Further Adventures of Pelle No-Tail Read online

  GÖSTA KNUTSSON (1908–1973) was a Swedish children’s author and radio producer. The first Pelle book was published in 1939, followed by many more books, comics, films, plays, music and television programs.

  Pelle No-Tail is beloved in Sweden and around the world, with translations appearing in Polish, Finnish, Danish, German, Dutch, Norwegian, Portuguese – and now English.

  Published by Piccolo Nero,

  an imprint of Schwartz Publishing Pty Ltd

  Level 1, 221 Drummond Street

  Carlton VIC 3053, Australia

  [email protected]

  www.nerobooks.com

  Pelle Svanslös © Sagogränd AB

  English translation © Stephanie Smee and Ann-Margrete Smee 2017

  Original text © Gösta Knutsson

  Illustrations by Lovisa Lesse © Sagogränd AB

  First published as Pelle Svanslös på nya äventyr in 1940

  by Bonnier Carlsen Bokförlag, Stockholm, Sweden.

  Translated from the ALB. Bonniers Boktryckeri 1941 edition.

  Published in the English language by arrangement

  with Bonnier Rights, Stockholm, Sweden.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the publishers.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Knutsson, Gösta, 1908–1973. author.

  Futher adventures of Pelle No-Tail/Gösta Knutsson;

  Translated by Stephanie Smee, Ann-Margrete Smee.

  9781863959391 (paperback)

  9781925435863 (ebook)

  Knutsson, Gösta, 1908–1973. Pelle No-Tail book 2.

  For primary school age.

  Cats–Juvenile fiction.

  Lesse, Lovisa, illustrator.

  Smee, Stephanie, translator. Smee, Ann-Margrete, translator.

  Cover and text design by Tristan Main

  Translators’ Note

  We are delighted to introduce you to Pelle No-Tail, or Pelle Svanslös, as he is known in Sweden. All Swedish children grow up with little Pelle – he is as well known there as Astrid Lindgren’s Pippi Longstocking.

  Even though you are reading his stories in English, we felt it important to remind you that Pelle is a Swedish cat. So we have kept all the different words for ‘yes’ in their original Swedish. Sometimes it might be a very definite ‘yes’, sometimes it might be a more doubtful ‘yes’. Either way, we think you’ll have no difficulty understanding them; the context will make it quite clear. Just remember, when you say them out loud, that a ‘j’ in Swedish is said like a ‘y’ in English! Ja, jaså, jo and jodå are just some of the words you might see.

  You might also notice a few different symbols over some of the letters, such as ‘å’, ‘ä’ or ‘ö’. These are different letters in the Swedish alphabet (they come right at the end of the dictionary, after ‘z’) and the symbols change the sound of those letters.

  Some other words you might notice include the mean names the nasty cat, Måns, calls some of the other cats from time to time. In Swedish, they sound just like their meaning, so we thought you might enjoy reading them out loud. Our favourite is probably ‘dumbom’, which means …? You guessed it, ‘silly billy!’

  All that is left to say now is: Ha det nu så kul med Pelle Svanslös! Happy reading and have fun with Pelle.

  Stephanie Smee & Ann-Margrete Smee

  Contents

  1 All the flowers of Spring

  2 Ingrid is invited to the Spring Ball

  3 The spring concert in the basement

  4 Summer again!

  5 Pelle, the ship’s cat

  6 The desert island

  7 Ali, the dreadful dog

  8 Hark, mother owl is hooting!

  9 A birthday party at Åsgränd Alley

  10 Herring is a type of bird!

  11 What is a cat’s greatest pride and joy?

  12 Måns gets found out

  13 Pelle and the seven dwarfs

  14 In storage unit number 12

  15 Welcome, little cat!

  16 In the fairytale forest

  17 Måns disturbs the peace

  18 Kristina, the concierge cat

  19 Fritz and Frida and Fridolf

  20 The masquerade in the barn on the edge of the forest

  21 The polar bear and the policemen

  1

  All the flowers of Spring

  ‘What’s the best thing about spring, do you think?’ said Birgitta’s and Olle’s Papa one morning in May. ‘The ice-cream sellers in the street!’ Olle answered with conviction.

