The Wombles Go round the World (10 page)

‘It's been jolly nice,' said Wellington.

‘Mmmm,' agreed Tomsk.

‘We have enjoyed your visit,' said Dalai Gartok. ‘Here is a small gift for Young Bulgaria. One of my scroll paintings.'

They clasped paws, bowed and then, walking backwards, Wellington and Tomsk left the burrow, which they had christened between themselves ‘The Hall of the Mountain Wombles'. With them were their gigantic cousins – Numbers One, Two, Three and Four. Cousin One was holding the trolley like a tidy-bag – all the controls had been defrosted – while Cousin Two was trailing the balloon behind him. Wellington and Tomsk were riding piggyback on Cousins Three and Four.

When they reached the edge of the slope it was still so early that the mountains were in darkness, although the first yellow light was showing on the highest peaks far above. Cousin One with six quick treads inflated the balloon while Cousin Two fixed it to the trolley.

‘Now watch,' said the two Great White Wombles.

It was an astonishing scene for, as the sun came up, the blue and indigo shadows danced down the mountains like curtains being lifted, and in the blue haze they could see mile after mile of Tibet coming into view.

‘It's smashing,' rumbled Tomsk.

‘Mmmmmm,' agreed Wellington. ‘It's – it's like being on top of the world.'

‘We call this the roof of the world,' said Cousin One.

They stood in silence for a while, watching mountain after mountain lose its shadows and turn sparkling, blinding white. It was so beautiful that even Wellington couldn't find the right words to say about it.

‘You must go now; please fix tidied-up oxygen masks,' said Cousin One in his deep rumbling voice.

‘Yes,' Wellington agreed. ‘Thank you all very much. We shall never forget the Everest Womble burrow. It's probably the most beautiful burrow ever on the roof of the world. And, I say, sorry, but . . . if you are worried about leaving paw tracks in the snow, I've thought of a way of getting rid of them quite easily. I hope you don't mind me mentioning it?'

‘What is the way?' rumbled Cousin Two.

‘It's quite simple, really. The last Great White Womble in the group wears a belt and attached to the belt is a kind of shawl, a bit like Dalai Gartok's, actually. And in the bottom of the shawl you have little wooden teeth, rather like a garden rake. So as the last Great White Womble walks over the snow he gets rid of all the pawmarks. I'm sure Tobermory would have thought of something better, but I do think this might work quite well. Oh dear!'

Wellington stopped talking and closed his eyes tightly. It was very strange, but here he was almost at the top of Everest with just Tomsk and Cousins One, Two, Three and Four and yet in some mysterious way Dalai Gartok appeared to be standing right beside him.

‘What a good idea,' said Dalai Gartok softly. ‘Thank you so very much, Wellington.'

‘Not at all. Pleasure,' mumbled Wellington and bowed.

Dalai Gartok bowed back and vanished.

‘Finished?' said Tomsk. ‘Time we were off, you know.'

‘Sorry, yes,' said Wellington. ‘We'd better go through the lift-off procedure.'

Everyone shook paws, then Tomsk and Wellington climbed into the trolley, the anchor was released and the balloon (which now looked gold-coloured in the sunshine) rose upwards. The four Cousins raised their paws. One moment they were there and the next they seemed to have vanished, as their long white fur became one with the sparkling snow.

‘Very nice sort of Wombles,' rumbled Tomsk. ‘I liked it there, didn't you, Wellington?'

‘Mm,' agreed Wellington. ‘Goodness, imagine us being related to the Great White Wombles of Tibet. I say, Tomsk, sorry, but you've got that reading wrong. We're heading due south now. Next stop Australia. Have a lichen pie.'

‘Don't mind if I do,' said Tomsk as Balloon Two billowed gently over the top of Mount Everest.

.

Chapter Eight-and-a-half

Crossed Lines

‘I'll tell you what,' said Alderney to Shansi, ‘I think I've got typist's cramp. Great Uncle Bulgaria goes on and on writing notes and I just can't keep up with him.'

‘Alas,' agreed Shansi, rubbing her own fingers. ‘I too am working all the time making out lists. Milk cartons to Cousin Botany. Pens to the Womblegarten, tin cans to the Workshop. It never stops.'

‘I'll be glad when Wellington is back,' said Alderney. ‘I never realised till now how much work he did . . .'

‘Even Orinoco was quite busy, when not sleeping or eating,' said Shansi.

‘And Tomsk was ever so good about carrying rubbish and shifting things and doing odd jobs around the burrow . . .'

The two young Wombles sighed and looked at each other.

