Mr Gum and the Cherry Tree

by Andy Stanton

  ‘Cover your ears, Alan Taylor!’ cried Polly. ‘Cover your ears! They’re abouts to do one of their dreadful songs!’

  Chapter 10

  The Cherry Tree Song*

  *featuring a special burp duet from

  Livermonk and Teenage Loaf

  RUNTUS: I came back form the Olden Days

  To sing you all me song!

  Up this flippin’ cherry tree

  A-that’s where I belong!

  GALLOPING BILL: An’ I’m a brilliant centaur!

  Look at me amazing hoofs!

  Round this cherry tree I’ll dance

  An’ that’s blimmin’ truth!

  OINK BALLOON: I wannnt cherrry! Gimmme

  loadds of cherrrries! Me stuffff

  them in mouuth an’ spit the

  stonnnes out on Billl!

  GALLOPING BILL: OUCH! OW! NEEIIIGH!

  You stupid little squirt!

  Stop spitting cherry stones on

  me, that one really hurt!

  WIPPY: Mee wannnt cherry tooO! Spitt

  the stonnnnes on Bill!

  SOUPDOG: Mee want cherry tooooOO!!

  GALLOPING BILL: OW! OUCH! OW!

  OUCH! OUCH! OOOOF!

  CHORUS:(All the goblins) Spittt stonnnes on Bill!

  Spit stonnnes on BILL!

  Spitt cherrry stonnes on

  BIII –IIII –IIIILLL!

  Spittt stonnes on BILL!

  SPITT STONNES ON BILL!

  HA HA! WE GOTT HIM ONN THE

  NOSE!

  RUNTUS: HA HA HA! Good work, me old

  goblin army! That’s the way to do it!

  Now, Livermonk! Teenage Loaf!

  Burp duet! Hit it!

  LIVERMONK: BURP!

  TEENAGE LOAF: BURP!

  LIVERMONK: BURP!

  TEENAGE LOAF: BURP! BURP!

  LIVERMONK: BURP!

  TEENAGE LOAF: BUUUUUUUUURP!

  LIVERMONK: BURP! BURP! BURP!

  BURP! BURP! BURP!

  BURP! BURP!

  RUNTUS: I come back from the Olden Days

  To sing you all me rhyme!

  Up this flippin’ cherry tree

  I’m singin’ all the time!

  LIVERMONK: BURP!

  TEENAGE LOAF: BURP!

  GALLOPING BILL: OUCH!

  OINK BALLOON: CHERRRRRRRIEEEES!

  CHERRRRRIEEES!

  RUNTUS: HA HA HA HA HA!

  GALLOPING BILL: NEEEIGGGH! OW!

  RUNTUS: Let’s do it once again!

  I come back from the Olden Days

  To –

  ‘Oh, it’s horrible! It’s horrible!’ moaned Alan Taylor, desperately stuffing bits of grass into his ears.

  ‘I knows!’ sobbed Polly. ‘They’re so out of tune it’s unbelievable! I’m tryin’ not to listen but it jus’ keeps invitin’ itself into my head without knockin’ first!’

  Round the tree the goblins whipped, spitting their cherries and burping their burps and kicking each other in the shins. And Galloping Bill capered around with them, neighing and going ‘OW!’ quite a lot.

  ‘We gots no chance of gettin’ into that tree with all them goblins a-guardin’ it!’ said Polly. ‘They’ll mash us up like doorbells!’

  But Alan Taylor had another plan.

  ‘Do you see that massive tree, Polly?’ he said, pointing to a grand old Duke of a horse chestnut tree, towering above the clearing as if ’twere reaching for the moooooon.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Polly. ‘It’s a right old Conker de la Splonker!’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Alan Taylor. ‘Now – if we can get up into that horse chestnut, we can shimmy along that branch – do you see – and we can drop into the cherry tree from above. And then we can take our photo and catch Mr Gum in the act!’

  ‘An’ them goblins down on the ground won’t knows a thing!’ exclaimed Polly. ‘Alan Taylor, you are the best!’

  Chapter 11

  An Old Friend Says Hello

  BURP! BURP! BURP.!

  Ow! Stop spittin’ cherry stones on me!

  Ha ha ha! Get ’im, goblins! Pull his tail!

