The Day the Thames Froze Hard Enough for an Elephant
The Day the Thames Froze Hard Enough for an Elephant — a science story. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Science.
Page 1
Nell dug her patched boots into the frost and pushed with all her wiry strength as the old printing press, tall as a kitchen door, rattled down the steep Bankside slope on its wooden sledge. Mr Crisp ran alongside, his long green scarf streaming out behind like a banner, both hands gripping the rope to steer. 'Lean right, Nell! Mind the rut!' he shouted, but the sledge struck a frozen furrow with a jolt that threw them both staggering. The press wheel, thick as a cartwheel, cracked clean in half with a sound like a snapped bone. At the same instant the lashings on the type barrel burst, and hundreds of tiny lead letters sprayed across the ice, scattering and skittering in every direction. Nell dropped to her knees, scrambling after them with both mittened hands, while Mr Crisp threw himself flat to stop a whole handful sliding toward the river's edge. Behind them, St Paul's dome glowed pale through the frosty air, utterly indifferent to their disaster.
Page 2
The menagerie loft smelled of straw, warm animal hide and lamp oil. Nell scrambled up the hay ladder, rung over rung, her huge wooden N swinging and knocking against the wood. High above, lashed to a rafter taller than three men stacked together, hung the spare cartwheel, broad as a cottage door. "Nearly there!" she called down, stretching one mitten free and grabbing the rim. But the old lashing gave way, and the wheel tipped, tumbling down through the lamplight. Ravi's thumb slammed the brass bell, clanging wild warning across the loft. Mr Crisp threw up his long arms, too far to help, his scarf tangling round his own boots. But Chunee swung her freckled trunk tip up and caught the wheel clean, cradling it like a great grey hand. Nell slid the rest of the ladder and landed with a thump beside her, breathless, patting the elephant's wrinkled knee in thanks while straw drifted down around them both.
Page 3
The stone gateway of Temple Bar loomed ahead, its arch barely taller than two men stacked, and Chunee squeezed through hauling the mended press on its sledge, runners squealing on packed snow. Her crimson blanket, loose at the shoulder, caught on the corner post of a fruit-seller's stall just beyond the arch, and the whole rickety frame tipped with a crack. Frozen apples burst from their baskets, bouncing like hailstones down the cobbles. 'Catch them! Catch them!' shrieked Nell, flinging herself after a rolling apple the size of her fist. Ravi dropped the tow-rope and scrambled low, scooping two apples into each arm before they vanished under a parked cart. Mr Crisp, scarf trailing, stooped to block a whole stream of fruit with his boot, sending three skittering sideways instead. Chunee, feeling the tug, halted mid-stride and swung her trunk back to steady the toppling stall before it fully collapsed. The fruit-seller clutched her apron, laughing despite herself, while the sledge sat safe behind, its precious press undamaged.
Page 4
The stairs dropped away steep and slick, stone steps the height of a chair, glazed with ice down to the frozen river. Mr Crisp knotted the ropes tight to the press frame, hands trembling with the cold, while Ravi braced his boots against the top step. Chunee stood planted like a boulder, tarred rope looped round the brass ring at her chest, leaning back with all her weight as the sledge inched downward, bumping step by step. Nell scrambled alongside, shouting directions up to Ravi, grabbing at the runners whenever they swung sideways. Suddenly the long green scarf, trailing loose behind Mr Crisp, slithered under a runner and pulled taut, yanking him forward with a yelp. Ravi dropped his end of rope and dashed to haul the scarf free before it dragged the old man off his feet. Chunee held firm, unmoving, anchoring the whole load while the scramble sorted itself out below.
Page 5
Out on Freezeland Street, between the rows of flapping tents, they built their own against the cold. Ravi hauled two beer barrels into place, grunting as he rolled them upright, each one tall as his waist. Mr Crisp lashed a pair of borrowed oars across the top, his endless green scarf trailing through the snow and getting trodden on twice. 'Mind your feet, boy, that's my neck you're standing on!' he barked, tugging the scarf free with a snap. Nell scrambled up a barrel to help stretch the sailcloth roof flat, pinning the corners with cold-stiffened fingers. Chunee, patient as ever, lifted the heavy ridgepole in her curled trunk and set it gently across the oars, raising the whole tent like a tired old sail filling with wind. Ravi cheered and rang his brass bell. The moment the booth stood firm, Nell snatched the very first printed sheet, still wet and shining, and pinned it up to dry, grinning at her own smudged ink-black fingers.
