The Little Grey Men

by BB

‘Did you ever go to look for him, Baldmoney?’ the Kingfisher asked, glancing down at the three sorrowful little gnomes sitting below him on the shingle. ‘Yes,’ whispered Baldmoney, ‘we went upstream below Moss Mill and Joppa but we could find no trace. The water voles said they saw him up above the mill, but nobody saw him after that. Your Majesty’s father saw him too, walking through the Dock forest by Lucking’s water meadows, but nobody else could help us. Your Majesty’s father went all the way to the wood of Giant Grum, but could not find him.’ ‘Perhaps Giant Grum saw him, though,’ said the Kingfisher darkly; ‘there’s been a Giant Grum in Crow Wood for years. He tried to shoot me once, but missed, and I give the place a wide berth now, though the fishing’s the best in the stream.’ ‘Have you ever been right up, beyond the wood?’ asked Baldmoney in an awed voice.

  ‘No, not right up. Beyond Crow Wood is the Big sea and an Island, and then the Folly gets very narrow, and the fishing’s poor; it goes on for miles and miles. Perhaps I will go one day, though.’

  Baldmoney sighed again. ‘I wish I had wings like your Majesty, then I could go right up to the Birth of the Folly. Our people have always wanted to go, but it’s such a long weary way, and our legs are so small.’

  The sun had gone in and the wind began to rise, ruffling the water. Baldmoney reached for his waistcoat and put it on and Dodder strapped on his wooden leg again.

  ‘Well,’ said the Kingfisher, shaking himself, ‘I must be off; my wife is downstream somewhere. I won’t forget your leg, Dodder,’ and with a flick he left the branch and arrowed away like a blue bolt across the angle of the meadow.

  The three gnomes, left alone, began to collect some dead twigs from under the bank. It would be cold when the sun went down. Baldmoney went up the shingle to search for flints, and the others crept back into the shadow of the root, carrying their fuel with them.

  Lucking’s cows came trooping across the meadow in a long line on their way to the ford. They waded in, the water dribbling from their mouths, their pale-lashed eyes gazing stupidly at the current as they sucked in long draughts.

  Baldmoney came back along the shingle carrying a dead branch. The cows saw him but paid no heed. They went on sucking in long draughts of cold water and the mudsmoke rolled away from their huge hairy legs, dimming the clear stream. They had seen the gnomes many times and took no more notice of them than if they had been water voles. Why should they? For all wild creatures were the same to them. After all, the little wild people are fairies and gnomes; birds and beasts alike.

  As each one finished drinking it stood for a moment or two with dribbling mouth and then wheeled round, hoisting itself up the bank and wandering off into the pasture, where it began noisily to crop the grass.

  •

  When Baldmoney entered the hollow under the oak root he pulled the branch in after him. Though it was only sixteen inches long it was all he could manage.

  There was quite a large space of trampled sand under the root (in the high floods of winter the water sometimes came right up to the door of their house). This door was not more than eight inches high but excessively thick. It was part of an old Sunlight soap box that had been washed down the stream years before and it had taken the gnomes many weeks to cut through with the blade of a pocket knife which belonged to Cloudberry. He had found the knife in the Willow Meadow below Moss Mill, and when he went away he had taken it with him. The hinges of the door were made of wire, filched from a fencing post. Holes had been bored in the door and the wire passed through and the whole contraption was hinged to the living root of the oak.

  Baldmoney carries firewood into Oak Tree House

  Baldmoney broke up the stick as well as he could and, shouldering the bundle, opened the door and passed inside, shutting it behind him. Before him the earth sloped upwards between two cheeks of oak root through which he had to squeeze, and beyond he found himself in the actual living space. This was cosy enough and gave them ample room, for under the root there was a great chamber, fully three feet across. The floor was lined with dried rush, gathered from the stream, and the smoke from the gnomes’ fire went right up inside the tree, coming out through a knothole in the top.

