by John Grant
Dad was giving the fire a last poke when suddenly he leapt up with a yell.
“Ouch!” he shouted. “What was that? I’ve been stung!” And he rubbed his arm. Then he yelled again and jumped up, this time holding his ear.
“There are too many insects about,” he shouted. “I’m going in.” And he stamped angrily into the cave.
When Dad was out of sight, Uncle Redhead almost fell off his rock laughing. He clutched his sides as he chortled into his beard. Favourite uncle or not, Littlenose thought him pretty heartless. After all, Dad had had two very painful stings, which was no laughing matter.
Mum came out of the cave on her way to the river carrying a large bowl. Uncle Redhead pointed to her, and suddenly there came a loud PING! from the bowl, which Mum almost dropped in surprise.
“Careful!” said Uncle Redhead, as Mum went on her startled way. And again he doubled up with laughter.
Poor Littlenose was thoroughly bewildered. He turned to Uncle Redhead, but Uncle Redhead just said, “Time for your bed, young man. Pleasant dreams. See you in the morning.” So Littlenose went to bed, a very perplexed boy.
In the morning, Littlenose tried desperately to ask his uncle about the strange happenings of the night before. But Uncle Redhead didn’t appear to notice him, and chatted casually to Mum and Dad through breakfast.
However, when they had eaten, Uncle Redhead said, “Come on, Littlenose. Let’s go for a walk. I still have to give you your present.”
They walked off into the woods together, and there Uncle Redhead stopped on a grassy bank.
“Can I have my present now?” asked Littlenose.
“Just a moment,” said Uncle Redhead.
He reached across and picked a thin, straight stick about the length of his hand.
“It’s a berry-shooter,” said Uncle Redhead. “It’s a rowan stem, and, see, it’s hollow.”
But Littlenose still didn’t understand.
With a sigh, Uncle Redhead took the hollow stick again, and putting a hand into a pocket, produced some red, wrinkled berries and put them in his mouth.
“Goodness, he must be hungry,” thought Littlenose.
But Uncle Redhead did not chew the hawthorn berries. He put the berry-shooter to his lips, made a noise like “pfft!” and sent a berry shooting up into the leaves over their heads. Again and again and again he did it. “Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!”
“Oh, now I see,” shouted Littlenose excitedly. “Let me blow one. I want to try.”
Uncle Redhead gave him the berry-shooter and a berry. “Put the berry in your mouth,” he said, “and put the berry-shooter to your lips. Take a deep breath.”
Littlenose did as he was told. Then he gave a startled gasp. “I’ve swallowed the berry!” he gasped.
“That’s all right,” said Uncle Redhead. “I’ve plenty more.” And he handed him another. This time, Littlenose got it right, and the berry popped out of the end of the tube and landed at his feet.
“Not bad,” said Uncle Redhead. “Try again.”
Littlenose tried again. And again. And again. In fact, he practised all afternoon, and by the time they set off for home he was getting very good.
“Now,” said Uncle Redhead, as they approached the cave, “you must promise to be extremely careful when you are playing with your berry-shooter. I don’t want you getting both of us into trouble.”
When Littlenose awoke next morning, Uncle Redhead had gone. But tucked in amongst the furs under which Littlenose slept was the berry-shooter and a good supply of dried berries.
Littlenose couldn’t wait to play with his new toy. He slipped a berry in his mouth and blew it towards Mum, who was busy preparing breakfast. But the berry flew over her head and she didn’t even notice it. However, Littlenose remembered Uncle Redhead’s words about being careful, and decided to wait until he was up and about before trying again. As soon as breakfast was over, he went to practise. But shooting at leaves and flower heads was pretty dull. He tried aiming at a fat thrush perched on a branch. What Littlenose didn’t see was a wasps’ nest hanging from the branch. Instead of hitting the bird, the berry smacked straight into the wasps’ nest. Out came the wasps, and off ran Littlenose as fast as he could.
