Pianist Storyteller Ben13

BEN BUGDEN THIRTEEN

Published by Pianist Storyteller Novels 2008

26 Holmwood Avenue, Shenfield, Brentwood, Essex CM15 8QS

ISBN 978-0-9559080-0-2

John G Acton as the author asserts his right to copyright of the novel and the frontispiece in Ben Bugden Thirteen and the other novels and their illustrations in this series. Full details can be found in
http://pianist-storyteller.blogspot.com/

Ben Bugden Thirteen is an adventure story with a Christian slant for boys and girls aged 9/10 or more ( 30,460 words). A first draft was given to Katherine (ten years old) who enjoyed reading an earlier novel, "The King's Son", in this series. She read it in under a week and said she enjoyed it all. If anyone else in 10-14 age range (say) has any comments, please get your parents to email me on johngacton@googlemail.com saying whether you have read any of my previous novels and give titles. I am now publishing the complete story. An 80 year old lady has just read it with 'great enjoyment' she said.

This novel is now also published by Kindle for their electronic reader for 77p. I have therefore agreed deletion of the text for downloading from this site.
To access the Kindle version click  
BEN BUGDEN THIRTEEN

Howver, I can send you an A4 copy in a loose-leaf folder to include normal p.p. in the UK for £5 (virtually cost price) or £4 for local contacts. Cheques should be made out to J G Acton and posted to 26 Holmwood Avenue, Shenfield, Brentwood, Essex, CM15 8QS. For the time being all monies received will be given to charities, e.g.Brentwood Baptist Church missionaries working in Uganda, Red Cross, Crusaders/Urban Saints,etc

BEN BUGDEN THIRTEEN by John Acton and published by Pianist Storyteller Novels and also by Kimdle..

Main Characters
Ben Bugden (Benjamin Maximilian Bugden) aged 13
Nicola Bugden, Ben’s sister aged 10
Henry M Bugden, Ben’s Dad works for H.M. Revenue and Customs
Brenda P Bugden, Ben’s Mum works part-time for knitted goods firm
Buster, the family brown mongrel dog
Percival C Stocks, Grandad (Brenda’s father) - retired, slightly deaf
Florence P Stocks, Grandmother (Brenda’s mother) - piano teacher
Ben’s school friends :-
Dusty (Daniel Miller) aged 13
Shorty (Ingre Ngo) aged 13, black African boy unusually tall
Clare Roberts aged 13 in different form to Ben
Mavis Roberts aged 10 (sister to Clare and friendly with Nicola)
Clare’s parents: Simon and Valerie Roberts
Ben’s bullies or other boys in his form:-
Ginger (Geoffrey Jones) aged 13
Skinny (Paul Mercer) aged 13
Nicky (Oliver Nichol) aged 13
Nicky’s thuggish older brothers (no longer at school) Lance and Jim Nichol
Shalton Comprehensive School Form Master:-
Mr M Proctor known to boys as “Prickles”
Drop-in luncheon club leaders, David and girl friend Sarah
Walton-on-Naze Library assistant - Jack aged 17
[Note. Shalton is a fictional town supposedly about 18 miles North East from London. Walton-on-Naze is a real sea-side Essex resort but Marshton House is imaginary. All characters are entirely imaginary.
The frontispiece picture illustrates a scene towards the end of Chapter 20.]


