Mennyms in the Wilderness

by Sylvia Waugh

  He’s probably back in the stable, he thought, looking for me. Weather like this, he’s sure to be sheltering. I wish we’d never left Comus House.

  That was not exactly true either. Like all the Mennyms, he loved Brocklehurst Grove. He loved Castledean. And, unique among the Mennyms, he knew how to settle anywhere. But on this particular nasty wet day, he felt stymied.

  He went down to the kitchen. Vinetta was putting clothes into the automatic washing machine.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” she said. “I thought when we left Comus House that I would never see it again. I expected to go back to struggling with the twin-tub. I can’t believe how lucky I am!”

  Poopie looked furious.

  “It’s all right for you,” he said. “You’ve got what you want.”

  Vinetta turned her full attention towards the indignant ten-year-old.

  “And what do you want, Poopie?” she asked gently. A less tolerant mother would have lost her temper. Vinetta, as always, waived the right to be angry.

  “I want Andy Black,” said Poopie. “If you and Granpa hadn’t stopped Dad making a hutch for him he wouldn’t have been able to run away.”

  “You’ll feel better when the rain stops,” said his mother. “Why don’t you play with your Action Men? You can take them into the conservatory for a change if you like.”

  Poopie scowled and said nothing.

  “Tell you what,” said Vinetta, “I’ll have a word with your father. Maybe we can get you a pet rabbit some time.”

  Poopie faltered. It went against the grain to show any interest when he was in such a bad mood.

  “It wouldn’t be Andy Black,” he said, but it was clear that he would not be at all averse to the company of another rabbit. Vinetta was as good as her word. But when Joshua, Tulip and Sir Magnus himself all, for a variety of reasons, gave the thumbs down to the possibility of buying a real live rabbit, she had to come up with a compromise.

  The compromise was ready a few days before Christmas.

  “You can have this now,” said Vinetta, pleased with her efforts. “It can be an early present.”

  She had taken a large cardboard box to Poopie’s room. It was about the size of a portable TV set and it was all wrapped up in shiny red paper.

  “What is it?” asked her son eagerly. He had been in the middle of a game with Hector, Basil and Co when his mother tapped on the door. But a shiny red parcel was definitely worth stopping for!

  “I’ll leave you to open it,” said his mother. “I hope you like it.”

  Alone in his room, Poopie pulled off the paper and opened the box. There inside was a furry rabbit, light grey with dark grey inside its large ears. Its eyes were pink beads and it had very realistic whiskers. The ears unfortunately drooped to either side of its head giving it the appearance of a cross between a rabbit and a basset-hound.

  Poopie took one look at it and went into a full-scale tantrum.

  “What does she think I am? A baby? What do I want with a cuddly toy? A nasty, rotten cuddly toy!”

  Soobie was in his own room sorting out some books. He heard the thudding and the thumping and the howls of rage and went over to investigate.

  “Hold on, Poopie,” he said as he went into the room just in time to see his brother fling the rabbit into the corner. “What’s up with you?”

  “It’s her,” he said. “She’s stupid. She’s made a daft rabbit and expects me to play with it. I’m ten years old, not ten months.”

  “There is a difference,” conceded Soobie, “but Mum’s done her best. You shouldn’t be so ungrateful.”

  He went to the corner and picked up the rabbit. It was beautifully made, with a strong potential for being real.

  “Try talking to it,” said Soobie, “and stroking its head.”

  He remembered how he and his mother had talked and talked to Pilbeam till she came to life.

  Poopie scowled.

  The rabbit had a scared look in its pink eyes.

  “You’re as daft as she is,” said Poopie. “And it doesn’t even look like a proper rabbit. I’ve never seen a rabbit with ears like that. You could almost tie them under its chin.”

  Soobie, with a flash of inspiration, remembered a phrase from a book he’d once read.

  “You could think of it as a special kind of rabbit,” he said. “Your own special rabbit, made especially for you.”