The wonderful toy was not turning out to be as much fun as he had hoped. People were much more interesting targets than leaves or birds . . . or wasps’ nests, for that matter. After all, Uncle Redhead hadn’t actually forbidden him. He had only said to be careful. And he would be. Nobody had caught Uncle Redhead playing tricks with the berry-shooter, and they wouldn’t catch him.
Unfortunately, Littlenose was not Uncle Redhead. He just wasn’t cunning enough. He couldn’t keep his face straight, and roared with laughter every time one of his hard berries hit someone on the ear or the nose, making them jump. It was not long before everyone in the tribe had been hit at least once; and one day some of the neighbours complained to Dad.
“Have you still got that berry-shooter?” he asked Littlenose, when they had gone. Littlenose nodded. “Right,” said Dad. “Because it was a present, you may keep it; but you must on no account shoot it at people. One more complaint, and it goes in the fire. Right?”
“Yes,” said Littlenose, very relieved that he still had his toy, but wondering what use it was going to be now.
At this moment Two-Eyes came ambling along. Two-Eyes! Of course! Why hadn’t Littlenose thought of it before? He was Littlenose’s best friend, but he wasn’t “people”. Not ordinary “people”, anyway.
As Two-Eyes settled himself in a warm patch of sun to doze, Littlenose let fly with a berry. And Two-Eyes didn’t move. Littlenose tried again. Two-Eyes didn’t even look up. Then Littlenose realised that Two-Eyes just couldn’t feel the hard hawthorn berries through his thick fur.
There was just one part of Two-Eyes which had no fur. The tip of his trunk. Littlenose took careful aim, and blew.
“Pfft!”
With a loud squeak, Two-Eyes leapt up. Littlenose blew again, and this time the berry hit Two-Eyes in the ear.
From that day on, Two-Eyes had no peace. He had only to show himself for a moment to find a stream of berries flying round his head. At length, thoroughly disgusted with things, he went off to stay with some friends, where, at least, he was safe from Littlenose and his berry-shooter.
When Two-Eyes had gone, Littlenose felt very sorry for himself. He had no one to shoot berries at, and he had no one with whom to do all the exciting things that he and Two-Eyes did together. He tried shooting at twigs floating in the river, and at fish swimming below the surface. But it was much too dull. Soon the berry-shooter was forgotten, and Littlenose wished that Two-Eyes would come back. And, one day, as summer was drawing to a close, Two-Eyes came trotting into the cave.
“Two-Eyes, you’ve come back!” cried Littlenose, happily. And he threw his arms around the little mammoth and hugged him. Once more, Littlenose and Two-Eyes played together. They explored the woods, paddled in the river, and invented games.
Littlenose had certainly forgotten the berry-shooter. The Neanderthal folk had very short memories, and Littlenose’s memory was shorter than most. But Two-Eyes was a mammoth. A mammoth not only looked like an elephant: like an elephant, a mammoth didn’t forget. And a mammoth could be very patient indeed.
Summer was almost over. The leaves were beginning to turn red and gold. One morning, Littlenose called to Two-Eyes, “Come on, Two-Eyes, let’s go and gather fruit.” Together, they ran off into the woods, and in no time found all kinds of fruit, ripe and ready for eating. There were raspberries and blackberries and Littlenose gorged himself on those, and then he saw clusters of crab apples. He scrambled up the tree and threw down handfuls of the small apples. Two-Eyes picked one up, but immediately spat it out again. It was sour and unripe. Littlenose jumped down to the ground and ate several before he, too, decided that perhaps they were not quite ready for eating.
On another tree, dark clusters of elderberries showed among the leaves. Once again, Littl
enose climbed into the branches and shook them. The tiny, dark fruits showered down onto the ground over Two-Eyes, who was waiting below. As they did so, an idea began to form in the little mammoth’s mind. At last he was going to have his long-awaited revenge. Reaching down with his trunk, he began sucking up the fallen elderberries. Then he hid in a clump of bushes, and waited.
A moment later, Littlenose climbed down from the elder tree. He looked around him . . . but there was no sign of Two-Eyes. “Two-Eyes,” he called. “Where are you?”
The reply he got took him completely by surprise. Two-Eyes stepped out from behind the bushes, took a deep breath, and with his trunk pointed out straight in front of him, sprayed Littlenose with elderberries.
