Down with the Dirty Danes!

THE NEXT LETTER (#ulink_057e9928-d52e-5b7b-a304-9ca1c196afbb)

Dear Wulfric,

What do you mean why was the axe in the log basket? It was for chopping logs of corse. But Dad needed it for chopping Danes. Mum went mad when she fownd it.

‘Silly old fuel!’ she says. ‘Hows he going to kill Dirty Danes without this?’

‘He could use his socks,’ I say.

But Mums not larfing becoz shees WORRID abowt my dad.

‘What can I do?’ she says. ‘I’ve got to find him and give him the axe. But if I leeve you and the baby and all the animals the Dirty Danes will eat you.’

‘Weel be all rite Mum,’ I say. (Going shiver shiver shiver becoz of the dirty Ds.) ‘If they cum, Ill practise my fiting on them.’

‘Dont be a fuel,’ Mum says. ‘You cant fite them on yore own. And anyway, youd let them eat the baby.’ She went on cooking the dinner. Moning and groning all the time. ‘What shall I do? (Boohoo boohoo.) Poor Eggy’s going to get chopped to smithers by the DDs. He wont stand a chance!’

Shed just made the barley cakes and put them on the bakestone when –

NOCK! NOCK!! NOCK!!!

We look at each other and think Help Help the DDs are HEER!!

NOCK! NOCK!! NOCK!!! it goes agen.

‘Who – whos there?’ goes Mum.

‘Pleese let me in,’ says a mans voice.

Mum grabs the baby. ‘Its them! Theyve cum to eat us!!’

‘Dont be stupid,’ I say. ‘Annywun nose Dirty Danes cant speak English.’

I open the dore. ‘Hallo,’ I say. ‘English or Danish?’ (Just checking.)

‘English for ever!’ he says, so I let him in.

Hees English all rite (everywun nose Danes have tails and green hair and stuff) but hees not exactly tuff. He stands in the middle of the hut going drip drip drip. (You no it always rains heer. Thats why most places are marshy and go SKWELCH. This drippy English person looks like he walked through a marsh or two. Or ten.)

‘Pleese can I stay heer for the night (drip drip drip)?’ he goes. ‘Its wet out there.’

I thort Mum wood say ‘Not on yore life. Yore a stranger.’ But shees still thinking abowt Dad and the axe.

She looks at the stranger. ‘What do you think of babys?’

He trys to look polite. ‘There OK,’ he says. ‘But dogs are better.’

‘You woodent eat wun?’ Mum says.

The man looks at her as if shees mad.

‘Good!’ says Mum. ‘You can stay then. But youll have to cook the dinner yoreself. And theres Berry and the baby and all the animals.’ She grabs Dads axe and opens the dore.