The Little Grey Men Read online

  The silence and tension became unbearable and at last Sneezewort ventured to speak, rather timidly.

  ‘When are we going to make a start on the boat, Baldmoney? It seems to me if we are to begin we’d better make it soon because the summer will be here and it’s going to take a long time getting everything ready.’

  ‘Well . . . er . . . what about this afternoon? There’s no time like the present. If Dodder won’t come he’ll have to stay behind, and we must go without him. After all, he can be laying in the winter’s supply, and he likes fishing.’ (Dodder had gone away down the shingle in a huff and the two were left alone.) ‘You know, it’s stupid of Dodder to behave like this,’ burst out Baldmoney in a low undertone; ‘he’ll be miserable all by himself. Oh dear! why is he so stubborn? Anyway, even if we don’t find Cloudberry the change would do us good; we haven’t stirred from this spot for years. Everyone wants a change some time, and I’d like to explore the stream and perhaps find the Folly Source. Come on, let’s get some wood to make the boat—it shouldn’t take us long to build.’

  The two gnomes walked up the bank in the opposite direction to Dodder and clambered over the roots of an old thorn-tree which grew on a sandy slope. A few yards away there was a thick spinney in the angle of two hedges where the gnomes collected their fuel. Already the new spring growth was pushing up, soon it would be a veritable jungle of nettles, couch grass, and willow herb.

  Primroses were all over the place in vivid yellow splashes, and up in a thorn-tree two chaffinches were building a nest, a wonderfully neat affair of felted lichen. They saw the gnomes but were so busy they couldn’t even spare a moment to talk. After a while, however, the cock bird noticed Baldmoney struggling with a stout piece of wood, and stopped his work.

  ‘Hullo, Baldmoney, getting some firewood?’

  Baldmoney looked up and mopped his forehead. ‘No, we’re building a boat, Spink.’ (Spink was the chaffinch’s name.) ‘We’re thinking of going up the Folly to find Cloudberry, our lost brother.’

  ‘My! My! My! But you will have some fun,’ exclaimed Spink; ‘that’s the most surprising piece of news I’ve heard for a long while; I thought you gnomes never went anywhere!’

  He was so full of the news he went straight off and told his wife. She, like all females the world over, loved a juicy bit of gossip, and you may be sure it would not be long before all the birds on the stream knew of the coming adventure.

  Bub’m (a wild rabbit friend of theirs) was sunning herself at the mouth of the burrow close to the plantation. She heard the gnomes pushing about in the underwood; the tiny snap of twigs and rustle of leaves made her suspicious, she thought at first it must be a stoat. She stood up on her back legs with her paws hanging down against her whitish tummy, her ears went in a V. Then she caught sight of Sneezewort through a gap in the bushes and saw who it was. In a very short time Bub’m also had the news, and as rabbits are also gossiping creatures, it was not long before all the animals knew of the Folly trip.

  It took the gnomes some time to collect enough suitable wood, and longer still to portage it down the bank to the oak tree root. But at last the job was done and they began hammering, shaping, and planing for all they were worth. They tapped like woodpeckers and worked so hard that when Dodder returned, still grumpily stumping along with his hands behind his back and eyes on the ground, the boat was taking shape.

  When he saw what they were doing he said nothing but went straight into the cave and did not come out again. The gnomes worked on until it was too dark to see. All the next day and the next they toiled, stopping only for a bite of food. By the end of the month the boat was nearly finished and looked something like this:

  For paddles they used strips of wood, cleverly wedged into wooden hubs, and the two handles were made out of bent wire, filched from a fence. The bending of the wire was the most difficult job of all, for it took their united strength to hammer it to the right shape; the little corner of the brook rang like a blacksmith’s shop.

  All the animals and birds up and down the stream had got wind of what was happening, for the tidings had been passed from beak to beak and from mouth to mouth. Everybody came to look at the new boat, for it was the finest boat ever built by gnomes.

