Imagine That: Bruised hero

The fat, ugly old bus snored and belched its way down the narrow road, squeezed across a sagging bridge, and collapsed in the muddy lawn next to the camp buildings. The doors flew open and a porridge of children spilled out, trekking through the muck and clustering like starlings on the front steps of the main unit.

The bus driver, a round-bellied, pipe-smoking man with a wisp of hair dragged thinly across his bald head, picked his way to a drier chunk of grass and stuck his hands in his pockets. That was all he wanted to do. He didn't care if the whole bus load sank out of sight and perished in the mud, just as long as he got his pay for getting them all this far.

Isaac and Michael were rolling on the ground, punching each other's faces as Miss Trollop blew the whistle. Twice. The second blast stopped everyone.

"My toes are frozen!" complained Tamzina.

"You have 20 minutes to find a bed and unpack your things. We will meet in the main room at 10 a. m."

"My nose hurts!" said Tamzina.

"It doesn't look sore to me," said Miss Trollop.

The bus driver turned his back on the children and lit his pipe. The sun bounced off his head brightly. Smoke wreathed him like a torn veil.

Melissa stumbled on the steps and twisted her ankle. The bag jerked her arm and she sat down to cry.

"Hurt yourself again?" asked Mr Gamper.

"Yes," said Melissa, wiping her red eyes. She sniffed and got up again, and without another word limped through the open doors of the building and disappeared. She was used to injuring herself - it was a normal part of her life.

Like mice in a new box, the kids clawed and scrambled their way to the best beds. Jeff and George ripped their top sheet in half. Thomas threw someone's clothes out the window. Isaac and Michael punched each other and knocked Lawrence into the toilets. He hit his head on the cistern and started to scream, but there was nothing wrong with him, except for the big red mark on his head.

Melissa found a bed and sat on it. Nobody wanted the bed she got because it had the worst mattress. Cold, damp sponge rubber, like a moldy slice of bread, and a pillow like a dead sheep. She unpacked her things and brushed her hair, then she went to the main room and sat by the fireplace, which was a free-standing stove, with a pipe going up through the ceiling.

Samuel grabbed a small log from the wood box and accidentally dropped it on Melissa's hand. She winced and moved to the far end of the couch, nursing her sore fingers. Samuel told her keep clear while he chopped the log with a