The Wombles Go round the World (15 page)

‘
Ah-roo-ah-roo-ah-roo-
ER
-
ROO
. . .
' rumbled Tomsk.

‘
Ah-roo-ah-roo
,' chanted Wellington, ‘and oh, I say, Uncle Dunedin, thank you very much for telling us that story. I did enjoy it, even if it was a bit sad.
Ah-roo-ah-roo . . .
'

.

Chapter Twelve-and-a-half

Welcome Home

‘Shouldn't be long now,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, looking at the alarm clock which he always kept in the back pocket of his shawl. ‘I must say I have missed our four brave volunteers.'

‘Been a bit quiet without 'em, I admit,' agreed Tobermory, staring in some perplexity at the two pieces of paper which had just come off the Womblex machine. ‘The first one says, “Two right young Wombles you've got there. Tomsk will make good pace bowler and Wellington certainly knows his own mind. Stop. Regards from down Down Under. Great-great Aunt Matilda Murrumbidgee. Regards to Young Bulgaria and Botany.” What do you make of
that
, Bulgaria?'

‘Waltzing Matilda, I believe they used to call her in her younger days. It's perfectly straightforward. Wellington and Tomsk have made a very good impression and have helped to Keep Australia Beautiful. Quite right too, so they should,' replied Great Uncle Bulgaria, trying not to sound immensely proud of his young Wombles and not succeeding in the least. ‘What's the second Womblex message say?'

‘Ah-
HEM
. “Boxes, balloons, crackers, butterflies, birds, dragons send humblest paw greetings to all relations, particularly Honourable Bulgaria and Tobermory. Stout Orinoco – well, they've got him right anyway . . . sorry – and young Bungo. Fine Wombles. Humbly Tokyo.” Well?'

‘I'm not too sure where the dragons and butterflies come into it, but the rest of the message is plain enough. Orinoco and Bungo have acquitted themselves well. I always knew they would.'

‘Can you see them yet, Monsieur Bulgaria?' asked Madame Cholet, bustling out of the burrow and wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘My extra-extra-special meal is almost cooked.'

‘Not yet, Madame Cholet. But don't worry. We have Womble pickets posted all over the Common and, at the first sighting of a balloon, they will bring news to me at double-quick speed. I will then ring this bell to summon everybody else.'

‘
Tiens
,' said Madame Cholet, ‘
les pauvres
little Wombles. I expect they will be starving, especially that Orinoco . . .'

She hurried back into the burrow, passing Miss Adelaide who was marshalling the smallest members of the Womblegarten into a crocodile. They were whispering and pushing and shoving, their little eyes positively glowing with excitement.

‘Form up,' ordered Miss Adelaide. She nodded politely to Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘We are planning a little surprise for the returning travellers. Excuse us. Womblegarten, move forwards and quietly, quietly, please.'

Alderney and Shansi, who were two of the pickets, were for once quite unable to talk as they watched the sun come up slowly, turning the grass on the Common to red, then yellow and then finally restoring it to its natural green. All the trees were in full leaf, the squirrels were busy hopping from branch to branch and the birds were just trying out a few scales before launching into their full dawn chorus. The badger came snuffling and snuffling out of his sett, blinked and looked up at the sky, his paws twitching. Even placid Cousin Botany found himself quite unable to concentrate on potting out, and had abandoned his little greenhouse; he too was staring up into the sky, as he muttered under his breath, ‘Well, come on then, young Wombles, where are you then . . . ?
Tsk, tsk, tsk . . .
'

The Womblex machine tapped quietly to itself in the Workshop, and Tobermory went to look at it briefly and came back mumbling.

‘Only Yellowstone again. Sends three Womblex messages a day, he does. Gabble, gabble, gabble as I . . . Hallo, what's that?'

Tobermory might be getting on in years, but his hearing was as sharp as ever, and he thought just for a second that he had heard a distant shout.