“Oh! Ouch! Stop it, Two-Eyes,” cried Littlenose, his hands in front of his face. But Two-Eyes didn’t stop. He kept up a steady stream of small, hard berries until his trunk was empty, and then, breathless, but laughing mammoth laughter, he ran off to the river to wash the sticky elder juice from his trunk. Littlenose ran after Two-Eyes, but gave up after a short distance, and leaned against a tree to get his breath back. He felt rather dizzy. He didn’t feel at all well. The woods seemed to be going round and round. He decided that it must have been the crab apples. Two-Eyes had sensibly spat his out. Why couldn’t he have? Feeling very sick and dizzy, he made his way along the path towards home. It was dark when Littlenose reached the cave, and Dad was just thinking of going to look for him.
“Hurry up,” called Mum. “I’ve kept supper for you.”
At the mention of supper, Littlenose felt even worse. “Oh, no,” he said. “I feel awful. I just want to go to bed.” And he lay down in his own corner and pulled some furs over himself.
“What have you been eating?” asked Dad.
“Crab apples,” groaned Littlenose.
“I might have known,” said Mum. “You’ll never learn. Let this be a lesson to you this time. You’ll probably feel better in the morning.”
In the morning, Littlenose woke, feeling well, and ravenously hungry. He bounced out of bed, but as soon as Mum caught sight of him she cried, “Get back to bed this minute!”
“I feel fine,” said Littlenose. “Only hungry.”
Mum had already shouted to Dad, who came running. He took one look at Littlenose. “What is it?” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Does it hurt? Do you feel hot? Or cold?”
“I feel fine,” said Littlenose. “I want my breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” said Dad. “Don’t tell me that you feel fine, with spots like those.”
“Spots?” said Littlenose, and he looked down. His arms and body were covered with a rash of purple-red spots.
“We must get the doctor,” said Mum.
“No, we won’t,” said Dad. “All he does is put a fancy mask on, shake a lot of old bones over your head, charge five green pebbles, and tell you to stay in bed for a week. Tell him to see Auntie. She’s bound to have medicine for this sort of problem, and she doesn’t cost anything.”
Auntie was a strange old lady who lived in a cave some distance from the others. Auntie always seemed to be ill herself, which Littlenose thought strange for someone who was supposed to be able to cure others.
When Littlenose and Mum arrived, Auntie was sitting by the fire with a fur rug over her knees.
First Mum had to give Auntie a lot of local news. It was mainly about people who had broken their legs, or had been eaten by something, or had been struck by lightning.
Finally, Auntie turned to the patient. She made him turn around. She looked in his ears and down his throat. Then she fetched a skin bag and a clay bowl from the back of the cave. She mixed something from the bag in the bowl with a little water and, handing it to Littlenose, said, “Drink. All of it.”
It looked and smelt horrible, but Littlenose took a deep breath and drank. It tasted even worse than it looked or smelt, but he got it all down, coughing and spluttering so that he spilt most of it over himself. He handed back the cup, and wiped himself with his hand. Then he saw the others staring at him.
“It’s working already!” cried Mum.
Littlenose looked down. Where he had spilt the water, the spots were disappearing. He rubbed some more, and they vanished, leaving a purple stain on his fingers. Wonderingly, he touched his fingers with his tongue. The taste was slightly sweet. He licked some of the spots on his arms. Yes. He knew what it was, and he laughed and laughed.
“It’s elderberry juice,” he shouted. “Where Two-Eyes shot them out of his trunk at me. I must have had the spots when I came home last night, but it was too dark to see.”
A rather embarrassed Mum led Littlenose out of the cave after a muttered “goodbye and thank you” to Auntie.
But Littlenose paid little attention to either of them. He was hurrying home to have the biggest breakfast he could eat.
The Great Journey
At the time when Littlenose lived, almost the worst thing that could happen was to become ill. And this was because there were no doctors in those days. At least, there were no doctors as we know them. A Neanderthal doctor wore a ferocious mask and carried a stick hung with beads which rattled when he shook it.