  “Don’t talk wet,” said Poopie. “It’s a soppy cuddly toy and I don’t want it. You might as well give it to Googles.”

  Soobie looked very stern.

  “You will do no such thing. Mother made that rabbit for you. You’re a self-centred, ungrateful brat. Our family’s full of them. I sometimes wonder why Mum doesn’t give up trying.”

  “Well, what did you think of your rabbit?” Vinetta asked hopefully.

  “It’s all right,” said Poopie. “I suppose I’ll get used to it. But it’s not Andy Black.”

  “It couldn’t be, sweetheart,” said Vinetta. “It was the best I could do.”

  Poopie put the rabbit on a stool in the corner of his room and ignored it.

  44

  Return to Comus House

  ALBERT’S VISITS TO Brocklehurst Grove became increasingly frequent. He stayed over at weekends. He saw less and less of his former friends and more and more of the Mennyms. He played chess with Soobie. He argued with Appleby. With Pilbeam he read poetry. He even told stories that kept Poopie and Wimpey still for at least half-an-hour at a time. And always and always he confided in Tulip. The valuation of his property, she decided, should be made in mid-January.

  “No good bothering before the holiday. Let the new year shake the creases out of its coat first.”

  The house should be kept at least as clean as it had become during the sojourn of the Mennyms.

  “Get your Mrs Briggs to give it a going over once a week. You can take her there and back. Give her a bit extra for travelling time – but not too much. She is competent, I hope?”

  Tulip had eyed him sharply as she asked the question. Albert was perfectly capable of employing an incompetent housekeeper.

  “She’s very thorough,” said Albert. “You should see her cleaning the cooker top.”

  That was good enough for Tulip. The times they had cooked for Albert made her well aware of how dirty a cooker top could become.

  “You’ll spend Christmas with us,” said Vinetta. “We’d all like you to. I’ll get you one of those frozen dinners you enjoy so much.”

  Albert agreed.

  So he had to turn down a very tempting invitation from Lorna’s mother, Jennifer Gladstone. A real Christmas dinner with a real family. It would have made a wonderful change from a pub lunch with a couple of bachelor friends – last year and the year before – and it would have been, he had to be honest, more appetising than anything Vinetta might manage to make. However, a promise is a promise.

  The late invitation came after Albert kept his promise to Lorna. On the last Thursday of term, Jennifer Gladstone came into Durham with her daughter. They had coffee in the Union with Albert and from there they set off for Comus House.

  Mrs Gladstone – Jennifer, do call me Jennifer – was a nice fluttery woman. She was not as down-to-earth as Vinetta and much less calculating than Tulip. Her fair hair was very fine and never quite tidy. Her blue eyes watered easily. If there was any resemblance between her and her daughter, it lay in bone-structure rather than colouring. They both had longish faces and firm chins. They were both a little above average height and quite slim. Lorna’s dark eyes and black hair came from the Gladstone side of the family.

  Jennifer enjoyed the trip to Comus House. She had visited only once before and that was when she was really too young to remember. The only thing that seemed at all familiar inside the house was the jug with the little boy climbing up to steal the nest.

  “I remember that,” she said, delighted. “It is the only thing I do remember. Isn’t that marvellous? I must have been no more than three w
hen I saw it.”

  Albert thought about the auctioneer due to come in January. On impulse, he said, “You can have it, Mrs Gladstone, Jennifer. I’m sure you’ll treasure it.”

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly. It’s yours.”

  Jennifer in a flutter was as bad as Miss Quigley had been in her cupboard days. Lorna stepped in and said, “For goodness’ sake, Mum, Albert really wants you to have that jug. Take it and say thanks. We’ll have to find something to wrap it in for the journey home.”

  Albert gave her a smile of gratitude.

  “Come to us for Christmas dinner,” said Jennifer. “It’ll be noisy – Lorna’s the oldest and the quietest, but even she can do her share. The rest of them have to be heard to be believed. But the food will be good, I promise you, and you might find it fun to be in the middle of a bear garden!”

