Do you ever feel that you’re not good at anything, or at least, nothing worthwhile? I always used to feel that way. Everything I was good at was passed off as ‘stupid’ or ‘a waste of time’. I would spend an hour drawing a picture, sketching a dog or a tree, then I would show it to my dad and he would say ‘why don’t you do something useful with your time?’

It was usually at a time like that I would go and find a tree or a building to climb. Climbing was what I did best. Whenever I had the chance, I would be scaling a wall or clambering over a fence. Trees were the best though. Especially the trees that had long straight trunks, before branching out at the top. Nobody else could climb them; but I could.

I would find such a tree and stretch my arms and legs around its strong trunk. Then I would slowly work my way up until I could grab onto a branch and swing my legs over. I would sit at the top of the tree and let the world disappear. I would forget about dad and his criticism of my drawing. I would forget about school, and how the boys never let me play football with them because I was a girl. I would forget about everything and just lie there relaxing.

Sometimes I would even forget that I was ten metres up a tree. I had to keep reminding myself that it was a long way down. I knew climbing wasn’t as difficult or dangerous as everyone made it out to be; as long as you remembered you were up a tree.

There weren’t many things around town that I hadn’t climbed. I had climbed trees and buildings, poles and billboards. I even climbed onto the back of a truck one time, that started moving. I had to wait until it got to a set of traffic lights before I could climb down. That is the only time I’ve been down Main street and all three sets of traffic lights were green!

Yes, I had climbed almost everything. I guess the only thing I hadn’t climbed was old Weeping William. That was just what everybody called him. Weeping William was a statue, right in the middle of town. The real name of the statue was William Preston III. He was the explorer who founded our town, Prestonville. You probably haven’t heard of him, but the way history is taught in the school here, you would think he was world famous.

The reason they call him Weeping William is pretty funny. It has nothing to do with the real William Preston. It is just that all the birds rather like good old Weeping William, and a trail of pigeon poo on his face always makes it look as if he has been crying. They tried scaring the birds away, but they always come back. So Weeping just has to make do with a monthly scrub from the council.

I think it’s rather silly nick-naming the founder of our town Weeping William. I mean, real grown men don’t cry, do they? I’ve never seen a man cry. Crying is for babies I always say. Anyway, I’m a girl, and the last time I cried was when mum stuck the safety pin into me when she was doing up my nappies.

I don’t know why I had never climbed Weeping William. I guess one reason was because I didn’t particularly want to get pigeon poo all over myself. But the main reason was that the statue really was right in the middle of town. It was in Main street, right between the school and the town hall. There was no way I would be able to climb it without people seeing me.

It didn’t really worry me that much. I had climbed everything else in town, and no-one I knew of had ever climbed the statue either. But I knew that if I wanted to, I could. It was that thought which got me in trouble. I had been arguing with Fiona Taylor. She was the girl at school who was the complete opposite to me. I had short brown hair, she had long blonde hair. I liked football, the only thing she liked about football were the tight shorts the boys wore. I liked climbing, she thought it made me a freak. She was the type of person who spent her spare time looking in the mirror.

I didn’t like her very much, but that was okay, because she didn’t like me either. I made the mistake of bringing climbing into the argument. I told her that I could climb anything in town.

‘Anything?’ she asked.

‘Yes, anything,’ I replied.

‘Well then, what about old Weeping William?’

When she asked that question, the crowd of kids who had gathered around, all became silent. They knew from the tone in her voice that it was a dare. I tried to play it down. ‘I could if I wanted to, not much challenge really.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Fiona said, followed by the inevitable words, ‘prove it.’

The hushed silence had turned into a buzz of excitement. Everyone loved a dare, especially if it meant doing something dangerous, or something that had never been done before. I knew there was no escaping the situation without Fiona winning. But I wasn’t going to let her out of it that easily.

‘What will you give me if I do it?’ I asked.

She thought about that for a while, and then said, ‘If you can climb right to the top, before Friday morning, I’ll come to school in my best dress Friday and roll in the mud.’

Now to you, that might not have sounded too daring. But the only mud Fiona was used to was the mud pack she put on her face. I could never imagine Fiona doing anything like that. Neither could any of the boys and girls surrounding us. But it was settled, and I was going to make her pay.

I was ready to go out then and there to climb the statue, but we all decided as a group that it would be better to sneak out at night and do it. That way there would be less chance of being caught. So at ten thirty that night, we all managed to sneak out of our rooms and somehow arrive at the statue.

It was cold, but I had my shorts and a tee-shirt on, because I knew they would make it easier for me to climb. At eleven, I arrived to find a group of people waiting for me. Obviously word had got around quickly. I walked straight through the crowd, like Moses and the Red sea, and started climbing.

The first obstacle was actually getting up onto the podium on which Weeping William stood. At first I couldn’t reach, but then I took a run up and managed to grab onto his foot. We had decided I was not allowed to have any help at all. I pulled on his leg and I was up, standing next to him. There was a cheer from half the kids standing there, then a fair bit of noise from the other half, telling them to be quiet.

