Tamworth Pig Stories

by Gene Kemp

  ‘Let’s go out, Mummy,’ she said, poking her head round the kitchen door where Mummy was surrounded by a quantity of flour, eggs, butter and bowls. Thomas was helping himself to some strips of raw pastry.

  ‘Leave it alone, Thomas. There’ll be none left. No, Blossom, I can’t go out just now. I must get a few things ready for those new people, the Postlewaithes. I’ve asked them to supper tonight so that they can meet some of our friends.’

  ‘I bet we’ll only have toast for tea while you’ve got all this gorgeous grub. It’s not fair. You’re not much of a Mum, are you?’

  ‘And you’re not much of a son, are you? But we have to put up with you,’ Daddy said, coming in in his black, yellow, orange, green, pink and blue, accidentally-handpainted shirt. He had been decorating upstairs. He propelled Thomas through the door with a painted hand.

  ‘A walk will do you good,’ he smiled firmly.

  ‘Ugh,’ Thomas replied.

  ‘Oh, come on, I’ll race you to Pig House,’ Blossom cried.

  Tamworth was indulging in an afternoon nap when they arrived panting. He opened half an eye, then closed it again.

  ‘I’ve finished the “Save the Trees” banners,’ Blossom whispered in his ear.

  It flopped up and down, then Tamworth raised his enormous bulk.

  ‘Thank you, indeed, Blossom. I’ve no doubt they’re painted in your usual beautiful style. I’ve still got some of the posters you did for “Grow More Food”.’

  ‘There were thirty-eight sausages on sticks,’ Hedgecock announced suddenly for no apparent reason.

  ‘Shush!’ Thomas, Blossom and Mr Rab exclaimed simultaneously, looking nervously at Tamworth, who hated any mention of sausages, pork or bacon or any of his future possibilities. Fortunately, he did not appear to have heard.

  ‘Let’s go conkering,’ Thomas suggested.

  ‘Conquering what?’ Hedgecock asked.

  ‘Getting conkers, he means, stupid. You know, those brown nuts that grow on trees,’ Mr Rab said.

  He yelped as Hedgecock bashed him.

  ‘Come on, then. Where shall we go?’ Blossom asked, stroking Mr Rab soothingly.

  ‘The Tumbling Wood is the best place, I think. There are some very fine trees there. Wait, I’ll get a basket,’ Tamworth said.

  They ran, jumped and skipped over the stream where Thomas had once nearly drowned an entire mole colony, through the Rainbow Field, so named because of its curved shape, and over Hunter’s Bridge on to the rough track that led to the Tumbling Wood, which covered the highest hill in the neighbourhood and so gave the wood its name, for the trees looked as if they were tumbling down the hillside.

  ‘Look at those beautiful trees,’ Tamworth said.

  They all looked, even Hedgecock. Leaves were brown and yellow and gold against the blue sky. Trunks shone silver.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ grunted the bored Hedgecock.

  There were too many trees for him to count and any other beauty meant nothing at all to him. They ran into the wood.

  ‘There’s hundreds of conkers,’ Thomas cried and, for a while, there was silence as they looked and scrambled under the leaves for the glossy, brown nuts.

  Hedgecock counted furiously; Mr Rab held up a particularly magnificent specimen.

  ‘Isn’t it a beauty? I bet a fairy polished this one.’

  Hedgecock nearly choked.

  ‘Fairy poppycock. Huh! You know fairies aren’t real. Not like us.’

  Thomas put the extra large conker in his pocket instead of the basket.

  ‘It is a good one, though. I’ll ask Mum to bake this one for me, then I can use it in the conker fights at school.’

  ‘We’ve got ninety-eight altogether,’ Hedgecock said.

  ‘Two more, then, and that’s enough,’ Tamworth ruled.

  ‘I’m going to hit that one on that branch,’ Thomas shouted.

  He threw up a short stick and missed. He flung the stick again with extra force and half the branch broke off, descending on the head of Mr Rab, dancing below. He fell in a heap, thin little paws twitching feebly in the twigs and leaves.

  ‘Oh, poor Mr Rab,’ Blossom cried, flinging aside the branch.

  There was a piteous groan.