  As it neared completion it was tied up under a log which lay among the springing nettles of the bank so that all could admire it. Baldmoney and Sneezewort were very proud of their handiwork for, as you can see, it was a splendid boat and very ingeniously made. Even Dodder was secretly impressed. He used to go and peep at it when he thought the others were not looking. But still he refused to talk and went about with his eyes on the ground. Poor little gnome; secretly he wished that he was going too, for in all his life he had never been alone and the idea of the long summer months without his companions would not bear dwelling on. But he was of a very proud nature, and once gnomes make up their minds about a thing it takes a lot to change them.

  By the first week in May the boat was finished. It was varnished with gum from a nearby sycamore and looked very smart and streamworthy. The launching was a great moment. Gnomes never waste time over anything. The boat was finished on the second of May, at five o’clock in the evening, and at seven o’clock they decided to launch her in the pool. They put wooden rollers under her and tied a twisted grass rope to the prow. They pulled for all they were worth to get her down the bank, but they could not stir her. Baldmoney’s feet kept slipping on the loose shingle. This held up matters for a bit, for of course Dodder was nowhere to be seen; he was sulking in the house. I doubt if they ever would have got her down the bank had not a passing toad lent a hand. They tied the grass halter round his neck and all three pulled and pulled. ‘It’s moving,’ said Baldmoney excitedly; ‘pull, you fellows, pull.’ And sure enough the heavy little boat began to jerk forwards towards the stream, nearer and nearer to the water’s edge until at last, with one final heave, it slid in with a faint splash. The trouble they had in getting the grass halter off the toad you wouldn’t believe, for he kept trying to swim away. After a tremendous amount of splashing and noise they at last pulled the boat back to land and tied it up to a hawthorn bough. Then, thanking the toad, they went off to plead with Dodder.

  They found him inside the house, right up in the corner by the cellar, and Baldmoney noticed that he had been crying. His eyes were very red, but he pretended it was the smoke from the fire.

  ‘Come on, Dodder, we’re going to try the boat. Toad helped us to launch her and she floats beautifully. We’re going to paddle her up the Folly as far as the Stickle. Do come, Dodder!’

  They coaxed and wheedled but the little man said no word and shook them off roughly. So they left him alone and went out to try the boat.

  It was late now, and Zeete was out, flickering round over the water. The two gnomes were wildly excited as they climbed aboard. Sneezewort pushed off with a willow stick and the little boat swung gently into the current of the deep pool.

  Looking upstream they saw the smooth water winding away towards the rapids, the reflections of the bushes and willows, dark and mysterious, at the bend in the brook.

  A song thrush, singing among the white blackthorn blossom, stopped his song when he saw the boat put out from the bank and sat watching the gnomes with interested eye.

  Two male blackbirds who were running round each other in a love duel (their tails fanned and crests depressed) also saw the boat push off, and even they forgot their jealous anger and flew up to the oak tree to see how the gnomes fared.

  Baldmoney took one of the paddle handles and Sneezewort the other and they began to turn them round. At first the gentle current still pushed the boat backwards but, as the paddles got to work, the backward movement ceased, the boat became stationary and then oh, joy! it began to slowly forge upstream!

  As the gnomes got into their stride, each working his handle in rhythm, the boat gathered speed until it was steadily pushing a furl of water before it and heading up the centre of the pool.

  Neither o
f the gnomes spoke. As they were bent over the handles they did not see the dim face of Dodder peering round one corner of the oak root. The poor little man could not resist coming to see how the boat worked. When Baldmoney stopped paddling for a moment to wipe away a bead of sweat from his brow Dodder immediately bobbed back into the shadow, for he didn’t want to be seen.

  Out of the corner of his eye Sneezewort saw the sturdy green rushes and young nettles growing on the opposite bank slowly sliding past. He worked with all his might, delighted with the success of the boat and with the ease with which it slid through the water. It was infinitely better than paddling one of the coracles.

  But the test was yet to come. As they neared the stickle the sound of the water furling against the prow of the boat loudened into a chuckle and a thin film swept over the bottom boards, wetting the gnomes’ feet. But they worked with a will and inch by inch they crept upstream until the smooth water round the bend was reached.

  They headed into the bank and tied up to an iris flag. ‘Phew,’ gasped Sneezewort, ‘that was hard work. We can do it, but we shall have to get Watervole to help us at the rapids; unless we meet any bigger ones below Crow Wood we ought to get up without a lot of trouble.’

