Staying Alive in Year 5 Read online

  John Marsden liked Year 5 so much he went through it twice, once in Tasmania and once in New South Wales. The major highlight of those years was singing ‘Does Your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavour on the Bedpost Overnight?’ as a solo to his class.

  Other highlights were an excursion to a Coca-Cola factory, accidentally stepping on a brown snake, going into the girls’ changing room at the beach, and doing naked mud-slides into the Shoalhaven River.

  Staying Alive in Year 5 is a funny, happy book, a celebration of a weird, wild and wonderful time in Year 5. Tony and his mates have a term like no other, with their extraordinary teacher Mr Murlin.

  Everybody should have a teacher like Mr Murlin! Everybody should have a great Year 5! Young readers will love this book. Read it and learn how to survive in Year 5.

  www.johnmarsden.com.au

  Also by John Marsden

  So Much to Tell You

  The Journey

  The Great Gatenby

  Staying Alive in Year 5

  Out of Time

  Letters from the Inside

  Take My Word for It

  Looking for Trouble

  Tomorrow . . . (Ed.)

  Cool School

  Creep Street

  Checkers

  For Weddings and a Funeral (Ed.)

  This I Believe (Ed.)

  Dear Miffy

  Prayer for the 21st Century

  Everything I Know About Writing

  Secret Men’s Business

  The Tomorrow Series 1999 Diary

  The Rabbits

  Norton’s Hut

  Marsden on Marsden

  Winter

  The Head Book

  The Boy You Brought Home

  The Magic Rainforest

  Millie

  A Roomful of Magic

  The Tomorrow Series

  Tomorrow, When the War Began

  The Dead of the Night

  The Third Day, the Frost

  Darkness, Be My Friend

  Burning for Revenge

  The Night is for Hunting

  The Other Side of Dawn

  The Ellie Chronicles

  While I Live

  Incurable

  Circle of Flight

  First Pan edition published 1989 by Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia

  This Pan edition published 1996 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market St, Sydney

  Reprinted 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992 (twice), 1993, 1994, 1995 (twice), 1996, 1997 (twice), 1999, 2000 (twice), 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2011 (twice)

  Copyright © JLM Pty Ltd 1989

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Marsden, John, 1950-.

  Staying alive in year 5

  ISBN 978-1-74334-619-8

  I. Title

  A823.3

  These electronic editions published in 1996 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Copyright © John Marsden 1996

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.

  Marsden, John.

  Staying alive in year 5.

  EPUB format 978-1-74334-619-8

  Macmillan Digital Australia www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  To Elizabeth, Andrew and Gabrielle Farran

  To Scott, Luke, Daisy and Harley Marsden

  To Sarah, Harriet and William Alexander

  CONTENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY JOHN MARSDEN

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Now,’ said Miss Holland, at the end of assembly, ‘Mrs Mudd, would you take Year Three to your classroom please? And Year Four may go with Mr Kelvin.’

  All the little kids got up to go, while we watched. It was pretty boring. I looked at the Year Four kids and thought, ‘That was me a year ago.’ It was hard to believe. Just as hard as believing that I was now in Year Five. And next year? I looked at the Year Sixers sitting opposite us. No way! I could never be that big!

  ‘Year Five, I would like to introduce you to Mr Murlin,’ Miss Holland said. ‘Please remember that Mr Murlin is new to the school, so I want you to show him how polite and helpful you can be. Especially you, Johnny Heath.’

  Johnny was sitting next to me and he gave a big cheesy grin. ‘Me, Miss Holland?’ he said, but she ignored him. Mr Murlin got up to leave the hall so we all started to follow.

  ‘Where do you think you are going?’ Miss Holland asked, so we all sat down again. ‘When you are asked and not before,’ she continued, ‘you are to go with Mr Murlin to Room 7. Now, Year Five, you may leave quietly.’

  Most of the teachers, when they got their classes out of the hall, lined the kids up and then made them follow in straight lines. Mr Kelvin was out there still trying to get Year Four organised, but Mr Murlin just set off towards Room 7, so we followed in a sort of straggling queue.

  ‘He doesn’t look too strict,’ Johnny Heath whispered to me.

  When we got to the door Alice Goodbottom asked, ‘Can we sit anywhere we want sir?’

  ‘You’ll find labels on the desks,’ he answered. His voice was quiet, but everyone was being good till they could see what he was like, so they all heard him.