The next stage was to get up to his waist. I managed to get a pretty good foothold on his knee and edged my way closer to victory. From there, it was pretty simple to grab onto his arm, as he had his hand on his hip, and swing myself up. I was now standing on his elbow and looking him straight in the face. It was almost as if he were alive. I looked down at all my fans, who were getting more excited; and at Fiona, who was looking more worried.

I only had to boost myself onto the shoulder and victory would be mine. But before I could, I heard a shout. I knew the voice, it was Mrs Preston, the school principal. She was a descendant of the great William Preston III, and from the looks of it, she was not too happy about me climbing her ancestor.

‘Get down from there this instant,’ she screamed. She had a voice like fingernails down a chalkboard.

‘But, but,’ I tried to yell back.

‘But nothing. Get down here now!’

From the way she said ‘now’, I knew she was serious. I swung down onto the elbow, hung from the arm, dropped to the podium, then lowered myself to the ground.

By the time I had reached the ground, most of my audience had disappeared. Noticeably, Fiona was nowhere to be seen. I knew I was in trouble, I just had to await my punishment.

‘What were you doing up there?’ she asked. I figured, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

‘Climbing,’ I replied.

‘I am perfectly capable of seeing that. I want to know why. You were going to vandalise him weren’t you?’

The thought had never crossed my mind, and I was offended that she could think such a thing.

‘No, I was just trying to climb to the top.’

‘Why would you climb to the top of Weeping William at,’ she looked at her watch, ‘midnight for crying out loud?’

I couldn’t exactly say that it was a dare. There was no-one left standing around who could have dared me. So I just stood there with an open mouth and nothing coming out. Then she continued, ‘When I got a phone call, telling me that somebody was vandalising my statue, I was furious. I came straight down here.’

I liked the way it had suddenly become her statue. There were also no prizes for guessing who made that anonymous phone call. It smelt more like Fiona than good old Weeping William smelt of bird poo.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Preston, I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to prove I could climb it, to myself. I was too embarrassed during the day with heaps of people around.’ I almost thought of crying, but I never cried, and it wasn’t worth wasting tears on the principal.

‘So you like climbing hey?’ she asked, suddenly in a more friendly tone.

‘Yes,’ I fumbled as a reply.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what. If you come down here tomorrow afternoon and clean all the whoopsies off William, I’ll forget the whole thing.’

That sounded fine to me at the time. I just wanted to get out of there. I thanked her and ran home. I was laughing on the way about how funny school principals can be. I had never heard anyone before say that Weeping William was covered in ‘Whoopsies’.

I arrived at school the next morning, and everyone wanted to talk to me. I was a star. Then Fiona walked into the room. ‘Where’s your best dress?’ I asked sarcastically.

‘You didn’t get to the top,’ she replied straight away, as if she had rehearsed it in front of the mirror. She probably had.

I was not too pleased about this. The previous night I was happy to only cop cleaning the statue as punishment. But now I wasn’t looking forward to peeling off pigeon poo in the hot sun. My one consolation, was that Fiona would be covered in mud by the end of the day.

It looked like I was being robbed. That afternoon, I did not have a support group as I scrubbed away on the statue. Sure, people who were walking past kept staring at me. But there was nobody cheering me on. It was five o’clock and I had only reached up to just above his elbows. My watch was extremely dirty, it had pigeon poo all over it, and I was surprised I could tell the time.

I took my watch off and put it around Weeping’s ring finger. It fitted just like a ring, his fingers were so big. I started on his chest. I was sure he had not washed in a long time. It was hard work, but I was having a lot of fun as well. I kept thinking of what he would say to his wife. ‘Sorry dear, can’t have a bath tonight...yes,yes, I know I’m covered in bird poo, but I don’t have time to wash. I know I smell, but I’m getting used to it.’

I was washing and laughing, laughing and washing. Then the bell on the town hall clock rang. It was really loud from sitting on the statue. Six o’clock, and I had promised mum I would be home. I dropped my bucket and sponge, and clambered down the statue as quickly as I could. I was absolutely covered in muck. I ran home, and through the front door, which I slammed behind me. I could see the look of horror on my mum’s face.

‘Sorry I’m late, I got attacked by a flock of killer pigeons, would you believe?’ I quickly said. I don’t think she actually believed me, but she thought it was funny enough to save me getting in trouble for the state of my clothes, or for being late.

I then had a very nice long, hot shower. I was exhausted by the time I got to bed. I went to set my alarm clock, and then remembered; my watch. I had left my watch attached to the finger of Weeping William. I knew I couldn’t leave it there all night, but that meant sneaking out for the second night in a row.

Nevertheless, at midnight I crept out of my room, through the kitchen, and over the back fence. I figured I could go the quick way at this time of night. That meant climbing a few obstacles, but that was nothing for me. I went through Fiona’s backyard. I had to laugh, all the washing was hung on the line, colour-coordinated and in order of size. I wondered if she had hung the washing out, or if it ran in the family.

