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Oh yeah, this is exciting Dom.
Our very first visit to spy camp.
Oh, I cannot believe we are here.
I wonder where here is.
I mean, they haven't really told us anything.
It's all been very secret, hasn't it?
Do you think we can take these paper bags off our heads yet?
No!
You numpty!
We are training to be undercover spies!
Secret special agents!
This is obviously a test, isn't it?
Think about it.
We went on that special aeroplane, then they sent that special car, and now we are.
Well, I don't quite know where we are.
But that's why we have been chosen for Spy Camp.
They obviously think we have what it takes.
Yes, indeedy. does it actually take?
Well, we're good at being quiet.
Shut up.
Sorry, I think my allergy's starting up.
Um, we are good at solving mysteries.
Where have I put my tissues?
Ugh, boogies everywhere.
I didn't leave it in the car, did I?
I, um...
Always losing things.
Are you listening?
Pardon?
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Sorry.
Do carry on.
Thank you.
And most importantly, we are very, very brave.
What was that?
Oh, look, it's a large box, which says O-P-E-N-M-E.
Open me.
Oh, look, there's a letter on here.
What does it say?
Welcome back to Bedtime Stories, BBC Radio 2's 500 Words podcast.
Your mission, should you wish to accept, is to deliver this brand new selection of stories from this year's fabulous young writers so everyone can hear them.
Ooh, our first mission.
Brilliant.
Right, come on Dom, we've got this.
Watch where you're going.
What are you doing?
I think we better take these paper bags off our heads.
Meet Charlie.
He is a six-year-old black Labrador.
His job in the army is to find unexploded bombs with his handler, Henry.
It is 1916 right now and Charlie and Henry are in the trenches in France.
It is wet, cold, muddy and there are a lot of rats.
Charlie spends part of his day chasing these annoying rats away from the soldiers, who are all tired and need their precious rest.
Charlie loves his handler Henry very much and would do anything for him.
They first met back in England in 1914 when Charlie first started his training.
Charlie remembers how Henry smelt of bacon, having just had his breakfast, and Charlie spent the first 10 minutes of meeting him licking the bacon grease off of his hands.
They have not been apart since that first day and are now inseparable.
They also still share a love of bacon, not that they get it very often.
Charlie and Henry spend their days with the other soldiers trying to sleep in dugout shelters in the walls of the trench.
They are exhausted and frightened and they don't know what could happen from one moment to the next.
It's hard to sleep in these conditions and there are always lots of loud noises from the bombs blasting near the trench.
But they have to grab it when they can, as they spend their nights hunting for dangerous unexploded bombs and looking for wounded men.
Once it's dark, Charlie and Henry crawl out of their trench into no man's land, staying low, so they don't disturb the tin cans hanging on the barbed wire which would alert the enemy soldiers in the German trench.
Charlie is frightened, but tries hard to be brave.
He knows that he is saving people's lives.
The two of them crawl from crater to crater, listening for sounds from the wounded.
Charlie sniffing for bombs.
Suddenly, Charlie stopped and pricked up his ears.
He heard something.
Charlie bolts forward following the sound, searching this way and that way, trying to find where it came from.
He lets out a low whine.
Henry realizes Charlie has led him to a wounded British soldier.
He has been shot in the leg and cannot walk.
Henry throws him over his shoulder and they race back towards their lines.
As they are getting closer to their trench, suddenly the Germans start shooting at them.
One of the Germans throws a stick grenade that lands close to Henry.
Charlie sees that his best friend is in so much danger.
He picks up the stick, grenade in his mouth, and sprints away, dropping it into a deep crater full of mud and water where it explodes, saving Henry and the wounded soldier.
They eventually make it back to the British Trench where Henry tells all the soldiers of their adventure and they all cheer for Charlie, the hero dog.
The 500 Words Bedtime Stories Podcast with Dick and Dom, Chippy Tom and the Gulls of Gloucester.
It was a crisp spring morning when something terrible happened.