Page 6
A broad-shouldered customer swung his elbow round to toast the crowd and caught the coal brazier square, tipping it sideways in a shower of orange sparks. The iron bowl, waist-high and heavy as a cauldron, crashed onto the ice floor and burst its coals out in a hissing fan. Grey smoke curled up between the lanterns as the heat began eating straight down through the frost, a dark wet puddle spreading fast beneath the straw. 'The floor's going soft!' shouted Ravi, already scrambling for the snow-shovels stacked by the tent pole. Nell dropped the sheets she was carrying and grabbed the second shovel, flinging snow in great white arcs over the glowing coals. The whole tent floor tilted a little, mugs sliding off the trestle table, as Mr Crisp hauled customers back from the softening patch with both long arms spread wide. Chunee planted her feet and leaned her bulk against the swaying tent pole, steadying it like a ship's mast, while steam hissed up around everyone's boots until at last the hissing stopped and the ice held firm again.
Page 7
A crack split the shadowed ice like a whip, racing out from under the stone pier faster than Nell could shout. The sledge carrying the press lurched sideways, runners scraping toward a black seam of open water. 'It's going!' Ravi yelled, lunging for the tow-rope and missing as it whipped past his gloved fingers. Mr Crisp grabbed for it too, his long coat tangling round his knees, but the rope slithered out of reach across the slick ice. Chunee didn't wait. She threw her trunk out and hooked the rope in one curling motion, planting her huge feet wide and leaning back with her whole barrel body. The ice groaned under her weight but held. Step by step she hauled, trunk muscles bunching, dragging the sledge back from the crack's black edge while Nell scrambled behind, shoving a plank under the runners to steady it. Ravi threw his own weight against the rope beside Chunee's trunk, boots skidding. Slowly, slowly, the press slid to safety, stopping a mere arm's length from the dark water.
Page 8
The slipway at Puddle Dock was mud and melting ice, slick as soap, but Chunee pressed on, climbing it step by heavy step with the whole printing press lashed across her broad shoulders, taller than a man standing on a barrel. Nell rode perched atop the press itself, clutching the type-box to her chest so hard her knuckles whitened, bracing her boots against the wooden frame. "Hold fast, don't drop a single letter!" she shouted down. Below, Mr Crisp had slipped on the wharf ladder, his long legs tangling, his scarf trailing loose across the rungs. Ravi grabbed the end of that moss-green scarf and hauled with both arms, scrambling backward up each rung himself, dragging the old man bodily onto the planks. "Up you come, mind your boots!" Ravi grunted. Chunee gave one last mighty heave, hauling herself and her cargo over the lip of the dock, timbers groaning under her weight. Nell slid down the elephant's flank laughing, type-box still safe in her arms, as Mr Crisp finally tumbled onto solid wood beside them, breathless but whole.
Page 9
The press gave one last steaming sheet, and Nell hauled it free with both ink-black hands, holding it high like a prize. "Last one!" she cried, waving it to dry in the warm coffee-house air. Mr Crisp slammed the type-box shut behind her, scattering a puff of flour from the bread basket beside him. But a shadow fell across the window, taller than the sill itself, and a long pink-freckled trunk came snaking through the open gap. Ravi dropped his teacup with a clatter and lunged, grabbing for the trunk just as it closed delicately round a fat hot bun on the table. "Chunee, no — that's Mr Pargeter's breakfast!" Ravi shouted, scrambling onto the windowsill to wrestle it back. Too late — the bun vanished with a satisfied rumble from outside. Nell burst out laughing, waving her inky sheet still higher so it wouldn't smudge, while Mr Crisp peered over his spectacles, pushed up uselessly on his forehead, shaking his head at the crumbs left behind on the panelled floor.
Page 10
At the top of Greenwich Park, with the Observatory's little dome behind them and the whole thawing Thames spread below, Nell unrolled the kite she had stitched from frost-fair souvenir sheets, the inked letters still faintly visible on the paper skin stretched tight as a drum. She grabbed the twine spool and ran downhill, boots slipping on the snow, the kite jerking and dragging until a gust caught it and hauled it up out of her hands into the sky. Ravi scrambled behind her, steadying her shoulder as she staggered, while Mr Crisp planted his boots wide and gripped the spool to stop it spinning away entirely. Chunee, waiting at the crest, lifted her trunk, drew up a trunkful of melting snow, and trumpeted it in a fine spraying arc over the whole group, scattering bright droplets across Nell's hat and Ravi's sash. Nell shrieked with laughter, wiping her face with a mitten, as the kite climbed higher over the Queen's House and the masts of Deptford far below.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Science
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