The Wombles to the Rescue (7 page)

‘Vandals, wreckers, destroyers,' roared Cousin Botany. ‘What are you doing, eh? Oh, leave off, leave off, do! All my years and years and
YEARS
of work all gone for nothing! Wait till I gets my paws on you, just wait!'

‘But, Cousin Botany,' said Wellington, ‘I don't understand. What's the matter? What are you so upset about? What have we done that's wrong?'

‘That's what you've done,' roared Cousin Botany, pointing with one trembling paw at the oil rig which had now settled down firmly with its top half out of the water. Bubbles were still bursting on the surface of the Mere and the strange, juicy smell was becoming more and more pronounced. ‘That's what you've done, young Womble. Ruined all the life's work of me, Botany Womble. Everything was a-going so well, apart from a trouble or two, and now it's done for and I holds you to blame . . .'

‘I still don't understand . . .'

‘No, nor ever will now that all's ruined. All them years ago out in Australia I had this idea. I went down to the harbour to see about stores and as I looked over the side of this ship what did I see? I see all these lovely little rich green plants a-growing under the water. Well, I says to myself, Botany Womble, this is a right rich country with plenty of ground for growing, but one day maybe things could change and those troublesome Human Beings, silly creatures, will use up a lot of land for their houses and this and that. And then what will happen to growing land? Eh?'

‘I don't know,' whispered Wellington, whose eyes were now as round as pennies as Cousin Botany pointed one silver-grey paw at him as if it was entirely his, Wellington's, fault that all this was happening.

‘I'll tell you,' said Cousin Botany. ‘I'll tell you, young Womble. It's what's happening here on this very Wimbledon Common. There'll be a lot of open space and the trees and bushes and plants'll be cut right back and
there won't be enough food to go round
. And there's me, Botany Womble, as has built or tried to build Womble feeding grounds under the water. A
ND YOU
'
VE GONE AND RUINED
'
EM ALL
!'

And to Wellington's horror old Cousin Botany took off his ancient straw hat, put it down on the ground and began to jump up and down on it as he said, ‘That's that then. All my work done and over with. I'll not work for this burrow no more. I won't, I won't, I
WON
'
T
!'

‘I say, Wellington,' said Tomsk, slowly surfacing among the bubbles, ‘there's something very sort of funny about the bottom of the Mere. Something sort of funny which I don't think is oil . . .'

‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' said Wellington. ‘O
H DEAR
!'

.

Chapter 7

Tomsk Has an Idea

Botany was a most unusual Womble for until now he had been a non-talker, but once he saw the Womble-made oil rig and the greasy bubbles on the water he changed completely, because he really did think that all his careful work had been destroyed. He stopped being slow and quiet and thoughtful and became very angry indeed. He dashed into Queen's Mere with a turn of speed surprising in a Womble of his age, and grabbed hold of the astonished Tomsk by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the water. Then Cousin Botany gripped on to Wellington's fur – which wasn't difficult as it was all standing on end – and he tugged and pulled and argued the two young Wombles back to the burrow and down the main corridor and into the Workshop. There Tobermory was wearily mending a brace and bit while trying to think of the answer to the woodworm which had attacked all the doors in the burrow.

‘Here, what's all this?' he demanded, looking rather astonished as well he might for the three muddy, dripping Wombles really did make a most unusual picture.

‘This,' said Botany, his voice quite hoarse with anger and breathlessness, ‘this is two of your precious young Wombles as have ruined all my years of work. You do with them as you will, Tobermory, seeing as you're in charge, but if I had my way I'd send them to Coventry for
THREE MONTHS
.'

The threat of not being allowed to talk to anybody for three months was so awful, indeed unheard of, that both Tomsk and Wellington sagged at the knees, their mouths open and their eyes rolling. Botany gave them a good shake which sent plops of mud going in all directions, and also made Wellington find his tongue.

‘It's not fair,' he said, trying to twist out of Botany's firm grip. ‘We didn't know we were doing anything wrong. You never told anybody
NOT
to go digging in Queen's Mere!'

‘Digging in the
Mere
?' said Tobermory, wondering if he was going quite dotty or having a weird sort of dream.