The sky fell dark as the sun hid behind a misty cloud.
Small children ran in from the playground and grown-ups ran inside crying 'Mummy mummy, help me please'.
Thousands of seagulls had flown into town, covering every rooftop, statue and tree."
The residents of Gloucester had never seen anything like this before.
When brave young Tom phoned the police he was politely told I'm afraid we don't deal with seagulls, young sir.
The city of Gloucester was on its own.
Tom decided they needed a plan to get rid of the naughty gulls once and for all.
He got together with his friends and they came up with a plan so brave and daring that no grown-up could have possibly thought of it.
On the outskirts of town was a huge chip factory that left a smell of chips and vinegar across the city when the wind blew in the right direction.
Tom and his courageous gang ran to the factory just as it was closing its gates.
They slid under the metal gates, huffing and puffing.
Phew, that was close, exclaimed Tom.
Do you have a lorry?
Tom asked one of the workers.
The lorries are all out.
We've just got this tipper truck left.
Is that any use?
Stan the chip man replied.
It's perfect.
Make as many chips as you can.
Tom ordered.
Why?
The gang said all at the same time.
We're going to drive these seagulls out of town.
The chip factory whirred to life.
The smell of chip fat filled the air.
Red and green buttons flashed like fireworks in the midnight sky.
A million chips coming right up, promised Stan.
Tom and his crew waited impatiently.
They backed up the lorry, set the satellite navigation to Dover and turned on the radio.
They were ready to go.
Stan, the chip man, kindly offered to drive the van, which was good, as none of the children had their driving licence yet.
The engine roared to life.
Tom sat in the back of the tipper on a mound of steaming hot chips.
Ow!
These chips are hot!
What else would they be?
Stan the chip man said.
Above them, thousands of seagulls gathered, squawking and talking, excited to swoop down and feast on the chips.
Inside the truck, the gang screamed with excitement.
The plan was working.
The gulls were following them.
When they reached their destination, Stan tipped the chips into the sea.
The gulls followed their dinner off into the horizon.
Tom returned to Gloucester a hero.
The seagulls had fled the city for good.
The residents cheered and applauded.
Tom, however, wanted to return to a quiet life.
That evening, he asked his mum, What's for dinner?
How about a nice chippy tea? she offered.
Oh no!
Tom exclaimed.
The end.
For now.
Rory and the Giant Bloomers My name is James and I have a pet.
But this is a pet like no other.
He's a dinosaur.
A few months ago, mum and dad took me to Dino World so I could choose a pet.
I chose Rory.
The dino keeper whispered in my ear, good choice, he can talk.
My mouth fell open.
Rory seemed to like living in our house.
He especially liked doing the washing because he loved watching the clothes swirl round and round.
He loved it so much that one day he snuck into the washing basket and got put in the washing machine along with Dad's smelly socks and started spinning around.
From then on, he preferred hanging them out on the washing line.
I forgot to mention that Rory is a T-Rex, which makes playdates turn into runaway dates.
If only others could see how great he really was.
One day, it happened.
It was a Saturday morning when I decided to take Rory out to play in the park.
On the way there, we smelt smoke coming from old Mrs Bird's house.
Old Mrs Bird was about 125 years old and she rarely left the house.
Speaking of her house, that was ancient too, even older than the Stone Age.
We saw flames at the bottom of the house and she was standing on the window ledge on the top floor.
Rory spotted the washing line in the garden and had an idea.
There was a giant pair of bloomers, red with white spots, on the washing line.
He ran over to them and pulled them off, saying, Look at these bad boys!
I had no idea what his plan was.
He told me to pull one end of the huge knickers while he pulled the other end.
He shouted up to old Mrs Bird, Jump!
In her shock of seeing a talking dinosaur, old Mrs Bird fell right onto the pants.
I instantly realised that Rory's plan was to get her down safely, but she bounced back and forth into the air about ten times before landing and shouting.
I haven't had this much fun in years.
