The Little Grey Men

by BB

  With a sudden impulse the gnomes stood up; Squirrel sat up too like a little grey rabbit with his paws hanging against his whitish tummy. And then they began to walk towards the music, threading their way among the bracken stalks and under the brambles, not looking where they put their feet, walking like blind things or automata. And it seemed too that the whole wood was moving, if the trees could walk they would have done so, for even they began to shiver their leaves, though there was no wind, as if they were striving to move their fast-bound feet. Everywhere, all around, there was a quiet controlled pattering.

  Then the gnomes knew it to be the People of the Wood; woodpigs, bub’ms, fernbears, wood dogs, tiny mice and squirrels, weasels, bats, snakes—yes, even snakes—frogs and wild roe-deer, all the woodland birds, even those of the day as well as of the night; the jays and magpies who should have been asleep, the hawks and little birds; tree pipits and tree creepers, wrens and wagtails, though alas! there were few small birds, for as you know, the songsters were scarce in the wood of Giant Grum.

  All were moving forward through the wood, all converging on the clearing where the gibbet stood. At ten minutes to midnight the great gathering was complete. Baldmoney, Sneezewort, and Dodder found themselves standing once more on the edge of the gibbet clearing. The gibbet still stood there in the moonlight, with its dangling array of draggled victims, but before it was a wondrous Being, his cloven feet in a circle of glow-worm light. The gnomes knew who he was, as did all the great concourse of the Wood People, jostling shoulders with each other in a great hollow square. There was no enmity now between beast and beast, hawk and bird; weasel and mouse stood together, owl and field vole, gnome and fox, all those animals that had survived Giant Grum were there. Hundreds upon hundreds of eyes made a continuous band of faint light all around the clearing. The rustling of footsteps still continued as late comers arrived. Dark wings flapped silently across from tree to tree, bats with hurried noiseless flight came to rest up in the oaks, faint snappings of sticks were heard on all sides. But as the seconds passed these sounds grew less and less until all was silent once again save for the faint sweet reed music which sobbed and shook, holding the animals and birds under its magic spell. At last that too died away as Pan slowly lowered his pipes and laid them on the grass, where they seemed to burn in a row of lambent flames.

  Utter silence then, not even the rustling of the leaves was heard. It was midnight on Midsummer’s Eve! Everything seemed to listen, the trees, and grass, insects, animals and birds. Then Pan spoke and his voice was as sweet as the Folly music and the beating pulse of summer seas.

  ‘People of the Wood, one of you has called upon me. I have come! What is it that you want of me, O People of the Wood?’

  For an instant no one replied or stirred. Then into the broad moonlight of the clearing hobbled Dodder. His head was bowed and his back bent. The animals watched him but said no word. He passed with halting tread across the dewy grass and stood before Pan, the god of all the wild things. Then he spoke clearly so that all could hear.

  ‘O mighty Pan, we thought you must have gone, so long have we called upon you and had no answer. The swallows have been many weary times since last we saw you; even I, the oldest thing alive in the woods and fields, thought you had gone with the Others. I prayed that, if you were still indeed among us this Midsummer night,’ he paused, overcome with awe at the majesty of the Woodland God. ‘Speak on, Dodder,’ said Pan gently (he knew his name, you see); ‘what is it that you want? I have come back once more to you all . . . once more . . . ’ Pan paused, and in the silence not a foot moved or a wing rustled, ‘and then I shall indeed be gone until that day when we shall all return, yes, all, gnomes and wild forgotten things alike, to the land where once we lived.’

  ‘We want,’ said Dodder, ‘this one thing, O good god Pan, that Giant Grum should die.’

  Pan answered not for a while, but sat looking at the hundreds of tiny eyes weaving and glinting in one continuous chain all around him.

  ‘That is a terrible thing to ask of me,’ he said at length, ‘a terrible thing, that the Giant should die. But’ (and Pan slowly turned and looked upon the gallows behind), ‘I need not ask why this Giant should die. I know everything, I know how he has used your People. But I must hear from you all, yes all, that you desire that the Giant should die. I ask you now, in this solemn hour, is Giant Grum to die?’

  A strange murmur seemed to sweep across the clearing, to meet like two great invisible waves, which meeting, melted away. ‘Yea! Yea!’ Silence fell again.

