Flat Stanley in Space

For Sidney Urquhart, the godmother

to whom Stanley owes so much.

First published in Great Britain 1990

by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd

Reissued 2012

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London, W11 4AN

Text copyright © 1990 Jeff Brown

Illustrations copyright © 2012 by the Trust

u/w/o Richard C. Brown a/k/a/Jeff Brown

f/b/o Duncan Brown

First e-book edition 2014

ISBN 978 1 4052 0419 4

eISBN 978 1 7803 1220 0

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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CONTENTS

Cover

Title page

Dedication and Copyright

1 The Call

2 Washington

3 Taking Off

4 In Space

5 The Tyrrans

6 TyrraVille

7 President Ot’s Story

8 Stanley’s Good Idea

9 The Weighing

10 Heading Home

11 Earth Again

Back Series Promotional Page

‘Will you meet with us?

Does anyone hear?’

From the great farness of space,

from farther than any planet or

star that has ever been mentioned

in books, the questions came.

Again and again.

‘Will you meet with us?

Does anyone hear?’

The Call

It was Saturday morning, and Mr and Mrs Lambchop were putting up wallpaper in the kitchen.

‘Isn’t this nice, George?’ said Mrs Lambchop, stirring paste. ‘No excitement. A perfectly usual day.’

Mr Lambchop knew just what she meant. Excitement was often troublesome. The flatness of their son Stanley, for example, after his big bulletin board settled on him overnight. Exciting, but worrying too, till Stanley got round again. And that genie visiting, granting wishes. Oh, very exciting! But all the wishes had to be unwished before the genie returned to the lamp from which he sprung.

‘Yes, dear.’ Mr Lambchop smoothed down wallpaper. ‘Ordinary. The very best sort of day.’

In the living-room, Stanley Lambchop and his younger brother Arthur were watching a Tom Toad cartoon on TV. The sporty Toad was water-skiing and fell off, making a great splash. Arthur laughed so hard he didn’t hear the telephone, but Stanley answered it.

‘Lambchop residence?’ said the caller. ‘The President of the United States speaking. Who’s this?’

Stanley smiled. ‘The King of France.’

‘They don’t have kings in France. Not any more.’

‘Excuse me, but I’m too busy for jokes.’ Stanley kept his eyes on the TV. ‘My brother and I are watching the Tom Toad Show.’

‘Well, you keep watching, young fellow!’ The caller hung up, just as Mr and Mrs Lambchop came in to watch the rest of the show.

‘Hey, guess what?’ Stanley said.

‘Hay is for horses,’ said Mrs Lambchop, mindful always of careful speech. ‘Who called, dear?’

Stanley laughed. ‘The President of the United States!’

Arthur laughed too. ‘Stanley said he was the King of France!’

Tom Toad vanished suddenly from the TV screen, and an American flag appeared. ‘We bring you a special message from the White House in Washington, DC,’ said the deep voice of an announcer. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!’

The screen showed the President, looking very serious, behind his desk.

‘My fellow Americans,’ the President said. ‘I am sorry to interrupt this programme, but someone out there doesn’t realise that I am a very busy man who can’t waste time joking on the telephone. I hope the particular person I am talking to – and I do not mean the King of France! – will remember that. Thank you. Now here’s The Toad Show again.’

Tom Toad, still water-skiing, came back on the TV.

‘Stanley!’ exclaimed Mrs Lambchop. ‘The King of France indeed!’

‘Gosh!’ Arthur said. ‘Will Stanley get put in jail?’

‘There is no law against being a telephone smarty,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Perhaps there should be.’

The telephone rang, and he answered it. ‘George Lambchop here.’

‘Good!’ It was the President. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you!’

‘Oh, my!’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Please excuse –’

‘Hold on. You’re the fellow has the boy who was flat once, got his picture in the newspaper?’

‘My son Stanley, Mr President,’ Mr Lambchop said, to let the others know who was calling.

‘I had to be sure,’ said the President. ‘We have to get together, Lambchop! I’ll send my private plane right now, fetch you all here to Washington, DC.’

Mr Lambchop gasped. ‘Private plane? Washington? All of us?’

‘The whole family.’ The President chuckled. ‘Including the King of France.’

