The Wombles to the Rescue (4 page)

‘The Wombles to the rescue,' murmured Wellington. ‘Yes, that's what we've got to do! We Wombles have got to stop all these shortages. Or find out how to deal with them anyway. That's a funny sort of problem to cope with, but we'll have to try and think of something. Now I wonder what I'd better invent
FIRST
. . .'

And away went Wellington talking to himself under his breath and with his head (as usual) so full of ideas of this-and-that that he never noticed that he was walking straight across the Common without bothering to keep clear of any Human Beings who might be about. As it happened there weren't many people actually out
walking
, but trundling down the slightly bumpy road which led to the Wimbledon Common Windmill was a large black van. On the side of the van were the letters ‘WTV' . . .

‘Where's Wellington got to?' asked Tomsk.

‘I don't know,' said Orinoco. ‘Look here, if you don't want another dandelion bun I'll eat it for you.'

‘You've already had five!'

‘Have I?' said Orinoco in such a surprised voice that Tomsk forgot all about the way in which Wellington had wandered off and began instead to count up dandelion buns on his paws.

All the others were busy talking and eating too, which is how Wellington wasn't missed for some time. Which was rather unfortunate as . . .

.

Chapter 4

The Grey Wolf of Wimbledon Common

Nobody missed Wellington for quite a long time. This was unusual as all Wombles keep an eye on each other and, besides being the most friendly of creatures, they are also most inquisitive and curious. Of course, if a Womble really feels he
must
have a bit of peace and quiet for a while, all the others do respect his views; but for a Womble to silently disappear, without anybody in the burrow noticing it, is practically unheard of. It only happened now because the burrow was all at sixes and sevens, what with Great Uncle Bulgaria and Bungo going to America and Tobermory away too, while he drove them on the first part of their journey.

It was Orinoco who first noticed that Wellington was missing and he only did so because Wellington – who was much better at getting up quickly – wasn't keeping a place for him in the breakfast queue.

‘Hey,' said Orinoco, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and nudging the small Womble ahead of him who was called Shansi. ‘Where's Wellington, then?'

Shansi put her front paws together and shook her head sadly. She was rather shy as she had only just chosen her name, which was Chinese, and she was very much in awe of Wombles who had been working for some time as Orinoco had.

‘Don't know,' she said in a low voice. ‘Have not seen for many hours. So sorry.'

‘Come to think of it, nor have I,' said Orinoco. ‘Funny. Oh well, I suppose he'll turn up sooner or later. I wonder what's for breakfast?'

Shansi shook her head, because she didn't know the answer to that either, and she wondered if she would ever get used to being a working Womble. She had really enjoyed being in the Womblegarten and doing lessons like painting and sewing and pottery, but she was just discovering that those kind of jobs did not seem to exist once you left school. She had been sent to the kitchen to help Madame Cholet, but that marvellous cook, although very kind, had been so busy she hadn't had time to explain things properly, with the result that Shansi had mixed powdered clover into the nettle pie. It had given the pie a
most
unusual taste and even Orinoco had only just managed to finish his helping.

‘No, no, no,' Madame Cholet had said, actually throwing her apron over her head and rocking backwards and forwards on her heels. ‘I said powdered
CLOVES
, not clover.
Quel dommage!
'

A remark which had scared Shansi so much that she had not spoken for hours afterwards.

The next job that Shansi had been given was to go round with Alderney pushing the elevenses (sometimes tenses) trolley. Alderney hadn't had this job very long herself in actual fact, but the way she talked about it, it sounded as if she had been doing it for years and years. It was ‘Do this, do that, oh do hurry up, Shansi, or we'll never get finished . . .' until poor Shansi got so flustered that she completely forgot to push her trolley into the Workshop, so that on that particular day Tobermory didn't get his hot dandelion juice – a drink to which he had really been looking forward.

‘
Tsk, tsk, tsk
,' Tobermory had said. ‘This just won't do, young Womble. You know the old saying,
A good hot drink helps a Womble think
. And I need all the help I can get at the moment, one way and another. What are we going to do with you? Hm?'

Shansi had wanted to suggest that she would like to go back to the Womblegarten, but she was too shy, so she had only hung her head and looked at the Workshop floor which was covered with tiny curls of wood shavings. They were rather pretty and they had a lovely, spicy smell.

‘Well, well, well, off you go,' Tobermory had said, waving one grey paw at her. ‘We'd better try you on tidying-up duty, I suppose. Report to the Workshop tomorrow for a tidy-bag.
Tsk, tsk, tsk,
I don't know what the world's coming to. Bulgaria off to America, doors sticking, Wombles bickering, hardly any ink left and now you forgetting my hot drink.
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. . .'

Shansi had felt worse than ever, as though everything that was going wrong in the burrow was all her fault, and she was the only Womble who hadn't managed to smile and wave when Great Uncle Bulgaria and Bungo set off on their great adventure. Now it was time for her to start on her third job and she was in such a state about it that she hardly took in a word Cousin Botany said, as he handed over a tidy-bag and showed her on the map which part of the Common she had to tidy up.

Shansi crept out of the burrow after her name had been ticked off in the Duty Book by Tomsk at the main front door, and then, with her heart going twice as fast as usual, she tiptoed through the bushes and out into the open. A blackbird went winging past her, giving its alarm call and Shansi nearly jumped out of her fur. She took a few more steps forward and then some more and finally she reached open ground.

It was a very nice morning and, as the sun was only just coming up and it was still fairly dark, there were no Human Beings about, although there was a steady stream of traffic on a distant road.

