The Wombles to the Rescue (2 page)

‘There's a lot to be done,' said Tobermory, putting his pencil behind his ear. ‘I can't understand it really, because I gave
exact
instructions as to what needed repairing and decorating and looking after in the burrow while we were away and . . . Bulgaria, are you listening?'

‘Not very much,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘as I have other things on my mind at the moment. Very well, young Wombles, take your plates and knives and forks out to the kitchen and stack them neatly. Breakfast is over. No, Orinoco, it is no use looking at me like that. If you have
one more
slice of toast you will be
sick
. You can all do the washing-up later. Off you go to bed and have a good day's sleep.'

The young Wombles did as they were told, except for Bungo. He kept telling everybody else what to do, until, in a fur-prickling way, he felt Great Uncle Bulgaria looking at him, so that even he kept quiet until he was climbing up into his own nice familiar bunk, and then he couldn't help saying, ‘I'll tell you what . . .'

‘
Zzzzz
,' said Orinoco, who slept in the bunk down below, and who was already hauling a nice cosy blanket up to his chin, while he wondered what Madame Cholet was going to cook for supper.

‘What?' said Tomsk, who was doing his exercises further along the dormitory. ‘One, two and touch your back paws, one, two and stretch up from the floors . . .'

‘That's not proper English,' said Wellington, who was putting all his books in order on the shelf above his bed. ‘There's only one floor in here, you know. You'd have to do your exercises all over the burrow if you want to say “floors”. Sorry to mention it.'

‘That's all right,' said Tomsk, ‘only I say floors, because then I remember how to do my exercises. It helps if it's poetry. What, Bungo?'

‘Oh, don't mind me,' said Bungo, ‘don't take any notice of
ME
, I'm not important I know that . . .' And he hung right over the edge of his bunk and looked down at Orinoco, who really was asleep by now, and dreaming of scrambled bracken pie. ‘All I want to say
IS
, what's Cousin Botany doing in this burrow and
why
is he here and
what
exactly is going on and . . .'

‘Lights out,' said Madame Cholet, appearing in the doorway. ‘Sleep well, my little ones, and no more talking!'

‘Ooooooh, drat!' said Bungo, but he did as he was told.

Strangely enough, further along the burrow in his study, Great Uncle Bulgaria, who was just reading the crumpled, dusty letter which Cousin Botany had given him for at least the tenth time, now said almost exactly the same thing.

‘Oooooh, drat! I suppose I shall have to go. What do you think, Tobermory? Tobermory, are you there?'

‘'Course I'm here,' growled Tobermory, who was getting crosser by the minute, and he crawled out from underneath Great Uncle Bulgaria's bookcase and scribbled in his notebook ‘No. 22. Woodworm in b-cases (bad)'.

‘It's this letter,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘It's from the Wombles in the United States of America. They want me to go over there as soon as possible.'

‘Well, you can't,' said Tobermory, sitting down in the rocking chair, and taking the weight off his back paws. ‘You're needed here in Wimbledon, Bulgaria. Things are in a shocking state in this burrow. Shocking.'

‘I dare say,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘but this letter is marked Womble-Urgent and you know what
THAT
means . . .'

There was a long, long pause during which the two wise old Wombles looked at each other. Then Tobermory took off his bowler hat, wiped his handkerchief round the inside, put the handkerchief away and replaced the hat on his grey head.

‘Like that, is it?' said Tobermory. ‘Well, you'll have to go then, Bulgaria.
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. I don't know what the Womble world's coming to, really I don't!'

‘Neither do I,' agreed Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘but one thing I
am
sure about is, those rockers need oiling! Put them on your list, there's a good Womble.'

.

* See
The Wombles at Work.

.

Chapter 2

Tobermory Sees Trouble Ahead

All the young Wombles were far too excited about being back in their old home burrow to notice that Great Uncle Bulgaria, Tobermory and Madame Cholet were rather quiet and thoughtful. After all, it's not every day that you swap burrows and so get the chance to explore all your old, familiar, favourite places.

‘I'll tell you what,' said Bungo. ‘I'd forgotten how many ups and downs there are here. Hyde Park was a bit on the flat side.'

‘It was smashing for swimming in though,' said Tomsk, and then he added hastily as he saw Bungo's mouth open, ‘I mean the
Serpentine
was smashing for swimming in. Bigger.'

‘But full of boats and people a lot of the time. Human Beings don't do any of that sort of thing in Queen's Mere,' said Bungo, who was in that mood when he wasn't going to have anybody say anything against Wimbledon Common, because he was so happy about being back there again.

‘Mmmm,' said Tomsk, and he went stumping off with his front paws clasped behind his back and his chin on his chest.

