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The Giants  and  the  Joneses     by  Julia  Donaldson   Illustrations  by  Paul  Hess     Every  giant  knows  beanstalks  and  little  persons  don't  exist.  Almost  every  giant,   anyway  ...When  girl  giant  Jumbeelia's  curiosity  leads  her  to  a  real-­‐live  bimplestonk   (beanstalk)  at  the  edgeland  of  Groil  and  down,  down,  down  into  Colette,  Stephen   and  Poppy's  lives,  the  children  find  themselves  in  BIG  trouble!  How  will  the  three   iggly  plops  (children)  ever  get  home?     In  this  extract  Jumbeelia  has  just  scooped  the  children  up  and  put  them  into  her   collecting  bag….     …‘Where  are  we?’  Stephen's  voice  sounded  shaky  and  his  face  was  white.       Colette  looked  round  at  the  blue  canvas  walls  of  their  prison.  She  shuddered,   remembering  the  fat  pink  tentacles  that  had  put  her  there.     ‘I  think  we’re  in  a  giant’s  bag,’  she  whispered  back.       ‘Don’t  talk  rubbish  –  giants  don’t  exist.’  But  the   next  second  they  heard  a  deafening  voice.     ‘Beely  iggly  plop,’  it  said,  and  the  tentacles   appeared  above  them,  with  Poppy  in  their   grip.    Poppy  was  laughing.     ‘Big  girl  do  it  ‘gain,’  she  said  as  the  giant  hand   released  her.  She  seemed  to  think  this  was  some   kind  of  glorious  fairground  ride.       ‘It’s  not  a  girl,  it’s  a  giant,  silly,’  Stephen  snapped   at  her.  ‘It’s  probably  going  to  eat  us.’       But  Poppy  just  repeated,  ‘Big  girl,’  and  started   bouncing  on  the  cushions  which  covered  the   floor  of  the  bag.       And  then  the  canvas  ceiling  came  down.     ‘All  dark,’  complained  Poppy.     Colette  felt  sick  with  fear  but  she  managed  to  find  her  voice,  and  shouted,  ‘Stop!  Let   us  out!  Let  us  out!’     ‘It  can’t  understand  you.  Didn’t  you  hear  it?  It  speaks  a  different  language.’  Stephen   sounded  angry,  as  if  the  whole  thing  was  her  fault.         A  tremendous  jolt  threw  them  up  into  the  air  and  down  again.  As  the  three  of  them   rolled  helplessly  about  on  the  cushions,  Poppy  giggled  again.  But  Colette  and   Stephen  were  silent.  They  both  knew  what  was  happening.  The  giant  was  on  the   move.    

‘Mum! Dad!  Help!’  yelled  Colette,  but  without  much  hope.    A  sudden  swoop  and  a   bump  and  the  jolting  stopped.  Their  dark  ceiling  was  off  again,  and  light  streamed   in.       ‘Maybe  it’s  going  to  put  us  back?’  said  Colette.     ‘Maybe  it’s  hungry,’  said  Stephen.  The  hand  came  down  –  but  not  to  take  them  out.     ‘It’s  putting  something  in,’  said  Colette.     ‘Peggy  line!’  said  Poppy.     ‘Iggly  swisheroo!’  said  the  voice.     ‘Can’t  anyone  round  here  speak  English?’  said  Stephen.  ‘It’s  a  washing  line.’       And  so  it  was  –  quite  a  long  one,  complete  with  pegged-­‐out  clothes,  towels  and   sheets.  A  sheet  landed  on  top  of  Colette  and  but  the  time  she  had  struggled  free  the   bag  was  dark  and  the  bumpy  journey  had  begun  again.     Poppy,  delighted  with  this  new  and  grown-­‐up  toy,  started  unpegging  the  clothes  and   hoarding  the  pegs  in  a  corner  of  the  bag.     ‘Oh  no,  not  you  too,’  said  Stephen  in  disgust.  ‘Isn’t  one  collector  in  this  family   enough?’     Colette  turned  on  him.  ‘Do  shut  up,’  she  said.  ‘Can’t  you  ever  stop  complaining?’     ‘Yes,’  said  Stephen  triumphantly.  ‘I’ll  stop  complaining  when  you  stop  collecting.’         Colette  could  hardly  believe  this.  Here  they  were,  jogging  along  in  the  dark,  inside  a   giant’s  bag,  and  yet  they  were  still  squabbling.    Before  she  could  think  of  a  cutting   retort,  there  was  a  terrifyingly  loud  noise  in  her  right  ear  –  a  long,  low  grating  kind  of   noise  which  seemed  to  come  from  within  the  bag  itself.  Colette  found  herself   clutching  Stephen  despite  the  quarrel.     ‘What  was  that?’  she  said.   ‘Baa  Lamb,’  said  Poppy.     ‘This  isn’t  the  time  of  year  for  lambs,’  Stephen  said  in  his  Mr  Know-­‐All  voice.   ‘Anyway,  its  bleat  is  too  low-­‐sounding.  It’s  a  sheep.’     As  if  in  agreement  the  low  bleating  sound  was  repeated.  It  was  just  behind  one  of   the  canvas  walls.     ‘Big  girl  got  Baa  Lamb,’  said  Poppy  stubbornly.     ‘Big  girl  got  great  enormous  sheep,  you  mean,’  said  Stephen.  ‘Probably  for  supper.   Or  maybe  we’re  supper  and  the  sheep  is  breakfast.’   Poppy  started  to  cry  then.  Colette  put  an  arm  round  her.     ‘Well  done,  Stephen,’  she  said.     ‘  I’m  sorry.  I’m  sorry  Poppy,’  said  Stephen,  who  hardly  ever  apologised.     Colette  noticed  that  his  voice  was  shaking  again.     ‘I  just  wish  I  could  get  us  out  of  here…I  know!  Give  me  one  of  those  clothes  pegs,   Poppy.’         Poppy  sniffed  and  handed  him  one.  Stephen  started  picking  away  with  it  at  a  corner   of  the  bag  as  they  jolted  along.     ‘  What  are  you  doing?’  asked  Colette.       ‘I  can  feel  a  little  hole  here,  where  the  stitching  has  come  loose.  If  I  can  make  it   bigger  maybe  we  can  escape.’     ‘  But  we’d  get  killed  jumping.’    

'She might  put  the  bag  down  again,’  said  Stephen,  still  hacking  away.     ‘There  –  it’s  big  enough  to  look  through,  at  least.’  He  lay  on  his  tummy  and  put  his   eye  to  the  hole.   ‘Oh  no,’  he  said.     ‘  What  is  it?’  asked  Colette.     ‘  You’d  better  have  a  look.’     So  Colette  looked  through  the  hole  and  was  overcome  with  dizziness  and  fear.     ‘  Is  it  what  I  think  it  is?’  she  said.       ‘Yes.  We’re  going  up  a  beanstalk.’     The  Giants  and  the  Joneses  Text  Copyright  ©Julia  Donaldson  2004  Illustrations   Copyright  ©  Paul  Hess  2004     ISBN  14052  0760  4     First  published  in  Great  Britain  2004  by    Egmont  books  Ltd,       239  Kensington  High  Street,       London,     W8  6SA        

The Giants and the Joneses extract  

Most giants don\'t believe in iggly plops and, down on earth, humans don\'t believe in giants either. But a real girl giant is on her way d...

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