When I reached the statue I could see my watch reflecting the moonlight from his finger. I jumped up onto the podium once again. I was getting good at that. I climbed up his leg and swung myself up to be sitting in his elbow joint. I took my watch off his finger and put it on my wrist. Then I realised I was getting wet. I thought it must have either been raining, or the statue was still wet from me washing it in the afternoon.

As I looked up, I found that there was not a cloud in the sky. The statue was mainly dry. But I could see where the water was coming from, although it didn’t make sense. The water was dripping from Weeping William’s head. But I had not reached the head with my washing, it was still covered in muck. I could not be sure, but it looked as if William was crying.

I had to be sure. I swung up to a standing position, pushed myself onto his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. It certainly looked as if that was where the water was coming from. Perhaps the council had turned him into a fountain statue. Weeping William was actually weeping. But then something happened that I was not ready for; his eyes opened. I nearly fell backwards with surprise, but years of climbing experience clicked in my brain and reminded me how high up I was. So I just stood there staring into a pair of pale grey eyes.

‘Are you alive?’ I asked the man on whose shoulder I was standing. There was no reply at first, but then a small whimpering ‘yes’ came from his mouth.

There was time to ask myself questions later, such as ‘how on earth could this be happening?’, but I thought I would take the opportunity to ask the question I most wanted to know the answer to. ‘Why are you crying?’ I asked.

‘Wouldn’t you cry if you were covered in pigeon poo, then just when you think you are getting a wash, the clock rings and the person washing you runs away.’

‘I was going to come back.’

‘You just don’t know what it’s like being a statue.’

‘Well, no, I don’t. Would you like to tell me?’

‘It’s terrible. Oh, it’s okay at first, people look at you, talk about you. But then the birds find you and you can’t escape. People start to laugh, call you names. It’s just terrible I tell you.’

He started to cry again. I couldn’t stand him crying. Statues, especially statues of important people like William Preston III, weren’t meant to cry.

‘Stop it,’ I yelled, ‘grown men don’t cry.’

He pulled himself together. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but it all got to be too much for me. Don’t you ever cry?’

‘No,’ I proclaimed proudly.

‘Not ever?’

‘Not ever! I bet you never cried when you were a real person.’

‘Of course I did,’ he almost laughed.

‘No, I mean when you were a man.’

‘Of course I cried. Are you seriously trying to tell me you never cry?’

‘Why would I cry? Crying’s for babies. When did you cry?’

‘I cried when my wife died. I cried when my son fell off his horse and broke his leg. I cried when my daughter got married and moved away. I’ve cried lots of times. There’s nothing wrong with crying.’

It sounded so wise coming from this important statue, that I couldn’t help believing it. But I would think about that some other time. What I had to worry about now was cheering up my new found friend. It wasn’t hard to figure out what needed to be done. I took out my handkerchief and started wiping his face. He said it tickled. I didn’t know statues were ticklish. But then, I didn’t know statues could talk or cry either.

In no time, William Preston III was looking as good as new. He was very polite and thanked me many times. We talked quite a bit about many different things. He seemed to know an awful lot, but I suppose you see a lot being a statue. I agreed to come back all the time and fix him up if he needed it. I didn’t mind climbing a statue now and then.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said. ‘I have never really had a friend since I’ve been a statue. You don’t know what it’s like being dirty in public. It’s so embarrassing.’

‘Well now you’ll never have to be embarrassed again,’ I said confidently, but then added, ‘you wouldn’t mind being embarrassed one more time would you?’

I raced back over and under fences. I knew what I was looking for. Then I visited my statue friend again. After which, I got home in time to have a couple of hours sleep. The next morning, the town was alive with gossip and excitement. Weeping William was not only cleaned, but was wearing a nice assortment of colour-coordinated hats on his head, and dresses tied in a chain around his neck.

Some thought it was quite funny, others saw it as an outrage. Fiona was one of the latter. She burst into the classroom on Friday morning with a red face. It even looked as if she had forgotten to do her hair. She pointed her finger straight at me and yelled ‘YOU!’

‘Me?’ I asked, innocently.

‘You did this to me,’ she said, keeping her finger pointed, but moving it towards the window and the colourful Weeping William.

‘Why Fiona, you’re not saying that I actually climbed to the top of Weeping William sometime before this morning are you?’

The whole class was sitting, nodding their heads and waiting for a reply. Fiona took a deep breath and sat in her chair, staring at her desk, not willing to make eye contact with anyone. At lunch time I climbed up and got her stuff down for her. She was still really mad at me.

‘You shouldn’t have put my dresses up there like that,’ she scowled.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, ‘they’re not really his colour.’

When I said that, she actually laughed. We both laughed together. She doesn’t wear those dresses much any more, and it’s not just because of embarrassment. She’s traded them in for shorts and tee-shirts. She even asked me to teach her to climb.

I said okay, but I don’t take her up the statue with me. As for old Weeping William Preston III, I often sit on his shoulder, cleaning his head and chattering away. People think I’m just talking or singing to myself. But you know better.