  Under cover of the hideous music, Polly and Alan Taylor inched towards the horse chestnut tree. There it stood in the moonlight, towering over the clearing as it had done for hundreds of years, ever since it was just a tiny conker crying in its mother’s arms.

  ‘It’s a giganter,’ said Polly, gazing up at the huge, wide trunk before them. ‘How we’re ever gonna get up this old belly-boiler I’ll never know.’

  ‘Just remember the four Cs,’ said little Alan Taylor. ‘Climbing, Courage, Confidence and Calling an ambulance after you’ve fallen out of a horse chestnut tree and broken every single bone in your body.’

  Well, the fourth C didn’t really fill Polly with much of the third C but there was nothing else to be done. So gathering all her second C, she threw her arms around the trunk and started doing the first C.

  ‘Come on, Polly! You can do it!’ urged Alan Taylor as he sat in her hair. ‘Yes! That’s it! Ooh, you nearly climbed half an inch! Keep going!’

  It was no use. The trunk was too wide. Too wide, too steep, too smooth, too slippery, too hundred feet tall.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ said Polly. ‘I can’t do it, A.T. It’s a’ impossible dream. There’s jus’ no way up an’ now we’ll never prove who’s really in that cherry tree an’ the game’s lost an’ that’s the end of that an’ I’ll has to move to another town where no one knows what a failure I done made, an’ I’ll open a little shop by the sea what’s called “Lonely Polly’s Sea Shells An’ Lollipops”, an’ all them lollipops will have sad faces on an’ taste bitter as dust an’ hardly no one will ever come into my shop an’ there I’ll sit all day long, sighin’ an’ lookin’ out the window over the rainy beach, lookin’ out to sea an’ thinkin’ ’bout a little place called Lamonic Bibber what I once did love.’

  And with that, poor Polly slumped against the tree and began to sob. Alan Taylor offered his hanky but it was only the size of a postage stamp, just enough for one teardrop and no more.

  But Lo! Lo! Lo! Whatever that means.

  Just when all seemed lost there came a bark. Not a tree bark – there was already plenty of that, that was the problem – but a bark such as the noise what occasionally emerges out of the mouths of dogs.

  ‘Look up, Polly!’ cried Alan Taylor, his raisin eyes agleam.

  And yes, the astonishing truth was that an enormous Jupiter of a dog was bounding down the tree trunk towards them, a massive WHOPPER of a dog in fact, and what? No! Really? Seriously? YES! It was none other than that magnificent beasterliser –

  ‘JAKE!’ shouted Polly as the huge golden furhound flamped it down the tree, barking it up like a chostril and singing his song of old:

  Bark bark bark

  Bark

  Baaaaaaaaaaark

  Bark bark bark bark

  Bark bark

  Woof

  It was amazing but true. Polly and Alan Taylor had stumbled across the one and only secret and legendary horse chestnut tree in which Jake the dog lived.

  ‘Oh, Jakey! Jakey!’ said Polly, throwing her arms around that good boy’s back and hugging him ’til he dribbled. ‘So this is where you calls home! An’ now you can takes us up to your nest and we can do our plan and the townsfolk won’t be fooled no more an’ I won’t haves to live by the sea bein’ sad! Oh, you lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely woofdog!’

  In an instant the heroes had hopped on to Jake’s broad back and he was zipping up the tree trunk like he didn’t even care. His famous claws dug into the bark! His famous tail swung like the rudder of a great ship, steering him straight and true! His not-quite-so-famous knees did whatever it is that dog’s knees do! It was remarkable and that is why I remarked on it!

  Oh, if you haven’t ever gone scrambling up a horse chestnut tree on the back of a massive whopper of a dog in the middle of the night, you haven’t lived, my friends! The air riffled through their hai
r, the owls and the pipistrelles flurried and how Polly wished the ride could last forever! But nothing lasts forever, not even school assembly, although it sometimes feels like it.

  All too soon the heroes were standing high up in Jake’s nest amongst his collection of broken radios, old magazines and paperclips he had found lying in the forest.

  ‘What a clever woof-crumble you is, Jake!’ said Polly, stroking his big soft belly. ‘You done made your home in ’xactly the right place to help us investigates that cherry tree!’

  ‘WOOF,’ said Jake, who didn’t really know what was going on.

