The Tree that Sat Down

by Beverley Nichols

  Mr Peacock bowed. No doubt she was right; she usually was. He gave her another peck for luck. And then, very slowly, with long dignified struts, they walked together towards the shop, through the glades that were still ghostly with the early morning mist.

  *

  At The Shop Under the Willow, Judy and her grannie were giving the final touches. The animals were beginning to arrive, and although it needed nearly half an hour to the opening ceremony, there was already quite a fluttering and cooing and purring and sniffing, among the ancient roots and branches.

  However, Judy was rather worried, because they all seemed very shy, and not at all sure whether they ought to buy anything or not.

  Mrs Dove, for instance, was longing to order some of Judy’s Pearl Powder to sprinkle on her chest, but she simply did not dare to do so because Mrs Pouter Pigeon was watching her, and she was sure that if she ordered any, Mrs Pouter Pigeon would say something unpleasant.

  ‘You really should try some,’ urged Judy.

  ‘What is it made of?’ queried Mrs Dove.

  ‘It is made of powdered mother-of-pearl and the seeds of white moon-flowers; then it is mixed together with the juice of white cherries and spread out to dry on white toadstools in the moonlight.’

  ‘It sounds beautiful,’ sighed Mrs Dove. But out of the corner of her eye she could see that Mrs Pouter Pigeon was watching her like a hawk. So she shook her head, murmuring, ‘Some other time, perhaps,’ and passed on.

  Which was really very foolish, for Mrs Pouter Pigeon was longing to buy some of the powder too.

  ‘It will be better as soon as Mr Peacock has made his speech,’ thought Judy. And she hurried off to see how he was getting on.

  Mr Peacock, who had arrived with Mrs Peacock before any of the others, was resting in the ‘Annexe’, which was really a withered branch round which an old honeysuckle had twined itself into a sort of arbour. In spite of his grand manners he was very nervous indeed, for he had never made a speech before. (Except, of course, to Mrs Peacock.) And he showed his nervousness by all sorts of angry little pecks and pouts.

  ‘I hope,’ he said to Judy, ‘I sincerely hope that when I speak there will be silence?’

  ‘But of course, Mr Peacock. Nobody would be so rude as to …’

  ‘Let us hope not.’ Mr Peacock closed his beautiful eyes. ‘What is the time?’ he breathed in a faint voice.

  ‘There is still about twenty minutes to go,’ said Judy.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well – fairly sure.’

  ‘Have you blown the dandelion clock?’

  ‘Not for the last hour or so.’

  Mr Peacock tapped his foot impatiently. ‘Then kindly bring one here and blow the time immediately. I cannot keep My Public waiting.’

  And so, when Judy brought back the dandelion clock to Mr Peacock, and began to show him the time, she breathed very softly, so that he should not feel too agitated. Nevertheless, the seeds flew away merrily up into the tree tops, for it was growing late, and though a dandelion clock can be very obliging, and can grant us a few moments’ indulgence, it can never really tell a lie. Time can do almost anything but that.

  The last delicate feather of a seed flew off the stalk, hovered above them, twisted, turned, and then danced up to the sky.

  Mr Peacock watched it go.

  Then he rose to his feet. He was trembling all over, and his tail, which was still firmly folded, was on the point of opening. It was only with the greatest effort that he could keep it shut – it felt like a whole bundle of rockets that only needed a match to set it alight in a thousand flaming stars.

  ‘Come!’ he said, in a hoarse voice. ‘We must proceed.’

  Slowly he emerged from his retreat, and made his way to the platform.

  *

  At the very moment when Mr Peacock was mounting the platform, accompanied by the wild applause of all present, a plot was being hatched by Sam, at the other end of the wood. It was such a wicked plot, and it seemed so likely to succeed, that if Mr Peacock had known of it he would probably never have dared to get up and make a speech at all.

  Let us pay a quick visit to The Shop in the Ford to see what it is all about.

  When Sam had gone out in the morning and had seen the advertisements of Judy’s Beauty Parlour and Mrs Judy’s Surgery, he had been so angry that he could hardly contain himself. He rushed back to the cave where Bruno and Old Sam were sleeping, gave Bruno a vicious kick and tugged hard at Old Sam’s whiskers.