Washington

At the White House, in his famous Oval Office, the President shook hands with all the Lambchops.

‘Thanks for coming.’ He chuckled. ‘Bet you never thought when you woke up this morning that you’d get to meet me.’

‘Indeed not,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘This is quite a surprise.’

‘Well, here’s another one,’ said the President. ‘The reason I asked you to come.’

He sat down behind his desk, serious now. ‘Tyrra! Never heard of it, right?’

The Lambchops all shook their heads.

‘Nobody ever heard of it. It’s a planet, up there somewhere. They sent a message, the first ever from outer space!’

The Lambchops were greatly interested. ‘Imagine!’ Mrs Lambchop exclaimed. ‘What did it say?’

‘Very friendly tone,’ the President said. ‘Peaceful, just checking around. Asked us to visit. Now, my plan –’

A side door of the Oval Office had opened suddenly to reveal a nicely-dressed lady wearing a crown. Mrs Lambchop recognised her at once as the Queen of England.

‘About the banquet, also the –’ the Queen began, and saw that the President was busy. ‘Ooops! We beg your pardon.’ She closed the door.

‘This place is a madhouse,’ the President said. ‘Visitors, fancy dinners, no end to it. Now, where –? Ah, yes! The Star Scout !’

He leaned forward.

‘That’s our new top-secret spaceship, just ready now! Send somebody up in the Star Scout, I thought, to meet with these Tyrrans. But who? Wouldn’t look peaceful to send soldiers, or even scientists. Then I thought: What could be more peaceful than just an ordinary American boy?’

The President smiled. ‘Why not Stanley Lambchop?’

‘Stanley?’ Mrs Lambchop gasped. ‘In a spaceship? To meet with an alien race?’

‘Oh, boy!’ said Stanley. ‘I would love to go!’

‘Me, too,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s not fair if –’

‘Arthur!’ Mr Lambchop drew in a deep breath. ‘Mr President, why Stanley ?’

‘It has to be someone that’s already had adventure experience,’ the President said. ‘Well, my Secret Service showed me a newspaper story about when Stanley was flat and caught two robbers. Robbers! That’s adventure!’

‘I’ve had them too!’ Arthur said. ‘A genie taught me to fly, and we had a Liophant, and –’

‘A what ?’

‘A Liophant,’ Arthur said. ‘Half lion, half elephant. They’re nice.’

‘Is that right? The Secret Service never –’

‘Mr President?’ Mrs Lambchop did not like to interrupt, but her concern was great.

‘Mr President?’ she said. ‘This mission: is it safe?’

‘My goodness, of course it’s safe!’ the President said. ‘We have taken great care, Mrs Lambchop. The Star Scout has all the latest scientific equipment. And it has been very carefully tested. First, we tried it on automatic pilot, with no passengers. It worked perfectly! Even then, ma’am, we were not satisfied. We sent the Star Scout up again, this time with our cleverest trained bird aboard. But hear for yourself.’ The President spoke into a little box on his desk. ‘Send in Dr Schwartz, please.’

A bearded man entered, wearing a white coat and carrying a birdcage with a cloth over it. Bowing, he removed the cloth to reveal a large, brightly-coloured parrot.

‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said. ‘Dr Schwartz is our top space scientist,’ he told the Lambchops, ‘and this is Polly, the bird I spoke of. Polly, tell the folks here about your adventure into space.’

‘Piece of cake,’ said the parrot. ‘Terrific! Loved every minute of it!’

‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said, and Dr Schwartz carried Polly away.

‘That was very reassuring, but it is out of the question for Stanley to go alone,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘However, we were planning a family vacation. Would it be possible, Mr President, for us all to go?’

‘Well, if you didn’t mind the crowding,’ the President said. ‘And skimped on baggage.’

‘Actually, we had in mind the seaside,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Or a tennis camp. But –’

The Queen of England looked in again. ‘May we ask if –’

‘Just a minute, for heaven’s sake!’ said the President.

‘We shall return anon.’ Looking peeved, the Queen went away.

Mr Lambchop had decided. ‘Mr President, the seaside will keep. We will go to Tyrra, sir.’

‘Wonderful!’ The President jumped up. ‘To the stars, Lambchops! Some training at the Space Centre, and you’re on your way!’

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