Alfie, Barry and Marmaduke Stories

It was World Hand Hygiene Day.

This was not, in Barry’s opinion, a particularly exciting day.

“Is there cake?” he asked at breakfast.

“No,” said Mum.

“Presents?”

“No.”

“Games?”

“…Sort of,” Mum said carefully, having checked the pre-school timetable that morning.

Barry narrowed his eyes. “This sounds suspicious.”

Alfie looked up from his cereal. “It’s about washing your hands properly.”

Barry froze.

“…That’s not a holiday,” he said.

“It is at nursery,” Mum replied. “And you are going.”

Barry sighed deeply, as if life had personally let him down.

At present-school, things were already… energetic.

“Today,” announced Miss Patel, with the bravery of someone about to teach a group of four-year-olds about hygiene, “is World Hand Hygiene Day!”

There was a pause.

“Is there cake?” Barry asked.

“No,” said Miss Patel.

“Why does no one think of cake?” Barry muttered.

Marmaduke, sitting next to him, raised his hand. “I washed my hands yesterday.”

“Excellent,” said Miss Patel. “Today we’re going to learn how to do it properly.”

Barry looked offended. “I do do it properly.”

Alfie, who had come along to help for part of the morning (because he could be trusted around soap), coughed.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You rinse your fingers and leave.”

“That’s efficient,” Barry argued.

“That’s not clean,” Alfie replied.

Miss Patel clapped her hands. “First, we’re going to sing a song while we wash our hands!”

Barry perked up. “Is it a good song?”

“It’s ‘Happy Birthday’,” she said.

Barry frowned. “But it’s not my birthday.”

“It’s for timing,” Miss Patel explained. “You sing it twice while you wash your hands, so the soap works properly.”

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

Marmaduke looked at Barry.

“…We can pretend it’s our birthday,” Marmaduke whispered.

Barry nodded. “I like this plan.”

They lined up at the sinks.

“Water on,” Miss Patel instructed.

“Soap.”

“Rub your hands together.”

Barry did all of this with dramatic enthusiasm.

“I’M DOING IT!” he shouted.

“Quietly,” Miss Patel said.

Then came the singing.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Barry sang loudly.

Very loudly.

“…Happy birthday to ME…”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Alfie said.

“It is today,” Barry replied.

Marmaduke joined in. “Happy birthday dear… hands!”

Miss Patel decided to let that one go.

“Don’t forget your thumbs,” she said.

Barry stared at his thumb.

“…Why?”

“Because germs hide there.”

Barry gasped. “THERE ARE GERMS ON MY THUMB?”

“Yes.”

Barry immediately scrubbed his thumb like it had personally betrayed him.

Marmaduke copied him.

“I don’t like germs,” Marmaduke said.

“No one likes germs,” Alfie replied.

“I think they like us,” Barry said darkly.

Then came the twist.

“Now,” said Miss Patel, “we’re going to use special magic lotion.”

Barry’s eyes lit up. “MAGIC?”

“It shows us where germs are,” she explained.

She rubbed a small amount of fluorescent dye onto each child’s hands.

“It’s invisible in normal light,” she said, “but watch this.”

She turned off the lights.

Switched on a UV lamp.

And suddenly—

Everyone’s hands were glowing.

Barry stared.

“…I have become a superhero,” he whispered.

“You have become covered in pretend germs,” Alfie corrected.

Marmaduke waved his hands. “Look! I’m glowing!”

Barry grinned. “We are powerful.”

“You are dirty,” Alfie said.

“Now wash your hands again,” Miss Patel instructed.

“Properly this time.”

Barry nodded seriously.

“This is important.”

He turned on the tap.

Used soap.

Sang “Happy Birthday” twice (with some creative changes).

Scrubbed his thumbs.

Between his fingers.

Around his nails.

He even looked a bit proud of himself.

“Done,” he said.

“Let’s check,” Miss Patel said.

Lights off.

UV lamp on.

Barry looked at his hands.

There were still glowing patches.

