The Wombles Go round the World (3 page)

Miss Adelaide, who like Great Uncle Bulgaria has an uncanny gift for nearly always being right about everything, was right again. There
was
a great deal to be done and during the next few weeks the four volunteers hardly knew whether they were on their front or their back paws. There was Geography and History to be learnt about the countries which they were to visit.

‘What is the capital city of Australia, Tomsk?'

‘Melbourne, no, er – Sydney? No – er Canberra?'

‘Correct. Canberra. Name the oldest Australian Womble burrow, Wellington.'

‘Er, sorry, oh yes, the Great Outback Burrow. Great-great Aunt M. Murrumbidgee is in charge.'

‘Correct. Bungo, this is for you. Who is Cousin Yellowstone's assistant?'

‘Um. Idaho.'

‘Quite right. Tomsk, the collective name of the first Wombles you will meet in France?'

Tomsk rolled his eyes, made a dreadful face and then rumbled, ‘Les WombleauX, Boulo
GNE
.'

‘Yes. But they do not pronounce the “X”, neither do they say “
BOLOGNEE
”. Say after me: “
les Wombleaux
of Boulogne”. And again, please. Good. Orinoco, tell me the name of the most important Womble in Japan and the date when the burrow was started.'

‘Honourable Cousin Tokyo and – oh – er – um – about . . .' Orinoco looked round desperately for help.

‘
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. You must attend, Orinoco. I shall take you through Womble Japanese history once more. It was in . . .'

While all this was going on, Tobermory was crashing and banging away in his experimental Workshop, which now had a little notice pinned on the door that said:

.

T.O.W.

P
LEASE KEEP OUT

UNLESS URGENT

.

‘How is it going, old friend?' asked Great Uncle Bulgaria, putting his head round the door.

‘Not too badly,' replied Tobermory. ‘That is, not too well either.' Tobermory always prefers to look on the black side of things.

‘Of course, of course. Transporting two lots of young Wombles round the world, and in opposite directions, must be a very difficult problem.'

‘Yes, it is. And it's not as if I hadn't got enough to do already. Don't forget, Bulgaria, I have to keep the burrow going and deal with all the rubbish that's tidied up as well as being T. O. whatsit. I don't know how to manage it all and that's a fact. Have a seat.'

Great Uncle Bulgaria nodded politely and sat down on a packing case which had . . .
YFFES BANANAS
printed on it. He leant forward on his stick and looked at Tobermory over the top of his spectacles.

‘Is it really all too much for you?' he asked gently.

‘'Course it's not,' replied Tobermory, pushing back his bowler hat with a screwdriver. ‘I like trying to solve problems. Ah-
HEM
, that is, when there's not too many of 'em. I must say though that little Shansi has been a great help. She's got an orderly kind of mind, that young Womble. Doesn't get flustered, no matter how much work we've got on hand.
Tsk, tsk, tsk
.'

‘Good. Well?'

‘Ah,' said Tobermory, scratching harder than ever, ‘it's how to get them round the world that's the difficulty. Well, I thought of a boat, of course, because they'll be travelling over the sea a lot, but then I said to myself, well once they've
been
over the sea and come to land, what next? They'll be met, no doubt, by our Womble relations, so then what?'

‘More travelling?' suggested Great Uncle Bulgaria.

‘That's it. That's it exactly. You see, Bulgaria, that's what all this is about. Hearing stories, collecting information, I suppose you could call it, and then moving on again. And they won't just be going across water, they'll be crossing land as well. So I thought to myself . . . I hope I'm not boring you?'

‘Never. I'm fascinated. Please proceed.'

‘Ah. So I said to myself, what about a boat that turns into a kind of car. But,' said Tobermory and stopped dead.

‘But?'

‘Well, I said to myself, travelling by car-boat might take a lot of time and trouble. So,' Tobermory took a deep breath, ‘I thought of something quite different – like going by air.'

‘You mean by aeroplane?'

‘No, I don't. Noisy, wasteful things, aeroplanes. For a start they use up all that fuel and then they leave dirty marks all over the sky. I wouldn't soil my paws with them – that is, not until I've thought of a different sort of aeroplane.
If
I ever have the time.'

‘You're not contemplating a
rocket
, Tobermory?'

‘No, no, no, that'd be even worse. What flies through the air without making a sound, Bulgaria?'

‘An owl?' suggested Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Very silent birds in flight, owls. But I don't quite see how . . .'

‘Owls!' said Tobermory in a contemptuous tone of voice. ‘Silly sort of birds they are, in spite of them being supposed to be so wise. I never met an owl yet you could exchange a sensible word with.
Too-whit
and
too-whoo
is all they ever have to say for themselves. No, no, no, Bulgaria, you've got it quite wrong. Look here, I'll show you.'

And Tobermory pulled out a large piece of cardboard which was covered in drawings and plonked it down on the Workshop bench. Great Uncle Bulgaria got up and went to look at it. He looked at it for quite a long time in silence and then he said, ‘A balloon!'

‘A clockwork balloon.'

‘Tobermory,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘you – you are a genius!'

