I love word play. Obviously, that goes without saying, since I’m a writer after all.
Hence, I was rather delighted to discover a book entitled ‘War and Peas’ by Michael Foreman, while I was working through a writers’ course for children’s fiction. What a clever title! That alone makes me want to take a look at his book.
Besides, the concept of ‘war and peas’ is something that I can totally relate to. Why? Well, simply because I’ve been at war with my peas for a long time. In short, I hate peas.
Incidentally, my dislike of these round, green, little blobs stems back to my early childhood as most adult traumas do. In truth, I was never a fan of peas as a child. However, my dislike of these slippery, little globs was compounded when my older brother decided to play a prank on me.
Who knows how he came up with this diabolical plot at the age of only seven, but he was clearly rather chuffed with himself for his ingenuity and his ability to outwit his five-year-old sister.
We were sitting having dinner one night, when my brother suddenly said, “Have a pea, Audrey. This one tastes just like chicken”.
Being young and naïve, I innocently believed that maybe not all peas tasted alike. Perhaps, peas were like Skittles and they actually came in different flavours. So, I agreed to taste this one, specific pea.
My brother rolled the green pea across the dinner table and it stopped in front of me. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached out, grabbed the pea and popped it in my mouth. Needless to say, I was most disgusted to discover that it did not taste like chicken at all. It was just the same old, mushy, slippery, watery taste that I did not enjoy and I was very upset with my brother for lying to me.
However, that was not the end of it. This is, indeed, a perfect example of ‘fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’.
After berating him over the fact that the pea did not taste anything like chicken, my brother calmly proceeded to convince me that I had obviously just eaten a bad pea. He then suggested that I try another one and told me that, “This pea tastes like roast beef”.
A second green pea rolled across the dinner table and came to a standstill in front of me. I looked down at it sceptically. “Was he trying to trick me again or was I actually missing out on something?” I really wasn’t sure, so I did the unthinkable. I ate a second pea and let me tell you that it did not taste like roast beef. It was just another mushy, slippery, watery pea.
When he tried his luck for a third time, I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be eating any more peas. The jig was up and I was not impressed. Seriously! An older brother is supposed to be someone who you can trust. But whatever! Have a good laugh and pat yourself on the back for being clever enough to deceive your little sister.
Ironically, over the years, this has become a standing joke between us. There are times when my brother still innocently says, “Have a pea, Audrey. This one tastes just like chicken” but there is no way I’m ever going to fall for that again. Peas are not like sweets and they do not come in different flavours. I learnt that the hard way and I’ve made my peace that peas and I will never be friends. The only thing peas are good for is a pea shooter, which is ideally aimed at your brother’s head.
Audrey Whyte 
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