Wot. Go on ahead and open the door. I’ll follow you.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeh, this is child’s play,” he insisted.

 

Leaving Nott to his own devices, Wot trundled through the snow, to his front door. As he

opened it, a blast of warm air greeted him. Turning the lights on, Wot made his way down

the corridor, towards the kitchen.  “I’ll put on the kettle,” he said, “and make us a nice

cup of tea.” However, before he was able to do this, a cry for help sounded outside.

“Oh my god, he’s in trouble!” he cried out, running down the hallway, then out of the

house.

 

Outside, Wot spied his best friend lying in an undignified heap halfway along the garden

path. “Hold on,” he said, “I’ll help you!” WHOOSH; Wot slipped on the ice, slid along

the slippery path, past his best friend, out of the garden and onto the street.

 

Later, after drinking a wonderfully warm cup of tea, Nott relaxed in Wot’s favourite

armchair. Sitting there, resting, he realised just how tired he was. Yes, he had rested

while in hospital, but it had been more than a week since he had really rested. Seizing

the moment, intending to enjoy every minute of it, he fell fast asleep…     

    

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

A Winter Wonderland

 

Want to read more? You can purchase

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

by visiting my online bookshop.

 

I am the crazy-mad writer of children's stories,

songs, nursery rhymes and much, much more!

 

 

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008