Shansi began to feel braver and rather less sad and worried and, when she actually saw some crumpled-up pieces of newspaper, she suddenly forgot to be careful and went running off across the grass to pick them up. To reach them she had to go round one small clump of trees and she was so excited that she never noticed that a strange, roundish, flattish object was hanging by a wire from one of the branches. However, it came to her notice very suddenly and rather painfully as she hit it, head-on. There was a loud
CLONK
and Shansi jumped round and round with her front paws clasped to her nose as she made a noise rather like ‘
Waa-waa-waa-waa
. . .'

Several things now happened at once. The roundish object swung violently backwards and forwards until it got caught up in some brambles, a bright light appeared shining out of a caravan which was parked just beyond the trees (Shansi hadn't even realised it was there), there was the sound of raised voices and a dog started barking in the distance. An owl, high up in the tree, blinked its large eyes and then swooped down, avoided Shansi by the width of a feather and went silently on its way. Then quite suddenly first one bird and then another began to sing.

Shansi stopped going ‘
waa-waa-waa
' and she also stopped hopping about, because she was suddenly so scared by all this that she couldn't either make a sound or move a muscle. She didn't even stir when the light got much brighter as a door opened in the caravan and two Human Beings appeared, talking very angrily.

‘I told you it was a rotten place to hang a microphone,' one of them said. ‘I
told
you . . .'

‘It wasn't a rotten place, it was the right place. The owl was in the tree all right and if that dog or person or whoever it was hadn't barged straight into the mike, we'd have got a splendid recording.'

‘Well, we haven't . . .'

‘I know
THAT
. Give me your torch . . .'

A thin beam of light travelled across the grass and just missed Shansi who was now starting to shiver, although she was still unable to move. Any minute now she would be discovered and probably captured and taken away, and she would be asked questions and all the Human Beings would take photographs of her and get her to tell them about the Wombles. And Great Uncle Bulgaria and all the other Wombles would be furious and would never forgive her, because Wombles like to keep themselves to themselves as much as they possibly can.

All this flashed through Shansi's mind as quickly as the beam of light had leapt across the grey-green grass, but even so she just couldn't move because she felt exactly as if her back paws had been firmly glued to the ground. It was like one of those dreadful dreams when the more you try to run the less you can do so. And then, just as Shansi had shut her eyes as tight as they would go, and had given herself up as captured and lost to all the other Wombles for ever, a new and quite different noise shattered the dawn chorus of the birds.

It was a howl. It was a yell. It was a shriek. It rose and fell and was so dreadful that all the birds stopped singing and Shansi felt her fur stand right up on end. Even her ears went up. The men stopped only a mere five feet away from her and one of them said in a thick whisper, ‘What on earth is
THAT
?'

‘I don't-don't-don't-don't-know-know-know-know,' replied the other man.

Everybody, even the birds, listened and once again the awful, scary, howling sound rang out.

‘It's a wolf,' said the first man.

‘It can't be!'

‘It
IS
! A wolf on Wimbledon Common. Quick, quick, the microphone. This will make the story of the year! Hurry
UP
!'

The two men blundered right past Shansi and they began to try to get the roundish object out of the brambles where it had become all tangled up. Before Shansi had quite realised what was happening a paw had gripped her arm and a familiar voice was hissing in her ear, ‘Come
ON
. Quietly . . .'

And Shansi was pulled and pushed and bundled and prodded round the clump of trees where the two men were still arguing (and sucking their fingers because the brambles were very sharp) and down a slope where she lost her footing, so that she went head over heels like a small round furry ball until she came to rest in the shelter of some thick ferns. A slightly taller, skinnier ball of fur came to rest beside her and then the voice of Wellington said breathlessly, ‘Honestly, Shansi, you should have been more careful! Still, thanks all the same.'

‘Please,' said Shansi. ‘Do not understand. Do not understand anything that is happening and want to go home.'

‘Calm down,' said Wellington, taking off his large round spectacles and cleaning them on his scarf. ‘We'll go back soon, when those men have stopped fiddling about with their old microphone. Gosh, I'm glad you came along. I'm starving. Just like Orinoco!'

Shansi still didn't understand, so she just sat there looking up at Wellington. As, up till now, Wellington had been the smallest of the working Wombles, he suddently felt quite large and important with Shansi looking up at him. It was a new feeling and he enjoyed it.

‘I've been trapped inside that old television caravan for ages,' he said, exaggerating just a bit.

‘Taken prisoner?' breathed Shansi in horror.

‘No, no, nothing like that. Only I thought I'd explore inside it while those men were out on the Common hanging up their microphones, but one of them came back very quietly and I couldn't get out without being seen. So I had to hide and after that there was always one or other of 'em in there. It was quite interesting to listen to them – they're making a nature film for television all about the wildlife on the Common. You know, it's quite astonishing what they
DON
'
T
know. I was longing to tell them about Old Badger and those Wild Cats which have moved in, and the fox trail and . . .'

‘The wolf!' said Shansi, her little eyes growing round as buttons as she remembered the awful up-and-down shriek. To her surprise Wellington started to chuckle and then to go ‘Ho, ho,
HO
,
HO
' so loudly that he had to put both paws over his mouth.

‘Wolf is nothing to laugh at,' said Shansi severely. Now that she had got over her fright and worry she was feeling rather cross and scratchy.

‘Wolf
IS
something to laugh at when it happens to be me!' said Wellington, wiping the laughter tears off his spectacles. ‘I was just slipping out of the caravan when I saw
you
, young Shansi, standing there with a petrified expression on your face. In another ten seconds those men would have seen you too and then there would have been trouble! So I did the first thing that came into my mind and howled like a wolf. I'll do it again if you like . . .'

‘No, please. You make very good wolf. But no more. Thank you for rescuing me, Wellington.'

‘That's all right. Well, it was a sort of mutual rescuing really, wasn't it? We rescued each other. Come on, it's all clear now and we'd better get back to the burrow.'