‘No, just practical. But there is one slight problem,' said Tobermory, scratching his head again, ‘and that is, Bulgaria, will it work? Will the thing actually fly? Between you and me and the front door, I'm not too certain that it will, which is why I'm having a test flight early tomorrow morning, before anyone is about. But I hope
you'll
come and watch?'

.

* See
The Wombles to the Rescue.

.

Chapter Three

He Flies through the Air

In some mysterious way word soon got round the burrow with the result that, when Tobermory emerged on the Common pushing a very large basket-ware trolley and wearing a zip-up jacket and a crash helmet (over his bowler), there were Wombles everywhere. But they were, so to speak, invisible. This was because Great Uncle Bulgaria had set his alarm clock for 5.30 a.m. exactly. By 5.38 he had realised what was happening and had given everyone a short sharp whispered lecture, in which he said that Tobermory might feel a bit shy about trying out his latest invention, if he knew that he had a large audience.

‘Tobermory – shy?' said Orinoco, blinking and yawning.

‘Shy!' said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘So, if you want to watch what is going to happen, please do so from hidden positions. Off with you.' They went.

It was cold and grey and damp out on the Common, but nobody made a sound as Tobermory bumped his trolley across the grass to where Great Uncle Bulgaria, wearing two shawls, was waiting for him.

‘Lovely morning,' said Tobermory.

‘Yes, indeed.'

‘Well, here we are then. It's a funny thing you know, Bulgaria, but I've never actually flown before. I dare say it'll be an interesting experience. Hold that for me would you?'

‘Certainly.'

Tobermory produced various bits of this and that out of the trolley and whistled softly under his breath, making little puffs of steam in the cold air.

‘I'd never let any other Womble try out a machine that I hadn't thoroughly tested myself,' Tobermory went on, breathing rather faster as he began to use a foot pump. Something which up until now had looked like a flat, grey carpet began to heave and swell.

‘Quite right too,' agreed Great Uncle Bulgaria.

‘There she goes,' said Tobermory as the grey shape was transformed into a large, almost round balloon. ‘Hold on tight, Bulgaria. She'll start tugging in a moment.'

‘I rather think she is already, Tobermory.'

‘Hang on carefully then,' commanded Tobermory, suddenly forgetting to be rather anxious as he saw his latest invention surging into life. He hurried round adjusting things and going ‘
tsk, tsk, tsk
,' under his breath, and then he climbed into the trolley and bent down. There was a
click-click-click
sound. Great Uncle Bulgaria held his breath and so did all the other Wombles. An aeroplane roared overhead on its way to Heathrow Airport, but nobody took the slightest bit of notice as they were far too interested in what was happening on Wimbledon Common. The circular balloon was now hovering and tugging some ten feet above the trolley. It really looked as if it were longing to get up into the sky.

‘Now!' commanded Tobermory, suddenly bobbing up. ‘Let her out slowly, Bulgaria.'

Great Uncle Bulgaria did his best, but one moment he was carefully paying the rope out and the next the rope was behaving as though it had come to life and was fairly whizzing through his paws.

‘Wombles – assistance!' roared Great Uncle Bulgaria. Fortunately for him, Tomsk happened to be the one who was the closest and he catapulted out of the bush where he'd been hiding, pounded across the grass and caught up with Great Uncle Bulgaria – who was trotting along at a remarkable speed for a Womble of his age – in a vain effort to hold on to the fast-vanishing end of the rope.

Tomsk did his best-ever rugger tackle and just caught the rope end at the exact moment that it snaked out of Great Uncle Bulgaria's front paws. There was a tremendous jerk on Tomsk's arms but he hung on tightly, his feet going so fast that they were just a blur of motion. Then the pull on his arms grew even more powerful and to his great alarm Tomsk realised that, although he was still running extremely fast, his feet were no longer touching anything.

‘Heelp!' roared Tomsk breathlessly and looked down. He gasped, gulped, shut his eyes tightly and hung on for all he was worth. There was nothing much else he could do, for the Common was already at least twenty feet below him.

‘Funny,' said Tobermory, who had sat down with a bump in the bottom of the trolley because of the jerky take-off. ‘She isn't going up as fast as I thought she would with only one aboard. I must have made a mistake somewhere. Better make a few adjustments.'

The speed of the two clockwork propellers increased, going
clickety-click
-
CLACK
,
clickety-click
-
CLACK
.

‘Must make a note of that,' muttered Tobermory, getting his clipboard out of his apron pocket and writing busily. ‘Hallo,
now
what? If it isn't one thing, it's another. She's swaying a bit . . .'

Tobermory looked over the edge of the trolley and watched the Common swinging backwards and forwards. Dotted all over the grass were dozens of small, round, furry figures, dancing about on their back paws and waving and pointing.

‘I thought I'd made it clear to Bulgaria that I didn't want an audience,' grumbled Tobermory. ‘Oh well,' and being polite, as all Wombles are, he waved back.

The figures down below waved back even more frantically.

‘Lot of nonsense,' said Tobermory. ‘It's nothing to get so worked up about. After all, this is only the first clockwork balloon flight in the world. Nothing special really. I'd better take a few more readings and . . . hallo, what's that then?'