Soon after, we heard the sound of a fire engine.
The firefighters jumped out of the truck and extinguished the burning fire.
The chief fire officer thanked us for saving old Mrs Bird's life and said Amazing work, young fellows.
You both deserve a medal and a place in the fire brigade.
I had only just noticed that there was a huge crowd gathered around us.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of someone clapping, then another.
And another.
And another, until everyone was clapping, and better yet, people started to cheer.
From that moment on, everyone wanted to come round to have a playdate with me and Rory in the hope of going on our trampoline, which was made out of old Mrs Bird's giant spotty bloomers.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
The Bedtime Stories Podcast.
Look, can you just wait a minute?
This box is blooming heavy.
Why am I carrying them all?
Well, I've got the map, haven't I?
Someone needs to know where we're going.
Where are we going?
We've been going round in circles for the last half an hour.
I can't carry this much longer.
We need some help, I think.
There's still loads to deliver.
I don't want to go to spy camp anymore.
Right, listen.
Spy camp or no spy camp.
We can't do this on our own.
Oh, I know what we'll do.
I'm calling for backup.
Hello Heroes Helpline!
Hello, is that the Diddies?
Yes, it is the Diddies Heroes Helpline.
How may we be of help?
We're on our way!
Yeah, come on!
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
Bedtime Stories.
The bus driver who turned to crime.
On wearing wheels and with a suppressed sigh.
Bob the bus driver is on his 394th journey transporting Newport City council workers to their offices.
He repeats the journey every morning, returning every evening, a robin returning to its nest.
Waiting out the traffic lights, he peers in his rearview mirror.
There must be 50 council workers on board.
Those at the front of the bus are discussing the recent proposal to create a motorway flyover through the local nature reserve.
Bob shrivels down into his seat.
He loves the nature reserve and is horrified.
A golden flash in the mirror blinds Bob for a moment.
He notices it again, and is able to see a tall man wearing mayoral chains.
It's Monty the Mayor, head of Newport City Council.
I am minded to grant the application, he says flippantly to his colleagues.
Bob feels the blood in his body boil.
The lights change, but instead of turning right, like he has every working day of his life, he speeds up and swerves left towards the nature reserve.
As he crashes through the entrance barrier, the workers scream.
It occurs to Bob that he is kidnapping them, but he is so incensed he accelerates even faster.
Where are you going, you crazy imbecile? the mayor shouts.
More hens and mallards fly into the air, wings beating as fast as hummingbirds.
The tide is out, and a flock of a thousand curlew fly past the windows.
An avocet's scintillating cry drifts dauntingly downward.
The inside of the bus is as quiet as a still summer's day.
Carefully, Bob drives into the small wooded area.
A flock of goldfinches is sitting at the top of an ancient oak.
Their red faces and yellow wings fluffed in the wind.
Bob's muscles relax as he listens to their sweet song.
The occupants of the bus are dazzled as a spectacle of colour bursts blindingly around the brown bus.
The goldfinches have taken flight, but their magic lingers behind in the minds of the suited workers.
Slowly, Bob follows the goldfinches back towards the estuary.
The mudflats are popping gently.
A majestic marsh harrier hunting above the nearby reeds divides the goldfinches.
The harrier is gliding like a buzzard, a circular motion.
The tips of its wings are jagged and its fantail is spread wide.
Suddenly it swoops its bright yellow talons forward.
Its needle-like beak rips a plump brown waterfall apart before scooping it up, carrying it high into the air and disappearing into the horizon.
Its silhouette getting smaller and smaller.
There is a stillness in the bus that is electric.
Bob opens the doors and the workers stumble out into the reserve, dazed and enchanted.
As the mayor passes Bob, he lays a warm hand on his shoulder.
Thank you, he mutters under his breath.
I almost made a big mistake.
Bob had never before fallen to crime, but decides he has rather taken a liking to it.
The Colourful Comedian Walking down the street, the people were all slumped.
Heads were down low, shoulders dipped.