Instead of having his hand held and his temperature taken, the Neanderthal patient was more likely to have magic signs painted on his forehead and the beaded stick shaken over him to drive away the sickness. About the only thing which was the same as today was that the medicine often tasted terrible! Some very odd things went into the making of it, although it was mainly herbs.
Now, despite all this, the doctor was a very important member of the tribe. He came somewhere between the Old Man and the Chief Hunter. One good thing about being doctor to a tribe was that other people had to work for him. It was supposed to be an honour. The most usual thing was to be sent to gather herbs to make the medicine. The women and children of the tribe were used to going out to collect the common herbs. But, for his most special medicines, the doctor required the leaves of the yellow bogweed which grew far, far away. Finding it was no job for women and children – it was work for the hunters.
One day, Dad came home looking irritable. The doctor had told him he needed more yellow bogweed.
“Oh no!” said Mum. “That only grows beyond the Great Moss. It will take weeks. Must you go?”
“Not only must I go,” said Dad, “but Littlenose must come too. He is officially an apprentice hunter, and must take his turn with the rest.”
At the mention of his name, Littlenose looked up. “What’s that?” he said. “Are we going hunting again?”
“No. Gathering plants,” said Dad, “for the doctor.”
“Picking flowers!” exclaimed Littlenose. “That’s girls’ work. I thought I was learning to be a hunter.”
“We are not going picking flowers,” said Dad patiently. “We are going to one of the most dangerous places in the world. We must not only travel to the Great Moss, we must cross it. Only on the far side can we find the yellow bogweed.”
“Can’t we just walk round the Moss?” asked Littlenose. “Like we do the bogs on the moor?”
Dad flung up his arms. “Have you no imagination, Littlenose?” he cried. “The Great Moss stretches far away on either side. No one has ever seen the ends of it. It takes days to cross from one side to the other.”
“Cross?” said Littlenose. “You said I must never try to cross a bog. It’s dangerous. I might be drowned.”
“The Great Moss,” explained Dad through gritted teeth, “is not just an ordinary bog. It is a huge swamp. It lies in the flat lands northward towards the Ice Cap. Parts of it are bog. Parts are almost dry land, with trees growing. There are streams and ponds, and thickets of reeds that you could get lost in. It is a damp, sad place, full of mist and the noise of water. Even the birds and animals sound unhappy. And, the land where the yellow bogweed grows is also the hunting ground of the Straightnoses.”
Now, the Straightnoses were the deadly enemies of the Neanderthal folk
. They were tall, straight-nosed, and incredibly clever. Littlenose began to think that perhaps he would be better off doing girls’ work picking flowers. The next few days were busy getting ready for the journey. Then, in the grey light of an early morning, they set off. Just before they started, Mum handed Littlenose a tightly-rolled skin bundle.
“I made this for you,” she said. “Dad will show you how to use it.”
Littlenose was puzzled, but he slung it on his back with his other gear, kissed Mum goodbye, and followed the men down the trail.
It was the longest journey which Littlenose had ever undertaken. And it was not only the longest, it was the most pleasant . . . at least to begin with. As they were not hunting animals, there was no need to look for tracks, and no particular need even to be quiet. The hunters trudged along in twos and threes, chatting, laughing, and occasionally singing. Littlenose chased butterflies, and threw his boy-sized spear at imaginary bears.
On the eleventh day after leaving home, the holiday came to an end. They had barely started their morning’s march when one of the hunters pointed, and cried, “Look!”
Everyone looked. At first Littlenose could see nothing. The grassland they were crossing rolled away under a grey, heavy sky. There was no wind. Not even a blade of grass moved. Then Littlenose, peering where the man pointed, saw a thin line on the grey sky.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Smoke,” said Dad. “A long way off.”
“That means people,” said another hunter. “Either some of our own folk or . . .”
“Straightnoses!” gasped Littlenose.
“Exactly,” was the reply. “And if we can see the smoke of their fire from here, then it must be a big one. This is no small party. This is a whole tribe on the move. One of ours. Or one of theirs.”