On his fingertips.

Around his nails.

On his thumb.

Barry gasped.

“THE GERMS SURVIVED.”

Marmaduke looked at his own hands. “Mine too!”

Alfie examined his carefully.

“…Minimal residue,” he said, satisfied.

Barry turned to him. “You’re showing off.”

“I followed the instructions,” Alfie replied.

Barry was not impressed.

“I washed my hands!”

“Not properly,” Alfie said.

“I sang the song!”

“You changed the words.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“It matters to the germs,” Alfie said.

Barry looked at his hands again.

The glowing spots.

The stubborn “germs.”

His eyes narrowed.

“This is war.”

Round three began.

Barry approached the sink like a man on a mission.

“Water on,” he muttered.

“Soap.”

“Rub.”

He scrubbed harder.

More carefully.

Even… thoughtfully.

Marmaduke copied him again.

“Thumbs,” Barry reminded.

“Thumbs,” Marmaduke repeated.

“Between fingers.”

Poked food.

“Between fingers.”

“Under nails.”

“Under nails.”

Alfie watched, slightly impressed.

“…Progress,” he said.

“Happy birthday to you…” Barry sang.

This time, correctly.

Mostly.

Marmaduke joined in.

They sang twice.

No shortcuts.

No improvisation.

Just… proper hand washing.

Lights off.

UV lamp on.

Barry held up his hands.

And this time—

They were clean.

No glowing patches.

No sneaky germs.

Just… hands.

Barry blinked.

“I did it.”

Marmaduke checked his own.

“I did it too!”

Miss Patel smiled. “Well done!”

Alfie nodded. “Acceptable.”

Barry beamed. “I defeated the germs.”

“You washed your hands,” Alfie said.

“Same thing,” Barry replied.

By lunchtime, the excitement had worn off.

Which was unfortunate.

Because it was sandwich time.

Barry looked at his sandwich.

Bread.

Filling.

More bread.

He frowned.

“I don’t fancy this.”

“Eat your lunch,” said Miss Patel.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Marmaduke poked his sandwich. “Mine looks tired.”

“It’s a sandwich,” Alfie said. “It’s supposed to look like that.”

“I don’t trust it,” Marmaduke said.

Around the table, children sighed.

Considered dramatic hunger strikes.

Except Barry.

Barry, who had spent the morning battling invisible glowing germs…

Was suddenly very hungry.

He picked up his sandwich.

Took a bite.

Paused.

Then—

Kept eating.

Alfie stared.

“…You’re eating it?”

Barry nodded. “I washed my hands.”

“That’s not how hunger works,” Alfie said.

“It is today,” Barry replied.

Marmaduke watched.

“You like it?”

Barry shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Marmaduke took a cautious bite.

“…It’s not terrible.”

Alfie sighed. “It’s a sandwich.”

And just like that—

The sandwiches were eaten.

Not enthusiastically.

Not joyfully.

But eaten.

Miss Patel looked around, surprised.

“Well… that worked.”

Barry sat back, satisfied.

“I think,” he said, “washing hands makes you hungry.”

Alfie considered this.

“…There may be a scientific explanation.”

Barry nodded. “Germ fighting uses energy.”

“That is not entirely incorrect,” Alfie admitted.

At home later, Mum asked, “How was nursery?”

Barry stood proudly.

“I fought germs.”

Mum blinked. “You what?”

“I washed my hands.”

“Properly,” Alfie added.

Mum looked impressed. “Wow.”

Barry nodded. “I am very clean.”

Dad looked up from his laptop. “That’s new.”

Marmaduke, being picked up, waved.

“Bye! Don’t forget your thumbs!”

“I won’t!” Barry called back.

Alfie smiled slightly.

Mum shook her head.

Dad chuckled.

And as the day ended, one thing was clear:

Barry had not only survived World Hand Hygiene Day—

He had conquered it.

With soap.

With singing.

And with surprisingly good sandwich-eating skills.

Which, honestly,

was more than anyone expected.