  ‘Get up … get up!’ he shouted. ‘We’ve been double-crossed!’

  ‘Double-crossed?’ growled Old Sam, staggering to his feet. ‘Who by?’

  ‘Those two witches under the Willow.’

  When Bruno heard this, his heart gave a leap of joy. If only it were true! However, of course he concealed his feelings.

  ‘What’ve they been up to now?’ demanded Old Sam.

  Sam explained. ‘We got to do something,’ he muttered. ‘We got to do something, and do it quick.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ queried Old Sam.

  ‘We got to wreck that meeting. We got to make it the biggest flop this wood’s ever seen. We got to see to it that she don’t sell one cent’s worth of her phoney stuff.’

  ‘How’re we going to do it?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you, you old son of a buzzard, you old petrified beetle, you … you old blue-nosed toad-in-the-hole.’

  ‘That’s not a respectful way for a boy to talk to his grandpa,’ complained Old Sam, with some truth.

  ‘It’s too darned respectful for you!’ retorted Sam. And he continued to pace up and down, and snarl and splutter, trying to think of some idea which would show him how to wreck the Opening of the Beauty Parlour.

  But no idea suggested itself. Breakfast came and went. Still no idea. Sam began to feel desperate.

  ‘Couldn’t we just go round and smash things up?’ ventured Old Sam.

  ‘You make me tired,’ snapped Sam. ‘What d’you think we are? Gangsters?’

  ‘Well …’ began Old Sam, and then thought better of it. He had been going to say that Sam was not a bad imitation of a gangster, but perhaps the suggestion would not be very well received.

  ‘We’re not going to get in wrong with the law,’ continued Sam. ‘What’s more, none of the animals have got to suspect that we’ve had anything to do with it.’ He beat his hand on his forehead, scowling more blackly than ever.

  Suddenly the scowl gave way to a wicked grin. He clapped his hands and sprang to his feet. ‘I got it!’ he cried. ‘Gee – it’s a swell idea, too!’ He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle.

  From out of the cave shuffled Bruno.

  ‘Hi you!’ yelled Sam. ‘Bring me a pen and paper!’

  Bruno brought it.

  ‘Stand there while I write,’ ordered Sam. ‘You got to take a note in a minute.’

  Bruno began to tremble. ‘Oh dear!’ he thought. ‘Whatever is he up to now?’ Out of the corner of his eye he watched what Sam was writing. And when he saw what it was, he felt worse than ever.

  This is what he wrote:

  To Mrs Badger,

  Badger Bungalow,

  The Wood

  Dear Mrs Badger,

  This morning we are opening our new Beauty Parlour and Surgery. Mr Peacock is making a speech at the beginning. This is a Special Invitation, because we all so much hope that you will be able to come.

  Yours truly,

  Miss Judy

  Sam folded up the letter, wrapped it in a dock leaf, and handed it to Bruno.

  ‘Take that,’ he snapped, ‘and mind you run all the way.’ Bruno shuffled miserably from one foot to another. How could he do such a thing? The letter was a forgery … the wickedest forgery that was ever written. For if Mrs Badger attended the meeting, all would be lost.

  ‘What you waiting for?’ cried Sam.

  Bruno gulped and made as though to speak. But Sam did not give him a chance. He ros
e to his feet, and stepped forward and glared straight into Bruno’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t you think you’d better do as you’re told, Mr Bruno?’ he hissed. ‘Or do you want to be sent back, Mr Bruno? Back to the Circus?’

  At the mention of that dreadful word, poor Bruno gave a low moan, snatched the letter from Sam, and ran off on his hated mission, with tears in his eyes.

  *

  And now, why all this fuss about Mrs Badger?

  Well, we must be quite frank. The trouble about Mrs Badger was that she …

  Really, it is very difficult to say. It makes us feel quite hot and bothered to say it, because it sounds so rude.

  But it must be said. Once again, the trouble about Mrs Badger was that she …

  Oh dear! This is very awkward. If only there were somebody else to say it for us! However, there is nobody else. So we must take a deep breath and make a real effort. For the last time. The trouble about Mrs Badger was that she smelt quite terrible.