  We went in, and Johnny and I headed for a desk up the back of the first row. They were old-fashioned double-desks—really heavy—with lids that lifted up, so you could keep your books and stuff inside. On the last desk were two labels, one on each side. The one where I was standing said, ‘A person wearing blue sneakers, different coloured socks, and a silver chain around his neck.’ That was me! My mouth opened up like a swimming pool. I couldn’t believe it. I stood there looking at Johnny. He stood there looking at me, and his mouth was open like a double garage. He handed me his label. It said: ‘A champion skateboard rider, with red hair and freckles’. That was Johnny. He sat down. I sat down.

  A whole lot of amazed talking was building up all around the room. The two kids in front of us, Candice Waller and Tom Tregonning, showed us their labels. Candice’s said: ‘A person with a banana-shaped pencilcase and braces on her teeth’. Tom’s said: ‘A person wearing a Phantom sweatshirt and yellow underpants’. He was wearing a Phantom sweatshirt. I sa
id, ‘What colour underpants have you got on?’ He said, ‘Yellow.’

  We all turned and looked at Mr Murlin, who was sorting through some papers on his desk. For the first time I looked at him properly. He was thin, with a brown face and a small grey beard. He didn’t look all that old, not as old as Miss Holland. He was wearing a green tie that didn’t go with his suit, which was dark blue, almost black. He was just average height. If you passed him in the street you wouldn’t notice him.

  Everyone was going quiet now. They all faced the front and looked at Mr Murlin. Gradually there was complete silence. He stopped shuffling the papers and came forward.

  ‘There are a few things I won’t tolerate,’ he said. ‘Let’s lay down the rules now, so you know where you are.’

  Well, at least this was the usual thing. I knew what it’d be: all the stuff about not chewing in class, and not interrupting, and not calling out without putting your hand up.

  Mr Murlin said, ‘There’s to be no cooking Lamingtons in the classroom. Students must keep breathing at all times while in here. You are not to ride skateboards across the desks. I keep a chainsaw in the cupboard for people who wear glasses without a licence. Crocodiles are to be put in the box marked ‘Crocodiles’, not in your desks . . .’ He paused and gazed away into the distance. ‘Wouldn’t it be great,’ he said, ‘if when you lifted up the lid of your desk, you found it full of water, and there were fish swimming around inside . . . aquariums, is that the plural? . . . aquaria . . .’

  One by one, really nervously, all the kids in the room opened their desks and peered inside. I was the last. Something about Mr Murlin made me half expect to see a pair of goggling fish eyes looking up at me. I don’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed to find the desk dry and empty. There was nothing but some lumps of old chewing gum and a few rude messages from last year.

  Mr Murlin continued, ‘Eating chocolate in class is not only desirable, it is compulsory. Other things that are compulsory are laughing at the teacher’s jokes, day-dreaming, and watching ‘Neighbours’ on TV. There will be a test every Monday morning on ‘Neighbours’; those who fail will be pinned to the noticeboard by their ears.

  ‘I don’t expect you all to talk: some people prefer to be quiet. But be noisy and lively if you want to. It’d be nice if there were a streak of madness in here. But don’t be silly—there’s a big difference, an important difference, between being mad and being silly.’

  It was funny: although he’d just said that he liked a noisy class, this class was the quietest I’d ever heard. I think we were all in shock. We’d never heard a teacher talk like this before. We sat there gaping at him. Candice put up her hand.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘what happens if we all go mad and you can’t control us?’

  Mr Murlin smiled. ‘I’m the teacher,’ he said, ‘and although we’re all important in here, there are a few jobs that are especially mine. And discipline’s one of them. So I’ll take care of that. But obviously, the more you control yourselves the quicker we’ll advance. You don’t lend your Porsche to a drunk, but you might lend it to someone who shows sense. Let’s not be drunks in here, and before long we might all be driving Porsches.’

  ‘Sir,’ Michael Marsh called out, ‘how did you know what to write on these labels?’

  But Mr Murlin just shrugged and went back to his desk. There was a pile of battered old text books there and he picked them up. Everyone groaned. We all recognised them. Exercises in English Year 5. We’d already done Exercises in English Year 3 and Exercises in English Year 4. The only difference was that the Year 5 ones had yellow covers. Last year’s had been blue. Mr Murlin took them over to the bin and dropped them all in. There was a gasp, then we all cheered. He laughed.

  ‘Good teachers write their own lessons,’ he said.

  Into the bin went twenty-eight copies of A New Course in Maths, twenty-eight copies of Discovering Social Studies and twenty-eight copies of Our World.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we’ve got rid of the rubbish. Let’s start learning. Unfasten your safety belts!’

  CHAPTER 2

  That night at tea, Mum asked me, ‘How was your first day in Year Five, Scott?’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘What’s your teacher’s name?’

