by Gene Kemp
‘You were supposed to catch her too, Num.’
‘It’s only your Num. It can’t look after everyone,’ Mr Rab said.
‘Let’s buy Blossom some sweets,’ Hedgecock suggested, which was a great concession for him as he was a mean animal.
Mr Rab cheered up immediately.
‘I’ll write her a poem.’
‘Oh, no, there’s no need to go that far,’ Hedgecock said, but Mr Rab was away.
‘Blossom high up on the roof,
Terrified was she,
Closed her eyes and then she fell
Like a falling blossom from a tree.’
‘Oh, lumme, that’s worse than usual,’ Hedgecock said and retired to the foot of the bed to count squares.
‘I admit it’s not very good, but it was on the spur of the moment.’
Mr Rab was always hurt by unkind remarks about his poems.
‘Sing a bedtime song,’ Thomas whispered.
Mr Rab sang, but for once its magic did not work and Thomas lay awake for a long time thinking of the difficulties of being a better boy until he too fell asleep to the gentle sound of Mr Rab’s snuffles and the monotonous whirring of Hedgecock’s snores.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thomas spent a miserable time while Blossom was in bed. He watched trays being carried up to her room, he saw the doctor running brightly up and down the stairs and Aunt Cynthia creeping about on the very tipmost of tiptoes, with finger ever at her lips motioning silence to everyone, especially him. Worst of all, Mummy had a worried, far-away look on her face which made it very difficult to go near her. She was always cooking, not making cakes or pies or rolling glorious strips of pastry, but simmering thin soups and beating up egg yolks. Whenever he dared to enter the kitchen he was immediately sent out to play. He wanted to go in and see Blossom and no one would let him, and he began to get the idea that she would die and it would all be his fault. Aunt Cynthia made it much worse.
‘It’s funny how such a little boy can cause such a lot of trouble,’ she shrilled. ‘Here you are, the smallest, the least of all of us, the last and youngest in the family and you cause more work and worry than the rest put together. I know what I’d do with you if I were your mother – I’d treat you like the nasty little baby you are, smack you hard, and send you to bed for a week, like poor, dear, sweet Blossom. The trouble with you is that you think you’re important, whereas you come last in everything, or should do.’
‘Oh, do shut up, Cynthia,’ Uncle Jeff said, putting down his book. ‘Leave the boy alone.’
He quite liked Thomas these days after the umbrella incident.
The boy in question wandered drearily away to find Tamworth Pig, who was fast asleep under his favourite tree. He put his head on the gently heaving fat form and felt comforted.
He and Hedgecock dozed off, but Mr Rab stayed awake, nose and paws a-twitch. Minutes ticked slowly past, afternoon fashion. At last there was a convulsive heave as if someone were stirring a giant Christmas pudding. Tamworth was waking up. He rolled from side to side, then stood up abruptly, shaking his ears. Thomas and Hedgecock rolled over like a couple of ping-pong balls off a table, rubbed their eyes and were awake.
When they had finished yawning Tamworth said:
‘I must tell you that we’re having a special meeting tonight to vote Jasper or me as President. Will you come, this time? We need help to count the votes.’
‘Yes, I’ll come,’ Hedgecock said. ‘I like counting.’
‘Well, Barry McKenzie Goat has offered to wait outside your house and bring you to the meeting.’
‘I’ll come,’ Thomas said. ‘But Blossom can’t. Oh, Tamworth, she isn’t going to die, is she?’
‘Of course not. What a silly idea. She’ll live to be a hundred. Now, off you go, I’ve got to make up my speeches. Oh, Thomas, give my regards to Aunt Cynthia. She looked so funny when last I saw her.’
He guffawed, and Thomas too began to smile, until he was bellowing with laughter as well. Soon they were all helpless with mirth under the damson tree.
When they arrived home, Mummy said:
‘Blossom’s asking to see you. You can go up and play after tea.’
Sunlight exploded inside Thomas. He looked around, loving everyone.
‘Hello, Uncle Jeff. Hallo, Aunt Cynthia. I’m glad you came to stay.’
