Wax Wendell And His Incredible Candels

Wax Wendell and his Incredible Candles.


Greetings reader.

Before you turn the page and start to read this book, I want to ask you a simple question. But before I do that, you must look over your shoulder, left then right, and check there are no older people watching over you.

I hear you ask: why?

Well I’ll let you in on a little secret. It is all to do with magic.

Is the coast clear? No older people watching?

Well okay, I believe you, so here’s the question my little friend: How many times have you been told to wish upon a star? Or how about the times you have been asked to make a wish after blowing out the candles on your birthday cake?

Am I right in saying, all the time?

That’s what I thought.

Now here’s the most important part: Have any of your wishes ever come true?

Not many of them? Ah, I thought so.

You see, the older people don’t believe in magic, wishes or dreams. The older you become, the magic fades and then completely disappears.

So if you want your wishes and dreams to come true, you have to believe they will happen, even when you become all grown up and you pass twelve years old, you still have to believe. Because believing and dreaming are the same thing; if you squeeze your eyes shut tight enough, believe with all your might, the magic might just work for you.

One of my dreams was to tell and share this tale with you. And as you sit reading this it should tell you that it did come true.

Are you with me so far? Are you willing to believe that dreams and wishes can become reality?

If your answer is yes then turn over the page, for I have a story I think you will enjoy, a story about a boy with a dream, a boy who wished his fantasies would become reality, his dreams to leap out from his sleep and greet him when he awakes.

The boy’s name is Wax Wendell, and if you venture to page two, you will start to learn a thing or two about magic… oh yes, and of course dreams.







1.

Welcome to Penny Hatch.

Wax Wendell is a child very much like yourself no doubt. He is young, seven years of age and has a head crammed full of wishes and dreams… wishes and dreams that just don’t seem to ever come true. You see, being poor doesn’t help matters either, and Wax Wendell’s family is extremely poor. So poor that to make a living they rely solely on the Bees they keep to provide them with honey and wax. But more about the bees a little later on, for that is where some of the magic lies, and that I will keep to myself for next few pages or so. I hope you don’t mind.

“Wicks of Wendell” is a shop situated in the centre of a high street in a small village named Penny Hatch. It is owned by Wax’s parents and they live upstairs when the shop is closed. When the shop is open it trades mainly candles, but I am sure you already guessed that didn’t you? I think the “Wicks” gave it away didn’t it? Every kind of candle you could possibly imagine lies within “Wicks of Wendell”: Tall ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones, scented ones, even rainbow coloured ones. “Wicks of Wendell” also sell pots of honey if the bees have been busy enough. If you are in the little village of Penny Hatch and you need candles or honey, then “Wicks of Wendell” is shop you would visit.

Wax was sitting at the front window of the shop as his mother added strawberry scent to some small, plump, red candles. He thought they actually looked like strawberries and wished he could just pick one up and take a big bite. His stomach grumbled at the thought. The Wendells made little money from their chosen trade and they could only afford bread, rolls and on a good day, crumpets. The trouble with being poor and keeping bees was that the only thing you could spread on your bread and crumpets was honey. So it was either honey on toast, honey sandwiches, crumpets with honey, always boring old honey. His stomach grumbled again as he watched the village children play outside in the summer sunshine.

Bobby Stopcock, the plumber’s son, sat on the pavement outside of the Poppy Seed bakery prodding a bamboo cane into a drain, clearing away any gunk that might have caused a blockage. Bobby always did this. Wax wondered if his father had taught him about blocked drains and the like because Bobby also tore down the dams that the older children built on the village stream.

Wax Wendell was so bored. He was always bored.

His father poured white wax into a thick, tall candle mould. These candles were for the local church on the hill. They ordered twenty big candles a month. The two village restaurants also ordered white candles but these were thinner. If it wasn’t for the church and the restaurant’s orders, the Wendells might not even be able to afford their bread, let alone their crumpets. It was a hungry business being a Wendell.

His father finished pouring wax into the mould and looked over. “Hey Wax,” he said, “I need you to visit the hive this evening and gather some honey. We also need some more wax. We’re two candles short for the church this month.”

Wax sighed then nodded just as the twins, Martha and Arthur Fairfax, whizzed past the shop window on their new bikes, Martha’s red, Arthur’s green. The twins lived next door and always teased Wax about his tattered, old clothes. The Fairfaxes had lots of money, so much so that the twins always had amazing things to play with. Their father worked in the big city but no one really knew what he did there. He just left and returned Penny Hatch each day in his big, silver, shiny car. Mr. Fairfax polished it every Sunday without fail. Of course the Wendells didn’t have a car, or even a bike for that matter. Wax’s father said that the city was noisy and dirty and he shouldn’t ever think about visiting such a place. Wax often wondered why working in the big city would make you have lots of money. If working in the city bought you a new bike, maybe it was worth working in such a place? He thought about this all the time but knew his father would never lie to him. Maybe he was supposed to make candles like his father after all. He doubted it. What was stopping him from being a firework designer? Or even an insect scientist? He thought there was such a job as an insect scientist because, although the Wendells didn’t own a T.V, Wax was sure he had seen a program on insect scientists on BBC2 at Dilly’s house. It looked like the most fun anyone could ever have, that and designing fireworks of course.

“Why don’t you go out and play?” Wax’s mother said, “It’s the summer holidays after all. I’m sure that friend of yours, Dilly, is around isn’t he?”

Wax smiled. “No, Dilly is helping his dad fix up Mr Straw’s delivery van today,” he explained, “Dilly said that he is fixing it up, but really I think he means he gets to clean it afterwards.”

Dilly Dipstick is the son of the local mechanic, and like Wax, scruffy in appearance, always covered in black oil stains and his hands were always grubby. Wax’s mother always made Dilly wash his hands twice if he stayed over for dinner. Wax envied Dilly because being a mechanics son meant he always had fantastic and exciting things the play around with. It might be messy but it looked like stupendous fun.

Mr. Straw, the owner of the van the Dipsticks were fixing up, owned the village butchers. He needed his van fixed as soon as possible because his driver couldn’t go out and make any deliveries. The butcher had a son, Harry Straw, but he, like Dilly, helped out his father during the holidays. And anyway, Harry wanted to be a butcher, so working at a butchers was the clever thing to do. Being a butcher’s son meant Harry ate like a king, and to Wax’s disgust, his favourite food was pig’s trotters. Even though Wax was sick to his ears of honey, pig’s trotters were enough to turn his stomach upside down. Harry was rather chubby, (no doubt the trotters were to blame) always had a red face, and although Martha and Arthur Fairfax’s mother knew Mr. Straw very well (she got their fat sausages from him), that didn’t stop them teasing him just like they teased Wax about his clothes.

“And what about that delightful little girl Mollie?” his mother asked, “She’s usually out and about.”

Mollie Mopcrop lived above the village hair salon. Wax liked her but she always wanted to style his hair for him. Wax couldn’t afford a proper haircut so his mother put a salad bowl on his head and cut around it. He almost had a girl’s bob style and this provoked most of the teasing. Judging by the haircuts Mollie’s dolls sported after she had tampered with them, he thought it was wise to keep his hair to himself.

Wax stood up, turned away from the window and faced his mother. “I guess she is mother but I don’t want a free haircut that would leave me looking like a circus clown.”

“Well you can’t just loiter around here all day,” his mother said, “Make yourself useful and visit the hives.”


Wax agreed with a solemn nod and left the room, heading for the bee hives at the bottom of their garden.