  Baldmoney was sitting in the prow, mopping his forehead. ‘Don’t tell me I can’t design boats, Sneezewort; we can go anywhere in this!’

  He got out and surveyed the craft proudly. Under the opposite bank there was a sudden plop and a second later they saw Watervole swimming across with a rush in his mouth.

  ‘Hi, Watervole, we want to speak to you!’ called Baldmoney. The rat altered course and came over across the current, his body twisted sideways, swimming with a consummate ease which the gnomes envied. He climbed out on to a pad of rotten reeds and cleaned his whiskers.

  ‘That’s a fine ship you’ve got there, gnomes!’

  ‘Yes, it’s our new boat, we’ve just made it,’ said Sneezewort with pride; ‘and we want to ask a favour of you, Watervole. We’re going up the Folly to find Cloudberry and we want you to help us. Is there any rough water below Moss Mill?’

  ‘Rough water! I should think there is,’ replied Watervole. ‘You’ll never get your boat up to Moss Mill; it takes me all my time working up the bank.’

  ‘That’s just what we want to see you about,’ broke in Baldmoney and Sneezewort together; ‘we want you to give us a tow in the rapids; we can manage all right in the smooth water but with your help we can get up.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll help you, gnomes,’ said the good-natured animal, ‘and so will all the other voles below the mill. I’ll let them know about it, unless, of course, they know already—about the trip, I mean. I knew two days ago, Bub’m told me; the whole stream probably knows it. But take my advice and wait a day or two; the Folly will be lower then and it will be easier to get up the rapids. You should start when the first wild iris bud splits, not before.’

  The Watervole took up a piece of green root and, holding it between his forepaws, began chewing busily. The grateful gnomes nearly danced for joy.

  ‘When will that be?’ asked Sneezewort eagerly; ‘when do you think we can start, Watervole?’

  ‘Well,’ he replied between mouthfuls, ‘I should say in about two days’ time. We’re going to have a dry summer by the look of the stream, and all you’ve got to worry about is thunder showers and of course, Giant Grum. I shall feel happier when you are through Crow Wood. Of course, I don’t know what the Folly’s like above Moss Mill, because I’ve never been, but the higher you get the less water there is. I should make a map as you go along, it’ll be useful to you afterwards, and you can mark in all the good fishing grounds. The minnows in the mill-stream are whoppers.’

  ‘Have you ever seen Giant Grum?’ asked Sneezewort rather timidly.

  ‘No, I’ve never seen him, but he has a dreadful reputation. He’ll kill you if he catches you there. Crow Wood is a terrible place. I’ll see you safely up to Moss Mill, but after that I shall have to come back. I’m a family man and my wife would worry. As it is, I daren’t tell her I’m going with you, because she made me promise not to go even as far as Moss Mill. You see, her mother went up to Crow Wood and she, like your poor Cloudberry, never came back. I expect Giant Grum got your brother as well.’

  ‘Well, thanks a lot, Watervole; we’ll make a start when the first iris breaks its bud. Goodbye, Watervole, and don’t forget your promise!’

  The gnomes climbed aboard again and pushed off into the current. They had no need for paddles. They drifted gently along on the surface of the stream. It was good to sit down in luxuriant ease and watch the scenery go by; the reed spears already forming a forest, the grass so long and lush, hanging over the edge of the bank, with here and there bunches of cuckoo pint, and the wild cherry, glorious in bloom.

  When they reached the rapids it was nearly dark. The boat gathered speed and the gnomes crouched, half fearful, half exultant, hanging on for grim death. They swept down the rough water, rocking a little but always streamworthy, until they glided into the quiet reaches of the Oak Pool.

  They tied up the boat under a wild rose bush and walked back across the shingle, tired but happy, to the tree house. Dodder was curled up in his moleskin bag pretending to be fast asleep, though in reality he was wide awake, listening with all his ears.

