The Bolds in Trouble

by Julian Clary

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Mr Bold.

  ‘Just look at you all for a start: dressed up, teetering around on your hind legs reeking of some awful perfume that I wouldn’t use to freshen up my toilet. If I had one. Your relatives in Africa would wee themselves laughing if they could see what you’ve become,’ sneered Mossy. ‘Namby-pamby, middle-class yapping yuppies.’

  ‘Oh I say!’ said Mrs Bold. ‘Really!’

  ‘Did I ask you to come round here sticking your snout into our business? No I didn’t!’ Mossy was getting worked up now. He stood, then paced menacingly towards the Bolds. Mrs Bold pushed the twins behind her, and Mr McNumpty stood forward, ready to protect his friends should things turn nasty.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ taunted Mossy ‘I wouldn’t waste my energy.’

  ‘We’ve just come to warn you, that’s all,’ said Uncle Tony reasonably. ‘Hunt a bit more. Scavenge. Eat slugs and birds like country foxes do. Then no one will mind you being here.’

  ‘It might be healthier for us, too,’ agreed Sylvie, glancing at Mossy’s big stomach. Mossy shot her a warning glare.

  ‘Why go to all that bother?’ he sneered. ‘There’s far tastier food for the taking in Fairfield Road. I had a nice pork chop for my breakfast, conveniently left on the kitchen counter at Number 28 with the back door wide open.’ He rubbed his tummy at the memory.

  ‘And a pint of milk from the doorstep at Number 14 washed it down nicely.’

  ‘You a thief! People no likey!’ said Miranda bravely, from the safety of Uncle Tony’s shoulder.

  Mossy leered at the monkey as if she might make a tasty snack one day.

  ‘She’s right, though,’ pleaded Sylvie. ‘We’ll pay for all this stolen food one day. The humans might trap us and send us far away. Somewhere awful. Like Chatham.’

  ‘We’re foxes, remember?’ Mossy said to Sylvie. He shook his mane of dark red fur and looked proud and regal. ‘We’re not pretending to be something we’re not, like this lot. So what if people don’t like us and are coming to hunt us down? That’s always been the case. People don’t like foxes and they never have. Nothing is going to change that. But we can outfox the lot of them. Just you see.’

  ‘But if they catch you we think they’re planning to kill you,’ warned Mrs Bold.

  Sylvie’s eyes widened in shock.

  ‘No surprise there,’ said Mossy. ‘Humans love killing foxes. Both my grannies were killed in fox hunts and my uncle escaped one but was never the same afterwards. Went mad, he did. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught then, won’t we?’

  ‘Is there nothing we can say to change your mind?’ asked Mrs Bold.

  ‘Nope,’ said Mossy. ‘Thank you for the sandwiches and the cakes. Very considerate of you. I’m almost sorry I bit your ankles last night.’ He laughed quietly to himself. ‘But not quite. Say goodbye to the Bolds and their friends,’ he instructed Sylvie.

  Sylvie looked sadly at the visitors and shrugged. ‘Goodbye. And thank you for the warning. We will be extra careful from now on.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Mossy commanded gruffly. ‘Those raspberries in the allotments should be ripe by now.’

  And with that, they disappeared silently into the ferns, just the occasional quiver in the greenery revealing their route.

  After all the unpleasantness from Mossy, everyone agreed they needed cheering up, so a visit to the swings was agreed upon.

  As they walked across the park, Mr Bold made everyone laugh with some jokes.

  Why did the chicken cross the playground?

  To get to the other slide!

  What did the buffalo say to his kid when he dropped him off at school?

  ‘Bison!’

  What do you call an alligator in a vest?

  An investigator!

  Why couldn’t the teddy bear finish his dinner?

  He was stuffed!

  What do you get when you cross a parrot with a centipede?

  A walkie-talkie!

  By the time they reached the playground, everyone was in a far better mood and Mossy and his nasty remarks were almost forgotten.

  The twins had a rather vigorous game on the see-saw, where they bounced up in the air rather alarmingly and Mrs Bold had to tell them to calm down. Minnie and Walter went on the slide over and over again and so did Miranda, who didn’t bother going up the stairs each time, but leaped up the slide instead, much to the amazement of the other children and parents.