People bumped into each other.
They didn't look up, too busy scrolling on their phones.
That's the way it was.
Ava noticed that every single person produced grey, dark blue and dull shades.
There were so many dark and sad news stories on the TV that the colours were being soaked away like rain washing the streets clean.
She turned to look at her family, crowded round a cosy table on the roof terrace of a pub.
Her father glowed red, her mother bright green, her brother bright purple.
We are a happy family, she thought.
Ava looked down to her own arms, hands and feet.
A yellow glow shone out.
It was then she realised that by loving, laughing and being together, they stayed happy and bright.
She looked again down to the street and the people.
She had to do something.
She had to change the colours she saw and brighten the people.
She walked back to where her family sat.
She talked to them about how she felt about what she has seen.
Then she had an idea.
She should use her happiness and laughter to make others glow the colours of the rainbow.
But how?
Ava looked around.
She saw a lady sat alone, blue, scrolling on her phone.
She walked over and plucked up the courage to ask her a question.
What do you call a dog that can do magic?
The lady stopped scrolling and looked up at Ava.
I don't know.
What do you call a dog that can do magic?
Ava was chuffed that she had the lady's attention.
A labracadabrador, she grinned.
A small dint in the lady's cheek spread to the other side.
The corners of her mouth stretched up to her face and she smiled a smile every bit as big as Ava's.
Ava looked down.
The lady's feet were changing from blue to green.
She had to keep going.
What goes black white, black white, black white?
The lady's smile grew.
I don't know what goes black white, black white, black white.
A penguin rolling down a hill?
Ava blurted out.
Laughter echoed over the roof terrace as the lady dropped her phone and clutched her tummy.
A green glow grew and grew and the lady started to sparkle.
A lovely lime green colour.
She laughed and laughed and Ava couldn't help laughing with her.
This was great.
This was exactly the reaction Ava wanted.
But this was only one lady on a roof terrace.
There were people on the street that needed her jokes too.
She ran to the bar and found a megaphone and shouted jokes down to the street, one after the other.
At first, no one listened.
Then, one by one, she saw shoulders shake, people slowing, people looking up, people changing.
A glow of rainbow colours raised from the street below.
Ava was happy.
The first ever chocolate milk.
Once there lived a cow called Milky.
Milky was 10 years old and she was white and black.
She lived on a farm with 30 other cows.
The farmer's name was Paul and he was 99 years old.
Farmer Paul could only see properly out of his left eye because when he was a little boy he hurt his other eye when he ran into a wall at school.
Farmer Paul was very poor.
He only had enough money for a piece of toast for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Paul had a grandson called Cornfoot.
Paul tried to save some money to give his grandson chocolate for being good.
But Cornfoot was very naughty.
Cornfoot liked to steal the chocolate from the fridge and throw it at the cows.
One day, Cornfoot threw a Kinder Egg chocolate at the cows.
The cows thought it was brown, muddy grass and they ate it all for breakfast.
The cows went crazy.
They started doing a silly dance and then they had a fight with each other.
After a long time, the cows were very tired and fell asleep.
They slept all night without waking up.
The next morning at four o'clock, Paul came to milk the cows.
Milky was first.
But something weird came out of Milky's udders.
It was brown.
It smelled sweet.
Paul got a cup and tried the strange looking milk.
It tasted like something he knew.
Farmer Paul rushed around all the cows.
More and more of this strange milk poured out of their udders.
Paul filled up all the bottles he could find with this strange brown milk and put them in the fridge.
When everyone was sleeping, later that night, Cornfoot tiptoed into the kitchen and tried one of the little bottles.
Chocolate milk, he screamed happily.
Paul woke from the noise and ran downstairs to see what was happening.
Cornfoot explained he had given the cows some kinder egg chocolate, and so Paul worked out what had happened.
The next day, Paul and Cornfoot took all the bottles to the market.
They were nervous because they didn't know if anyone would like their milk.
Some very rich people came to try it.