  Polly sat on the edge of the branch and looked down. The little cherry tree was a long way below her dangling legs. The goblins were just dark dots in the distance. And Galloping Bill was just a dark dot being hit by cherry stones.

  Now Polly was up here it didn’t seem quite so easy. It was far too long a way to jump down into the tree. There was only one thing for it . . .

  Polly doubled a long strand of dental floss around the branch.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Alan Taylor solemnly.

  ‘BARK!’ said Jake.

  ‘BURP!’ said Livermonk, far below.

  The song had finally ended.

  And then the night was silent. The moon blinked once, then looked away. Somewhere in the distance nothing happened.

  Polly took a deep breath. Then she slid off the branch, gripping the dental floss for her very life.

  Down she went, through the dark unseeing night.

  Heading for the cherry tree.

  Heading for Runtus.

  Chapter 12

  In the Cherry Tree

  Down went Polly into the cherry tree. Down she slid through the dark green leaves. Down, down into the very heart of the tree, where the secrets lay. And suddenly she was scared. What if it really was Runtus? What if she was about to meet an ancient woodland spirit, a spirit with horns on his head and the legs of a goat and a magic flute so powerful that one note from it could stop the world from turning, or blow up a koala? Shaking like a leaf, Polly pushed aside the shaking leaves. And there she saw him.

  Yes, there he was, sitting astride a branch and swigging from a bottle of -

  It was Mr Gum. His big red scruffler of a beard dripped with cherry juice. His hands were as filthy as pubs. And his bloodshot eyes were lit up with madness and power.

  ‘I knews it!’ said Polly. ‘I knews it was you all along! An’ I bet Gallopin’ Bill isn’t nothin’ but that stinker of a butcher, Billy William the Third!’

  ‘It’s true!’ cried Galloping Bill gleefully, poking his dirty face up through the leaves. ‘I made this costume meself, from a dead horse! Neeeeigggh!’ he boasted, before disappearing into the night once more.

  ‘Well, you annoyin’ little frog,’ said Mr Gum, turning to Polly with a snarl. ‘You was right about Billy an’ you was right about me. Satisfied?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Polly bravely. ‘You see, I’m here to get proofers that there isn’t no Runtus after all.’

  And with that she whipped out the camera and aimed it at Mr Gum’s crooked face. But before she could click the shutter, Billy popped his head back up through the leaves, opened his mouth as wide as he could and swallowed the camera whole.

  ‘HA HA HA! Good one, Billy, me old centaur-impersonator!’ laughed Mr Gum. ‘Oh, deary me,’ he sneered, turning back to Polly. ‘You got no proof an’ you never will! How are them townsfolk gonna believe you now, you pathetic flea?’

  ‘I got my word!’ said Polly. ‘That’s what!’

  ‘Your word?’ snorted Mr Gum, laughing so hard that a cherry stone shot out of his nostril. ‘Your WORD? It’s me them townsfolk listen to these days, so move over, little girl! There’s a new little girl in town – me!’

  ‘But why?’ pleaded Polly. ‘Why are you doin’ this terrible thing?’

  ‘Cos I fancies RULIN’ this stupid forest!’ laughed Mr Gum, his bloodshot eyes lighting up with a terrible greed so greedy it was very greedy indeedy. ‘An’ not only that but I’m gonna rule the whole stupid TOWN of Lamonic Bibber too! AN’ RULE ’EM I WILL!’ he roared, so loudly that the branches shook and the leaves trembled and a load of cider bottles plummeted out of the tree, smashing their glassy way through the night.

  ‘OW!’ said Billy from below.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Gum. ‘I’m gonna rule this town. I’m already half way there. An’ tomorrow’s the big day.’

  ‘What’s so important ’bout tomorrow?’ said Polly.

  Mr Gum danced on the branch in his hobnail boots, his face half in shadow, half in light like a swine who didn’t know better.

  ‘I ain’t tellin’ you!’ he laughed, cracking open another bottle of cider. ‘Now get out of me tree ’fore I kick you out with me fists! Now get out of me tree ’fore I –’

  Well, Polly didn’t need telling twice. Hastily she climbed down from the tree and ran off into the night, the goblins’ cackling calls chasing her through the darkness.

