‘Boggis’s were horrible yellow ones.’
‘Pickled onions, I expect, like his grandfather’s. They would taste better with beer than with tea, but Boggis’s grandfather drank so much beer that it has frightened his descendants ever since. They have all been teetotallers.’
There was a silence.
‘And what else, my dear?’
Tolly noticed, when they were not talking, that the silence now had not that dead and frightening quality that it had when Mrs Oldknow was away. He could not quite say whether he heard or only felt, that the house was alive. Perhaps it was only the wind, but there seemed to be movement. A great deal was going on out of sight. He turned, comforted, to his great-grandmother.
‘And what else, my dear?’ she repeated.
‘These,’ said Tolly, handing her the magazines Here and There and Adam’s Seed. ‘I read these.’
Mrs Oldknow turned over the pages and soon came to the story of Green Noah. She read it quickly while Tolly watched her face.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that’s the end of the story of Black Ferdie. I didn’t want to tell you lest you should be frightened. But we leave Green Noah alone and take no notice of him. He is growing into quite an ordinary tree. The curse is very old and I suppose it doesn’t last forever. Old Petronella and Black Ferdie died ages ago, and they don’t care any more.’
‘I only saw it this morning. I never noticed it before, it’s so wild and uncut. Only it made a snow man.’
‘I know.’
‘I thought it hadn’t eyes because no one could reach to put cinders in.’ Tolly couldn’t help a shudder.
‘Don’t think about him. St Christopher is much more lasting.’
‘Linnet’s not afraid of anything,’ said Tolly, whose thoughts moved quickly from St Christopher to Linnet and from Linnet to the owl. Perhaps Mrs Oldknow’s thoughts went the same way.
‘How were the birds last night?’ she asked.
‘They made an awful mess. Don’t they know?’
‘It is surprising from such well-mannered little things. They don’t know and they can’t learn! You’ll have to spread newspapers. It thawed this afternoon, but it is freezing again now. How the owls screamed last night!’
Tolly laughed, partly because he had been so frightened, partly with pleasure because the little birds had been safe. ‘I hope they screamed with rage,’ he said boldly.
*
THEY WENT UPSTAIRS TOGETHER. As they entered Tolly’s room there was a sound of rustling leaves. The birds were there already. The candles made tree shadows covering all the others. Mrs Oldknow tucked him up and said good night, and very soon he was asleep.
He dreamed that he was sleeping in the doll’s house with Toby, Alexander and Linnet in the three other beds. Toby was telling them all a wonderful story. Tolly could not have said what it was about, but it was wonderful – when suddenly he broke off with ‘Hush! Keep silent!’ and cupped his hands round the night-light to cover the light. Tolly heard shuffling, leafy steps as something came into the real bedroom, fumbling round as if it were dark, though the nightlight was burning. Tolly in his doll’s-house bed could see everything. The Thing found its way to his own empty bed and suddenly pounced on it. It gave a silent yell like a gale in a tree, and threw the bedclothes right and left. Then it went fumbling round the room, feeling in the corners and on the saddle of the rocking-horse, but it never thought of the doll’s house. At last Tolly saw that it had turned into an owl. It stood in the middle of the room doing a kind of war dance, lifting first one claw and then the other and swaying its head. Its shadow was huge. Then Toby got out of his bed in the doll’s house and took his night-light and set it under the owl’s tail feathers. There was a loud spluttering and commotion. Tolly woke up to find an unfortunate moth in the wax of the night-light. He was in his own bed.
One or two birds shifted and called as if in their sleep. Had they been dreaming of owls too? He thought he could hear gentle breathing in the room, and then suddenly, as if it had only just begun after being asleep itself, the slow tick-tock of the clock came to his ears, almost as loud as a hammer.
*
THE NEXT DAY MRS OLDKNOW and Tolly set out by bus to visit the nurseries where they were to choose the pear tree. Tolly’s mind had been busy. He had notions of his own about a present for his great-grandmother, an idea that had come when he was turning over the pages of Adam’s Seed. It suited him very well to go to the nursery garden.