‘For oil.'

‘Underwater.'

‘Wet farming.'

Tobermory took a deep breath, shut his eyes for a second and felt for his carpenter's stool and sat down with a bump. He had never before wished more devoutly that Bulgaria was down the corridor in his study reading
The Times
. Bulgaria would have sorted out this trouble in ten minutes flat, starting off by looking over and then through two pairs of spectacles in that particular way he had. But Bulgaria was thousands of miles away at the dratted Conference, and Tobermory didn't wear spectacles. Instead he reached over for the inter-burrow-phone, blew down it in such a piercing way that Orinoco, who was on duty, nearly fell off his seat in the telephone exchange, and asked for four hot, extra sweet bracken juices to be sent to the Workshop
immediately
.

Tobermory then put his grey paws together, looked over the top of them and said sternly, ‘Please compose yourselves, Wombles. As soon as the trolley arrives we will have a drink and
THEN
, starting with Cousin Botany, we will discuss matters quietly.'

It was so unlike Tobermory to talk like this – it was almost as if it was Great Uncle Bulgaria sitting at the carpenter's bench – that everybody did exactly as they were told, and while avoiding each other's eyes, they brushed down their fur and, in the case of Botany, tried to take some of the dents out of his battered panama hat.

Of course, all the other Wombles knew that Something was Up, what with the shouting and the muddy pawprints all up the corridor and the way the Workshop door had been slammed. So they hung about in little groups, whispering and feeling rather uneasy because everything in the burrow seemed uncomfortable these days. And there was an awful draught from the front door which no longer shut properly. There was a clatter and a swish of trolley tyres and Alderney came fairly trotting out of the kitchen with her cap over one eye and the ties of her apron flying out behind her. She was scared and excited at the same time because all the others were looking at her, which made her feel important, but when she cautiously knocked on the Workshop door and Tobermory's voice barked, ‘C
OME
', Alderney could have turned and run for one pin, let alone two.

However, she'd had her orders so in she went, trembling so much that the urn full of delicious bracken juice went
clatter-clatter-clatter
on the trolley. And she looked so funny with her cap now descending over both eyes, while she tried to stop the clattering, that Wellington forgot about being hard done by and started to chuckle. That set Tomsk off, and as he'd got the most marvellous deep ‘
HO
,
HO
,
HO
' laugh,
that
began to make Tobermory's mouth twitch so that he was soon going ‘Heh-heh-heh'. Cousin Botany held on to his upset dignity for a little longer and then he began to make little grunting noises which was his way of laughing.

.

.

Alderney, her nose very much up in the air, poured out the hot drinks, but after a second or two even she couldn't help giggling. There's nothing like laughter for getting rid of hurt feelings and within a very few minutes, Tobermory had learnt all about Cousin Botany's extraordinary experiments which he had started so many years ago.

‘Underwater farming,' said Wellington, his eyes beginning to shine behind his spectacles, ‘but isn't it very difficult? I know we can hold our breath for a long time, but even so . . .'

‘That's the least of my problems, that is,' replied Cousin Botany. ‘First off I never did think any of you'd take my idea serious, which is why I did keep so quiet about it, see?'

Everybody nodded and Cousin Botany went on, ‘Then there was all the trouble of finding plants as we could eat and enjoy as would let themselves be grown underwater. Terrible times I had there, and those dratted Human Beings would keep throwing rubbish into the water. Poisonous stuff some of it too. Although I will say,' Botany added grudgingly, ‘they're not quite as bad as they used to be. Then there was the ducks. I had to grow plants as
they
wouldn't fancy, otherwise they'd have had the lot. Greedy birds.'

‘And how far have you got now?' asked Tobermory.

‘Well, the food's there all right, but 'tis the harvesting, like, as young Wellington says. Planting out ain't so simple, neither.'

The others, who had all started to perk up, now felt not quite so optimistic. If the food was going to be so difficult to grow, was it going to be the answer to their problems after all?

‘What about my oil rig?' said Wellington, making his dreadful thinking face. ‘Couldn't we use that?'

‘For harvesting, yes. But what about the planting out, then?'