  Then Pan spoke. ‘There are those among you who did not say “yea”. Let them stand forth!’

  From the dusky swaying ranks moved nearly five hundred pheasants. They did not walk with their heads upraised, but with low and creeping carriage, and stood in a timid semicircle round the good god Pan. An angry murmur arose from all the animals, but Pan held up his hand for silence. ‘Let their spokesman speak,’ he said. The gnomes recognized the proud cock pheasant, whose eggs they had stolen, strangely altered and no longer proud.

  ‘O Lord Pan, if the Giant, our master, should go, then so shall we. He it is that feeds and tends us. The Wood People steal our eggs. For us these woods were planted. If the Giant goes we shall starve.’

  Again an angry murmur came from the hollow square, but again Pan silenced them with a gesture.

  ‘The woods were here before man walked the earth, though he can tame the trees and work his will upon them, even as he has tamed you, O pheasants.’

  And the pheasants turned and crept away, the silent ranks parted to let them through, thousands of eyes watched from tree and fern and grass.

  When they had gone Pan spoke again. ‘Your wish is granted, the Giant shall no longer walk Crow Wood. Come, venerable gnome, to me.’

  Dodder advanced, eyes still downcast, and stood at Pan’s cloven feet, where, had it not been for his leg, he would have humbly knelt. Pan stretched up his hand to the oak tree close by and plucked six leaves, giving them to Dodder.

  ‘Take these leaves, venerable Dodder, they shall rid you of Giant Grum for ever.’ Dodder took them, trembling. ‘Tomorrow at noon, go to the Wood Pool, and you shall know what to do, and you shall see what you shall see.’

  ‘How can so frail a thing as a leaf avail us against the Giant,’ whispered the doubting Baldmoney in Sneezewort’s ear; ‘there is no magic left in England now!’

  ‘Only have courage and faith,’ continued Pan, taking up his pipes, ‘and the death of your brothers will be avenged.’

  And so saying he stood up to his full stature, the pipes again at his lips, and slowly he seemed to dissolve away. The sweet music, so haunting and compelling, seemed to rise up among the trees, floating mysteriously to and fro, now loud, now faint, but all the time dwindling and dying, until it was heard no more and there was no trace where Pan had been, only the moonlit clearing and silent gibbet hung with bones.

  Far away a farm cock was crowing, and the paling east showed dawn was near. With its coming the great concourse melted like hoarfrost in the rays of the sun, the rustlings and the clickings died and dew winked wet upon the grass.

  •

  Giant Grum had no appetite for breakfast and his wife was worried. All night he had tossed and turned in his sleep, muttering, groaning. His wife wanted him to stay in bed.

  ‘You have the flu, I’m sure; lie still and let me send for the doctor.’

  But he would not. ‘No, the fresh air will do me good; I must go down to the pens. It’s fresh air I want. Perhaps this hot weather has got me down a bit.’

  He took his gun from the corner and, whistling Jet, went out into the glorious morning. Soon the little half-timbered cottage among the trees was hidden by a bend in the path. He strode along with his dog at his heel. Two hundred yards from the house was a clearing and here the pheasant pens were ranged row on row. At intervals were poles from which were suspended the bodies of crows, jays, and magpies, who came to rob him of his precious chicks. As
soon as he came within sight of the clearing he stopped short. Something was wrong, not a pheasant was to be seen! Usually they came running to him like chickens to be fed, but the place was deserted. He went from pen to pen, all were empty! He looked about him at the trees and bushes,—nothing! Was this a dream? Yes, he must be really ill, a pulse beat in his head.

  A little rest under a tree, down by the Wood Pool. It was cool there. He would sleep and wake and find all was well. This flu played tricks with one, to be sure. He went back down the path, past the cottage he strode, unheeding his anxious wife, down the chequered sunlit path.

  Ah! There was the cool water; how peaceful it looked under the trees! Trout were rising, dimpling the surface; here was the place to rest, to sleep! He threw himself down among the fern, close to a pine tree, laying his loaded gun beside him. Just a little nap, only a short one, and then he would wake. All would be well, he would see clearly again . . . all would be well. He closed his eyes and the dog, sitting by his side, kept watch, its ears pricked.