They were met by the old foreman. He looked like a field-mouse, if a field-mouse could be as big as a small man and wear an old grey hat and gaiters. His eyes twinkled and his movements were quick and sudden. Mrs Oldknow could never get to the end of a sentence before he answered, ‘Yeslady’, or ‘Nolady’, as the case might be, speaking rapidly as if he were nibbling. Tolly thought it was a pity he had no whiskers to wiggle as he said it. He said ‘Yessir, Nosir’ to Tolly who had never been called Sir before. While Mrs Oldknow was wandering up and down the lines of young pear trees to pick a strong one, Tolly put a private question.
‘Have you a rose in a tiny pot that only grows three inches high?’
‘Yessir. Rosa minimissimasir. Threeandsixpencesir.’
‘Does it smell?’
‘Yessir, they saysosir; if your noseissmallenoughsir.’
Tolly had some money which his father had sent him, so he paid and put the tiny parcel in his pocket. Then he joined Mrs Oldknow. The pear tree was a little disappointing because of course it had no leaves.
‘The one in the illustration to the song was in full blossom, not just sticks. I suppose they did it by magic,’ said Tolly sadly.
‘Mustavedonesir, suresir,’ said the foreman.
It was thawing slowly, but they spent the rest of the day in the town, where they forgot all about the snow which, in any case, had been shovelled up there and carted away. When they came home again at teatime it was to find the garden green and brown and sodden.
Tolly’s thoughts were full of Christmas, for there were now only three days to go. He received a letter from Burma, from his father. The envelope and stamps were exciting, but the letter made him feel further away than ever. There was a P.S. in an oversized scrawly writing: ‘Mother sends love to Toto.’ Toseland put the letter in the fire but kept the envelope.
At night he dreamt of Christmas. He found the field-mouse foreman decorating the Christmas tree. This time he had long wiggling whiskers. He was busy hanging up coconuts, and strings of peanuts, pears hung on skewers and bags of silver net full of almonds and raisins. His eyes were brimming with twinkle and his cheek was full of nuts. He hung up a small round red cheese. Presently, out of his bulging pockets from which hung a tail of raffia, he pulled a parcel wrapped in paper on which were printed coloured maps. It was covered all over with foreign postmarks. He looked at this, wiggled his whiskers, and dropped it at Tolly’s feet.
Tolly unwrapped it, as full of anticipation as if he expected Aladdin’s lamp. Inside, in cotton wool, were two plastic big toes such as you might buy from the joke counter in toyshops to fit over your socks. There was also a card saying ‘For little Toe-Toe.’
Tolly was in a rage. He stamped and shook the Christmas tree furiously. The field-mouse foreman stopped, staring at him, and suddenly with frightened eyes dwindled to a real field-mouse and, with his tail held up, whisked away and disappeared.
Tolly woke up quietly. ‘Mouse?’ he said into his pillow, and thought he felt a wriggle under it. He laughed softly to himself. At breakfast, grinning over the top of his cup at Mrs Oldknow, he said, ‘I’ve thought of a present for Boggis.’
‘Clever boy. Boggis is always so difficult. What is it?’
‘Two plastic big toes to fit over his socks to frighten his wife with!’
‘Where have you seen those?’
‘I haven’t. I invented them last night in bed. But somebody else may have invented them too. Conjurors have pretend thumbs with long iron nails sticking through them to frighten
people. Who decorates the Christmas tree?’
‘You and I do. We’ll do it tomorrow.’
‘Shall we hang presents for the birds – I mean coconuts, peanuts and things?’
‘We will, outside on the yew tree for Christmas day. And hazel nuts for the squirrels and woodpecker. And biscuits on the ground for the robins and blackbirds.’
‘I dreamt all that,’ said Tolly proudly.
‘You’re a good dreamer. What else?’
‘Well, there’s Truepenny and Hedge-prickles, and there ought to be an invitation to field-mice.’
‘Truepenny and Hedge-prickles could have some truffles for a great treat. I’ve a little jar that was given me that I don’t think I shall ever use. And field-mice love bird-seed. You shall make trails from different parts of the garden, leading to the tree.’
‘It will be their tree, of course.’
‘Of course! Which else? You wouldn’t want to hang everything on Green Noah to make a Christmas tree of him, would you?’