‘Heeeeelp,' cried a despairing voice from below.

Tobermory leant dangerously far over the edge of the trolley and looked down at the Common, which was dipping backwards and forwards in a manner which made Tobermory begin to feel distinctly air-sick.

‘Shtabilishers,' he said with one paw over his mouth. ‘Should have thought of that for rough weather. Only it's quite calm this morning and
OH MY WORD
!'

Tobermory forgot his queasy stomach – in fact, he forgot almost everything, as into his line of vision came the end of the rope with the round, prickly figure of Tomsk attached to it.

‘Heeeeelp,' Tomsk wailed feebly. He too was suffering from air-swinging sickness.

‘Hold on,' yelled Tobermory.

‘I
AM
holding on,' replied Tomsk as he swung out of sight underneath the trolley.

With steady paws, Tobermory calmly adjusted the air valve. There was a gentle
Shuush
and the balloon shuddered slightly and began to grow thinner.

‘They're coming down,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria.

‘
Mille mercis
,' exclaimed Madame Cholet from behind the apron which she had thrown over her head, and she burst into tears.

‘There, there, my good Womble,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, ‘don't distress yourself. What they'll want is a good hot breakfast. Of course, if you don't feel quite up to cooking . . .'

Madame Cholet wiped her eyes on the edge of the apron, sniffed and beckoned to Alderney and Shansi, who were clinging to each other like two small limpets.

.

.

‘
Attention! Vite, vite
,' commanded Madame Cholet. ‘We have work to do.'

‘And I'll have a few words to say,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria under his breath. However, being a very wise old Womble, he held those words back until after the balloon had landed with the gentlest of bumps and its two, or rather one and a half occupants, had been escorted back to the burrow, and everyone had had two, if not more, helpings of everything.

‘Exciting things often make one hungry. I've noticed it before,' said Orinoco to Bungo.

Great Uncle Bulgaria then said his few words.

‘Yes, yes, I dare say,' agreed Tobermory absent-mindedly, as he wiped some fried grass crumbs off his moustache, ‘but the first test flight is bound to throw up a few problems, you know.'

‘It certainly threw me up!' said Tomsk, speaking for the first time in half an hour. ‘Ho, ho,
HO
!'

Great Uncle Bulgaria's nose twitched. Alderney started to giggle. Wellington went, ‘Heh, heh, heh. I say, Tomsk, sorry, but you looked just like a pendulum on a clock.'

‘A fat, furry pendulum . . .'

‘Ho, ho,
HOO
.'

They laughed until their ribs hurt and the tears ran down their noses.

‘I dunno,' said Tobermory as he wiped his eyes on his duster, ‘if ever I saw such a lot of silly Wombles. And now, when I've made a few adjustments, I'll have everything airshape and ready for another flight tomorrow using Balloon Two. Only this time, I'll take someone
IN
the trolley with me. Who'll volunteer?'

And, much to their own astonishment, Orinoco, Bungo, Wellington and Tomsk all put their paws up together.

Wellington was the one chosen – because, as Tobermory tactfully put it, he was the lightest. Although he did mention to Great Uncle Bulgaria that there was another reason.

‘Bright young Womble, Wellington. Dare say he'll grasp it all a bit faster. Nothing to it really, of course, but still . . .'

‘You're sure it's going to be – well – all right, old friend?'

‘Yes, yes. I've just invented the new self-releasing anchor. I'll show you how it works, if you like . . .'

‘How very kind, Tobermory. Some other time perhaps. I'm due to give a little talk in the Womblegarten. I've entitled it “Who's Who in the Womble World.” '

The self-releasing anchor worked perfectly and, after the first few nervous minutes, Wellington found that he was enjoying himself enormously, pointing out Queen's Mere, then King's Mere and the Wimbledon tennis courts and . . .

‘I say, look, St Paul's and the Post Office Tower and Battersea Power Station and . . .'

‘Yes, yes, yes. But now to work. This handle here, marked Prop One, is the first propeller . . .'

By the end of the second week, during which even Tomsk had learnt how to handle the balloon, those working down on the Common didn't even bother to glance up as the airborne Wombles swept overhead with just the faintest
tick-tick
-
TOCK
to announce their presence.

Down on the ground, matters were also proceeding smoothly, although Bungo was showing signs of getting rather above himself as he went round humming under his breath, ‘
Oh, those daring young Wombles in their flying balloons, they go up tiddy tiddy up, they go down tiddy tiddy down. Oh, those
DARING
. . .
'

Until even mild-mannered Cousin Botany was driven to say gently, ‘Ah yes, up and down, up and down. It reminds me of my sailing-ship days, it does. Especially the Bay of Biscay. But, you know,
I
wasn't daring at all. Just the opposite. Scared out of my fur most of the time. My word. Now what did I come into the burrow for, I wonder? Do you think I can remember it?'

Bungo shuffled his back paws, scratched his ears and said in a very small voice, ‘No, no, of course, you don't. Don't expect you to. I'll ask Great Uncle Bulgaria. He'll know . . .'