Your Accents — Mr. Tickle Reading Passage
Make a recording of yourself or a member of your class reading this story. The text is adapted from Mr. Tickle by Roger Hargreaves (© 1971).
It was half past eight on a rather warm, sunny morning. In his small house at the other side of the wood, Mr Tickle was fast asleep. He was having a dream. It must have been a very funny dream because it made him laugh out loud and that woke him up. He sat up in bed, stretched his extraordinary long arms and yawned an enormous yawn. Mr Tickle felt hungry, so do you know what he did?
He reached out one of his extraordinary long arms, opened the bedroom door, reached down the stairs, opened the kitchen door, reached into the kitchen cupboard, opened the biscuit tin, took out a biscuit, brought it back upstairs, in through the bedroom door and back to Mr Tickle in bed. Mr Tickle munched his biscuit and looked out of the window.
Later that day, after Mr Tickle had made his bed, cooked his breakfast and washed the dishes, he set off down the garden path and through the wood. As he was walking along, he kept his eyes very wide open, looking for somebody to tickle. Pretty soon he came across a school. In one classroom he was sure he could hear what sounded like children singing. In another, the boys and girls were all sitting at their desks drawing pictures and, writing on the blackboard in the corner, stood a teacher.
Mr Tickle’s extraordinary long arm went right up to the teacher, paused and then – tickled! All of a sudden, the teacher jumped in the air and turned round very quickly, but he couldn’ t see anything. Mr Tickle smiled and then tickled the teacher until he started shouting, “Stop it!” over and over again. Chuckling to himself, Mr Tickle jumped down from the window. The children whistled and cheered noisily. The poor teacher just scratched his head.
Then Mr Tickle went off into the nearest town. He tickled the policeman on duty at the crossroads in the middle of town. First he tickled the greengrocer just as he was piling apples neatly in his new shop window. The greengrocer fell over backwards, and the apples rolled all over the shop. He tickled the doctor and the butcher and even little old Mr Stamp, the postman, who dropped all his letters into a puddle.
Then Mr Tickle went home. Sitting in his armchair in his small house at the other side of the wood, he laughed and laughed at the idea of all those people he had tickled. Because they couldn't see him, they didn't stand a chance. So, if you are in any way ticklish, beware! Just think. Perhaps that extraordinary long arm of his is already creeping up to the door of this room. What if it pushes open the door now? You can't hide. It's pointless. Consider yourself well and truly tickled.
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