  ‘Mr Murlin,’ I said, pushing my pumpkin to the side of the plate.

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Is he strict?’ my big brother Anthony asked.

  ‘You have to be strict at the start of the year,’ Grandpa said. Grandpa’s retired now. He used to be the Headmaster of Sandor Road Primary School. He said, ‘You can ease up a bit later in the year, but you have to be strict at the start.’

  ‘Nuh,’ I said, answering Anthony. ‘He’s strange.’

  ‘What’s strange about him?’ Mum asked.

  ‘He’s just strange. He doesn’t believe in textbooks. And he’s funny.’

  ‘Well, you have to have a sense of humour,’ Grandpa said. ‘Patience and a sense of humour.’

  ‘Doesn’t believe in textbooks!’ Mum said. ‘What does he use?’

  ‘I dunno. He just makes it up. Do I have to eat all these beans? Why’d you give me so many beans?’

  ‘You want to grow up strong and healthy don’t you, Scott?’ said Grandpa.

  ‘Yeah, like me,’ said Anthony. ‘Strong enough to tear a bean apart with my bare hands. Strong enough to mash pumpkin with my teeth . . .’

  After tea I went to my room to do my homework. We had to write a composition called ‘Why I Am Not a Boring Person’. Just as I was starting, Grandpa came in.

  ‘Are you doing your homework?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep,’ I answered.

  ‘What do you have to do? Write a story?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Grandpa. ‘What’s the topic?’

  ‘“Why I Am Not a Boring Person”,’ I said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘“Why I am not a Boring Person”.’

  ‘Good Heavens,’ said Grandpa, and went out. I could hear him telling Mum about it in the kitchen.

  This is what I wrote:

  WHY I AM NOT A BORING PERSON

  I am not boring because I am really a visitor from the land of Skwump, where penguins fly, and nest in trees, and get suntans on their white bits. At nights the trees lie down to sleep and we walk along them, annoying the penguins.

  Everything sleeps on the ground in Skwump: the clouds, the wind, the sky, the sun.

  In Skwump the people have glass skins, so when we eat our food you can see it digesting in our stomachs. You can see our hearts beating and when the ladies get pregnant you can see the babies growing inside them. It’s easy for the doctors.

  For our food we eat poached butterflies on toast, and giraffe spots, and chocolate-flavoured water. We cook at night, by the heat of the sleeping sun.

  That was the end of my composition. I was quite proud of it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Next morning we couldn’t wait to get into class. We were all wondering if Mr Murlin had changed. But he hadn’t. As soon as we were in our room he got us to sit under our desks, on the floor, with a pen and a module in our hands. He sat under his table, so we couldn’t see him properly, only hear his voice. Then he asked us to write a description of our desks from underneath. After that he got us to stand on top of our desks and write a description of them from there.

  When we’d finished, he asked us some questions.

  ‘Which description of the desk is the more accurate, the truer?’ he began.

  ‘They both are,’ Johnny answered.

  ‘Even though they are quite different?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘OK. And if I asked you to get inside the desks to write from there, or sit in your seats and describe them, or stand at the door and do it, you’d keep writing totally different pieces each time, yet they’d all be true?’

  ‘Yep.’
<
br />   ‘So what does this prove? What’s the point of the lesson?’

  ‘To show that there’re lots of different sides to something, and they can all be right,’ said Alice Goodbottom. She’s the class mega-brain, but lots of people had their hands up and I think they all would have said something like that.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Murlin, ‘what about if Michael Marsh wrote a description of his desk after sitting in it for six months, and at the same time a person going past looked in through the window and wrote a description of Michael’s desk too, which would be the truer or the better?’

  ‘Michael’s,’ everyone said.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Johnny. ‘Depends on a lot of things. Michael might have sat there for years and never noticed some things about it. But someone else can suddenly walk in and see something, like a cobweb, that Michael never saw. And what if the person looking through the window is a carpenter? They might notice things that someone who’s not a carpenter wouldn’t.’

  That was the longest speech I’d ever heard Johnny make in a class, and we’d been together since Year Two.

  ‘Very intelligent comments,’ Mr Murlin said. ‘We can learn a lot from the points you’ve just made. Thank you.’

  Johnny went red and stayed red for the next half-hour. But he was pleased.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Murlin continued, ‘I wonder if any of you would like to read out the compositions you wrote last night?’

  A few people volunteered, including me. I like reading stuff out to the class. I got picked to go first, so I read it out as well as I could. Everyone laughed at some of the things I’d put in it, and when I finished a few people said, ‘That’s good!’

  ‘Well,’ Mr Murlin said to the class, ‘what did you think of that? It sounds as though you like it?’