  “Sorry,” said Albert. “I really would love to come, but I’ve already promised to spend Christmas with some friends of mine and I can’t let them down.”

  “New Year maybe? Come for New Year’s Day instead,” said Lorna.

  “Lorna!” said Jennifer. “Don’t push. Albert has lots of friends, I’m sure. He might not have time to come to us.”

  “I have got time,” said Albert. “I’d really love to come – if you’re sure you’d want me.”

  “Albert Pond!” said Lorna, exasperated. “Stop being so diffident. It must be a family trait. Thank goodness I’ve missed out on it! Yes, Mother, he does want to come. Yes, Albert, we do want you.”

  Her smile took the edge off her words. Albert laughed a little nervously. Jennifer fluttered slightly. But it was settled that he should be their guest on New Year’s Day.

  “Come New Year’s Eve and see the new year in,” said Lorna. “You can sleep in Robert’s room. He’s going to stay with a school friend straight after Christmas. You needn’t even drive yourself. Dad and I will come and fetch you. I’ll give you a ring to remind you we’re coming.”

  From Comus House they drove on down to Castledean where Lorna and her mother asked to be set down in the High Street to do some Christmas shopping.

  Albert drove past Brocklehurst Grove on his way out of the town. He was tempted to call in, but there was still another day to go before term really ended. So he passed on by.

  45

  The Christmas Presents

  SIR MAGNUS DECIDED to break the habit of a lifetime and come down to the lounge for Christmas Day. After all, he had travelled as far as Comus House with no ill effects. So he descended the two flights of stairs and prepared to preside over the Christmas festivities. Soobie helped him and Tulip watched them anxiously. Sir Magnus clutched the handrail with his right hand. His left arm was draped over Soobie’s shoulder and in his left hand he carried a totally redundant walking-stick which waved about in the air. It was not an easy undertaking. It would be even more difficult taking him back up to bed, but Albert would be there to give an extra hand. They had done it before and managed perfectly well.

  Everyone was delighted to see the head of the household sitting in Joshua’s armchair and looking singularly benign. Poopie and Wimpey could not have been more pleased if Santa Claus himself had come. He was wearing a maroon-coloured velvet jacket with a tie belt round the waist and a pair of dark green tartan trews. His purple feet could just be glimpsed above his green leather slippers.

  “You look great, Granpa,” said Poopie. “Really great.”

  It set the tone for the day – all love and friendship.

  They did not go into the dining-room for Christmas dinner. Sir Magnus had never pretended to eat a meal and the others were afraid he might be embarrassed. They all stayed in the lounge and exchanged presents.

  Among the grown-ups, the only present of any general interest was the large package brought in by Miss Quigley.

  “This,” she said, “is my present to everyone. I hope you’ll all like it.”

  She took it near enough to Sir Magnus’s chair for him to reach out and pull one end of the shiny red ribbon that was tied into a big bow in the middle of the rectangle. That ceremony over, Poopie and Wimpey were allowed to remove the wrappings, which they did most unceremoniously, ripping the paper off with all speed and no dignity. It was, of course, a painting.

  Everyone looked at it in amazement. It was the largest picture Miss Quigley had ever painted. It showed moorland and fields stretching for miles and miles under a pale sky of yellow and turquoise. Narrow roads wound up to the horizon and a gentle, misty sunset.

  “It’s the view from Comus House,” said Pilbeam. “You’ve done it beautifully, Miss Quigley.”

  “And all from memory,” said Hortensia proudly. “I left my sketches behind when we returned.”

  “It is a very fine piece of work, madam,” said Sir Magnus. “Very fine indeed.”

  “It was a beautiful place, you know,” said Miss Quigley, glowing at the praise. “We’ll never see such breadth and majesty again. I wanted to remember it. I’m sure that in some strange way we all miss it.”

  Come off it, thought Soobie, we couldn’t get away from it fast enough. Yet under the cynicism there was a twinge of regret, a feeling of nostalgia for something left behind.

