The Wombles (14 page)

‘The burrow won’t be the same without Great Uncle Bulgaria, will it?’ said Alderney.

‘Don’t be silly, he’s only gone for the afternoon. Race you home,’ said Bungo. ‘Besides I’ve got something I want to talk to you all about. One, two, three –
GO
!’

Tomsk won, of course.

Meanwhile Great Uncle Bulgaria and Cousin Yellowstone were bowling up to the great Wimbledon stadium in fine style. It was a beautiful hot afternoon with a clear blue sky dotted with puffs of white clouds. Birds were singing everywhere and Human Beings in light coloured clothes were streaming into the grounds.

‘What a sight,’ breathed Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Not bad, eh?’

‘Very fine,’ said Cousin Yellowstone, ‘although Forest Hills is quite remarkable also.’

They climbed out of the taxi and Great Uncle Bulgaria was pleased and a little surprised, although he didn’t show it, when the ticket collector on the gate bowed low and murmured something about the taxi being able to take them right inside if they so wished.

‘No, no, we’ll walk,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria, who was thoroughly enjoying looking at the colourful crowds strolling about. They were not, of course, as handsome as his Wombles, but as Human Beings go they weren’t a bad-looking lot on the whole. Cousin Yellowstone too seemed impressed, although equally determined not to show it, and the two Wombles slowly made their way through the crowds to the ivy-covered walls of the great and famous Number One and Centre Courts.

It was here that they got their second surprise, for when Great Uncle Bulgaria produced their tickets and the card, the Human Being on the gate read the message on the card, saluted smartly and said, ‘This way, sir, if you please, sir.’

A faint prickle of apprehension ran through Cousin Yellowstone’s sleek grey fur. Were they by any terrible chance about to be led away for questioning as to how they had come by these rare tickets? He glanced at Great Uncle Bulgaria, whose face, what could be seen of it beneath the brim of his snowy white panama and the enormous round spectacles, was sunnily untroubled. Cousin Yellowstone braced himself.

‘As the special players’ stand is already full, gentlemen,’ said the Human Being respectfully, ‘alternative accommodation has been reserved. And as your tickets were given to you by . . .’ and he named a very famous tennis player, ‘I’m sure you two are the ones to whom it should be given. After you, sir.’

And to the astonishment of the two Wombles they were ushered through a very superior gateway.

‘Why – surely – bless me – isn’t this the way to the
ROYAL
box?’ whispered Cousin Yellowstone.

‘Naturally,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria without a quaver.

‘Oh my,’ said Cousin Yellowstone and mopped his face quickly with a silk handkerchief.

Slowly and as to the manner born Great Uncle Bulgaria allowed himself to be most respectfully ushered into a seat at the rear of the Royal box. With great dignity he sat down and clasped his paws over the head of his stick, staring steadfastly straight ahead at the emerald green court below. Not by a quiver of a whisker did he betray his own enormous surprise and satisfaction at this turn of events. All he did do was to kick his parcel of sandwiches gently under the seat, for Great Uncle Bulgaria knew, from reading the Court News in
The Times
, that persons who were invited to sit in the Royal box were also served with tea.

Cousin Yellowstone was even more impressed, but he kept his end up nobly, storing every incident in his mind to tell the Wombles back home in the States. He so far controlled himself as to comment adversely on the standard of modern tennis, which he said firmly was not nearly as good as when he was a young Womble.

‘It’s all in the service these days,’ he said. ‘If
that
’s powerful enough you’re almost sure to win.’

‘What energy they have,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria, watching the players leap about the court untiringly. ‘Oh, well played, sir!’ And he clapped his paws enthusiastically.

They were lucky enough to have been given their seats for the Saturday of the first week, so that the tennis they were watching was of an extremely high standard without being too nerve-racking. Great Uncle Bulgaria enjoyed every second of it, and it wasn’t until the shadows slowly drew across the court that he was able to turn his attention from the tennis to those sitting in front of him.

‘So like her great-great-grandmother,’ he sighed, looking at the beautiful Royal Person sitting at the front of the box. ‘That smile, that way she has of lifting her hand. Ah me, how it takes me back.’