  Mr and Mrs Bold really wanted to join in and were itching to go on the swings, but there was a big sign saying the facilities were only for children aged twelve or under. Instead they ‘helped’ the twins on the see-saw, one either end, catching them after they flew up in the air, and laughed and whooped as if they were children themselves.

  ‘I wonder what will happen to those foxes?’ pondered Uncle Tony as he and Mr McNumpty enjoyed an ice cream each, watching the fun from a bench.

  Mr McNumpty shook his head. ‘I have a rather bad feeling about it. We’ve tried to help them. Told them about the danger they’re in. But they won’t listen. I don’t know what else we can do,’ he sighed.

  ‘When I was a pup back in Africa,’ remembered Tony, ‘my mother told me not to eat the berries that grew on a certain bush in the rainy season. But they were big and juicy and looked delicious. I was hungry one day, and decided that just one or two wouldn’t do me any harm. So I ate them.’

  ‘No!’ gasped Mr McNumpty. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I turned green, apparently,’ said Uncle Tony, shuddering at the memory. ‘I was sick for a week. Both ends...’

  ‘I expect you listened to your mother after that?’ chuckled Mr McNumpty.

  Tony nodded. ‘I certainly did. But I wish I’d listened to her before.’

  The old friends sat in silence while they contemplated what the future might hold for the two foxes. As things turned out, they were not going to have to wait long to find out.

  Over the next few days there were more incidents of theft and vandalism in Fairfield Road, and the residents were outraged. POW TO PESTS couldn’t come until Friday and in at time Mossy seemed to be getting more and more daring in his raids. Something crept up on a schoolgirl one morning as she waited for the bus and raided her satchel, silently making off with her lunchbox before she noticed. A man eating a kebab outside a pub one evening had it snatched from his hand by what he described as ‘a flash of fangs and fur’. And a birthday celebration barbecue was in ruins after the cool box containing all the meat and sausages was dragged into the undergrowth, when the cook wasn’t looking, and emptied of its entire contents. They had to make do with salad and a French stick, which wasn’t much of a party. The local paper ran a front-page headline: FOX FURY IN FAIRFIELD ROAD and Mr and Mrs Bingham urged Pow to come as soon as they could.

  Rumour had it that Mr Bingham was actually seen desperately urinating all round his garden one night – but I don’t know for sure and he denied ever doing such a vulgar thing, apart from in his toilet obviously.

  Finally Pow arrived on the scene and their sinister pest control vans were soon patrolling the streets of Teddington. Large metal cage traps were set in several gardens in Fairfield Road and baited with pet food. Once a fox was trapped, it would be driven miles and miles away, into the countryside to meet its fate.

  The Bolds could do nothing but watch in horror.

  ‘Mossy said they wouldn’t fall for anything so simple, didn’t he?’ asked a worried Betty.

  ‘Yes, dear. He did,’ said Mrs Bold.

  ‘I know he’s not very nice, but no animal deserves to be caught like that, does it?’ said Bobby.

  ‘No, son,’ agreed Mr Bold. ‘He might be rather rude but he’s still a living creature and I would do anything to save him.’

  ‘And what about Sylvie?’ asked Betty. ‘She seems really nice. What if she falls for the bait and gets trapped?’ She began to cry.

  ‘There, there,’ said her mother. ‘We’ll thi
nk of something. We won’t let those cruel humans hurt fellow animals.’

  But it seemed that maybe Mossy was right and the pest control people really were nothing for him to worry about. Several days passed, and according to the gossip on Fairfield Road not a single fox had been caught.

  ‘Not so much as a fieldmouse!’ huffed Zoe Bingham when she and her husband bumped into Mr Bold on Teddington High Street. ‘The traps are useless and the thefts are still continuing. Why, a fox even had the cheek to wee in my garden when I had my nice clean washing hanging out.’

  ‘Are you sure it was a fox?’ said Mr Bold, giving Mr Bingham a wink.

  Mr Bingham blushed. ‘I think we’re going to try some different bait tonight,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I hear this fox likes cheese.’

  ‘Oh no, foxes hate cheese,’ said Mr Bold hurriedly. ‘Never touch the stuff.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Zoe through pursed lips, and she stalked off, her husband running behind to catch up.