  There – the truth is out. It was most unpleasant to have to tell it, but there was no avoiding it, because otherwise you would not have realized the wickedness of Sam’s plot against Judy. Mrs Badger smelt so terrible that she had only to appear on the horizon for all the other animals to run away. If she were to go to the meeting it was almost certain that the whole thing would break up in disorder.

  She smelt like burnt feathers and very bad eggs and very old dustbins. Even if she crossed the path quite a long way ahead you said, ‘Oh dear, whatever is it? It must be the drains. Or perhaps it’s the gasworks. Or maybe …’

  The Family Failing – for that is the nicest way in which we can describe it – was shared by Mr Badger and the three Master Badgers. They all smelt like nothing on earth. And it was only the fact that the wood was a magic wood, where all things were made a little better than in the outside world, and where even the ugliest sights and sounds and smells were softened and sweetened … it was only this fact that made the Badgers even tolerable.

  The tragedy of it was that in every other respect they were such nice people, kind and generous and gentle, anxious to be on good terms with their neighbours. As far as they knew, they were on good terms, for the animals were very polite, and never dreamed of telling them. All the same, the Badgers were nearly always left out of things. And whenever any of the animals called, out of a sense of duty, they only stayed for a very short time, and even then they kept fanning themselves and sniffing their handkerchiefs and pretending that they had a cold in the head – or, if they could think of no other excuse, complaining of the drains.

  All this seemed very strange to the Badger Family, who thought that the animals were most eccentric. They happened to be discussing it on the very morning that Bruno was on the way to the Badger Bungalow with Sam’s note.

  ‘The animals seem to have only one subject of conversation,’ sighed Mrs Badger. ‘The drains!’

  ‘Quite,’ agreed Mr Badger. ‘They seem obsessed with the idea of drains. I had not been in the club for five minutes yesterday before they were all talking about the drains …’

  But before he could finish the sentence there was a knock on the door. It was Bruno, with the note.

  Five minutes later, Mrs Badger, beaming all over, wearing a new hat and smelling, if possible, more terrible than she had ever smelt before, out of sheer happiness, was hurrying on her way to The Shop Under the Willow Tree.

  *

  Mr Peacock was in the middle of his speech, and it was being an enormous success. The animals were in raptures, and Judy whispered to her grannie, ‘After this, we shall sell out the whole stock.’

  Spreading his tail to the fullest extent, and taking a step forward so that he was in full brilliance of the early sunlight, Mr Peacock cleared his throat and proclaimed:

  ‘Some are born with tails …’ (Here he turned slightly to the left.)

  ‘Some achieve tails …’ (Here he turned slightly to the right.)

  ‘And some …’ (here he paused, and by chance his eye met the eye of Mrs Manx, who, poor dear, had no tail at all) … ‘Some have tails pinned upon them!’

  The excitement caused by this statement was intense. Everybody turned to look at Mrs Manx, to see if she had bought a tail and pinned it on. When they saw that she had done no such thing, they turned and looked at each other, this way and that, twisting and turning, and shifting in their seats.

  Mr Peacock called them to order. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you please! No personal reference was intended. I was speaking …’ and here he paused to let the full effect of his statement sink in … ‘I was speaking Poetry.’

  All the eyes of the animals were again riveted upon him. Poetry! Fancy that! It was really wonderful. ‘And to think,’ whispered Mrs Rabbit, ‘that we are getting all this for nothing!’ Which drew an outraged ‘ssh’ from Mrs Hare, who was sitting just in front of her.

  Once he had begun, Mr Peacock lost all his nerves; he was like a ship flying with a fair wind over coloured water – a ship whose sails glittered with stars of green and purple. From the subject of tails he passed to beauty in general, and told the animals that it was for them to set an example to their less fortunate brothers, the Humans.

  ‘With all apologies to our charming hostesses …’ he said, bowing gracefully to Judy and her grannie, ‘even the Humans must admit that the animals start with a tremendous advantage, from the moment they are born to the moment they pass away. And so …’ proclaimed Mr Peacock … when suddenly he paused. From far away, carried by the breeze, there drifted a faint but sickening odour. Mr Peacock sniffed. Surely there was something familiar about it? He sniffed again. It was unmistakable. It was Mrs Badger.