They thought it was delicious.
The special chocolate milk sold out in just one hour.
Paul and Cornfoot had a party with the cows.
They did some more dancing and played some party games.
Farmer Paul and Cornfoot kept making chocolate milk.
They became very rich.
Cornfoot spent his money playing crazy golf all day long.
Paul bought some glasses so he could see everything.
But one thing he didn't see was Cornfoot feeding the cows bananas.
The 500 Words Bedtime Stories Podcast with Dick and Dom.
Mr Parker rolled over in his cushiony bed and smiled a great big smile.
Mr Parker had the best job in the world.
He ran his own zoo.
The telephone interrupted his calm start to the day with a loud ring.
Mr Parker, you must come quick.
There's an emergency at the zoo.
The animals have caught a cold.
All of them.
You might wonder why this is such a problem.
Well, Mr Parker's Zoo is not an ordinary zoo.
It is a zoo for long-nosed animals only.
Animals such as anteaters, aardvarks and elephant seals.
So you can see why a cold might be a problem.
By the time Mr Parker got to the zoo, all the animals were sneezing, including the art fox, the elephants and even the proboscis monkeys.
And thus started the great tissue shortage of 2019.
The animals used up so many tissues that the whole of the UK ran out.
It was on the TV news every night for a month.
In fact, it was so bad that the authorities threatened to close the zoo.
Mr Parker, who had a rather large nasal perturbance himself, was heartbroken.
He felt at home with the long-nosed animals.
All his life, humans were the ones who had been cruel to him, teasing him with his lifelong nickname, Nosey Parker.
Deadline day came faster than ever for the closing of the zoo.
Mr Parker had spent so much money on tissues, he'd run out of money to run the zoo.
Mr Parker cried so much that he had to use his special XXL handkerchief.
Until a knock on the door made him stop.
He walked slowly and sadly to the front door and opened it.
There on the doorstep was a very smiley man with an equally big nose.
Hello, my name is Mr Tissue.
I own the company Tissue Tissues and we want to sponsor your zoo.
We think your animals would be a great advert for our tissues.
What do you say?
Oh yes, please.
Thank you ever so much, said Mr Parker.
And that was the morning that Mr Parker's zoo for nosy animals was saved.
Cats.
Should I say cute fluffballs?
Adorable companions?
Now, thing is, I don't like cats.
They just don't seem right to me.
I'm more of a dog person myself, if you ask.
OK, OK, maybe I am being too harsh on cats, but I'll come on.
Cats sleep roughly 16 hours a day.
OK, some research was done on this topic.
I mean, you probably sleep the eight hours they're awake.
Cats are sly, devious.
They are basically domesticated lions or tigers.
OK?
Think for a minute.
Would you keep a tiger in your house that sleeps 16 hours a day?
And likes you just enough so it won't kill you the moment it sets eyes on you?
Will you?
See?
I'm right.
Cats are just wrong.
I think I also know how God made cats.
Shall I tell you?
OK.
He took a great ball of cotton and other soft materials of the world and shaped them into a beautiful and adorable creature.
And then he sprinkled a whole lot of cunningness and poured gallons and gallons of self-esteem on the soft material.
And then just to finish the creation, God put knives on the end of the paws.
I mean, look at those menacing claws.
Bears would be terrified and Satan himself would look at God and say, whoa dude, that is too much, even for me.
If you're a cat-obsessed human being if those types of humans even exist then I hope that you survive the rest of your cat-ridden life and do not do not get me started on kittens.
Cats are already evil beings in disguise, but kittens, kittens, is like the devil dressed in the clothes of God, but with an extra dollop of cuteness and adorableness.
Big cats are fine.
It's just that they tip me off a bit as well.
They're just domesticated cats minus the cuteness, and added a tank full of cool-looking poses.
Strength and royalty.
And no, I am not a dog.
Not even slightly.
Maybe.
Oh, I can't lie to you.
Yes, I am a dog.
Did you know that cats are stupid?
