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box and find out as much as you can about it . Then I want you to write a story from the perspective of the person who would have owned the item and read it to the class .’
Penelope ’ s hand shot up . ‘ Mr Drunt , I have extra ballet classes this week , so I won ’ t be able to fit it in .’ Mr Drunt gave Penelope a withering stare . ‘ No excuses from you Penelope .’
‘ But Mr Drunt , I get incredibly tired , I have extremely delicate ankles , like a china doll . It will all be too much for me . I ’ m sure you understand ,’ she cooed , she could see her classmates nodding in sympathy and was convinced her excuse would do the trick .
‘ If you do not complete it , or if I think you haven ’ t done the work yourself , you will fail this project and be on hamster cage duty for a month . Is that clear ?’
Penelope ’ s face contorted in shock . No one had ever talked to her in such a callous manner . Cleaning the hamster out ; touching the excrement of vermin ! She started to dry heave at the thought of it .
As her classmates lined up to pick their items from the decaying box she duly joined the back of the queue . By the time she got to the front all that was left was an old brass whistle with some letters engraved on the side . Penelope threw it in her bag and forgot about it .
Back at home , Penelope flopped down on her double stuffed satin bean bag . There was no way she was spending her break times cleaning out Hamington McNibbles ’ necessary room . She reached into her school bag , pulled out the stupid whistle and , in a moment of sheer desperation , blew it HARD .
All of a sudden she felt faint , her bedroom started to shift before her eyes . When she came to her senses , Penelope found herself in a dimly lit ,
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sweltering engine room . The air was thick with the smell of oil , and the rhythmic thump of the engines reverberated through her bones .
Before she could get her bearings , a shout made its way above the chaos . A burly , sweat-drenched engineer was struggling with a piece of machinery , as steam hissed dangerously from a ruptured pipe . Without thinking , Penelope rushed to his side .
‘ Hand me that wrench !’ the engineer barked , his voice strained with urgency . Penelope scrambled to find the tool , her heart pounding in her chest . She handed it to him , noticing a beautiful swallow tattoo on the space below his right thumb , but as he tried to tighten the pipe , the wrench slipped from his grasp , and the steam intensified .
‘ We need to stop this leak . It won ’ t hold for long but it will give them more time to evacuate the ship !’ the engineer shouted . Penelope ’ s mind raced . She spotted a bundle of rags and quickly stuffed them into the crack , temporarily staunching the flow of steam .
‘ Good thinking , lass !’ the engineer exclaimed ; but the danger was far from over . She could see where the wrench had fallen and it took all her willpower to squeeze through the filthy gap and find it . Scrabbling round in the dark she felt the long tail of a rat scuttle past , then pushed herself further into the grimy void until she eventually felt the metal beneath her fingers .
‘ That valve to your left ,’ the engineer instructed when she pulled herself up . ‘ Turn it as hard as you can .’ Penelope ’ s hands were shaking , and smeared with grime and oil , but she knew she had to help .
With the engineer ’ s guidance , she turned one valve after another , feeling the heat and dirt sear into her skin . Each twist was met with resistance , but determination fuelled Penelope ’ s
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strength . Slowly but surely , the steam dispersed . The rhythmic thump returned , steadier this time .
The engineer slumped against the wall , exhausted . ‘ You saved us , for now ,’ he said , looking at Penelope . She nodded , wiping the sweat and soot from her brow . ‘ Now take this and get up to the deck ,’ he said , handing her a shiny brass whistle . ‘ When you get up there – blow it as hard as you can .’
As Penelope turned to run , she felt a ringing in her ears , the engine room faded away and the next thing she knew she was standing at the front of the class with the old whistle in her hand .
‘ That was an excellent story Penelope , well done ,’ said Mr Drunt as he got up slowly from his chair .
As Penelope stood in shock , she felt a strange mix of pride and disbelief . As she looked at her hands , still dirty with the remnants of her adventure , she could clearly make out the letters engraved on the side of the old whistle : Titanic .
‘ Now ,’ said Mr Drunt , ‘ That wasn ’ t such a wrench , was it ?’ Was that a glint in the old man ’ s eye ? Princess Penelope didn ’ t dare look at Mr Drunt ’ s right hand . She suddenly knew exactly what she ’ d find just below his thumb .
Mr Drunt retired soon after that , but from that day forth , every time Penelope looked at the old brass whistle , she remembered the heat of the engine room , the grit under her nails , and the lives she had helped to save .
The End
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Illustration : Kevin Ward |
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