  Surely she could not be so mad as to have decided to come to this meeting? Surely she must know? But then, Mr Peacock remembered, Mrs Badger, poor creature, did not know. What on earth was to be done? Here he was in the middle of a sentence, before a great audience, with this terrible odour coming nearer and nearer. And he noticed that many of the animals were also sniffing suspiciously, and that Mrs Hare had begun to fan herself.

  He must make a great effort; he must set an example.

  ‘And so,’ he began again, ‘it is for us, the representatives of the animal kingdom …’

  Once more he paused, and this time he almost choked, for a little breeze had sprung up and had carried the overpowering essence of Mrs Badger right among them. It was quite impossible to pretend that nothing was happening; already several of the animals were hastily making for the exit, and the others were all fanning themselves violently; in a moment there would be a panic.

  It was then that Mr Peacock made his great decision, and rose to the occasion as only he could have risen. Stepping forward, and using all his power of command, he cried:

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is no time for flight!’

  They all paused and stared at him.

  ‘I share your … your feelings,’ he continued, with a gulp. ‘But I entreat you to control them. If the source of the approaching –’ he paused to find the right word – ‘the approaching Disturbance … is, as I suspect, Mrs Badger, I must remind you that in spite of her –’ he paused again – ‘in spite of her affliction, she is a fellow citizen. And in times like these, we must stand together. We owe it to ourselves; we owe it to our hostesses; we owe it to …’

  He had no time to finish the sentence. For round the corner, all smiles, in her new hat, came the Disturbance herself.

  And now Mr Peacock was really magnificent. Feeling as though he were walking to the executioner’s block, and holding his breath as long as possible, he stepped down from the platform and offered Mrs Badger his wing.

  The animals were so thrilled that for the moment they forgot their own discomfort. To think of it … Mr Peacock showing Mrs Badger such an honour! Mr Peacock who was so grand and so standoffish!

  As for Mrs Badger herself, she was in such a flutter that she hardly knew whether she was standing on her head or her heels. She had been p
repared for the usual behaviour, the usual sniffs and polite withdrawals, the usual hasty conversations about the drains. And now, nobody was withdrawing, nobody had – as yet – mentioned the subject of drains, and Mr Peacock, of all people, who had never even condescended to look at her before, was actually offering to escort her round the shop, in front of all the other animals! She was so excited that she began to breathe very quickly. Which was really most unfortunate, because when Mrs Badger breathed quickly, the result on the surrounding atmosphere was indescribable.

  Mr Peacock knew that he had to act at once, if he was to avoid disaster. So he stepped nimbly to the windward side of Mrs Badger, and said, in a loud voice:

  ‘I have heard, madam, that the Perfume Department is quite excellent.’ He spoke loud so that Judy could hear him, and cast an agonized glance in her direction as though to say, ‘Quick, quick, sell her something very strong and pour it all over her at once!’

  Judy caught his eye, and he was thankful to see her reach for a big yellow bottle.

  ‘Perfume, madam,’ he said, as firmly as his condition would allow him … ‘perfume is what you need.’

  Mrs Badger was not quite sure if she liked that remark, even from Mr Peacock. After all, it was a lady’s privilege, to pick and choose.

  ‘Well …’ she began.

  But Mr Peacock could not bear any more.

  ‘And perfume, madam, is what you are going to get!’ He took one final, agonizing breath, and added … ‘In fact, I am going to get it for you. I am going to Give You a Present.’

  So saying, he staggered to the counter and seized the yellow bottle, which Judy was holding out in readiness.

  Mrs Badger was overwhelmed. Never in her life had anybody given her a Present before (except, of course, Mr Badger, who had very odd ideas about Presents. He thought that if he gave her a nice long lick on the ear he was giving her a Present. Which is not at all what a modern girl is entitled to expect).

  And now, to be given a Present by Mr Peacock, of all people. In full view of all the public! It was too wonderful. What would Mr Badger say? She hoped he would not think that she had gone too far. She hoped there would not be a scandal. But really, she was so happy that she hardly cared. And when Mr Peacock came over to her and undid the bottle, and poured it all over her from head to foot, she felt that she had really gone to heaven.