Haven't you seen the memes?
Sorry, humans and dog adults who don't know the meaning of memes.
And videos that took the internet by craze in 2016.
Let me tell you about my neighbour's cat, Mr Puss Puss.
Mr Puss Puss.
It was a dark and stormy night.
My storytelling is not good.
I wandered to my food bowl next to my owner's warm, fluffy slippers.
Then I saw it.
A slight grin and an evil glint.
A cat.
I was in danger.
It prowled up to me.
My owner was quite unaware.
It took one claw, as sharp as a killer's freshly cleaned blade, and took... took my food.
I know, right?
So scary.
You probably peed your pants.
Probably not near a lamppost.
Look, all I want to say is that don't get a cat.
Get a blooming dog.
There once was a boy named Harry Snotter.
Steam came out of his ears when he got hotter.
He had bright ginger hair, a bespectacled stare, and the kindest heart in all of Grove's Grotter.
Now, Harry loved all of God's creatures, even those with the weirdest of features.
But for Harry, life wasn't that simple.
Animals gave him sneezes and pimples.
Harry loved all animals from afar, through a window, from the classroom, from a car.
Sometimes looking just wasn't enough, but getting near made him wheeze and puff.
At school, young kids said, look, Snotter's turning all red.
And the bigger kids teased every time that he sneezed.
Snotter's head will explode.
Take cover.
He's going to blow.
Harry hated the teasing, and he hated the wheezing.
But the worst thing of all worse than the mean kids at school was never stroking a cat or walking a dog, never chasing a mouse or catching a frog.
Walking home in the dark one day, he saw mean kids terrorising astray.
Tears quickly filled poor Harry's eyes as he wondered, why?
Just why?
He had to do something and quick.
Looking round, Harry found a huge stick.
He took off his white school shirt and made it into a ghost he named Bert.
The last light was fading fast.
Harry waved the ghost on a stick, like a mast crouching behind a brick wall whilst making the sound of a ghoul.
Harry scared those mean kids who ran home where they hid.
Harry looked for the poor moggy, but the street was all foggy until out of the blur came a comforting purr.
Then a twinkle, a sparkle, a dazzling light.
A black cat and a broomstick came into sight.
You saved me, the talking cat said.
How can I repay you for what you just did?
Harry told the cat about his allergies.
I just want to stroke you without a wheeze.
The black cat knew a spell and gave his promise to make Harry well.
When Harry woke the very next day, his nose wasn't running in its usual way.
His eyes weren't all twitchy, his skin wasn't itchy.
The black cat told the truth and Harry was living proof.
Now Harry's no longer bullied at school, but he doesn't care.
He never wanted to be cool.
A vet is all he ever wanted to be.
Now he can, because he's allergy-free.
Wow, I can't believe it.
We did it.
We managed to deliver all this week's stories and on time.
We certainly did.
Well done, everyone.
That was a very difficult mission.
Thank you to Diddy Dick and Diddy Dom because we couldn't have done it without you.
We were glad to help, Lovey.
Weren't we, Diddy Dick?
Yes, we were, Lovey.
I'm so tired now, though.
We did a lot of running around.
Here, I have an idea.
Why don't we all go and have some tea and cake back at the Diddy's Treehouse?
Yeah, great.
What a good idea.
Yes, that is a very good idea.
I like good ideas and that's a very good idea.
I always have a very good idea.
I can show you my very extensive collection of paper clips.
Oh, yeah.
Very good.
I like paper clips.
I think they sound like that.
That sounds very good.
And remember teamwork makes the dream work.
If you are feeling inspired to write a story, here's a top tip from our friends at oxford university press.
What's the plot?
You might have a head full of ideas, but you'll need to organize them into a plot.
A plot is a thing that happens in your story, arranged in a logical order.
A story needs a beginning, a middle and an end.
Think about the event that kicks off your story and where you want your character to be at the close of play.
Don't forget to like and subscribe and we'll see you next week.
Goodbye!
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