Uncle Jeff snorted into his teacup, blowing tea everywhere, and even Aunt Cynthia smiled.
Blossom had a marvellously huge bandage round her head. Mr Rab was jealous so she made one for him as well. They sat on her bed while she read to them from The Wind in the Willows. Then they acted it. Hedgecock was Badger, Blossom was Ratty, Mr Rab was Mole and Thomas was Toad, of course.
After a while, Blossom felt tired, so Mummy took Thomas to bed, where he lay determined to stay awake for the meeting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thomas awoke with a start, for he had fallen asleep after all. He drew back the curtains and found it was already dark outside. He pulled a thick sweater and jeans over his pyjamas, and then put on his plimsolls so that he could move quietly. He draped Num around his neck, woke up the twitching Mr Rab and the snoring Hedgecock, and they cautiously made their way downstairs, past Mummy’s and Daddy’s room where a light still showed under the door, and through the kitchen, silent but for the ticking of the clock. They pulled back the bolt, which made a grinding noise, and then out into the garden. It was so quiet that Thomas almost turned back but then he saw Barry McKenzie Goat’s head peering over the wall, so he climbed over and put his hand on the hairy side.
‘Come on, they’re nearly ready to begin.’
They hurried through the wet grass and into the orchard. There, by the light of flickering lanterns, sat cows, horses, sheep, pigs, goats, hens, turkeys, cats, ducks and dogs. There were even some rats and mice scurrying about and owls hooted in the trees.
Tamworth was seated under the damson tree, a magnificent sight in the lantern glow. On one side was Joe the Shire Horse and Barry McKenzie Goat led Thomas to the other. The animals formed a great circle with Tamworth and Jasper, the stallion, at opposite ends of the diameter. Joe was Chairman, but was not very conspicuous. As Barry and Thomas took their places, Jasper was speaking in a rolling neigh.
‘This idea of Tamworth’s is absolutely worthless, useless and impractical. We shall never persuade our farming friends to sell less meat. Farmers make their money from selling animals for meat. We must just put up with this.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Rover barked.
He was a sheepdog and an especial favourite of Mrs Baggs.
Tamworth rose to his trotters.
‘Brother animals, brothers all,’ he cried. ‘We must remember that my black and spirited opponent here has hardly the same outlook as the rest of us, or most of us. If there is a chance that Brother Jasper may end up inside a dog-meat tin, that day is long distant, and as for our barking friend here, no one would ever contemplate eating him, a fact which I do not find at all surprising. But the rest of us tastier brothers are liable to be cut down in our prime, oh horrible word, at any time. However, this is only one point from my campaign. The main thing is that we must get the country to grow more food. If you support me in this and elect me as your President, I shall send an invitation to our Minister at the Houses of Parliament so that he may visit us and learn about our ideas.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Thomas shouted, quite carried away. Grow more grub!’
Jasper turned to Rover.
‘I do not think this young human should be present at a meeting of animals.’
He glared with wild, rolling eyes at Thomas, who wrapped Num around himself and said:
‘I am always on Tamworth’s side—’
‘On his back,’ Hedgecock hissed.
‘—even if it does mean no roast ever.’
It was easy for him. He hated roast. Poor Blossom would miss her Sunday dinner sadly if Tamworth had his way.
Jasper continued.
‘Mr
Chairman, I wish to ask why this human is present tonight. I wish to object.’
‘Brother Thomas and Brother ’edgecock are ’ere to count votes. They don’t ’ave any say theirselves. Objection over-ruled.’
Tamworth had taught Joe ‘objection over-ruled’ earlier in the day.
Barry McKenzie Goat stood up.
‘I should like to propose Brother Tamworth as President of the Animals’ Union, whose aim is to encourage more food growing in England for the good and happiness of all, including us animals.’
He sat down again, and Joe spoke.
‘Does anyone second this?’
Fanny Cow and Ethelberta Ever-Ready stepped forward.
‘Proposal carried,’ Thomas said cheerfully.
Then Rover spoke.