However, even all the excitement and the colour and the applause did not stop Great Uncle Bulgaria hooking up his sandwiches at the finish – they
were
given tea in a private lounge – because for the life of him Great Uncle Bulgaria could never, under
any
circumstances, be untidy.

‘That was great, just great,’ said Cousin Yellowstone, letting out a loud sigh of appreciation. ‘Just wait until I tell the Wombles back home about it. And sitting in the same section as Her.’

‘So you intend to leave us,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria.

‘I have to go back, yes,’ said Cousin Yellowstone as they slowly made their way down the stairs. ‘I have business interests and so forth which must be attended to, and our annual Womble Conference comes up later in the Fall. It is a very, very important occasion.’

‘We shall miss you,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘You’ve done so much for us with your ideas on the Deep Freeze system, and your Efficiency Scheme.’

‘It’s all been a pleasure. And hospitality-wise you have all been more than kind. I only wish I could show my deep gratitude in some more personal way,’ replied Cousin Yellowstone, who was not to be outdone in the business of being polite.

‘Well, there is just one little thing,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria, seeing his chance and taking it with both paws. ‘Knowing the scope of your organisation – er – Womble-wise – would it be possible for you to trace a Human Being for us? His name is Donald Smith and he went to live in Butte, Montana, some twenty years ago. His father is now elderly and, I’m afraid, very poor and lonely. He would very much like to re-establish contact with his son. I could give you the old gentleman’s address in Wimbledon . . . but perhaps it is too difficult a task?’

‘It shall be done. I shall see to it personally,’ said Cousin Yellowstone. ‘Discreetly, of course; our Wombles in Public Relations work to keep our name out of the news.’

‘Splendid, splendid,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Dear me, what is going on?’

For the people in front of them had stopped and were all bunching together.

‘I can’t quite make out,’ said Cousin Yellowstone. ‘Oh yes, I see, it’s the Royal car. It’s just leaving and the photographers are taking pictures.’

Slowly the people moved on again, but the cameramen’s flashbulbs continued to explode and as at the very end of the procession Great Uncle Bulgaria and Cousin Yellowstone descended the steps the photographers took their final pictures.

‘What a day to remember this has been,’ said Cousin Yellowstone as they drove away in a taxi. ‘Yes, sir. I just wish I had some little memento to show my Wombles back home.’

And oddly enough his wish was granted, for two days later an elderly lady happened to leave her copy of
The Times
behind on the Common and when Bungo picked it up and took it to the burrow, there on the sports page was a photograph of Great Uncle Bulgaria and Cousin Yellowstone on the steps of the Royal entrance and underneath was the caption:
Distinguished Visitors leave Wimbledon Tennis Tournament
.

‘Quite right too,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria, and cut it out and signed it, and Tobermory – whose temper was now back to normal – framed it and they had a little party of old Wombles, at which Great Uncle Bulgaria made a speech and presented the picture to Cousin Yellowstone to show ‘the Wombles back home’.

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Chapter 13

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Tobermory’s Surprise and the Midsummer Party

It was while all this was going on that Bungo put his idea for the Midsummer party into the Suggestion Box. It was such a very unusual idea that he had little hope of its being accepted and very nearly forgot all about it until Tobermory sent for him.

‘If it’s about that puncture kit I found, it was on my piece of ground, honestly,’ said Bungo anxiously.

‘I believe you,’ said Tobermory. ‘No, it’s not about that, nor the Thermos flask, nor that very good camera.’

‘Aren’t Human Beings strange?’ said Bungo, leaning on the work bench.

‘Extraordinary,’ agreed Tobermory. ‘I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go more years than I care to remember, but I’ll
never
understand them. However, young Bungo, it’s not about any of those things I want to see you. It’s your suggestion for the Midsummer party I’m interested in.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Bungo. ‘Well, you see it sort of came to me that it might be fun to go to Battersea Funfair. I suppose it’s impossible though. How could we all get there?’

‘Exactly,’ said Tobermory. ‘Well, it may surprise you to know, young Bungo, that some of your seniors aren’t quite as out of date as you may think. Come with me. And you, Orinoco, and Tomsk and Alderney.’ For they were all hanging about in the doorway of the Workshop. Bungo had become their leader and they followed him everywhere.