  ‘Neeeeigh!’ cried Billy as he watched her go. ‘Neeeeigggh! Neeeeiggh! Neeeigggh! Neeeiggh! Neeeeiggh! Neeeeigghh! Neeei –’

  ‘Shut it, Billy,’ growled Mr Gum, who wanted nothing more than to snooze the rest of the night away in peace. ‘Yer not actually a real centaur, you idiot.’

  ‘But I like doin’ it!’ laughed Billy. ‘It’s funty! Neeeeigh! Neeeigh! Neeeigh! Neiggh! Neeiiiiigh! Neeeiggh! Neeiiigh! Neeiiigh! Neeeigh!’

  ‘BURP!’ went Livermonk.

  ‘Neeeiiigh!’ went Billy.

  ‘WOOF!’ joined in Jake from above. ‘WOOF WOOF WOOFITY WOOF WOOF WOOF!’

  ‘I’m surrounded by idiots,’ sighed Mr Gum, shaking his head in despair. ‘Sometimes I dunno why I even bother, I really don’t.’

  Chapter 13

  Babies and Rainbows

  Oh, how the gingerbread headmaster and his pets rejoiced upon Polly’s return! Alan Taylor beamed, Graham the caterpillar purred with pleasure and Johnny Twospots danced a new ballet called The Return of Polly in her honour. But Penelope the aphid just sulked in the corner, for secretly, deep down in her aphid heart, she was jealous of Polly’s friendship with Alan Taylor. You see, aphids are very jealous creatures and that is why they are green.

  ‘Oh, Alan Taylor,’ said Polly, ‘I been into the cherry tree an’ just you guess what? We was right! It wasn’t nothin’ but Mr Gum business in there, plain an’ simple. Only I didn’t get no photo cos Billy William done scoffed my camera an’ – EEEEUUURGGH! Your pets is doin’ millions more babies!’

  It was true. The pets were squeezin’ an’ a-sneezin’ new babies out all over the place. And not just the old pets, either. Lots of the younger ones were at it too, popping ’em out like jinstrels.

  ‘Remarkable,’ said Alan Taylor, examining the many new scuttlers. ‘They never seem to stop! Come on, Polly – we’ve lots of new leads to make!’

  But the night’s adventures had been too much. Polly had already fallen into a lovely deep sleep where there were no cherry trees and no goblins and no Runtuses trying to rule the town. Just lovely fluffy clouds which rained strawberry lemonade, and a big fairytale castle filled with tall handsome princes who all looked like Jake with a moustache.

  When Polly awoke, dawn was breaking overhead. The sun was brushing its shiny blonde hair, the trees were stretching their backs and the birds were singing their latest hit ‘CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP (2010 Maximum Funk remix)’. The day was going to be a beauty. A little way off, Alan Taylor sat in the dewy grass, watching his hundreds of pets play and tumble around. He looked so happy sitting there that Polly couldn’t help but feel her spirits rise.

  And talking of spirits . . .

  ‘How I do love the forest at this time of day,’ said a voice at Polly’s side. ‘It reminds me of when the world was young and smelled of hope and roses.’

  Polly turned to look – and there beside her was the Spirit of the Rainbow, his honest face sparkling in the dewdrop morning light. Just looking at him filled
Polly with marvellous feelings, as if she was somehow a forest herself, full of wonderful flowers and streams, and suddenly she knew – he had come to teach her lessons and ancient wisdoms or something.

  ‘Child,’ said the Spirit of the Rainbow, though he was no older than she. ‘I remember this forest many hundreds of years ago. It was a wild, carefree place. Can you guess how many chocolate wrappers and other bits of litter there were mucking it up?’

  ‘Six?’ said Polly.

  ‘None,’ came the lad’s astonishing answer. ‘None at all. You see, child, the world was full of wonder back then. There were fauns and centaurs – yes, actual real centaurs. One of them was called Tony. And there were pixies and elves and wood nymphs. And there were transparent sprites with almond-shaped eyes, bathing in every stream. It was excellent.’

  ‘Was there unicorns too?’ asked Polly, who had always wanted more than anything to find a unicorn and ride it to the moon.

  ‘No, there never were any unicorns,’ said the lad. ‘That was just a myth that started when an ice-cream cone accidentally got stuck to a pony’s head.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Polly. But she could not stay disappointed for long, not with the sun dappling through the treetops and the smell of fresh pine and wooded oak, and the Spirit of the Rainbow’s face, as he remembered those far-off times when things were simple and free.