  ‘All you ever think about is food!’ said Birgitta. ‘But Papa, do you know what I like best? Well, all the flowers that come out. Coltsfoot and blue anemones and white anemones …’

  ‘Anemone nemorosa,’ said Olle, who had just learned the Latin name for white anemones.

  ‘And what about you, Pelle, what do you like best about spring?’ asked Papa.

  Pelle No-Tail sat in the window, enjoying the sunshine. He didn’t quite know what he liked best; in actual fact, he liked every season, as long as there was herring and milk to be had.

  ‘Do you like the ice-cream sellers or the flowers best, Pelle?’ asked Birgitta.

  ‘Miaow,’ said Pelle.

  ‘There you go!’ said Olle. ‘He likes the ice-cream sellers best, too!’

  ‘He does not,’ said Birgitta. ‘I’m certain he said flowers. Can’t you see how happy he is among the geraniums in the window?’

  Just then, the sun tickled Pelle on the nose and made him sneeze.

  ‘There you go!’ said Birgitta. ‘Pelle’s sneeze just confirmed how happy he is among the flowers. By the way, Papa,’ she went on, ‘you will let me take Pelle out into the woods, won’t you, so we can pick a posy of spring flowers?’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ said Papa. ‘But remember to be careful not to pull the blue anemones up by their roots!’

  ‘Yes – but if you do that, they keep better,’ said Birgitta.

  ‘And then they won’t grow back,’ said Papa, ‘so in a few years, there won’t be any blue anemones left in the woods at all. No, Birgitta, if you really have to pick the anemones, don’t pull them out by their roots, and then you’ll be able to find them again next year.’

  And so Birgitta and Pelle went out into the woods. It had just rained, so there were little puddles along the way. Pelle stopped next to one and slurped up a little bit of water with his rosy red tongue.

  ‘This is all really very convenient,’ he said to himself, feeling pleased. ‘A cat can be walking along, feeling thirsty, and what do you know, there’s water on the path, and all he has to do is stop to have a drink.’

  In the woods, Birgitta came across a lovely patch of blue anemones, where she started picking. And she picked the flowers without pulling out the roots, just as her Papa had told her to do.

  Then she also found some curious-looking downy violets with yellow stamens. Pelle thought they looked like little tulips. He stuck his nose into one and sniffed. It had such a lovely, welcoming scent.

  ‘I have a lovely name, too,’ whispered the flower to Pelle. ‘My name is Pulsatilla.’

  ‘Funny name,’ said Pelle.

  ‘They also call me the Easter flower, but I think Pulsatilla sounds a little more homely,’ said the flower.

  ‘Indeed, Miss Tilsapulla,’ said Pelle.

  ‘And to think, I don’t know what these flowers are called,’ said Birgitta. ‘I must ask Papa about that when I get home.’

>   ‘Jojo,’ thought Pelle, ‘Well, not everybody can understand what the flowers are saying.’

  But Birgitta was continuing on her way, so Pelle followed, and then they came to a spot where the ground was completely white with anemones. Birgitta picked a few truly lovely blossoms for her spring flower posy. Pelle took the chance to ask one of the flowers what it was like to live out here in the woods.

  ‘Joo, oh yes, thank you,’ answered the white anemone. ‘We’re happy enough, as long as people don’t trample all over us. I can tell you, not everybody walks as gently and carefully as you with your soft paws. Yesterday a few boys came stomping through with big heavy boots and trampled over several hundred of us.’

  ‘Dogs are usually very careless about where they walk, too,’ said Pelle. ‘They just lumber along without thinking about where they’re walking.’

  ‘Don’t speak badly about dogs,’ said a little blue flower, ‘because then I’ll feel hurt.’

  ‘And who are you?’ said Pelle, sniffing carefully at the blue flower.

  ‘I’m a dog-violet,’ said the flower, ‘and I’m much more elegant than the common blue anemones.’

  ‘How can such a lovely little flower have such a dreadful name?’ said Pelle and sniffed. ‘I christen you cat-violet instead. I think that name suits you better.’

  The white anemones laughed, but then Birgitta was calling Pelle and he had to follow her.