  How still his master lay, he hardly seemed to breathe! A dragonfly passed down the glade, zooming up into the sunlight and, turning swiftly, repassed. The dog heard the click of its jaws as it caught an insect. Bees passed, and up above, in the cool shadow, flies jigged. Now and again yellow streaks flashed by, seeming to leave a continuous line against the background of sallow and fern. They were wasps and they had a nest in the bank below the Wood Pool. Soon the dog felt sleepy too. He looked again at his master and then, hunching his back with his eyes on the ground, and smelling the fern, he turned round and round until he had made himself a comfortable couch. Then, with a big sigh, he closed his eyes and, like his master, fell fast asleep.

  •

  The cool shadows across the forest path moved as the sun moved. A lovely tawny gold fritillary, newly hatched, came by, hovering over the bushes, passing on. Then a banded white admiral with gliding graceful flight. Man and dog slept; the sun, gathering power, made the moist fern steam. The hum of insects filled the air, the summer song of the woods.

  Then the fern rustled and a face peeped out, a tiny bearded face, crowned by a batskin cap with the ears left on. It was Dodder.

  There before him lay Giant Grum, all the hairy length of him, all the sweaty man-smell of him, fast asleep! This giant killed Otter, Otter of the gentle eyes, whose joy was the running water and spotted shingle.

  The sides of the sleeping dog went in and out gently, the hind legs quivered in an uneasy dream, dream barks came from him and the half-opened eyes showed white with sleep. Dodder moved through the fern to where the heavy gun lay among the crushed bracken fronds. A ladybird was crawling up the blued barrel. It reached the end and wavered uncertainly. Then a bumble bee came droning through the fern forest. It found the head of a purple knapweed and clambered on it, bending it right over until it touched the gun stock. Dodder saw the polished grain of the wood and the worn smooth appearance of the steel barrel where the giant’s sweaty hand held it when firing.

  He put his fingers into his pocket and drew forth the leaves, the six oak leaves which Pan had given him. He crept to the muzzle of the gun.

  •

  A tiny pine twig dropped from the tree above. It struck the giant on the nose and he sat up stretching.

  Ah! he felt better—that terrible ennui had left him. Nothing like a nap in the open air. The dog was still asleep. What had awakened him? He scratched his nose and looked about him. This would never do. Supposing his master had caught him sleeping, he might get the sack!

  Ah! What was that he had been dreaming, something about his pheasant pens. He chuckled, what silly things are dreams!

  Pat! Another stick fell. He looked up into the tangled dark branches above him. A squirrel was it .. . something. He got to his feet, peering up, his sharp eyes searching, searching. And then he saw Dodder, perched on a branch thirty feet above him. The dog was awake too, the hairs bristling along the ridge of its back, its eyes staring upwards.

  •

  Giant Grum groaned and passed his hands over his eyes. Oh dear, still seeing things! He looked again. Yes . . . yes . . . a tiny man in a batskin cap and coat sitting on a pine branch. Beside him was a grey squirrel.

  But these things can’t be; after all, one must be practical. The squirrel, yes . . . but that other thing . . . there weren’t such things as gnomes . . . it was impossible. It must be a new kind of bat! And then, as he watched, the vulgar little gnome leaned forward and spat! The tiny spot of white came swiftly down like a plummet and hit him in the eye. Giant Grum let out an oath.

  •

  The gun came up, a cracked finger with a black nail crooked round the trigger. A gnome was it! Well, we would see! Neither Dodder nor Squirrel moved, the tiny face was actually grinning at him.

  Giant Grum’s right thumb pushed forward the catch on top of the gun, hiding the one tiny word ‘safe’. He pressed the trigger and then . . . something went ‘pouf ’ at the giant, blowing him out like a candle.

  •

  ‘It was simple,’ said Dodder to an admiring ring of animals who had gathered round Tree Top House.

  ‘I pushed the leaves down inside each barrel, and then Squirrel and I went up the tree. He was fast asleep and we threw things on him to wake him. Then he stood up and aimed his club that roars. I knew Pan was with me, I wasn’t even afraid when I saw those two black mouths pointing at me, I knew the leaves would burst the gun. Then he fired, there was a great noise and the giant went backwards into the bracken. I think he was dead; I was glad to come away. Listen!’