  It seems though that the change in bait had an effect because that very night something happened. It was a wet, thundery night and everyone was fast asleep in the Bolds’ household when a frantic scratching and highpitched whining was heard at the kitchen window. Miranda the marmoset monkey noticed it first. She was a light sleeper anyway, and that night had curled up on the stairs to sleep. She crept into the kitchen and saw paws banging on the glass and heard urgent, pitiful crying. She quickly leaped up the stairs and onto Mr and Mrs Bold’s bed where she prodded them both awake.

  ‘Scratchy knocky knocky in kitchen! You come quick!’ she cried in her high-pitched monkey voice. ‘Someone in trouble!’

  ‘Oh dear, Miranda!’ said Mrs Bold, reaching for her dressing gown. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said Mr Bold gallantly. ‘That reminds me...’

  What woke the ghost up in the middle of the night?

  Coffin!

  Miranda chortled but Mrs Bold said, ‘Not now, Fred, please!’ as she picked up the torch.

  Down in the kitchen the scratching was even more frantic, the paws just a blur through the glass.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Bold, shining the beam of the torch towards the source of the noise.

  ‘Me scaredy!’ said Miranda, jumping on top of the fridge for safety.

  ‘Who’s there?’ asked Mrs Bold.

  ‘Ice cream,’ answered Mr Bold.

  Ice cream who?

  I scream every time I see a ghost!

  Suddenly the scratching stopped and a pair of large desperate amber eyes peered through the kitchen window.

  ‘Mr Bold?’ said an agitated voice.

  ‘Quick, open the door, Fred,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘I think it’s Sylvie.’

  ‘Hold on, my dear!’ called Fred, as he slid open the bolt and turned the key. At last the door was opened and a panting Sylvie flung herself on the doormat. She was covered in mud, and soaked to the skin, and there were several bloody gashes on her face.

  ‘Oh, poor Sylvie!’ said Mrs Bold. ‘Come inside quickly. Whatever have you done to yourself?’ She reached for a tea towel and began to gently wipe the mud from Sylvie’s fur.

  Just then the kitchen door swung open again, and there was Mr McNumpty from next door, dressed in striped pyjamas and a tartan dressing gown with matching nightcap.

  ‘What’s all the commotion?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s Sylvie,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘Something has happened.’

  You’ve got to help me,’ said the fox. ‘Mossy’s been caught in a cage trap.’

  ‘Oh nooo! Foxy twappy!’ wailed Miranda.

  ‘This is very bad news,’ said Mr McNumpty.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sylvie. We’ll help,’ said Mr Bold, patting the bedraggled fox on the shoulder. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the back garden at Number 10. I’ve been trying to chew my way through the wire, but it’s no good. And Mossy... He’s raging. Screeching and...’ She couldn’t go on.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll go there and unlock the door. He’ll be free in no time,’ said Fred. But Sylvie shook her head.

  ‘It’s not that simple. Those humans who live at Number 10—’

  ‘Richard and Zoe?’ offered Mr McNumpty. ‘Dreadful couple.’

  ‘Whatever their names are. They’ve been watching through the window. They’re thrilled to see a fox caught in their evil trap. Jumping up and down with delight, they are. How can we get Mossy out with them watching?’

  ‘But it’s three o’clock in the morning!’ said Mrs Bold. ‘No one will see us.’

  ‘They’ll be on guard until the pest control people come to take him away in the morning, for sure. I heard them say as much. The man said he was going to make some strong coffee so that they stay awake.’

  ‘Well we could follow the van in our little Honda, watch where they take Mossy in the countryside and rescue him,’ offered Mr Bold.

  ‘We might lose him on the way,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘And arrive too late.’

  ‘Please hurry,’ said Sylvie, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘There must be something we can do.’

  There was a thoughtful silence.

  ‘I have an idea!’ said Mr McNumpty suddenly.

  ‘Really?’ said Sylvie, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  ‘Yes. It’s a long shot, but it just might work. Miranda? You go and wake everyone up. And I mean everyone. The students too. For this we’re going to need all hands on deck.’

  ‘What is the plan?’ asked Mr Bold.

