The Pinhoe Egg. Diana Wynne Jones

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      “Oh, they spring cleaned,” said Aunt Polly. “Now I understand.”

      “Thank you, Nicola. Run back and tell them Gammer’s just coming,” Dad said.

      But Nicola was determined to finish her narrative first. “And they got sent home and that Joe Pinhoe got told off for being lazy. I was good. I helped,” she concluded. Only then did she scamper off with Dad’s message.

      Dad began wearily climbing the stairs. “Let’s hope Gammer’s uprooted herself by now,” he said.

      But she hadn’t. If anything, she was rooted to the bed more firmly than ever. When Great Aunt Sue said brightly, “Up we get, Gammer. Don’t we want to see our lovely clean new home?” Gammer just stared, mutinously.

      “Oh, come on, Mother. Cut it out!” Uncle Arthur said. “You look ridiculous like that.”

      “Shan’t,” said Gammer. “I said root downwards and I meant it. I’ve lived in this house every single year of my life.”

      “No, you haven’t. Don’t talk nonsense!” Dad said, turning red and shiny again. “You lived opposite the Town Hall in Hopton for twenty years before you ever came here. One last time – do you get up, or do we carry you to the Dell bed and all?”

      “Please yourself. I can’t do with your tantrums, Harry – never could,” Gammer said, and closed her eyes.“Right!” said Dad, angrier than ever. “All of you get a grip on this bed and lift it when I count to three.”

      Gammer’s reply to this was to make herself enormously heavy. The bare floor creaked under the weight of the bed. No one could shift it.

      Marianne heard Dad’s teeth grind. “Very well,” he said. “Levitation spell, everyone.”

      Normally with a levitation spell, you could move almost anything with just one finger. This time, whatever Gammer was doing made that almost impossible. Everyone strained and sweated. Great Aunt Clarice’s hairstyle came apart in the effort. Pretty little combs and hairpins showered down on Gammer’s roots. Great Aunt Sue stopped looking neat at all. Marianne thought that, for herself, she could have lifted three elephants more easily. Uncle Charles and four cousins left off loading the donkey cart and ran upstairs to help, followed by Uncle Richard and then by Great Uncle Lester. But the bed still would not move. Until, when every possible person was gathered round the bed, heaving and muttering the spell, Gammer smiled wickedly and let go.

      The bed went up two feet and shot forward. Everyone stumbled and floundered. Great Aunt Sue was carried along with the bed as it made for the doorway and then crushed against the doorpost as the bed jammed itself past her and swung sideways into the upstairs corridor. Great Aunt Clarice rescued Great Aunt Sue with a quick spell and a tremendous POP! which jerked the bed on again. It sailed towards the stairs, leaving everyone behind except for Uncle Arthur. Uncle Arthur was holding on to the bars at the end of the bed and pushing mightily to stop it.

      “Ridiculous, am I?” Gammer said to him, smiling peacefully. And the bed launched itself down the stairs with Uncle Arthur pelting backwards in front of it for dear life. At the landing, it did a neat turn, threw Uncle Arthur off, bounced on his belly, and set off like a toboggan down the rest of the stairs. In the hall, Nutcase – who had somehow got out again – shot out of its way with a shriek. Everyone except Uncle Arthur leant anxiously over the bannisters and watched Gammer zoom through the front door and hit Great Uncle Lester’s car with a mighty crunch.

      Great Uncle Lester howled, “My car, my car!” and raced down after Gammer.

      “At least it stopped her,” Dad said, as they all clattered after Great Uncle Lester. “She hurt?” he asked, when they got there to find a large splintery dent in the side of the car and Gammer, still rooted, lying with her eyes shut and the same peaceful smile.

      “Oh, I do hope so!” Great Uncle Lester said, wringing his hands. “Look what she’s done!” “Serve you right,” Gammer said, without opening her eyes. “You smashed my doll’s house.”

      “When I was five!” Great Uncle Lester howled. “Sixty years ago, you dreadful old woman!”

      Dad leant over the bed and demanded, “Are you ready to get up and walk now?”

      Gammer pretended not to hear him.

      “All right!” Dad said fiercely. “Levitation again, everyone. I’m going to get her down to the Dell if it kills us all.”

      “Oh, it will,” Gammer said sweetly.

      Marianne’s opinion was that the way they were all going to die was from embarrassment. They swung the bed up again and, jostling for a handhold and treading on one another’s heels, took it out through the gates and into the village street. There, the Reverend Pinhoe, who had been standing in the churchyard, vaulted the wall and hurried over to help. “Dear, dear,” he said. “What a very strange thing for old Mrs Pinhoe to do!”

      They wedged him in and jostled on, downhill through the village. As the hill got steeper, they were quite glad of the fact that the Reverend Pinhoe was no good at levitation. The bed went faster and faster and the vicar’s efforts were actually holding it back. Despite the way they were now going at a brisk trot, people who were not witches or not Pinhoes came out of the houses and trotted alongside to stare at Gammer and her roots. Others leant out of windows to get a look too. “I never knew a person could do that!” they all said. “Will she be like that permanently?”

      “God knows!” Dad snarled, redder and shinier than ever.

      Gammer smiled. And it very soon appeared that she had at least one more thing she could do.

      There were frantic shouts from behind. They twisted their heads round and saw Great Uncle Lester, with Uncle Arthur running in great limping leaps behind him, racing down the street towards them. No one understood what they were shouting, but the way they were waving the bed-carriers to one side was quite clear.

      “Everyone go right,” Dad said.

      The bed and its crowd of carriers veered over towards the houses and, on Marianne’s side, began stumbling over doorsteps and barking shins on foot-scrapers, just as Dolly the donkey appeared, with her cart of furniture bounding behind her, apparently running for her life.

      “Oh no!” groaned Uncle Richard.

      The huge table from the kitchen in Woods House was chasing Dolly, gaining on her with every stride of its six massive wooden legs. Everyone else in the street screamed warnings and crowded to the sides. Uncle Arthur collapsed on the steps of the Pinhoe Arms. Great Uncle Lester fled the other way into the grocer’s. Only Uncle Richard bravely let go of the bed and jumped forward to try to drag Dolly to safety. But Dolly, her eyes set with panic, swerved aside from him and pattered on frantically. Uncle Richard had to throw himself flat as the great table veered to charge at him, its six legs going like pistons. Gammer almost certainly meant the table to go for the bed and its carriers, but as it galloped near enough, Uncle Charles, Dad, Uncle Simeon and the Reverend Pinhoe each put out a leg and kicked it hard in the side. That swung it back into the street again. It was after Dolly in a flash.

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