Tolly only grinned. He was in high spirits and had more grins than he knew what to do with. So much so, that when he was larking round the garden by himself, not looking for the others but just taking it for granted they were there, he had a sudden inspiration to show off for their benefit. Dancing along the path that circled Green Noah, which was as near as he could come because of the brambles, he chanted Linnet’s song at the top of his voice.
Green Noah
Demon Tree!
Evil fingers
Can’t catch me!
Then he did a kind of war dance, such as the owl had done in his dream. He was so pleased with it that he capered off across the lawn, getting wilder and wilder, stamping, whirling and pointing till he bumped into Boggis.
‘Anyone would think you had been drinking, acting so silly,’ said Boggis severely. ‘Mrs Oldknow is waiting for you to decorate the tree in the music room.’
Off ran Tolly, still full of joy.
‘We must do it today,’ said Mrs Oldknow. ‘There will be so much to do tomorrow – look, Boggis has brought in the holly and the ivy and the mistletoe. We will put that up first.’
When they had finished decorating it, the old room looked more like the Knight’s Hall than ever. Against the stone walls, on top of the stone chimney-piece, the dark green leaves themselves looked mediaeval. It was an ancient castle prepared for an ancient feast. When Tolly was handing up great bunches to Mrs Oldknow on the steps, it often seemed to him not so heavy as he expected, as if someone were helping him. ‘Did they do this?’ he asked.
‘Yes, they always decorated the house, but they didn’t have a Christmas tree. Christmas trees began much later, in England at any rate. They had their feast in our dining-room, which their father had altered and improved. It was he who had our big fireplace put in, and the big windows on to the garden. And it was their mother who first used this as a music room. She used to teach them some of the songs that I teach you.’
It was late afternoon before they finished the Christmas tree, and it was growing dark. They lit the old red Chinese lantern and many candles so that they could see to work. There were no glaring electric bulbs on this tree. Mrs Oldknow had boxes of coloured glass ornaments, each wrapped separately in tissue paper and put carefully away from year to year. Some were very old and precious indeed. There were glass balls, stars, fir-cones, acorns and bells in all colours and all sizes. There were also silver medallions of angels. Of course the most beautiful star was fixed at the very top, with gold and silver suns and stars beneath and around it. Each glass treasure, as light as an eggshell and as brittle, was hung on a loop of black cotton that had to be coaxed over the prickly fingers of the tree. Tolly took them carefully out of their tissue paper and Mrs Oldknow hung them up. The tiny glass bell-clappers tinkled when a branch was touched. When it was all finished, there were no lights on the tree itself, but the candles in the room were reflected in each glass bauble on it, and seemed in those soft deep colours to be shining from an immense distance away, as if the tree were a cloudy night sky full of stars. They sat down together to look at their work. Tolly thought it so beautiful he could say nothing, he could hardly believe his eyes.
As they rested there, tired and dreamy and content, he thought he heard the rocking-horse gently moving, but the sound came from Mrs Oldknow’s room, which opened out of the music room. A woman’s voice began to sing very softly a cradle song that Tolly had learnt and dearly loved:
Lully Lulla, Thou little tiny child
By by, Lully Lullay.
O sisters too, how may we do
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling
For whom we sing
By by, Lully Lullay.
‘Who is it?’ he whispered.
‘It’s the grandmother rocking the cradle,’ said Mrs Oldknow, and her eyes were full of tears.
‘Why are you crying, Granny? It’s lovely.’
‘It is lovely, only it is such a long time ago. I don’t know why that should be sad, but it sometimes seems so.’
The singing began again.
‘Granny,’ whispered Tolly again with his arm through hers, ‘whose cradle is it? Linnet is as big as I am.’
‘My darling, this voice is much older than that. I hardly know whose it is. I heard it once before at Christmas.’
It was queer to hear the baby’s sleepy whimper only in the next room, now, and so long ago. ‘Come, we’ll sing it too,’ said Mrs Oldknow, going to the spinet. She played, but it was Tolly who sang alone, while, four hundred years ago, a baby went to sleep.