PREFACE
Because of his father’s job in H.M. Revenue and Customs moving from Birmingham to London, Ben Bugden 13 has to face moving in the middle of the Summer term to a new school. He wears glasses, has a gammy knee and gets bullied in the playground by Ginger and his cronies, even before he has reached the school door. He is surprised to find a girl called Clare helping him and later makes other friends, especially Dusty and Shorty (a very tall black African boy).
With the encouragement of his friends and help from the leaders of a school drop-in luncheon club where he hears about Jesus, Ben survives the bullying and a critical wrestling fight with Ginger. However, more serious threats arise. The Bugden home is mysteriously burgled and pet dog Buster injured. Worse things follow and it becomes clear that Ben’s father has aroused the enmity of a powerful gang of criminals.
During the troubles that ensue, Ben and his sister Nicola are given shelter by Clare’s parents. This is embarrassing for Ben and Clare knowing the kind of chaffing and gossip that will occur in the school. So Clare makes it clear to Ben that she is NOT his girl friend, but he can be a kind of temporary brother. This pleases Ben.
The fight against the gang of criminals results in thrilling action leading to Walton -on -Naze and the marshes and saltings behind, intersected by numerous waterways.
General
This is an adventure story with a Christian slant for boys and girls aged 9/10 upwards in the Pianist Storyteller series - see http://pianist-storyteller.blogspot.com
I would thank my wife yet again for wise advice and help throughout the process of writing this novel. I also thank Katherine for her trial reading and encouragement.I retain full copyright in the whole book including the frontispiece illustration.
The novel is dedicated to all Christian teachers and youth workers.
John G Acton      
 Email address   johngacton@gmail.com
Postal address 26 Holmwood Avenue, Shenfield, Brentwood Essex  CM15 8QS      

Sample Chapters                                                                                                                                      
"Just look what's turned up!"                    
 “Yer new aren’t yer?”
“What’s yer name? four eyes?”
    I expected but still dreaded the questions, as I crossed the playground outside Shalton comprehensive school for the very first time. It scarcely seemed possible that our family had moved South from Birmingham to Shalton, about 18 miles North-East of London, only three days ago. I was pleased that our family had at last been reunited with Dad, whose job in H.M. Revenue and Customs had taken him to London some six months earlier. It had taken all that time for Dad to find a house we could afford, even at that distance from London, and to sell his old one near Birmingham. It was good also to live again nearer to Grandad and Grandma (Mum’s parents).
“Well, ain’t yer going to give us any answers?” demanded a big red-faced boy with ginger hair, firmly blocking my path, while other boys gathered round. It was just as I feared.
“Ben,” I answered.
“Ben what?”
“Ben Bugden,” I said reluctantly and duly heard laughter and cries of “Ben Buggy”, “Bugs Benny” and finally “Buggs Bunny”.
“Hang on Buggs,” said the ginger-haired boy pointing to my school bag. “Yer holding back on us. What does B.M.B stand for as well as Bugs Bunny?”
“None of your business,” I said trying to push past and reach the safety of the school.
“Just listen to snooty-pants. None of your business,” said Ginger imitating my voice crudely. “Come on - get him.”
Ginger and two or three grinning boys flung themselves on to me. I struggled but they soon had me down on the ground, with Ginger (the biggest) sitting heavily across my chest. It was June but it had been raining. The ground was wet and I could feel the water soaking into my bottom. I yelled at the boys to lay off but with no effect.
“If you don’t tell me what the ‘M’ stands for, you’ve had it,” threatened Ginger.
I said nothing so Ginger looked round and spoke to one of his cronies, “O.K. Skinny, open up his bag and see what’s inside.”
Skinny got up from holding my right arm, undid the strap and pulled out the contents of my bag, dropping them into a nearby puddle.
I was really angry by now. Mum would raise ructions over my soiled clothes. Dad would go spare if my school stuff got ruined and had to be replaced. I waited until Ginger turned his head to look at my stuff dumped in the puddle. Then I used my free right arm to punch Ginger as hard as I could on the chin, struggling at the same time to wriggle up from under him. I didn’t quite succeed. Ginger swore and smashed his hand across my face, knocking my glasses off.
“Boys, boys!” called a stern masculine voice from across the playground.
“Look out, it’s Prickles,” said Skinny, running off and followed by others. Red-faced Ginger growled a threat, released me and also ran off.
I was alone now and near to tears, despite my thirteen years. My clothing was dirty and damp and my face still stinging from Ginger’s fierce slap. I scrabbled around for my glasses. To my horror not only were the frames slightly bent but one lens was missing. Whatever would Dad say? I remembered the problems I endured four years or so ago, when we first moved North to Birmingham. Glasses and my East London accent didn’t help at all in getting accepted in my Junior School playground. But to-day’s experience was much worse.
Looking around for the missing lens, I became aware of two slim sun-browned legs covered by a neat grey skirt. The girl was bending over, picking up my school things and putting them into my bag.
“Mind you don’t tread on my glasses - one lens is missing ,” I said.
“Lousy rotters,” muttered the girl and then, “Oh! Did they bust your glasses as well? Is this the missing bit?”
“Thanks a lot,” I said, getting up and taking the lens from her. Despite no glasses and my short sight, I could now see the girl more clearly. She was small, black-haired and had a determined set to her mouth.
“That’s all right,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile.
I suddenly felt shy and could feel myself colouring up. I can’t stand girls normally - the trouble I have with my ten year old sister, Nicola, spoilt Daddy’s darling and chief trouble-maker. She was enough to put anyone off girls for life. But…..I had to admit this friendly girl looked really nice when she smiled.
“You’re new here aren’t you? What’s your name?” she enquired.
“Ben,” I answered.
“Well Ben. Don’t let Ginger and his gang get you down. I’m Clare, by the way.”
“Good to meet you,” I managed to say.
“Right. Listen, I’ve got a few friends who hate Ginger’s bullying. Try and see me at break-time and I’ll get you to meet them.”
“Gosh! That’s kind of you,” I said.
“Forget it,” she snapped. “Hurry along now or we’ll get a black mark.”
She ran off lightly and then turned to see why I was not keeping up with her. She spotted my limp. “Did they hurt your leg as well?” she enquired fiercely.
“No. I’ve got a gammy knee,”  I confessed reluctantly and added, “ but do push on. Don’t wait for me.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said before rushing off. In the distance I saw her pause at the door and say something to the teacher on duty whom I assumed was known by the kids as “Prickles.”