  And then they heard birds singing; blackbirds, thrushes, willow warblers, wood wrens, blackcaps, white throats, tits, chaffinches, greenfinches, and the glorious voice of the nightingales. The birds had come back to Crow Wood at last!

  Author’s Note.—It is not generally known that a slight obstruction, if some inches from the muzzle of a gun barrel, is sufficient to burst it when the cartridge is fired, especially if the gun is much worn.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Animal Banquet

  odder the Giant-Killer was fêted by the animals; he was acclaimed the Hero, the Saviour of Crow Wood.

  A truce was declared and the gnomes asked all their friends to a great celebration by the Folly Falls, below Tree Top House, as many as cared to come. All the next day there were comings and goings, excited whisperings among the fern, rustling of oak leaves and flapping of wings. It was amazing how quickly the news spread, bird told bird (they were the chief messengers).

  Woodpig was rootling for worms up the brook when he was surprised to see Chaffinch, ‘spinking’ at him from a hazel twig. ‘Are you coming to the Animal Banquet?’ it asked him, ‘down by the Folly Falls tonight? Nearly everyone’s going to be there. Dodder the Giant-Killer and his two brothers, Squirrel and the rest—it’s going to be a wonderful time; bring your own grub!’

  Woodpig would have liked to spend the evening quietly, for he was a shy little spiny person, but he agreed to come. Fernbear, asleep deep in his fortress far under Crow Wood, was awakened by a woodmouse tickling his whiskers. ‘What! Ugh! Ah!’ he awakened rather testily, sneezing and coughing.

  ‘Animal Banquet by the Folly Falls, Wood People welcome—tonight! And bring some food with you,’ squeaked the mouse and vanished.

  Fernbear poked his snoring family with his snout. ‘Animal Banquet tonight at Folly Falls, Wood People welcome,’ and then he went straight off to sleep again.

  From beak to beak and from muzzle to muzzle the word was passed round, ‘Folly Falls tonight, bring your own grub!’

  As soon as the sun was down the animals and birds began to arrive. They were amazed to see a big fire burning, with flames leaping high into the air. Even the trees seemed to crowd round, bending their heads to join in the fun. Birds of every description were there, the bushes and fern bent with their weight. But it was noticed that the foxes, stoats, and pheasants had not been invited.

  Woodpig brought a ball of worms in moss
(and other things which didn’t smell very nice); the nervous little roe-deer, their eyes big with wonder, hovered in the background, too shy to come into the circle of light. Crowds of bats hung upside down under the oak boughs and kept getting in everyone’s way, for the fire mazed them and they flew about in the smoke, cheeping excitedly. The gnomes had spent the day catching fish; minnows, perch, and three whopping trout from the Wood Pool, so there was plenty for everyone.

  Squirrel had found, quite by accident, a perfectly enormous cache of nuts under one of his trees, and Fernbear, rather tactlessly, brought some fresh-killed meat which looked suspiciously like infant Bub’ms, but as Bub’ms have far too many babies, everybody pretended not to notice. He also brought what appeared to be a plucked pheasant, but he said it was fowl.

  There was no other drink but the Folly water; if the gnomes had been nearer home they would have provided many rare wines, well matured, such as elder and nettle, but it was too long a journey back to the Oak Pool to fetch them.

  Dodder had every excuse for swelled head, but he modestly took no credit for what he had done.

  When all had feasted they gathered round the glowing fire, watching, enthralled, the tiny brilliant sparks shooting up, to wander away like fairies among the leaves of the oaks. Every time the fire burnt up brightly the velvety blue-black sky seemed to darken, and all the while the Folly kept up its happy song.

  They took it in turn to tell stories. Even the shy roe-deer sidled nearer and listened with their great ears. I regret to say that some of the bats, overcome with the effects of a large meal of insects and half suffocated by the wood smoke, kept dropping off their leaves into the fire, only a few were rescued with difficulty. Woodpig was disgustingly sick from eating too many worms. I am also ashamed to say that the gnomes, too, ate far too much, and while Bub’m was in the middle of rather a long and dreary story of ‘why Bub’ms wore white cottontails’, Baldmoney’s belt parted with a loud snap and his skin jacket split all down the front!