*
THEY WENT DOWN then for their tea, which they needed badly, for they had worked long and hard, as well as hearing strange things. Tolly was very good at lighting candles. He did not spill wax or drop red-hot matches. He helped to get the tea ready and made excellent toast. He could hardly believe he was the same boy who had spent miserable holidays alone in an empty school.
‘I shall take you to Midnight Mass tomorrow, if you would like to come – and if the weather is possible. It is a long walk. Do you know, I thought I heard thunder a minute ago? Who ever heard of thunder at Christmas?’
Tolly was far too excited to think of going to bed. His head was in a whirl, thinking of the Christmas tree, of the live partridge that should arrive tomorrow, of his present for his great-grandmother, of the probability that there would be some sort of a present for him, of the cradle song in Mrs Oldknow’s room, of the children, of the loveliness of everything. The only thing he never thought of was something he had done himself that morning. Now he was trying to contrive ways of staying up longer. Asking questions seemed the easiest way.
‘Shall we go to Midnight Mass if it snows?’
‘I believe it is thunder,’ said Mrs Oldknow. ‘Open the door, Tolly, and listen.’ Tolly opened the door into the garden. It was a dark evening with tattered clouds in front of a slatey sky. He heard no thunder. It was even unnaturally quiet. Perhaps it only seemed unnatural because he himself was brimming with excitement. He heard the weir pounding at the end of the garden. It only made the quietness quieter. It was rather like a heart that is only heard when it beats too loud. Tolly wondered how loud Feste’s heart would sound if you put your head against his ribs after a gallop.
‘Granny,’ he said. ‘I haven’t put any sugar for Feste. Can I take the flashlight and go out with some before I go to bed?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your name should be Hopeful. Shut the door, it’s cold.’
He let the heavy curtain fall behind him and went out, shutting the door. He was surprised to see how short were the stretches of garden that the flashlight lit up in front, and it lit nothing at all at the side. It was difficult to find the familiar paths, but he was childish enough to play that he was on a motor bicycle. Instead of going the nearest way to the stable he set off along the lawn, following his tiny beam, intending to go all round the garden side of the stables and in at the far corner. He had just d
iscovered that whichever way he turned it, the beam lit up nothing at all but grass, so that he was not even sure of his direction, when he was startled nearly out of his skin by a long-drawn screech from the peacock. For a minute he thought it was a terrifying bugle. Tolly stood stock-still.
Then came thunder like a rattle of drums. The effect was like the opening of a Punch and Judy show on a monstrous scale, a Punch and Judy show that wasn’t for fun. He looked all round. There were no stars. For once the curtains were all drawn in the house and no lights shone. He could see the point of the roof against a patch of sky, but the walls were muffled with darkness, as if it were something real that he would have to struggle through to get back. The garden was not pitch-black, but it seemed covered over with a mass of shadow. There were so many overlapping shadows that he couldn’t tell what anything was. He couldn’t tell a tree wasn’t a shadow till he bumped his face on a branch.
He was alone, and the garden seemed no longer his. He felt like a trespasser as he moved along it. The thought reminded him of Black Ferdie. He wished he had gone straight to Feste’s protective stall. His flashlight was growing weaker and weaker. It was only a little pin of light. He shook it. It died out altogether. At that moment he remembered what he had done in the morning. He remembered how he had danced and pointed, and pulled faces. He heard again Toby’s voice saying. ‘Don’t go near him,’ and Alexander’s saying, ‘He is eyeless and horrid,’ and ‘the only thing the confounded peacock is good for …’
The peacock gave a screech that seemed unending. Tolly could imagine how it would stretch out its neck, long and thin, in the effort, with curved open beak and wagging tongue. When it stopped, there was a sound of dragging, of brushing and snapping twigs. The other birds woke and flew out of their roosting places with a panicky twittering. In the dark Tolly could hear them moving from tree to tree across the garden in agitated bands, as if they were escaping from a forest fire.
He himself remained rooted to the ground. He did not know which way to run, where there would not be entangling branches or the edge of a path to trip him up. How could one hide from the blind? They would not even know you were hiding. The fumbling fingers were just as likely to hit on you behind a bush as in the open.
The Children of Green Knowe Collection Page 10