        Chapter  4
“Gotcher!”
My day dream was rudely interrupted. Ginger and Skinny had sneaked up on me. The scruffily dressed boy had disappeared and the white saloon had driven off. I cursed my foolishness.
“Hold off Ginger,” said a new voice. I turned my head and saw a well built boy whom I recognised as being in my new form.
“Mind yer own business, Dusty. This new brat’s been cheeky to me and needs teaching a lesson.”
“Rubbish Ging. You’re a cowardy bully and a liar. I saw what you and Skinny did this morning. You only fight when you’ve got your gang around,” said Clare who had suddenly appeared and was supported by two other girls.
“Did you hear that Ginger?” said Dusty, who now charged over and grappled with him so as to release one of my arms. I then luckily managed to get my right foot neatly behind Skinny, before pushing him hard with my free hand. Skinny went down followed shortly by Ginger, who was no match for Dusty and myself. The girls clapped and grinned. Ginger and Skinny got slowly up and retreated muttering vague threats of vengeance.
    “Thanks a lot, Dusty,” said Clare. “Meet new boy Ben.”
    “I know. He’s in my form,” said Dusty, “but who are you ?
     “I’m Clare and my two friends are Wendy and Babs.”
     Dusty grinned and complimented the girls for coming to my rescue. By this time I was going pink with embarrassment and feeling like a six year old. Dusty, however, was a decent type. Turning to me,  he said, “Well done Ben. We’ve given Ging and Skinny a warning .”
     At last I managed to stammer thanks to Dusty and the girls as the school bell summoned us back to our class-rooms.
     The rest of the day passed reasonably quietly. Dusty sat with me and a  friend called Shorty (a tall black-skinned boy) in the school cafeteria mid-day. Ginger and cronies kept well away. No sign of Clare or her friends. It was great getting Dusty as a friend so quickly. He told me his name was really Daniel Miller and that his Dad, who had been in the RAF, told him that all Millers got called ‘Dusty’, so not to worry. Some Dustys had become quite famous. It crossed my mind gloomily that Bugs Bunny was also on the way to becoming famous. I later discovered that Shorty’s real name was Ingre Ngo and that he had come to England from central Africa when he was a baby. All his people were tall: at thirteen years he was already 175 cms high.  He was not keen on being called Ingre Ngo (pronounced Ingrer No Go), but didn’t mind Shorty. In schoolboy logic it was a sort of compliment in drawing attention to his superior height!  Also he was not lanky or skinny with his height but quite well built and muscular.
      After school I was a little disappointed in not seeing Clare or her friends.  Dusty had told me that he and Shorty lived in the opposite direction to me.  So I went home  alone, but luckily without meeting up with Ginger and his gang. Turning the corner into our road I noticed a brownish dog outside our home. Surely it couldn’t be Buster loose in the road? He turned, nose in the air and came loping towards me slowly, making short worried barks. As he came nearer I saw he was limping and one ear was sagging and bloody.
    “Buster. What is it? Have you been in a fight?” I knelt and stroked his head taking care not to touch his injured ear. Then I saw one of his front paws was also damaged.
    Buster whined and put his head on one side, looking at me piteously while I did my best to comfort him. Then suddenly, he gave one or two short barks and began tugging at my trouser leg in the direction of home.
    “Steady boy. I’m coming,” I said and this generated a few feeble wags of his tail. Dogs are clever at body language, I thought, but I was getting alarmed at what I might find when I reached home.
    Buster led the way in through our back kitchen door which was standing open. Inside I saw nothing wrong until I went into our living room. This was in an awful mess. The TV screen had been busted, upholstery slashed and ornaments broken on the floor along with pictures pulled off the walls.