Great Uncle Bulgaria glanced at his old friend and, seeing how very nervous and on edge he was, said quietly, ‘Most interesting that message which suddenly appeared on the Womblex, when it wasn't even switched on. I must admit that I have only distant memories of Dalai Gartok. I remember Quetta Womble telling Yellowstone of the rumours that there were Great White Wombles up in the Himalayas. That was many years ago, of course. I shall be particularly interested to discover what Dalai's silent message meant. Now, how did it go?'

‘“Greetings. All pawprints now vanished. Much gratitude. Dalai Gartok and Many Cousins”,' said Tobermory briefly. He took off his bowler hat and fanned his face, puffing out his cheeks and shifting from foot to foot. ‘Certain I heard something a second ago . . .'

‘And how enterprising of Wellington and Tomsk to discover the long-lost Black Forest Burrow and our most distinguished Womble historian ever. I remember . . .'

‘
Shhhh
,' said Tobermory fiercely. ‘Listen.'

Far across on the other side of the Common Shansi let out a really loud cry for her. Her bright little eyes had just spotted a globe-like shape billowing across the sky.

‘Is Orinoco, is Bungo!'

And off across the grass went Shansi, going like the wind, and at almost the same second Alderney picked out a second balloon sailing over the rooftops and she went, ‘Yippee,
HOORAY
! Wellington and Tomsk.'

Away went Alderney with her streamers flying in the breeze and, as though this was a signal for the birds, they stopped practising their scales and began to sing as loudly as they could.

‘Here they come,' said Tobermory, waving his bowler. ‘Gound the song, Bulgaria. I mean, sound the gong.'

Boooooooooing . . .

Wombles everywhere stopped what they were doing and raced like furry shadows across the Common, so that the two sets of balloonists, who were almost beside their four selves with excitement, saw exactly what was happening. And they jumped up and down, hit each other on the back and, in the case of Tomsk, very nearly stepped back and jammed the automatic landing gear.

‘Look, there's Orinoco and Bungo,' exclaimed Wellington, pointing ahead as Balloon One veered across over the top of some trees about a hundred yards away. ‘O
I
, B
UNGO
, O
RINOCO
,
IT
'
S
US
!'

But Orinoco and Bungo were too busy shouting and yelling and dancing about to hear anything but the sound of their own voices. Wellington put Balloon Two on full power, and they slowly gained on their friends, until they were only a dozen yards behind them, as Orinoco and Bungo began to descend. At which point Miss Adelaide, who alone of all the Wimbledon Wombles was perfectly calm, gave a signal and each little member of the Womblegarten scurried about and then stopped absolutely still. Their tubby little bodies made long, but rapidly shortening shadows across the glittering, dew-covered grass, and to the four Wombles up above the shapes of the small Wombles below had formed the words:

.

WELCOME HOME

.

‘We're home,' said Wellington, rubbing the back of his front paw across his nose. ‘I say, Tomsk, old Womble, we're home!'

‘Mmm. Nice, isn't it? Mmmm,' said Tomsk.

‘Oh, isn't Wimbledon beautiful?' said Bungo. ‘I like being brave and adventurous and visiting other Wombles, but I'll tell you what, Wimbledon is best!'

‘I think,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria to Tobermory, ‘that this is one of the proudest moments of my very long life. But my word what a lot of work lies ahead of us.
Vol. Ten
, thanks to Orinoco, Wellington, Tomsk and young Bungo, is going to be the very best volume in the whole of our history. Ho-hum. I'm sorry, you were saying something?'

Tobermory put his bowler hat on again, went ‘
tsk, tsk, tsk
' and moved forwards to help with the final landing.

‘I was saying, Bulgaria,' he said over his shoulder, ‘that I'm willing to bet two dozen of Madame Cholet's extra-special daisy cream buns to an empty tidy-bag that I know what Orinoco's first words will be on landing. He may have had adventures all round the world, but it won't have altered
him
one tiny bit!'

Rather stiffly the four young Wombles climbed out of the trolleys, shivering and shaking a little with excitement and relief.