‘Even Bungo wasn't too bad, really,' said Alderney, ‘and it's so quiet with them all away. Nothing seems to happen except work . . .'

Now at that particular moment at least six different things happened at once. For a start the weather suddenly changed and the wind veered round from the north-east to the south-west; but Tobermory was so busy in the Workshop he didn't notice it. This was because the Womblegarten had been trying to show what very good working Wombles they could be, and so they had cleared up about twice as much rubbish as anybody else had ever done before. With the result, of course, that poor Tobermory didn't know whether he was on his back or his front paws, as the Workshop was practically overflowing with litter.

‘Silly idea sending young Wellington off like that,' muttered Tobermory, ‘when I need him here. Oh dear, oh me, I'll never get straight . . . Where's that Shansi then?'

And Tobermory, looking quite distracted, hurried past the barometer, giving it a tap as he went, but not bothering to notice that the needle had swung right across from left to right as he picked up his phone.

‘
Tsk, tsk, tsk
,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria in his study, ‘here I am with Chapter Nine nearly written, and a very interesting chapter it is too as it concerns the rebuilding of Tibbet's Corner and our long trek to Hyde Park, and there's nobody to copy out my notes. Bungo was quite good at that sort of thing. Silly sort of name, but he's really not too bad. Now where is Alderney . . . ?' And Great Uncle Bulgaria reached for his inter-burrow-phone.

‘
Tiens
,' said Madame Cholet, stirring away at a delicious-smelling stew, ‘does this taste right or does it not? Umm, yes, I think so. Maybe a touch more of dandelion salt. How dear little Orinoco would enjoy this stew.
Pauvre
Orinoco, where is he now, I ask myself? Probably starving to death in the middle of nowhere. No, never. He will always find food, that one. Oh, all this washing-up and I have no help as Alderney is doing her typewriting. Well, it is too bad. She will have to come and aid me for the moment . . .'

Madame Cholet put down her wooden spoon and took the kitchen phone off the hook.

‘Dear me, dear, dear me,' said Miss Adelaide in the Womblegarten, ‘there are all these exercise books to be corrected and the sums to be set for tomorrow morning. Added to which I have to work out the rota for tidying-up on the Common. It is all too much to be asked of one Womble. I simply must have help. Shansi must be released from her duties in the Workshop and returned to me.
Tsk, tsk, tsk
.'

Miss Adelaide picked up her inter-burrow-phone with her silky-grey paw.

The fifth thing that happened was that all these four calls went through to the burrow exchange at almost exactly the same moment. The very small Womble operator on duty had, with great care up until now, just about managed to deal with one call at a time every five minutes. But when four lights lit up within seconds of each other, her fingers became all thumbs and she got into a panic, and in no time at all she had got the lines crossed, so that Great Uncle Bulgaria found himself getting very tetchy with Miss Adelaide – before he recognised whom he was talking to. When he did realise who it was, he got a great deal less tetchy, but by then it was too late. Meanwhile Madame Cholet, Tobermory, Alderney and Shansi were all on crossed lines and all talking at once.

The sixth thing, and really the most important, was that the ice on Queen's Mere started to crack and go soft just as a little Womble was in the middle of it, trying to tidy up a plastic bag. The ice made a soft, shivering sound and then gave way with a loud cracking noise.

‘
Woow
, help,' shouted the little Womble, as his back paws sank into the icy water.

Fortunately for him, Cousin Botany was walking past at the time and heard this desperate cry.

‘Now what?' said Cousin Botany, peering over the top of his spectacles, ‘there's no peace these days, no tranquillity. Oh, my word! Hold still, young Womble, and don't move. Cousin Botany's coming.'

And, with a surprising burst of speed, Cousin Botany put down his gardening basket and trowel and skidded down the bank. He still had his gardening rake in one grey paw, and he lay down on his stomach on the ice and held the rake out at arm's length.

‘Grab a hold of that then,' said Botany in his slow drawl.

The small Womble tried to do as he was told, but his fingers had gone all cold and stiff, so that the rake just slid away and at the same moment the ice cracked even more.

‘
Yow
,' squeaked the small Womble and down into the icy water he went, vanishing completely except for the trailing edge of his scarf which had got hooked on a sharp piece of broken ice.

Fortunately for him, Cousin Botany was not the sort of Womble to panic. He just edged forward a little more and muttered slowly under his breath, ‘One, two for him to go down, three for him to touch the bottom, four and five for him to bob up again . . . here he comes . . . gotcha!'

.

.

