Well, a couple of people took up our Greatest Hits Challenge. So far, of course – you're always welcome to send more.

With typical modesty, FWR sent in one that his daughter wrote at the age of ten for a homework assignment. And it's a doozy.

On the other hand, it's a neat turnabout. Usually the teacher asks, 'Did your parents help you with that?' Now, we'll have to ask, 'Did your daughter help you with that?'

Enjoy this story. We did. And remember: there's always something to discover in h2g2's archives. We'll have more for you next week.

Trapped!

It all started in the year of the Queen's Golden Jubilee. 1887 was going to be a grand time for London. As I remember it, most of the rich were either getting ready for Victoria's big moment by dressing in their finest outfits and preparing their homes for the party or leaving the city behind to celebrate the Jubilee in style at country mansions. Although it was a glorious time for the rich, the poor had to work even harder than usual.

That's where I come in, my name's Arthur, I was a climbing boy. When I was six I became a chimney sweep's apprentice and I hoped that by the time I was a teenager I would be a proper sweep.

My two brothers John and Peter also worked for Mister Malloch, they were nine and ten years old at the time and already much bigger than me. John had moved on from the role of climbing boy and used to carry the brushes and take bags of soot to market. Peter was already too large to climb all but the biggest chimneys. And then there was me; Dad used to say I was the runt of the litter, but with eight older brothers and sisters mealtimes were a battle in our house!

One morning we were battling over breakfast as usual when our mother came in and said, 'Right boys listen up Mr Malloch has jobs for you lot. John, Peter he wants you two to go and clean Mr and Mrs Styles` chimney, you're to drop Arthur off in Beaufort Gardens on the way. He's got an important job to do whilst the family is away in the countryside'.

We did what we were told and went to work. Although I wasn't looking forwards to it, Beaufort Gardens had some of the slimmest climbs I'd ever had to do.

When I got there I saw Mr Malloch had opened the doors.

'Right Arthur me lad, get in there and keep the doors and windows locked. There's lots of valuable in this house and I don't want the blame if anything goes missing. I'll come back at six and let you out. Do a good job and I'll give you an extra penny!'

The door was locked and I got to work, thankfully the fires hadn't been lit for a few days so I could begin the climb straight away.

I was on the second floor of the chimney when things got tricky, this was the sharp bend into the attic and as I reached out for something to pull myself up with I felt the bricks move.

My heart was starting to pound so fast I thought it would just burst. With my lack of experience and young age I did the worst thing I could, I panicked. Struggling just made it worse as with a loud crash piles of bricks fell down onto my right shoulder, filling the small gap in the bend and wedging me in firmly. I realized then that I was trapped!

Over and over again I repeated in my head 'Mr Malloch will be back soon, Mr Malloch will be back soon, Mr Malloch will be back soon'. I heard the clock strike six, ding dong, ding dong echoed around the empty house.

Ding dong, ding dong. Seven. Ding dong, ding dong. Eight. I counted out all the ding dongs for each hour. My mouth was as dry as the soot around me. I was so desperate for water I began licking sooty raindrops off the side of the chimney walls. The rumbling of my stomach felt so powerful I was scared it would shake more bricks loose.

I waited and waited for Mr Malloch to come, but he never did. Exhaustion and pain finally made me fall asleep, cold hungry and afraid. I thought I was slowly gradually dying as the clock ticked away my life. Minutes became hours, hours became days. I wasn't sure which would kill me first: hunger, thirst or the pain.

On the third day I woke to hear strange but kind voices. Finally someone would save me, that's if they knew I was in here. I summoned up all my strength and somehow managed to croak 'Help me I'm in the chimney!'

Fortunately one of the housemaids was setting a new fire and miraculously heard my desperate cry.

A short time later I was back at home in bed, nursing a broken shoulder back to health.

I found out later from my mother, that when John and Peter had went to find Mr Malloch to tell him I hadn't come home that day, they had discovered that poor Mr Malloch had died of a heart attack at the market and only he knew where I was.

I never did get that extra penny!

The End

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

FWR

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