‘I propose Brother Jasper, the Black Stallion, as President of Follow the Farmers League, whose aim is to keep things exactly as they are.’
Joe asked for a seconder and Rufus Pony and Pussy Cat stepped forward.
‘Proposal carried. Will you please put up paw, ’oof, wing or claw to cast your vote? Brothers ’edgecock and Thomas, will you count for us?’
They would never have managed the counting without Hedgecock. With beady eyes a-glitter at such a task, he counted and counted, aided by Thomas.
‘It’s ninety-six votes to ninety-six votes for each candidate,’ he panted at last.
‘A draw,’ the cows mooed. ‘What happens now?’
Tamworth spoke to Joe, who then stood up.
‘Has Chairman, I ’ave the casting vote.’
Everybody waited.
‘I cast me Chairman’s vote for Tamworth Pig!’
There was suddenly such a chorus of cheers, boos, neighs, moos, clucks, gobbles, squeals, roars, and howls that the lights all went on at Baggs’s Farm.
‘Quiet,’ Tamworth said, and they obeyed.
‘Thank you for your confidence in me. I am deeply honoured. Now we must go home silently, lest there is trouble.’
The animals melted quietly away into the shadows. Lanterns went out. Thomas felt very tired and he just wanted to curl up in Num and sleep under the damson tree, but Tamworth pushed him with his snout.
‘Come on. Get on my back and I’ll take you home.’
He lowered himself and somehow Thomas scrambled on, and they went home. All the lights in the house were out and it was very dark.
‘Thank you for your help,’ Tamworth said.
‘That’s all right, dear old Tamworth,’ Thomas murmured.
He had to be helped over the garden wall, and he tottered up the path holding Hedgecock and Mr Rab. Luckily the kitchen door was still unbolted and at last he tumbled into bed.
He got up the next morning very late.
‘I wonder why you’re so sleepy,’ Mummy said. ‘But there was a lot of noise in the night. Animals, I think. Perhaps it kept you awake?’
‘Yes, it did,’ Thomas agreed.
CHAPTER NINE
Blossom wrote out an invitation to the Minister to visit Tamworth Pig in his role of President of the Animals’ Union. His campaign for growing more food was becoming more and more widely known now, and he had received a deputation from the Vegetarian League, who were most interested in his idea of eating less meat. A very handsome photograph of Tamworth seated under the damson tree appeared in the Vegetarian Times and Blossom cut it out and pinned it up in the Pig House, which Tamworth refused to have called a sty. ‘My home is not a spot on someone’s eye,’ he declared.
In due course, the Minister’s secretary wrote back to say that the Minister was very busy at present, but that he hoped to visit Baggs’s Farm during the next month, and with this Tamworth had to be satisfied. He passed his time improving and decorating Pig House, and in interviewing animals who had any complaints or problems. Mr and Mrs Baggs remained quiet, apparently unaware of the activity going on in their orchard.
The weather continued wet and unpleasant, an English summer at its worst, but Blossom did not mind this too much because she had another interest. The Vicar’s wife, new to the district and full of enthusiasm, was organizing a play to be held in the Church Hall. Blossom was to be a bear and she went around reciting her lines non-stop.
The Vicar’s wife visited Mummy to see if she could help with the costumes, which she agreed to do. When the visiting lady was about to leave, having partaken of tea, six sandwiches and four cakes, she said:
‘Oh, by the way, I believe you have another child as well as Blossom. Doesn’t he go to school or Sunday school?’
‘Well, he was ill rather a lot, so he’s not going to school again till September.’
‘Doesn’t he go to Sunday school?’
Thomas’s mother didn’t feel like explaining that he behaved so badly that the previous Vicar’s wife had asked her not to send him any more.
‘No,’ was all she said.
‘I saw him the other day and I thought what a nice boy he looked and what a beautiful angel he’d make in the play.’
‘Oh, no,’ Mummy’s voice trembled. ‘I don’t think he’d make a good angel.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be all right. It will be good for him. He’s probably shy, and acting and singing will bring him out. Children love dressing up.’