And Tobermory led them through the maze of small storerooms until he reached the last room of all, and then he stood aside and said, ‘There’, in a very proud voice. And he had every reason for his pride, for standing in the centre of the workroom was a small bus, or a large car – depending on your point of view.

Tobermory had been working on it in every spare moment for the last eight months and although no car manufacturer would have been able to say with absolute certainty that it was one of his models, it was still, undoubtedly, a vehicle. A vehicle of very mixed pedigree, perhaps but a vehicle.

‘Gosh,’ said Bungo. ‘Gosh. I say – does it go?’

‘It does,’ said Tobermory, stroking the bonnet. ‘I’ve been saving every drop of concentrated nettle and acorn juice for weeks and weeks. This morning I started her up. Watch.’ And he climbed into the driving seat and switched on and the car-bus roared into life so loudly that Alderney dived behind Bungo for protection.

‘You are clever,’ she said.

‘It’s very fine,’ said Orinoco.

‘I bet it goes fast,’ said Tomsk.

‘I expect it
will
,’ said Tobermory, switching off and climbing down. ‘Now then, off with the lot of you. I’m expecting Great Uncle Bulgaria.’

Of course it wasn’t as simple as all that, for the car-bus, which was christened the Silver Womble by an almost unanimous vote, was imprisoned, so to speak, in the burrow. Tobermory drew up some plans for a special tunnel to be built (and reinforced with concrete), and himself made two large doors, cleverly camouflaged, which were just wide enough to let the Silver Womble out on to the Common. Also Tobermory wasn’t too sure about his driving, so he sat up reading
The Car Driver’s Handbook, The Driving Test and You, What Every Motorist Should Know
and
Simple Mechanics
night after night, and at the end of a week he very cautiously took the Silver Womble out for her first road trials.

Bungo pleaded to go with him and the two of them rumbled round and round the Common (luckily there was no moon) until even Tobermory was satisfied that he had got the hang of driving.

The other Wombles too were hard at work. Madame Cholet insisted that every young Womble had to help her with the food. Great Uncle Bulgaria made out the final timetables and programmes, which all had to be copied out for the heads of departments. Tomsk was kept on the run carrying parcels of food, tins of the concentrated nettle and acorn juice and messages, and Orinoco gave up all hope of snatching a nice forty winks, because Great Uncle Bulgaria had made him his Private Office Womble. He made a little round badge with POW on it, hung it on a string round his neck and trotted up and down the burrow feeling very important.

‘Gives him a feeling of responsibility. Takes his mind off his stomach too,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria.

In fact, the week before the outing was extremely active for everyone and Wombles of every shape and size and age, even the very small ones, scurried in all directions and in the course of this activity the Common was scoured as never before. It only needed a careless picnicker to drop a drinking carton and there was a Womble behind the nearest bush to pick it up. Or a bad-tempered child to throw away a chocolate biscuit and a Womble would swoop on it. Or an old lady to leave a bag of peppermints on a bench and a Womble would whisk it off. For as Great Uncle Bulgaria so rightly said, ‘Every little helps.’

All kinds of wonderful things piled up in Tobermory’s Workshop and he hummed and said, ‘
tsk
,
tsk
,
tsk
’ and sorted them out before you could say Jack Womble. In fact, since Cousin Yellowstone had announced that he must definitely leave for the States on July the first, Tobermory had grown increasingly cheerful.

‘It’s all go,’ panted Orinoco, setting off on his bicycle, to which Tobermory had fitted an enormous basket. He had also made Orinoco a long stick with a spike on the end of it (similar to those carried by the Common Keepers) and Orinoco fairly whizzed about tidying up his patch.

Great Uncle Bulgaria tapped his barometer and the needle stayed firmly at high. Alderney pushed her trolley up and down the passages with the bell tinkling non-stop, Madame Cholet cooked and planned and stored exciting-looking packets away in the Deep Freeze, and Tomsk actually stopped playing golf for a week and volunteered to do some tidying up in his spare time. As for Bungo, he was here, there and everywhere, beside himself with excitement. And in the middle of it all was Great Uncle Bulgaria making plans at his own efficient, calm pace, but just as excited as everybody else although he didn’t show it.