‘Whoops!' said Bungo as the Common seemed to roll up and down under his back paws, and he made a grab for Tomsk who, of all four of them, seemed to be steadiest on his feet. ‘I'll tell you what, old Womble,' Bungo went on, ‘it's jolly nice to see you again, and old Wellington as well.'

‘Mmmm. Ditto,' rumbled Tomsk.

‘Sorry, yes, I say, rather, oh dear,
YES
!' agreed Wellington. ‘And it's smashing to see everybody else too, isn't it, Orinoco?'

Orinoco nodded, sniffed the morning air, stretched and then very slowly a look of pure happiness crossed his round face, and he sniffed again even more deeply as he watched all his Wimbledon Womble relations hurrying towards them.

Great Uncle Bulgaria was in the lead with both his front paws held out in welcome, and close behind him was Tobermory, who was frowning horribly so as not to show how enormously pleased he was. The Womblegarten were all jumping up and down and hitting each other on the back and turning somersaults; and Miss Adelaide, for once, had quite given up trying to control them, as she busily polished her spectacles on the edge of her shawl. Cousin Botany was ambling along at the back of the crowd with a flowerpot in one paw and a trowel in the other; and Madame Cholet was standing in the doorway of the burrow, clasping an enormous mixing bowl which she seemed quite unable to put down.

As for Alderney and Shansi they were clinging together like two furry little limpets.

‘I say, Orinoco,' said Bungo, ‘there's really no need to be upset, you know. We're back safe and sound. You can stop sniffing.'

‘Upset? Who's upset?' said Orinoco, mildly surprised. ‘Can't you smell what I can, you silly young Womble? It's Madame Cholet's extra special stew and
I
'
M STARVING
!'

‘I owe me two dozen extra special daisy cream buns,' said Tobermory to nobody in particular, and he actually smiled from ear to ear.

‘
Shhh
, hush,
shhh!
' commanded Great Uncle Bulgaria, raising his white paws. ‘I have a Little Announcement to make on this Momentous Occasion!'

Everybody stopped shouting, cheering and chattering and there was silence, except for the birds and the faint rumbling of Orinoco's stomach.

Great Uncle Bulgaria took a deep breath and made the shortest speech of his long, long life. It was, ‘Orinoco, Tomsk, Wellington, Bungo –
WELCOME
HOME
!'

g

The Wombles Who's Who

MADAME CHOLET . . .

. . . is a brilliant Womble cook and her blackberry and apple pie is famous throughout Wombledom. She is very inventive and can turn her paw to any recipe, using ingredients the young Wombles gather on the Common. She is very kind but can get cross when young Wombles interrupt her cooking, especially Orinoco!

TOMSK . . .

. . . is the largest of the young Wombles and is very good at sport. He may not be good at reading or writing but he is brilliant at getting Wombles out of tight spots when a bit of strength is called for.

WELLINGTON . . .

. . . is rather shy, very clever and he is the smallest of the Wombles. He loves reading, inventing things and helping Tobermory in his Workshop. Some of Wellington's inventions are really very good but he always apologises for them!

ORINOCO . . .

. . . is the fattest, greediest and laziest of the young Wombles. His favourite job is ‘helping' Madame Cholet to taste recipes in the kitchen. He doesn't like tidying-up duties on the Common and usually finds a bush to hide behind and have a nap, saying, ‘I'll just have a nice forty winks'. Quite often he is woken up by another Womble's adventure.

BUNGO . . .

. . . is one of the youngest working Wombles. Even though he has not been on tidying-up duties as long as the other young Wombles, he is rather bossy and thinks he knows the answer to everything. He's usually wrong! Great Uncle Bulgaria sometimes looks at him over the top of his spectacles and says, ‘Bungo! Silly sort of name, but it suits him'.

TOBERMORY . . .

. . . is extremely clever with his paws and runs the Womble Workshop. The young Wombles bring him all kinds of rubbish and broken objects that they find on the Common. Tobermory takes off his bowler hat, scratches his head for a moment, and then mutters, ‘Problems, problems', before turning the rubbish into something very useful.