  ‘He’s all right. Get up, stripey,’ Hedgecock snorted.

  ‘His poor nose has gone white,’ Blossom exclaimed, investigating the frail form for breaks or sprains.

  He sank back in her arms, relishing all the attention that was being showered upon him.

  ‘Looks like a blooming corpse,’ Hedgecock agreed, peering closely. ‘No, he’s coming round. His nose is going that nasty, pink, blancmange colour again.’

  Tamworth, too, inspected Mr Rab and pronounced him free from fatal injury, and Hedgecock pushed him into a sitting position with his snout. Finally he was ready to carry on.

  Blossom found a good collection of old sweets in her pockets, for she always believed in keeping some in reserve in case of emergencies, and they wandered slowly out of the wood, eating blackberries and boiled sweets together, an interesting mixture.

  Mr Rab groaned carefully from time to time as they went along, just in case anyone should forget that he had been severely injured. Hedgecock was pretending to suck from an acorn pipe. The path turned sharply. Before them stood a huge machine – a bulldozer!

  Tamworth stopped short.

  ‘I wonder what this machine is doing here? Surely they don’t intend to use it in this wood. Why, it has stood here since the days of the Romans and earlier still. Thomas, my boy, I don’t like the look of that bulldozer.’

  ‘Let’s wreck it,’ Thomas suggested hopefully.

  ‘Certainly not. No vandalism. Come, it’s time to return home. I think I must prepare a speech this evening.’

  They walked on slowly, then Hedgecock suddenly stopped.

  ‘What’s that stupid animal doing now? What a nuisance he is!’

  They all looked round but there was no sign of Mr Rab, so they retraced their steps to where they last remembered seeing him.

  ‘Come on, Mr Rab. It’s time to go,’ Thomas called.

  There was no reply.

  ‘Do you think he’s all right?’ Blossom asked anxiously.

  ‘It’s fatal to take him to the woods,’ Hedgecock sighed. ‘He always wants to join the real rabbits. I bet that’s what he’s done now. And if he finds any, they’ll only make fun of him. They always do.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Rab,’ Thomas called again.

  Hedgecock grumbled on.

  ‘He’s got no sense at all. He never did have. I don’t go gallivanting with hedgehogs. I only met one once, and I couldn’t stand the fellow. He couldn’t count at all. Didn’t even know how many paws he’d got.’

  The others were busy searching behind every bush and tree as he went on talking.

  ‘Let’s all shout together,’ Blossom suggested.

  ‘One – two – three – go!’

  ‘MR RAB!’

  The words re-echoed round the woods.

  A thin form hurried from behind an elderberry bush. It was Mr Rab, looking both pleased and sheepish, injuries forgotten.

  ‘So sorry. So sorry. So sorry,’ he squeaked.

  ‘Stop apologizing and come on. Where did you get to?’ Thomas said.

  ‘I’ve found a friend. A friend! He liked me. He really did. I’m going to see him again. He’s got the sweetest little burrow.’

  ‘What sort of friend is he? Not a weasel or someone like that?’

  Tamworth’s voice was anxious, for he had no faith in Mr Rab’s ability to choose the right sort of friend. Neither had anyone else.

  ‘Oh, no. He’s really a nice rabbit, but he has a funny way of talking because he’s a Welsh rabbit.’

  ‘Lumme,’ Hedgecock exclaimed. ‘That’s all we needed, Mr Rab and a Welsh rabbit. I hope he doesn’t turn into a fox’s dinner.’

  ‘Don’t be unkind. There’s no reason why Mr Rab shouldn’t have a friend.’

  ‘I agree
with you, Tamworth. We’ll take you to see him again, Mr Rab.’ Blossom smiled at the excited creature.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Hedgecock snorted.

  Tamworth looked at the setting sun.

  ‘I think we’d better hurry,’ he said.

  *

  An early bedtime had been indicated for Thomas because he had a knack of wrecking social occasions and Mummy did not want her evening ruined. Blossom was to be allowed to stay up for a while, so Thomas was in a wicked mood.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ he muttered as he settled into bed with Hedgecock and Mr Rab.

  ‘She’s older than you,’ Mr Rab pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but much stupider.’