  ‘Jaha, now we just need something yellow for our posy, too,’ said Birgitta. ‘I just wonder if any yellow cowslips have come out yet.’

  But the yellow cowslips hadn’t yet come out. Instead, Birgitta picked some yellow star-of-Bethlehem flowers, and then her spring posy was complete.

  ‘You shall have a special little posy,’ said Birgitta to Pelle, and she took one of each flower and made up a small bunch, attaching it to Pelle’s collar.

  ‘Now you’re as handsome as a little May prince,’ she said to Pelle. And they headed back home.

  *

  When they reached town, they ran into the nasty cat Måns at the corner of Åsgränd Alley and Upper Slottsgatan. Måns glared furiously at the bunch of flowers that Pelle was wearing.

  ‘Hello,’ said Pelle pleasantly. ‘I’ve been crowned the May Prince, as you can see.’

  Måns did not return his greeting. He just snarled and looked nasty. And then he made straight for the shed on Åsgränd Alley where he met up with his whole gang: Bill and Bull and Rickard from Rickomberga and Fritz and Frida and all the others.

  ‘Now this really is the last straw!’ shouted Måns, and his eyes burned with rage.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Bill.

  ‘What’s the last straw?’ said Bull.

  ‘Pelle No-Tail, you dummy,’ said Måns. ‘He’s becoming more and more stuck up with every day that goes by.’

  ‘Is he going around wearing a coin again?’ asked Rickard.

  ‘No, fortunately we’ve put a stop to him doing that,’ said Måns. ‘But would you believe it, now he’s wandering about decked out in a bunch of flowers and calling himself the May Prince. I ask you: are we going to put up with this?’

  ‘But perhaps he was only joking when he called himself the May Prince,’ tried Frida, who at least wasn’t quite so mean.

  ‘Quiet!’ said Måns, ‘Stuck up is what he is. And I repeat: are we going to put up with this?’

  ‘Impossible!’ said Bill.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ said Bull.

  ‘Well,’ said Måns and slammed his paw down on the table. ‘Then we have to do something about it.’

  ‘Maybe we can scratch him,’ said Fritz cautiously.

  ‘Dumbom!’ said Måns. ‘You’re only ever interested in your scratching. No, this calls for something cunning, something that will put an end to his cockiness.’

  ‘Ja, well, that’s exactly what’s called for,’ said Bill.

  ‘That’s what it’s all about,’ said Bull.

  ‘I think I’ve got it,’ said Måns, ‘but now I’m going home to think things over in peace and quiet, and then we’ll all meet up at seven o’clock this evening. Fritz and Frida can rustle up a little cream, so we have something to drink.’

  And with that the wicked cats split up.

  *

  In the meantime, Birgitta had arrived home with Pelle and the flowers.

  ‘What a beautiful spring posy!’ said Mama. ‘And how smart Pelle looks!’

  ‘But now I have to ask what this funny-looking, furry, violet flower is,’ said Birgitta.

  ‘That’s a chequered lily,’ said Papa.

  ‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ said Mama. ‘It’s called an Easter flower or Pulsatilla. I remember that from school.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ said Pelle, feeling pleased with himself. ‘It’s a Tilsapulla, exactly as I thought.’

  2

  Ingrid is invited to the Spring Ball

  The next morning, when Pelle was out on his usual walk, he ran into Måns and Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida, who were walking towards him in a long line, with Måns first, of course, and Frida last.

  Pelle would have preferred to turn around, but that would have looked as though he were afraid, and he was definitely not afraid.

  And so, Pelle said in a friendly voice: ‘Good morning, good morning!’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Måns, sounding friendly too, strangely enough.

  ‘That must have just been a one-off yesterday, when he snarled,’ thought Pelle, and so he said: ‘Ja, it most certainly is a lovely day today.’

  ‘Jojo,’ said Måns, ‘Spring has arrived. And next Saturday is the Spring Festival. You’ll be there, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Pelle. ‘Are spring festivals usually fun?’

  ‘They definitely are, you can be sure of that,’ said Måns. ‘It’s the best party of the whole year for cats. You can really kick up your paws.’