     I didn’t know where to start to try and clean up. No one else was home. Dad was at work and Mum was out collecting Nicola from school and maybe doing a little shopping. I sat down wearily on a chair in the kitchen. Buster limped across to put his head on my knee and gave me tender licks all over my hands. I gently washed his bad ear with a clean handkerchief with a dab of  TCP, but had to leave his injured leg for the vet.
     Fortunately Mum was not long in coming. I dashed into the road and explained the situation as best I could, so as to cushion the shock a little for her and Nicola. Mum rang Dad at his office and then the police and the vet. We then went over the rest of the house, the upstairs bedrooms and bathroom. There were a few drawers pulled out and a scattering of papers, but no vandalism on the scale of that in the lounge.  Nothing of importance appeared to be missing.
    The police told us on the phone to leave everything untouched until they were able to examine things, and maybe take a few fingerprints including ours. Mum got tea in the kitchen and we, especially Nicola,  made a fuss of poor Buster, who had obviously done his best to stop the intruders. I went up to my bedroom to do some homework.
    Two policemen arrived just as Dad got back. We all had our fingerprints taken. With that wonderful courtesy that most decently brought-up dogs have, Buster solemnly visited each copper and presented his injured paw as if ready to have his paw print taken. It was a relief that we had something to laugh about. Then one of them puffed some white dust on doors and items that might have been handled and took photos of any fingerprints. Buster took a strong interest in all this and had to be told to go and lie in his basket.
    Dad looked very worried at times. I remembered that incident at the motorway service station when he made us all get out of the car, while he examined  the engine and the chassis. Did he have enemies and were they the ones hitting Buster and trashing the living room?
    Soon it was bed-time. I found sleep difficult - such an extraordinary day. There were problems everywhere, but it was good to make some friends as well as enemies. I lay awake and could hear Mum and Dad talking downstairs. I felt I must try and hear so crept quietly down to the ground floor.
    Dad was saying, “Don’t worry Brenda. My boss has had a word with the local Inspector who knows about the Nichol case. They will keep a special watch on our house.”
    “Well I hope they do, Henry. To-day was not a very good example of their care.”
    “I’m really sorry, love. We can’t do any more to night. I suggest we get some sleep. I’ll ring the insurance company in the morning.” said Dad.
    I was scampering up the stairs, but a trifle late. Dad had opened the kitchen door and spotted me. He rushed up, grabbed me and took me into my bedroom. I was red-faced and hung my head.
    “Don’t ever let me find you sneaking around eavesdropping again,” he hissed into my ear. “I’d  be yelling this at you but for fear of waking Nicola.”
    I stumbled an apology. I was really ashamed. From the smarting in my eye, I fear that I shed a tear or two. He calmed down a little, so then I told him quietly about my time at school. How the bullies pinned me down, dropping my stuff in the puddle, getting my clothes dirty and worst of all damaging my glasses. I also told him about the new friends who had come to my rescue. He listened carefully and promised to get my glasses mended. He admitted that  my curiosity was some justification for my eavesdropping, but it was wrong and must be stopped. He told me that he, too, had problems at work but it was all secret and he couldn’t tell me any more. Then he gave me a hug and said goodnight.    
    I was so relieved at my reconciliation with Dad that I soon dropped off to sleep.