  When their fire was burning there was only a filmy thread of smoke, but they took the wise precaution of never lighting it save on a windy night when the smoke would not be noticed, or during bad weather when people would be indoors. On calm nights when there was no breeze, even the tiniest wisp might have been observed by any mortal outside.

  As it was a windy evening the gnomes had a good blaze burning and the ruddy light of the flames lit up the interior of the tree, throwing dark shadows everywhere. Looking upwards, a tiny point of dim light was seen where the tree was open to the sky.

  Sneezewort was seated cross-legged, making fish-hooks out of a mouse’s bone. Dodder was slitting the stomach of a fat minnow. He had seven other little fish in a pile beside him. When all were cleaned he hung them in a row in the smoke from the fire to kipper them. Baldmoney flung down the faggots and stacked them neatly at the side of the cave.

  They all worked without speaking, each at his own job. Dodder, owing to his wooden leg, was the chief fisherman of the three, and he was also the cook, and no mean cook either, as he often said. Certainly his kippered minnow and beechnut girdle cakes were very good indeed.

  After a meal, taken in silence round the fire, the gnomes lay down, each snuggling into his moleskin sleeping bag. They lay gazing at the embers which now smouldered redly. The wind was rising outside and they heard Ben the owl leave the tree and go a-hunting. It was Ben who provided them with skins, as many as they wanted, for gnomes do not kill warm-blooded things save in self-defence; all birds and animals with the exception of stoats and foxes (wood dogs, as the gnomes called the latter) were their friends.

  For a while nobody said a word; they lay stretched out under their moleskins, their tiny eyes glowing like moths’ eyes in the red glow of the dying fire. At last Baldmoney spoke.

  ‘I’ve been thinking over what the King of Fishers was saying about going up the stream and looking for Cloudberry. Well, why shouldn’t we? We’ve got the whole summer for the trip and can get back here before the fall of the leaf. I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it.’ Nobody replied, indeed the other two were so silent that Baldmoney thought they must be asleep. But on looking at his companions he saw their eyes as brilliant points in the dusky interior of the cave.

  Diamonds flashed from Sneezewort’s eyes for he was weeping silently. Of the three gnomes he was the most easily moved and Cloudberry had been his favourite brother. At last Dodder burst out, rather irritably.

  ‘You know, Baldmoney, you’re as bad as Cloudberry, always restless, always wanting to leave the Folly and find a better place, always talking, like poor Cloudberry, of the Folly Source. We should never find him or meet any other gnomes up the stream who could help us. The fishing is poor here I know, but we still get enough to eat and the oak has been a good friend to us. Besides, what about my leg? I can’t go with you. Still,’ he added in an injured tone, ‘leave me behind, I don’t care. I shall be all right, but if you never came back, like poor Cloudberry, I should be all alone, but . . . I suppose I could manage very well by myself,’ and he sniffed in an aggrieved way.

  ‘Oh, we shouldn’t leave you, Dodder, you’d have to come with us, wouldn’t he, Sneezewort?’

  ‘I’ll go, Baldmoney, if Dodder comes. I’ve always wanted to go up the stream to find Cloudberry, always . . . ’

  There was a short silence again; the wind piped in the shadowy cavern above and sang a song in the twisted branches of the old tree.

  Dodder growled. ‘Absurd, it’s sheer stupidity, and we will never come home again. How can we go all that way? Why, it takes us hours to reach Moss Mill!’

  ‘Ah, but I’ve been thinking,’ said Baldmoney, ‘thinking a lot just lately. Why shouldn’t we build a boat, not a fishing boat (they used coracles made of frogs’ skins stretched over a withy frame, Indian-w
ise), but a proper boat with paddles. I’ve got it all planned out in my mind.’

  Dodder snorted angrily.

  ‘And do you suppose, my dear Baldmoney, that we could ever paddle against the current of the Folly? Why, it’s all we can do now to manage our fishing boats!’