  ‘Dodder’s asleep,’ whispered Sneezewort; ‘don’t wake him.’ After a hurried supper they crawled into their skin bags round the dead fire. Sneezewort was soon fast asleep, but Baldmoney lay awake. The thought of the coming great adventure heated his blood and his imagination got busy with all manner of things. There was so much to think of; supplies, for instance. They would have to raid Dodder’s store cupboard and there was bound to be a scene. Why was the little man so troublesome? They would have to take fishing gear and a change of clothes in case they got wet. Gnomes hate damp, especially when they reach a great age. For you must remember that they had lived by the stream since it first began to run, way back in the dim, dim past, almost before Man walked the earth.

  Oh dear! There was so much to think of, and he had to do it all. It had always been the same, it was he who had to think for the others, while Dodder gave the orders.

  At last, worn out, he began to snore, and Dodder, who had cried himself to sleep (the moleskin bag was quite wet with tears), began to snore in unison.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Start of the Journey

  he next day was spent in feverish preparation and frequent visits to the wild iris clump to see if the rather ungainly branching buds showed any sign of splitting.

  Dodder refused to let them touch his store cupboard. He sat on a three-legged stool in front of it, looking very white and determined, gripping his stick. They pleaded and wheedled until at last he gave in, but he stood silently by whilst they packed their provisions. Baldmoney selected ten bundles of kippered fish, a pot of wild bees’ honey, three loaves of wheaten bread, two cups of acorn paste, and a packet of big mushrooms. Dodder refused to let them have any more. They carried away the provisions and stacked them by the inner door of the house.

  Then began a rather painful period of waiting. Dodder knew that their departure was a matter of hours, and he went about with a heart like lead. He just dare not think of the awful moment when, for the first time in his life, he would be left alone.

  That evening Sneezewort was winding some new horsehair fishing line on to a piece of stick, a present from Spink, when he suddenly jumped to his feet.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sneezewort?’ exclaimed Baldmoney in surprise.

  ‘Why, I’ve just thought of something, something very important—we haven’t named the new boat! It’s awfully unlucky to go on a voyage in a new boat which has no name. What shall we do?’

  ‘Why, name it, of course,’ said Baldmoney with a superior air. ‘We must do the thing properly, though, and fetch some spring water from over the meadow.’ So they got a frogskin bucket and went across.

  There was a soft rain fal
ling from a luminous sky, sturdy half-grown lambs frolicked in the small green meadow by the distant lane and bird song echoed on every hand. The spring was close to the spinney where they had gathered the wood for the boat. Green ferns almost hid it from view, pushing up like bishops’ croziers from the dead leaves of last November.

  Baldmoney leaned among the fronds and dipped the bucket into the very centre of the spring, where the water came pushing up in little hillocks from a dusky hole in the sandy bowl.

  They carefully carried the brimming bucket back to the Oak Pool and sat down on the shingle to think of a name. This took them a long time. The little men sat with their knees drawn up under their chins.

  ‘What about Mayfly?’ suggested Baldmoney.

  ‘That won’t do—mayflies only live a few hours.’

  ‘Dragonfly, then.’

  ‘That’s better; Dragonfly would be flattered too.’

  They went down to the wild rose bush and Sneezewort pushed the boat off into the pool with Baldmoney aboard her. As the boat began to move he dashed the contents of the bucket over the prow, intoning in a solemn voice, ‘I name you Dragonfly, and may you bring luck to all who sail in you; and may we find Cloudberry,’ he added as an afterthought, as the boat swung out into the current.

  This ceremony over, Baldmoney paddled in again and they spent the rest of the evening carving the name (a picture of a dragonfly) on the prow of the boat. It was dark when they had finished, and so as to save time on the morrow, they packed away the provisions under the seat.

  Early next morning Watervole awakened them by scratching on the door of the cave.

  ‘Wake up, gnomes, the iris bud up the stream has broken; it’s time you were off.’

  Baldmoney and Sneezewort came tumbling out, carrying their moleskin sleeping bags. They were breathless with excitement. ‘Where’s Dodder?’ asked Watervole in a surprised voice. ‘Sshhh,’ hissed Baldmoney, ‘he won’t come with us, and I’m afraid he’s very upset. He thinks the whole scheme is mad and that we shall never come back. Says he’d rather stay at home and live a few years longer!’