‘He’s a very awkward boy.’
The Vicar’s wife laughed.
‘Nonsense, he’ll be as good as gold, I’m sure. Just send him with Blossom to the rehearsal on Wednesday. Oh, and tell him’ (she wagged a forefinger) ‘there’s a wee prize for every child taking part.’
Strangely enough Thomas was quite keen, but Blossom was furious.
‘I’m fed up. Oh, Mum, why did you say he could be in it? He’ll spoil it. I know he’ll spoil it. He always does.’
‘Well, perhaps he’ll be good this time, dear. After all he’s older now. Let’s give him a chance. Be fair.’
‘It isn’t a case of being fair. He always spoils things like this. He won’t fit in with the others. He’s all right with animals, but he’s terrible with people. I don’t know why you agreed.’
‘Well, honestly, I never thought he’d want to be an angel.’
‘It’s the prize. They say it’s going to be a box of chocolates and he wants one.’
‘Let’s see how he is at the first rehearsal, anyway, Blossom. Then we can decide.’
‘Humph,’ Blossom snorted.
They returned home from the rehearsal quite late, hand in hand, eyes shining.
‘Mummy, Daddy, Thomas was really good.’
‘I am pleased,’ Mummy said.
‘He’s chief angel.’
‘This I shall have to see,’ Daddy said.
‘I was very good,’ the chief angel announced. ‘And I want four slices of toast.’
‘Please,’ Mummy and Daddy said together, automatically.
‘Please,’ the chief angel acknowledged graciously.
Days passed. Thomas attended rehearsals, behaving beautifully. He was fitted out with a long, white robe, two tinselly wings and a halo, and spent a long time in front of mirrors, admiring himself. Blossom had a furry coat with ears and paws. She grew very nervous as the great day approached.
‘I do hope I get everything right. I’m so scared,’ she repeated over and over again.
‘I am a very good angel and I shall eat my box of chocolates all to myself,’ Thomas stated.
‘Greedy pig,’ Blossom shouted.
‘Don’t insult me and Tamworth,’ Thomas roared.
He smote her several times and she fled howling.
*
The evening of the play arrived at last, and the children left early to be dressed and made up. By the time their parents came in, the church hall was filling rapidly, the orchestra, consisting of six recorders, two violins and a piano, was warming up unsteadily and the choir were filing into their seats.
The Vicar’s wife could be seen rushing hither and thither. This was her first effort and she very much wanted it to be a success. A feeling o
f excitement grew with the shrilling of the recorders. The curtain went up at last to reveal a glade where a number of little bears were running about. Mummy’s loving eye soon picked out Blossom, a rather plumper bear than the others. She said her lines clearly and correctly. Mummy beamed and Daddy mumbled behind his hand:
‘I told you she’d be all right.’
They sat back and waited for Thomas to come on. He was one of several angels due to appear with St Francis when he was blessing the animals. St Francis, a portly, majestic figure in his brown sack, stood with hand outstretched over the little bears. Hand outstretched he waited … and waited … Now was time for the angels, led by their chief, to enter from the wings and dance round the newly blessed animals, while the school orchestra burst into heavenly music and the school choir into divine song. The pianist struck the opening chords, then, like St Francis he waited and waited … and struck the chord again, and waited.
From behind the scenery could be heard the ever-increasing noise of an argument. Mummy clutched Daddy’s arm and one of the bears on the stage began to shuffle nervously. There was a scuffling sound and straight through the middle of the back curtains shot a strange figure. A white robe hitched around its neck half covered a red jersey, a tinsel halo hung from one ear and it seemed to be trying to pull off the wings attached to its back.
‘I want my box of chocolates,’ the apparition shouted in a very loud voice. ‘I don’t want a silly old book. I want a box of chocolates.’
‘Oh no,’ Daddy groaned as he battled to get to his feet, hampered by gloves, programmes, umbrellas and being in the middle of a row.
An arm, that of the Vicar’s wife, came through the curtains and tried to pull back the figure.
‘Come along now, do. Don’t make such a scene. You’re spoiling the play.’