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Meanwhile you and Mrs Bold must take your clothes off.’

  ‘Nigel!’ said Mrs Bold, aghast.

  ‘Just do as I ask please,’ said Mr McNumpty firmly. ‘If this is going to work everyone must follow my instructions exactly.’

  By then a bleary-eyed Uncle Tony, Bobby, Betty, Craig, Miss Paulina and Snappy had gathered in the kitchen, yawning.

  ‘Listen up, everyone,’ said Mr McNumpty, sounding like a stern sergeant major in charge of his fearless troops. ‘It’s now half past three in the morning. We don’t have much time. Here’s my plan...’

  Can you guess what Mr McNumpty’s plan was? I’ll give you a clue. What are Richard and Zoe most afraid of? Foxes? But more than that – WILDLIFE! Anything that might disturb their neat suburban lifestyle. So what might distract them from guarding Mossy long enough for the Bolds to rescue him? Yes. LOTS AND LOTS OF WILDLIFE! I think I’ve said enough, don’t you? I don’t want to spoil the excitement of what’s to come. And come it will. On the next few pages...

  Sylvie was too traumatised to contribute to the rescue plan, Mr McNumpty decided, and he told Uncle Tony that it was his job to remain at Number 41 to look after her.

  ‘Some sweet milky tea might be in order,’ he instructed his friend.

  ‘As for the rest of you, this is Operation Free Mossy. Mossy is currently trapped in a cage in the garden of Number 10. Mr and Mrs Bingham are situated at the rear of the property, drinking coffee by the French windows. Our strategy is to distract them and give them reason to move from this vantage point so we can liberate Mossy.

  ‘I envisage a three-pronged attack. Snappy, Craig and Miss Paulina, you are first in: Bait and Distraction. Mr and Mrs Bold, you are Espionage and Counter-attack. Bobby and Betty, you are Raid and Seize. When I give the command, you approach the cage, release the door and guide Mossy to the safety of the kitchen at Number 41. Then the operation will be complete. Are there any questions?’

  It was all getting a little serious for Mr Bold and I’m afraid he couldn’t resist.

  What has four legs and goes ‘boo’?

  A cow with a cold!

  ‘Mr Bold!’ shouted Mr McNumpty. ‘Behave yourself please! This, may I remind you, is not a laughing matter.’

  So here is what happened.

  Richard and Zoe Bingham were sitting in their nightclothes by the French windows at Number 10 enjoying a pot of coffee and some biscuits whil
e keeping an eye on Mossy in the cage trap to make sure he didn’t escape. They had waited so long for something to be done about the foxes, they were too excited to sleep anyway, and they were both secretly thrilled that it had been in their garden that one was finally caught. Richard had gone outside briefly (wearing his wellington boots and a plastic hat) to poke through the bars of the cage with a stick, but Mossy had bared his teeth before grabbing hold of the stick and snapping it in two. ‘A savage beast and no mistake,’ concluded Mr Bingham before returning to the safety of his conservatory.

  Zoe had just poured a second cup of coffee and asked Richard if he would like a chocolate finger when, to their astonishment, a large white goose waddled into view and began to honk loudly.

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Mrs Bingham. ‘There’s a goose on the patio!’

  ‘Lord above, so there is,’ exclaimed her husband.

  Following Mr McNumpty’s instructions, Snappy then waddled right up to the glass and began to peck the double glazing, all the while honking and quacking angrily.

  ‘He’s trying to break in! Shoo!’ said Mrs Bingham, putting down her coffee cup. ‘Do something, Richard!’

  Richard banged on the glass from his side. ‘Go away, you noisy bird!’ he shouted, but this just seemed to make Snappy even more agitated. Snappy banged and pecked on the glass with increased speed and started to flap his wings to add to the sense of chaos.

  While the Binghams were distracted, Miss Paulina was scurrying around the side of the house looking high and low for what Mr McNumpty had told her to find. ‘Oh dear,’ she muttered to herself. ‘This does seem a rather naughty thing to be doing. But if it is for the greater good, then I must.’ Finally she found what she was looking for: the telephone wire. With her sharp otter teeth she chomped through it in a single bite. Having completed her mission, she followed the next part of her instructions and gave a loud whistle.