GREAT UNCLE BULGARIA . . .

. . . is over 300 years old and is the wisest of the Wimbledon Wombles. To keep warm he wears a MacWomble tartan shawl, and his favourite newspaper is
The Times
. Great Uncle Bulgaria can be strict and turn a young Womble into jelly when he looks at them over the top of his spectacles and says, ‘
Tsk, tsk, tsk,
young Womble'. However, he is also very kind and it is to him that the Wombles turn for help and guidance.

ALDERNEY . . .

. . . is a pretty young Womble who is in charge of the burrow's tea trolley. As the Wombles love their food this is an important job which she enjoys. Alderney is also a bit headstrong and can lead other young Wombles into scrapes.

MISS ADELAIDE . . .

. . . is in charge of the Womblegarten. This is where the very young Wombles learn about all things Womble, as well as reading, writing, arithmetic and, of course, recycling. Miss Adelaide is strict but fair and always wants the best for her charges. She likes to keep busy so when she's not teaching she can often be found knitting in the kitchen, enjoying a gossip with Madame Cholet.

SHANSI . . .

. . . came from China on a Womble exchange visit when she was very young in order to learn English in the Womblegarten. She enjoyed herself so much that she stayed, but her English still is not perfect. Shansi is very artistic and clever with her paws. She paints delicately and can recycle rubbish into lovely artwork. Shansi is younger than Bungo and even shyer than Wellington.

CAIRNGORM, THE MACWOMBLE THE TERRIBLE . . .

. . . lives in the Scottish burrow by Loch Ness in Scotland, where he helps to look after Nessie the Water-Womble. He often visits the Wimbledon burrow, where he drives everyone mad by playing the bagpipes. Cairngorm can be quite gruff and even bossier than Bungo!

COUSIN YELLOWSTONE . . .

. . . lives in the Yellowstone Park burrow in the USA. His full name is Yellowstone Boston Womble and he's very well dressed, kind-hearted and quite old, with silky grey fur. He left the Wimbledon burrow when he was young and sailed all over the world until he settled in the USA.

IDAHO . . .

. . . lives in the USA. His ancestors were already Wombling in North America when the first British Wombles emigrated there in the sixteenth century. His senses are finely tuned in to the environment around him.

COUSIN BOTANY . . .

. . . sailed (accidentally) from Sydney in Australia to England many years ago. No one knows exactly how old he is but his fur is nearly as white as Great Uncle Bulgaria's. He always wears an old battered panama hat and a long apron made of sacking. Cousin Botany is very absent-minded and is happiest on his own, tending to his plants.

GREAT-GREAT AUNT M. MURRUMBIDGEE . . .

. . . is in charge of the main Australian burrow. Although she is incredibly old, she is still very tough and the young Australian Wombles are quite scared of her. She respects straight-talkers.

UNCLE DUNEDIN . . .

. . . runs the North Island burrow in New Zealand. He has light-grey fur, and wears a kilt made of grass and a large necklace of seashells around his neck. He is an excellent storyteller.

HONOURABLE COUSIN TOKYO . . .

. . . is the senior Womble in the main Japanese burrow. He hopes that Workshop Master Hirado will one day solve the problem of air pollution with one of his many inventions.

DALAI GARTOK . . .

. . . lives on the top of the world in Tibet with the Great White Wombles. He is a very old and wise Womble mystic who, over many years of meditation, has learnt the art of using his mind to send messages to other Wombles.

GREAT-GREAT-GREAT UNCLE HOHENZOLLERN . . .

. . . lives in the Black Forest burrow in Germany. He is so old (no one is quite sure how old) that he talks about Great Uncle Bulgaria as ‘young Bulgaria'! He also wears two pairs of spectacles, a hat and a shawl. He wrote
A Short History of the Black Forest Burrow
, which is, in fact, a very long book, and
The Womble History of the World
.