  He wrapped himself in Num, his soft square of grey blanket that stayed under the pillow and only came out at night. Very few friends were allowed to see Num.

  Downstairs the Postlewaithes had arrived, eager to be friendly. They had no children of their own.

  ‘I’d love to meet your little boy, too,’ Mrs Postlewaithe cooed after she had been introduced to Blossom. ‘Can’t I just peep at him in bed?’

  ‘No,’ Daddy said.

  ‘Oh, I know you don’t really mean that. I’ll just creep up on my own.’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother,’ Daddy said, but he was weakening. Mrs Postlewaithe was very pretty.

  ‘I’ll find the door,’ she said with a smile and tripped away.

  Daddy put down his glass and followed. She found the right door, the one with all the finger marks on it, and peeped in. A small boy with very untidy hair, covered in an old, grey blanket, glared back at her. Six or seven spikes protruded from his mouth.

  ‘Oh dear! Oh, you poor child. I didn’t know you were afflicted. Whatever’s wrong?’

  She ran towards the bed.

  Thomas, who hated anyone to see Num, snatched at it furiously to stuff it under the pillow, snarling through the sausages on sticks in his mouth. A wide assortment of peanuts, olives, cheese biscuits and rolls, all in very crumbled condition, fell on the floor as Daddy arrived through the door.

  Downstairs, Mummy exclaimed to the dutifully helpful Blossom:

  ‘Why, half the food’s disappeared!’

  *

  Much later, Hedgecock looked out cautiously from his blanket of knitted squares.

  ‘It’s all right now. They’re making a lot of noise downstairs. It’s a good job that female person was there or it would have been much worse.’

  ‘Yes,’ Thomas agreed. ‘Sing the bedtime song, Mr Rab. I need it after Daddy’s thrown all my food in the bin. It’s not fair. All that food for them but nothing for me.’

  Mr Rab sang the song he had made up long ago when Thomas was little.

  ‘Mr Rab has gone to sleep

  Tucked in his tiny bed,

  He has curled up his little paws

  And laid down his sleepy head.’

  ‘Ugh, what muck,’ Hedgecock growled.

  Sometimes, these days, Thomas thought himself much too old for Mr Rab’s song, but when things went wrong, he still liked to hear it. It felt comforting, like Num.

  *

  But back at school, things went well, for the huge conker, soaked in vinegar, baked hard and polished, defeated all challengers and became Super Conk, the champion.

  ‘I think it was because the fairies polished it specially,’ Mr Rab said.

  ‘Fairy poppycock,’ Hedgecock snapped.

  ‘No, fairy thistledown,’ Mr Rab sniggered.

  He did not often make a little joke and he soon regretted it as Hedgecock kicked him sharply.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Blossom’s banner was bright in the sunlight and the pennants fluttered in the gentle breeze. St Luke’s little summer had continued its fine efforts for several more days, which was a good omen for Tamworth Pig’s march, now winding its way through the main street. It was to make a tour of the village to arrive at the ancient elm outside the ‘Duck and Drake’ where Tamworth was to make his speech.

  The huge pig, bristles electric with excitement, led the way, followed closely by Blossom and Thomas carrying the two pennants, accompanied by Hedgecock and Mr Rab. Next came the large banner borne aloft by Mrs Postlewaithe and the Vicar’s wife, who both believed in the importance of saving trees. They were followed by sixteen students from the local technical college and two archaeological students taking time off from a nearby dig. Nearly all Blossom’s class had turned up to support the cause, but only one from Thomas’s, a professor’s son who had brought his father along. Both were very short-sighted, and thought the march was in aid of impoverished deep-sea fishermen.

  Many animals came from the surrounding countryside, including one on a visit from Cornwall. Joe the Shire Horse, Barry McKenzie Goat and Fanny Cow brought up the rear of the procession to lend backs should anyone require aid and assistance along the way. Ethelberta Ever-Ready, the many-egg-laying hen, fluttered up and down the marching column, squawking happily. She loved any sort of goings on.

  Thomas was tense and on the alert. All week he had endured taunts and jeers from Lurcher Dench and Christopher Robin Baggs, his old enemies, and had listened to threats of what they would do to the march. They would wreck it, they said. They would cause a riot. Eyes swivelling grimly from left to right, Thomas kept a look-out for all possible places of ambush.