Cousin Botany was perfectly right, as at that precise second up bobbed the small Womble with his fur all stiff from fright and cold. Cousin Botany had got the teeth of the rake through the scarf and he gave a tremendous pull, and the small Womble found himself being hauled slithering and squawling across the ice, first on his front, then on his back and finally head over heels until he landed with a thump behind Cousin Botany.

‘Silly little Womble,' said Cousin Botany, groaning a bit as he got to his feet, and he undid the scarf and picked up the little Womble by his back paws and shook him violently. This was not because he was in a temper, but because he wanted his small relation to get rid of any water in his lungs. The little Womble was obligingly very sick and then burst into tears of fright and relief.

‘Stop that,' ordered Cousin Botany. ‘You're perfectly safe now,' and he tucked the small Womble under his arm and marched off back to the burrow, with the rake over his free shoulder.

The small Womble stopped shivering and sobbing when he found himself plumped down in the middle of the nice, warm kitchen, with Madame Cholet going ‘
tiens
' nineteen to the dozen while she wrapped a cosy blanket round him and poured piping hot acorn juice into a mug.

‘And 'ow 'as this 'appened?' demanded Madame Cholet.

‘No good getting in a tizzy with me, Madame. I'm going to have a word with that Tobermory. He's the one that's supposed to put up a notice when a thaw sets in!'

And off stumped Cousin Botany before Madame Cholet could get in another word, which was unfortunate as she would have liked to have explained that Tobermory was not in the best of tempers at the moment.

Cousin Botany soon discovered this, for he only got as far as ‘. . . and what's more, Tobermory, it'd have been your fault for not posting a Thaw Notice if that little jackaroo had been drowned . . .'

Tobermory threw down his clipboard and shouted, ‘Thaw Notice! Thaw Notice! When have I got the time to do that, eh? Look at this Workshop, just look at it! I'm up to my ears in rubbish and what's more I've got no help with it. That young Shansi's gone off somewhere skylarking about and . . .'

‘Shansi,' said Miss Adelaide from the doorway, ‘is helping me, Tobermory. I too have my problems! The new term's work schedule is lagging behind badly, there's the Womblegarten's tidying-up rota for tomorrow to be prepared
AND
I am the one who has to escort them round the Common . . .'

‘Pity you didn't keep an eye on the one that nearly drowned . . .' Cousin Botany said unwisely.

‘I
CANNOT BE EVERYWHERE AT ONCE
!'

‘What's all this noise?' demanded Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Really, I can't hear myself think, let alone write, in my study. And
where
is Alderney?'

‘She is assisting me, Monsieur Bulgaria!' replied Madame Cholet, who had also come to see what the fuss was about. She was carrying a rolling pin in one hand and a dripping, dirty scarf in the other, and was looking unusually fierce for her.

‘It's not my fault,' put in Alderney from behind Madame Cholet. ‘I can't do all that typewriting and the washing-up as well . . .'

Shansi, who was clinging on to Alderney, tried to explain her position too, but her soft little voice was lost as everybody began to talk at once, and very loudly.

The small Womble, who had really sparked off all the trouble, shuffled into the doorway, his cheeks bulging with hot moss buns and the blanket trailing behind him. He'd had a terrible fright and he was scared by all the cross voices. Suddenly his face puckered and he went, ‘
Oooooooow!
' at the top of his voice.

A great many of the Womblegarten, most of whom were tired out from doing so much tidying-up work, and who were standing out in the passage, all began to pucker up their faces too, and a general ‘
ooooooow!
' broke out.

It was a wailing sound that was seldom if ever heard in the Wimbledon Burrow, and it stopped all the older Wombles in their tracks.

‘T
HAT
'
S
ENOUGH
!' said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Be quiet, please.'

The howling died down into a ‘sniff-sniff-hiccup'.

Great Uncle Bulgaria moved forward a little and leant heavily on his stick. Then he hitched up his shawl and looked over the top of his spectacles at everyone. He did it very slowly and thoughtfully, and even Miss Adelaide went quiet and stopped sniffing at the back of her nose.

‘The trouble is,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘that we've all been trying to do far too much. Tobermory is overwhelmed with the rubbish which the Womblegarten have worked so very hard to collect. Miss Adelaide has what I believe is now called too much workload. An ugly expression, but descriptive. Madame Cholet appears to be cooking and washing up night and day, because Alderney has been helping me. And Shansi has been trying to do two jobs at once. So we've all got overtired and cross and upset and unlike ourselves. Hm?'

There was a general hum of assent.

‘Exactly. What is more, it's all my fault!'

‘Never,' said Tobermory.