‘Gone to look for golf balls, I expect,' said Wellington. ‘He misses Omsk, you know.'

‘Dull sort of Womble
he
was,' said Bungo. ‘Hardly spoke really. I wonder if all the Russian Wombles are like that?'

As Omsk was the only Russian Womble anybody had met and had, only quite by chance, come into contact with his British Womble relations, nobody could answer this question.

‘I don't know,' said Wellington, ‘but Omsk and Tomsk got on very well together, so now Tomsk misses Omsk. It's funny really, leaving a Russian Womble behind in the Hyde Park burrow to look after it.'

‘There's nothing much left to
look
after,' said Bungo, ‘now that Human Beings have suddenly started being so tidy. They don't leave rubbish and stuff lying about like they used to. Why, I remember when I was quite a young Womble . . .'

‘You still are,' said Orinoco, who had been shifting round and about to make himself a nice cosy bed in the bracken, as he very much wanted to have a little nap in order to get his strength up for tea. ‘You still
are
a young Womble, because I can remember when you chose your name out of Great Uncle Bulgaria's atlas, and it wasn't very long ago either. Even then you were far too bossy, and now you're bossier than ever. You think you know everything, but you jolly well
DON
'
T
,
SO SHUT UP
for a bit and go
AWAY
.'

Bungo was so surprised at this most unexpected attack that he did exactly as he was told (for once) and Wellington, who had been almost equally surprised, said, ‘That was a bit hard, Orinoco, wasn't it?'

‘Umph,' replied Orinoco, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, ‘p'raps. But I'll tell you one thing, I just can't
stand
bossy Wombles. Now
DO
be quiet!'

‘If that's not being bossy, I don't know what is,' muttered Wellington. ‘What's the matter with you all of a sudden? It makes me feel all itchy and scratchy under my fur when Wombles start snapping at each other . . .'

‘
Zzzzzzz
,' said Orinoco.

Wellington heaved one of his enormous sighs which made his large, round spectacles slide right down his nose, and then he went off after Bungo, who was sulking near the Windmill.

‘I thought it was going to be lovely being back here on Wimbledon Common,' said Bungo, ‘but it's not all lovely after all. In fact, it's quite nasty in some ways. Orinoco's cross, Tomsk won't talk and the burrow's not half as comfortable as it used to be, because nothing seems to be working properly. And I'll tell you what, I think it's got something to do with Cousin Botany. So there!'

It was an unkind thing to say, and Bungo, although very bossy-and-know-it-all, was not nasty about other Wombles, which just goes to show how itchy and scratchy
he
was starting to feel too. Wellington didn't know what to reply, but fortunately Tomsk came bounding up at this point with his paws full of golf balls.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘It's no good standing around with faces as long as today and tomorrow
AND
the day after that. Remember the old Womble saying,
Some golf every day keeps the crossness away
. Come on.'

So for the next few hours matters weren't too bad overground on the Common. Orinoco was snoozing his temper away, Tomsk was playing hole after hole in three strokes, Wellington (who was hopeless at all games) was hitting the ball sideways, upwards and backwards (but never forwards) so he had to keep scurrying off in all directions to retrieve it, while Bungo leant heavily on the golf club which Tomsk had given him, and told the other two Wombles exactly what they
should
be doing. He was so busy talking he didn't have time to actually play any golf himself.

Great Uncle Bulgaria came out of the burrow with Tobermory and went for a little stroll, during which they watched the young Wombles, and Great Uncle Bulgaria said, ‘They're overtired and overexcited, because of the move back here, and they are also a bit bored because now we
have
moved, there isn't so much to do. Tobermory, we have to face the fact that now Human Beings are being just a little more careful about
NOT
dropping litter all over the place, there isn't much tidying up for our young working Wombles.'

‘It's all right for some,' said Tobermory. ‘I've got more work to do than I can manage. The burrow's in a shocking state, Bulgaria. Shocking. And I left such careful instructions as to main-tain-ance too. I just don't understand it. Wombles aren't what they were when
I
was young.'

‘Ho-hum,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, putting up a paw to hide a small smile, ‘nothing ever
is
the same as it used to be. Not even Human Beings. But the reason for all the trouble in the burrow has nothing to do with us Wombles. It's because Human Beings keep running short of things. They haven't got enough paper and cardboard, there isn't enough plastic this and that to go round, they've got what they call “an energy crisis” . . .'

‘Lazy lot. I'd give 'em energy what-name,' growled Tobermory. ‘If people worked as hard as we Wombles do, there wouldn't be all this silly nonsense. I tell you, Bulgaria . . .'