Tobermory, Cousin Botany and Wellington all began to think and to draw little diagrams on bits of paper while they talked between themselves. They forgot all about Tomsk who hadn't really followed a great deal of what had happened anyway. He had been hoping to get in a quick round of golf if the good (that is, cold, pouring wet) weather held up. Of course, if it rained too much it might have a bad effect on the course and he would have to add a bit more power to his drives with all that water lying about. Now if only the water could be drained away it would mean he could play golf in a real old downpour.

Tomsk scratched the last of the mud off his fur, turned some ideas over in his head slowly and then, being a Womble of few words, said simply, ‘Do your underwater plants somewhere else.'

‘Oh, yes, where? In puddles?' said Wellington, who was sorry that his beautiful oil rig wasn't going to be any use after all. Tobermory had just gently but firmly explained that a rig had to go down thousands of feet to strike oil, and that nine times out of ten they didn't find it anyway.

‘Under the Common,' said Tomsk, one eye on the clock.

‘In the
burrow
?'

‘Sort of. In tanks. Plenty of water about when it rains. Too much.'

‘Oh, Tomsk, don't be . . .' Wellington began crossly when Cousin Botany suddenly threw his hat into the air and actually lifted the skirt of his apron and danced a few steps.

‘'Tis it, 'tis it, you great gormless Womble,' he said, while the others stared at him. ‘I couldn't see the tanks for the pond, so I couldn't.'

‘Tanks, rainwater, drainage . . .' Tobermory wrote rapidly on his list which had now reached No. 39. ‘Pipes. Inlets. Outlets. Lighting. A lot of help will be needed to find all the necessary equipment. All paws to the Underwater Plough!
That'll
keep 'em busy and stop 'em fighting. Hurrah!' And Tobermory put the pencil back behind his ear and really smiled properly for the first time since Great Uncle Bulgaria had gone to America.

‘You don't really think it'd work, do you?' asked Wellington, feeling thoroughly put out now as he had never before considered Tomsk to be a Womble of Ideas.

‘It'll have to,' said Tobermory. ‘Now there's a lot to be done. First off . . . yes, yes, Tomsk, what is it? Stop waving your great paw about like that.'

‘Can I go now, please,' said Tomsk. ‘I mean if we're not oil rigging or anything else for an hour or two. Golf.'

‘Yes, yes, yes. Off you go and play at least three rounds. You deserve it. Thank you, Tomsk.'

‘
Three rounds!
Yes, Tobermory. Not at all,' said Tomsk who hadn't the least idea what he was being thanked for. First you were in trouble and then you were out of it. It was all most confusing and he'd better disappear fast before his luck changed yet again.

So Tomsk disappeared with Tobermory's following words ringing in his ears, ‘And send Shansi here as quickly as you can. She writes a neat hand. Hurry up.'

‘You're wanted,' said Tomsk, his golf clubs already over his shoulder, as he put his head round the Playroom door.

Shansi, who was sitting at a table in the corner with some plastic cups, little dishes of paints and some brushes in front of her, said, ‘Please who wants Shansi, where?'

‘Tobermory. Workshop. Quick,' said Tomsk and was gone.

Shansi neatly put her things away and went.

An hour later, Alderney, quite bursting with curiosity, was called for again on the inter-burrow-phone and asked to bring four snack lunches to the Workshop.

‘What is going on I ask myself,' muttered Madame Cholet. ‘Why can't they eat like other decent Wombles at the correct time at the correct place. What do they think this burrow is, a hotel?'

Alderney thought it best not to answer and Madame Cholet continued to grumble as she dished up four absolutely delicious helpings of dandelion and bark pie (with a touch of moss garlic) followed by oak-apple jelly with daisy cream. It was just as well she didn't see how this tasty meal was eaten, because for once the four Wombles concerned were actually thinking of work more than they were of food. All the food went, of course, but it was eaten in gulps, with forks and spoons being waved around as they all, or at least three of them, talked with their mouths full. Madame Cholet would have been horrified, but luckily she was busy dishing out lunch for all the other Wombles, so she never had a moment to look round the Workshop door at what was going on.