  P.C. Cubbins was also on the alert, walking along beside the procession. Fond as he was of Thomas and even fonder of dear Blossom, he was not at all sure that he approved of the whole business. The Vicar’s wife was there, which lent it a respectable air but, still, you never knew. Many riots had been caused by people with the best of intentions.

  On the other side of the column, P.C. Spriggs also marched along. His thoughts were quite straightforward. Any affair at all that had Thomas mixed up in it would run into trouble sooner or later. All he had to do was to await that moment.

  But the march was moving peacefully along to the strains of a marching song composed by Mr Rab.

  ‘Save the trees!

  Save the trees!

  We’re marching over here to save the trees.

  Hand in hand and paw in paw,

  Whether you’ve got two feet or four,

  Raise your voice in a mighty roar

  And save the trees!

  Save the trees!’

  The Vicar’s wife’s soprano soared magnificently above the rest as they turned the corner towards the elm tree where a small crowd awaited them. Thomas’s eye ran over it warily, but it contained no enemies. He felt almost disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded a scrap.

  Tamworth mounted the small platform erected for him. Blossom watched anxiously, for she always worried about Tamworth’s weight, but it seemed safe enough.

  Tamworth’s powerful voice rang out to the waiting crowd.

  ‘Friends! Brothers! I come here today on behalf of other friends of ours. Beautiful, noble friends. Trees! And day by day, I regret to say, these beautiful, noble friends are being laid low.’

  He paused. Among the listening throng, there came a rustling and a ripple of movement eddying towards Tamworth as the crowd parted reluctantly to let someone pass to the foot of the platform. A small, plump, extremely pretty, pink and black pig seated herself directly below Tamworth and gazed at him adoringly with her soft, dark eyes. She was panting a little.

  Tamworth looked down at her, swallowed, then continued with his speech.

  ‘Brothers! Friends! We are gathered here to talk about …’

  His voice faltered and stopped. He gazed at the pretty pig.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Melanie,’ she answered, lowering her long eyelashes.

  ‘Melanie,’ Tamworth repeated as though in a dream.

  The crowd was starting to grow restless.

  ‘Get on with the speech,’ Thomas hissed at Tamworth, who gulped, looked at the crowd and began again.

  ‘Friends! Brothers! We are here …’

  ‘We’ve
heard all that. Tell us something new,’ a heckler shouted.

  Blossom knew all Tamworth’s speech, as he had rehearsed it with her.

  ‘Plant a seed a day, whenever you can,’ she whispered to him.

  ‘Plant a seed,’ Tamworth echoed vaguely, staring like a lost pig at Melanie.

  ‘O! Lumme! He’s gone nuts,’ Hedgecock said to Thomas.

  ‘Yes. We’ll have to do something quick.’

  As though in answer to a prayer, and it must have been the first time that this was ever the answer to anyone’s prayer, came the roar of motor-bikes. The local ‘Hell’s Angels’, leather-jacketed, black-helmeted, led by Deadly Dench, Lurcher’s even more ferocious elder brother, came rocketing down the road, driving straight for the band of tree-savers, who broke up, scattered and ran for safety.

  Thomas, helpless and furious, watched from the shelter of the Post Office doorway as they roared back and forth, again and again, accompanied by ear-splitting revs, bangs and shrieks. Finally a police car, summoned by P.C. Spriggs, arrived on the scene and the ‘Angels’ sped away to seek further entertainment elsewhere.

  Thomas and Blossom emerged from their shelter, clutching their pennants still. All was deserted except for Tamworth Pig and Melanie gazing into each other’s eyes, oblivious of the whole world. Thomas and Blossom also stared, Thomas in despair, Blossom beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘Look at them,’ she breathed.

  ‘I never thought it really happened,’ Hedgecock grunted. ‘And I’m very sorry to see it does.’

  ‘Love, love, love,’ Mr Rab warbled happily.

  ‘Shut up, you stripey fool. Can’t you see we’re in for trouble? This afternoon has been a failure in every way,’ Hedgecock said.