Cooking ! Um-m-m, I can almost smell it. Toffee! Flap-jacks! Fudge, shortbread and chocolate cake! Sounds all right, doesn't it? But take a peep behind the' scenes."

A happy crowd, laughing and chattering, storm the cookery ; coats are discarded and aprons donned and now the fun, begins.

"What are we cooking today ?", chirrups Chicken.

"Canary pudding, chocolate fudge and omelettes," an eager chef replies.

On the centre table lies a large chunk of "soap."

"Oh, kids, here's a new piece of soap, bags using it first ! Let's make a good job of scrubbing the table !" booms Johnstink, and suits the action to the words. Off she rushes for a bowl of hot water, and tearing back in a great hurry. slips on a little wet flour and lands with a bump, nearly overturning a deluge of water on Daph's shoes.

Nothing daunted, she goes for more, and vigorously starts scrubbing the table.

"Johnstink, that isn't soap, don't be so pig,headed" argues Cyn.

"It is soap, just you wait and see." Miss Bennett comes in and stops in horror.

"Joan, what are you scrubbing the table with?" she asks.

"Why, soap, Miss Bennett," answers the surprised Johnstink.

"You silly child, it's bee's wax," retorts the mistress.

While everyone is patting Johnstink on the back for her cleverness, a chuckle is heard in the far corner of the room and looking in that direction, they see Chicken up to her wrists in dough, enjoying herself.

"What on earth are you up to?" bawls Baldy. "I don't quite know myself," replies Chicken.

"Then, you silly, don't start something you can't finish."

With a downcast face, Chicken leaves her source of amusement for Baldy to rectify, and strolls off to see and taste what fellow chefs are making.

Waltzing round the room, she comes upon Daph and Cuna who are about to put their cookery efforts into the oven. Throwing up her hands gleefully, she exclaims, "How swelIl" And the next instant, the mixture sails up in the air and lands face downwards on the cement.

"You would, Chick !" exclaim the two, wrathfully, "Shunt off, you nuisance !"

Chicken, thus turned away, sits on the meat,block with her arms folded. Meanwhile, Cuna and Daph scoop up the raw cake and shove it back into the tin before anyone notices it.

At another table, stands a very disconsolate Minnie, watching Pegs unavailingly beating up the white of an egg with spatterings of yolk in it.

Fierce arguments are heard in the direction of the oven, Winnie and "Recipe Ros" are engaged in a hot discussion over the testing of the chocolate fudge. "Recipe" disagrees with the water-test and, thinks the mouth test more accurate. Meanwhile a strong smell of burning assails their nostrils.

"Goodness gracious, whose fudge is burning?" asks Miss Bennett,

"There you are, it's your fault" and another hot argument begins.

Mick is boasting to Vi and Chicken (who is still mooching around in the hope of getting something to eat) of her great omelette-making abilities.

"Now watch me turn it," she exclaims, but lo, and behold ! The omelette has done a double somersault right off the pan.

"There you are, Chicken, your face put it off," Micky accuses, and calls to Vi to assist her. Meanwhile, Vi is walking serenely round helping others in odd jobs instead of attending to her own cake, and much to her dismay, when it comes out of the oven, it has an attractive coating of black and a top resembling the crater of a volcano.

And now comes the worst part of our lesson - the washing up. At least, it is fhe worst part to all but Chicken and Cyn because these young worthies love the tin-licking possibilities of cooking; in 'fact, they are champions at the game. The minute fudge is poured from the saucepan, this obliging couple appear and beg to be allowed to wash the utensil; off it is whisked, and in a minute, loud sounds of scraping are heard from the direction of the pantry, and there one finds them with the largest spoons salvaging as much toffee as possible and probably, aluminium as well.

One really wonders how much of this metal they consume in a year, anyway, this weekly tit bit seems not to affect them at all, though when they emerge from the depths after fully ten minutes, looking fatter and strangely happy with no saucepans or spoons in their hands, one is inclined to fear the worst.

Suddenly a pan is flourished in Vi's face and misses her nose by a hair's breadth it catches Mick a neat clout on the back of her head, thereby making her yell. After evil has been returned for evil and Mick is looking satisfied and triumphant, the fuming Johnstink marches off, calling over,her shoulder "That's the last time I'll give Mick a polite reminder about washing up." "What washing up?" demands

Mick indignantly, "All my washing up is here!" and she waves her arm over the table, completely forgetting about us up here !" and she waves her arm over the table, completely forgetting about Vi standing beside her.

Quite dazed, Johnstink soberly trots round to each girl and asks whose saucepan is in her hand. Silence is golden for the moment, and, sniffing with contempt, she announces to the headless class, "Suppose I'll have to do the needful. Anyway, let me tell you, this joke's gone stale, why not try it on someone else? Another time, kindly notify me when you require my services."

And with this biting reproof the class is suddenly galvanized into life, and in a second the centre table is covered with dirty utensils all for the obliging to wash. We look round with a grin of thanks, but Johnstink is out of sight.

Miss Bennett, flitting round like an angel of mercy, rectifying the faults of her youthful chefs, declares peace among the squablers and assures those whose cakes look unappetizing that they will taste good.

This tale of kitchen tragedies is not strictly true for, as the heading of this article implies, the story is rather exaggerated. Our cooking really does turn out well, and if you are still inclined to dispute this statement, just come along one day.