  ‘But what happens at these festivals?’ asked Pelle.

  ‘Well,’ said Måns, ‘first up, the Combined Cats’ Community Choir puts on a spring concert, and then there’s a variety show with speeches and singing and music, and then there’s the big Spring Ball. But if you’re going to enjoy yourself, first you must invite a really lovely girl-cat.’

  ‘But I don’t think I know any,’ said Pelle, and licked his nose, a little crestfallen.

  ‘Now, now, give it some thought,’ said Måns. ‘There must be somebody you can invite.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m taken,’ giggled Frida, ‘because I’m going with Fritz.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Pelle. ‘I do know somebody, but you see, she lives so far away.’

  ‘Oh, well, there are trains, you know,’ said Måns. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘She’s called Ingrid,’ said Pelle, ‘and she lives in Motala.’

  ‘Is it Ingrid from the radio?’ said Måns.

  ‘No, it’s Ingrid from the fourth basement door on the left,’ said Pelle. ‘I met her last summer, when I was down there, but she would have forgotten me by now, for sure.’

  ‘Nobody would ever forget you,’ said Måns. ‘You, with no ta … you, who are such a pleasant fellow, I mean to say. Write immediately and invite her, and you’ll see, she’ll come like a shot, because there’s nothing better than getting an invitation to the Spring Festival. Let’s go back to the shed at Åsgränd Alley, where we’ll find something to write with.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Pelle. ‘I’m not a very good dancer, so it’s not much fun to go to a ball.’

  ‘You’ll have to go to dance classes,’ said Måns. ‘And then you’ll have to join the Combined Cats’ Community Choir, so you’ll be able to join in the singing at the concert. Then Ingrid from Motala will be impressed, believe you me.’

  So off they went to the shed, and Måns helped Pelle cobble together an invitation to send to Ingrid. Then they put the letter into the letterbox for cats, and the cats’ postman, Mister Tusse von Post, came and emptie
d the letterbox, and soon enough, the young Miss Ingrid received her letter.

  *

  Ingrid was so happy she did a somersault and danced around with her old mother.

  ‘But my dear child, what are you doing?’ said Ingrid’s mama. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Read this letter!’ said Ingrid.

  ‘What have I done with my glasses?’ said her mama.

  ‘You have them on your nose,’ said Ingrid.

  ‘Of course I do,’ said her mama, and she read Pelle’s letter.

  ‘Miaaa,’ she thought aloud, ‘it’s rather a long way to travel.’

  ‘But Mama, can’t you come with me?’ said Ingrid, ‘and take the chance to visit the family up there? And I believe herring is cheaper up north, so it might be an idea to buy some to bring home with you.’

  ‘Miaaa,’ said her mama. ‘I’ll think on it a while.’

  In the end, she decided she would travel with Ingrid. And so, Ingrid sat herself down to scribble out a thank-you letter, and Ingrid’s mama started packing, for there’s a lot to take with you for such a long trip.

  In Motala, all the young girl-cats were green with envy when they heard Ingrid was going to the Spring Festival.

  ‘To think, we’re so much prettier, and we haven’t been invited,’ they said. ‘How careless! Anyway, it’s sure to be a boring party.’ That’s what all the jealous girl-cats said. But as for Ingrid, she purred and packed her best red bow and gave herself a few extra licks every day so her coat would be really glossy for the Spring Festival.

  3

  The spring concert in the basement

  Pelle did as Måns had suggested. He joined the Combined Cats’ Community Choir, where he got to learn many jolly songs. One was ‘In Praise of Herring’, another was called ‘Rat’s Lament’ and another ‘Happy as a Cat at Midday Milk Time’. Almost the best thing about the choir rehearsals, thought Pelle, was that an exceptionally good oatmeal soup was served to help lend their voices a fine, mellow sound.

  ‘Ja, it really was very kind of Måns to let me join this lovely choir,’ said Pelle.

  But believe you me, Måns had his own sly motives. Don’t think for a minute that he had arranged for Pelle to join the Combined Cats’ Community Choir just to be nice to him. Oh no, Måns had something quite different in mind. You’ll soon find out all about it.