  “It was a good place to visit,” said Tulip, “but not a place to stay.”

  They all felt more comfortable hearing her say this. It gave them the right to have pleasant memories of their stay in the country.

  Appleby’s biggest present was a guitar. She was delighted with it. It was the first time in all her years that she had ever been given a musical instrument.

  “Will you be able to play it?” asked Poopie doubtfully.

  Appleby gave him an exaggerated look of superiority and proved her point by managing to strum the strings quite convincingly.

  Pilbeam was very pleased with her CD player. The stereo she shared with Appleby was in Appleby’s room and played only the music that Appleby liked – undiluted pop! Pilbeam yearned for a more varied diet. Now in her own room she would be able to listen to the music she wanted.

  For Soobie there was a beautifully illustrated copy of Lord of the Rings and another dark blue tracksuit identical to the one he now wore. It was, Vinetta thought, a very small step in the right direction. Next year she might even risk buying him one in a different colour.

  Poopie was given a box full of Lego bricks that included a couple of motors worked by batteries.

  But the present that vied with Miss Quigley’s for beauty and interest was Wimpey’s. On a base of blue cardboard waves, three feet square, was a perfect luxury liner.

  “You’ve given her a boat,” said Poopie disapprovingly. “That’s not fair. Girls don’t like boats.”

  “It’s not a battleship, you know,” said Vinetta smiling. “It’s a cruise liner. It makes a change from dolls’ houses. Your father made it for her.”

  And he had. Every bit of the liner from the stem to the stern, from the gangplanks to the hammocks on the sundeck had been made by Joshua in secret in his spare time. There was a ballroom with crystal chandeliers. There was a restaurant with tables and chairs. And the whole side of the ship was hinged at the bottom so that it could be lowered to reveal all the parts inside – the galley, the engine room, the bar and the cabins on two decks.

  The passengers and crew were jointed dolls bought from Peachum’s, but their clothing had been made with loving care by Vinetta.

  At one o’clock, Albert Pond arrived. Vinetta took his dinner out of the oven and he ate it at the kitchen table where he was well used to eating by now. It was a ‘Turkey Dinner for One’ but he still enjoyed it. Vinetta had even managed to provide a glass of real wine. She kept him company whilst he ate. The others remained in the lounge.

  After his meal, Albert distributed the presents he had brought and was given books and stationery and handkerchieves in return. From Miss Quigley he received the long-promised portrait in its carved and gilded frame. Then they all sat and talked and helped the young ones to play with their
toys till it was dusk. Poopie and Wimpey, helped by Pilbeam and Soobie, took their presents away to their own room. Miss Quigley carried Googles off into the nursery. Then the rest of the family settled back to enjoy a quiet evening. They closed the curtains, but decided against switching on the ceiling lights. The two table-lamps were lit. The standard lamp gave a soft glow to the round table in the corner.

  Sir Magnus was still in Joshua’s armchair. Appleby was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, quietly strumming her guitar. At the round table sat Albert and Pilbeam, close together, looking at the poetry book he had bought for her.

  “Let me read you this one,” he said. As he began to read, the hush that often falls on desultory conversation became one of deliberate, pleasurable listening. Even Appleby ceased to pluck the strings of her guitar.

  He read the words as if he already knew them by heart:

  “Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

  Enwrought with golden and silver light,

  The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

  Of night and light and the half-light,

  I would spread the cloths under your feet:

  But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

  I have spread my dreams under your feet;

  Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

  When he had finished, the room was filled with a silence so charged that everyone was searching their minds for a way to break it. But no one knew how.

  Vinetta it was who said, a little too late for comfort, and in a voice that was not quite on key, “That was lovely, Albert.”

  But the spell was not broken. The silence was even more powerful than before. Soobie looked across at his twin sister and came awkwardly to the rescue.

  “Poetry is dangerous stuff,” he said. “If you go too near the edge, you might fall in!”