And so at last the great day dawned, with every Womble hard at work as soon as the sun rose. They had breakfast at eight and worked inside the burrow after that, as there were a great many Human Beings about because of the warm weather. Lunch, a not very big meal, was served at one, and there were a few more jobs to do, and then at three, sharp bells rang up and down the passages and all the Wombles, Great Uncle Bulgaria included, went to their beds and slept, or tried to. At ten the bells were rung again, and up and down the burrow Wombles stirred and brushed themselves and cleaned their teeth and looked at their excited reflections in mirrors. For the Midsummer party is the biggest, most important and happiest occasion of the year.

At ten o’clock they all lined up outside the kitchen where Madame Cholet, wearing a flowered apron, was doling out their party food. By ten thirty, with eyes shining and fur gleaming, they were lining up by the main door, where Tomsk, looking very important, was on duty with a list of names. At ten forty-five there was a rumbling noise and Tobermory, wearing a flat cap, goggles and a long coat, appeared at the wheel of the Silver Womble which bore the number plate:

g

WOM I

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He was shaking with excitement, but his face was dignified and grave as he picked up his first passengers: Great Uncle Bulgaria, Madame Cholet – now wearing a hat with flowers on it and a feather boa – Cousin Yellowstone, Bungo, Orinoco, Alderney and twenty-four of the youngest Wombles.

Slowly and very carefully the Silver Womble moved across Wimbledon Common beneath the golden light of the rising moon. Tobermory, who was always very thorough, had taken the time and trouble to study all the latest road maps, so he completed the journey to Battersea Park without a hitch, dropping his party at the gates at exactly midnight.

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‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ said Alderney.

‘Not as good as Wimbledon though,’ said Bungo, and Alderney hung on to his arm and nodded violently.

‘Quite pleasant,’ said Madame Cholet, shaking out her boa.

‘Allow me,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria, offering her his arm.

By one o’clock every single Wimbledon Womble – and Cousin Yellowstone of course – was in Battersea Park. They strolled about and had a look at the River Thames, which had turned to silver in the moonlight, and admired the flower beds and the lake and the tennis courts. The deer looked rather startled, but soon went back to sleep again and one or two rabbits and a few squirrels came out to see what was going on, but the Wombles, naturally, ignored them.

And so, at last, it was time to enter the Funfair itself. It was quite deserted and all the lights were switched off, but that did not deter the Wombles in the least. They swarmed over everything. Bungo had a go down the water chute and Orinoco went sliding after him.

‘What price Queen’s Mere?’ said Bungo, as they both came up dripping wet.

‘Dalmatian dogs to you,’ said Orinoco, and went under again as Bungo, spluttering and laughing, pushed his head beneath the water.

Tomsk had a go at the punchballs and was quite convinced that he would have won a prize. Madame Cholet inspected the snack bars, the restaurant and the kiosk where they made candy floss, and said with quiet pride that her cooking would undoubtedly stand the comparison between what they produced and what she provided.

Great Uncle Bulgaria had a look at absolutely everything and was particularly interested in the slot machines.

‘Surely you could work out a system to win on these things?’ he said to Tobermory.

‘I expect so,’ agreed Tobermory, whose mind was on other matters. ‘Excuse me,’ and he hurried off to inspect the Big Dipper. He soon realised that it would be quite impossible to set the little cars in motion as that would wake the inhabitants of Battersea, but surely a Womble might be able to manage without a car at all?

‘I wonder now,’ said Tobermory, and hoisted himself on to the track and gave himself a gentle push off; and that, naturally enough, did it, and the next moment Tobermory was shooting down the slide with increasing speed. It was a wonderful sensation, so wonderful that he nearly came right off at the first bend, but luckily instinct came to his rescue and he navigated it successfully and went careering off on the next dizzy drop downwards. And after that every Womble, except Great Uncle Bulgaria and Madame Cholet, just had to have a go, even Cousin Yellowstone, and for the next two hours the Big Dipper was covered in Wombles sliding and slipping and slithering for all they were worth. Some sitting down, some standing up, and some doing it the daring way on their round stomachs.