And Tobermory did at great length, for like all the others, he was feeling thoroughly out of sorts and Great Uncle Bulgaria listened patiently and said, ‘Oh yes' and ‘I see' and ‘Ho-hum' from time to time, because he knew very well that you can't hurry a Womble who has got a grievance to get off his chest. Finally Tobermory stopped talking and just stood there with his nose turned down at the tip and his grey moustache drooping.

‘Yes, yes, yes, I dare say,' murmured Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘but the truth of the matter is, Tobermory, and we must face up to it, that there just isn't enough this, that and the other to go round. Don't let's fuss about whose fault it is, because that does no good at all. Our problems are first, that because at long last Human Beings have started becoming less wasteful, we Wombles haven't got so much to do in the tidying-up line, and secondly that, like Human Beings, we Wombles are also going to find it very difficult to make ends meet.'

‘I'm not with you,' muttered Tobermory, staring across the Common in a very grumpy way.

‘Why is the front door of the burrow making that dreadful noise every time it's opened?' asked Great Uncle Bulgaria.

‘Hinges need oiling.'

‘Why haven't they been oiled when you left such careful instructions?'

‘No oil.'

‘Why are the bookshelves full of holes and rot?'

‘No Womble anti-hole-and-rot mixture left in the Workshop.'

‘Ho-hum. What stores are left in the pantry?'

‘Not many bottles of dried toadstool, bracken flour is low and the powdered dandelion casks are nearly empty. Here, I say, Bulgaria . . .' Tobermory suddenly stopped looking mournful and straightened up, ‘you don't mean that
WE
'
RE
going to be short of all kinds of useful things
AND
food?'

‘I shouldn't be surprised, Tobermory. It certainly looks like it. It's Womble-world-wide this problem, which is why I've been invited to the United States of America. There's to be this big meeting there to try and work out what's to be done. If we Wombles don't start doing something, goodness knows what might happen.'

‘You mustn't go on your own,' said Tobermory, quite forgetting his own troubles, as he looked at his old friend. Nobody knew quite what Great Uncle Bulgaria's age was, but at this particular moment he looked so old and sad that Tobermory felt very worried. ‘I'd better come with you,' he said gruffly. ‘No good tiring yourself out. I know what these American Wombles are like, all talk-talk-talk . . .'

Tobermory had always been just a little bit jealous of Cousin Yellowstone Womble from America, and he was quite sure that if some Womble didn't cross the Atlantic with Great Uncle Bulgaria, something simply awful might happen. Great Uncle Bulgaria might become so overworked, he might even fall ill . . .

A great shiver went through Tobermory's grey fur at the very idea and Great Uncle Bulgaria, pulling his MacWomble tartan shawl more closely round his shoulders, said, ‘Now then, Tobermory, stop imagining this, that and the other. I agree with you that the American Wombles are great talkers, which is why I've decided to take a great
British
talker with me! And it won't be you, because you've got more than enough work here to get on with. Goodness gracious me, Tobermory, this whole burrow would collapse and vanish if you weren't here to look after it.'

‘There's Botany,' said Tobermory, a shade of doubt in his voice. ‘He could run the place, I suppose.' He was secretly very pleased about what Great Uncle Bulgaria had just said, but he wasn't going to let on.

‘Botany lives in a world of his own. Always has done. That's how he arrived in this country from Australia in the first place so the story goes. He went down to the Sydney docks to look for supplies, climbed on board the first ship he came to, saw something which took his interest and went to investigate it. The next thing he knew was that the ship was heading out to sea with him on board and . . .'

‘What
was
it that interested Botany so much?' asked Tobermory, quite forgetting his own worries, as this extraordinary piece of Womble history came to light.

‘Nobody has ever quite liked to ask,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria rather sternly. ‘And Botany has never actually told anybody. He may have forgotten what it was himself. He's a most absent-minded Womble, even more so than Wellington. Which, Tobermory, brings me back to the problem in hand. Botany definitely will
NOT
do to run this burrow while I'm away. You are the only Womble I can be certain will do the job efficiently. All the other Wombles trust you
AND
you will know the best way to get everything working properly again.'

‘Yes, I dare say,' said Tobermory, ‘that's all very fine, Bulgaria. But how, may I ask,
can
I, when I haven't got the
STUFF TO DO IT WITH
!'

‘I'm sure you'll find a way, Tobermory, you always do. Dear me, it's turning quite chilly, I think I shall return to the burrow.'

‘Yes, yes, yes, but hang on a moment, Bulgaria. Who
are
you going to take with you on this dratted American trip?'

‘I shall announce the name after our meal. I may even make a little speech about the difficult days which lie ahead and the perils which we face in these dark times and . . .'

Great Uncle Bulgaria's voice died away as he marched into the burrow still talking busily. Tobermory took off his bowler hat, wiped his handkerchief round the inside and then sighed rather heavily in very much the same way as Wellington had done earlier.