  ‘Well, I think we could in my boat,’ observed Baldmoney. ‘I’ve got it all planned out. At any rate we could manage in the smooth reaches and we might carry it over the rapids, like the Dartmoor gnomes used to do in the old days, in the country of Running Waters.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea than that,’ broke in Sneezewort. ‘Let’s get Watervole to tow us up the rough water, or if he won’t, Otter would.’

  ‘What a splendid notion, Otter and Watervole! They’ll help us; why, they might take us right up to the Folly Source if we wanted to go. Why ever didn’t we think of that before?’ Sneezewort and Baldmoney were warming to their subject.

  Dodder snorted again. ‘Well, you can go, the pair of you, and I’ll stay behind and live a few years more. What about Giant Grum and Crow Wood? You’re fools, the pair of ye, and I’ll have nothing to do with the madcap scheme. You can go, I won’t come with you. It’s all very well for you, with two good legs, but I’ve only one, and that won’t help me run away from any Giants, or swim if I fall in the Folly.’

  But the other two gnomes argued on until the last sparks of the fire winked out and they were left in the intense darkness with the wind ‘bluntering’ round outside. Soon even Baldmoney was tired out and a silence fell in the dark cave under the old oak.

  Out in the cold meadow the cows had lain down one by one, and from beyond Hallfields spinney a wood dog (fox) was barking. Half veiled by the scudding clouds, the stars glimmered through ragged gaps, and under the root, which smelt of oak smoke and kippered minnow, three tiny snores rose up like elfin horns. The sun was on the other side of the big round world, the soft tide of darkness cloaked every living thing. Only the night hunters, like the red wood dogs, and Bub’ms (as the gnomes called the rabbits) were out, and as for Ben, why, he was away beyond Collinson Church, hunting the new plough!

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Launching of the Boat

  ext morning Baldmoney and Sneezewort found that Dodder was still adamant in his decision not to go on any foolhardy trip up the Folly. Up to now the three gnomes had been inseparable and had always lived in harmony; this was the first time they had seriously disagreed. Dodder was sulky, refusing even to talk, and consequently an unnatural gloom descended on the trio.

  By passive resistance to the projected plan Dodder hoped to change their minds. It was not the first time the trip had been suggested, and perhaps, as before, Baldmoney and Sneezewort would forget all about it.

  What with the feel of spring in the air and the continued sunny weather, the gnomes had much to do. There was the cave to spring-clean, and the little men carried out all their portable furniture into the sun and burnt the old rush matting. Dodder went through the store cupboards and reviewed their stocks. First he sorted out the piles of kippered minnow, which had been harvested in the autumn. He found they still had one hundred and sixty bundles of dried fish, making four hundred and eighty fish in all. The store had carried them through the winter very well, for gnomes do not eat much during hard weather. Like dormice, they hibernate during the colder months of the year. Next he counted out the dried mushrooms; it had been a poor autumn for them, and there was only a bundle of thirty remaining. As for the acorn cake, it was practically all gone. Of wheat cakes there was a goodly store; fortunately for the gnomes, Lucking had been forced to plough up the big meadow below Moss Mill, a thing which had never been known before. This was, of course, very convenient as it was not far to fetch gleanings, and the gnomes had made the most of their opportunity the preceding autumn and had laid in a fine supply. They had worked hard, well into October, going every moonlight night to the stubbles and coming back loaded with grains of wheat which they carried in little sacks made of dock leaves. As to sweetmeats . . . sixcombs of wild bees’ honey remained; the gnomes were pigs for honey. The piles of dried wild berries, hips and haws, beech and hazel nuts, crab apples and dried sloes, would carry them on until the next fruiting season, and Dodder was well satisfied with his inventory.

  Then he went over the wine cellar. The wine was kept in snail shells (the big, brown garden kind) sealed with bungs of wood. Each was neatly labelled with the name and vintage, and they were arranged in racks at the back of the oak root. Elderberry 1905 (a good vintage year), Sloe 1921, Cowslip 1930, Buttercup 1919 and so on; Dodder had a neatly written list. This wine was his especial pride, and it was only brought out on very rare occasions, such as Animal Banquets (when they asked their friends), Hallowe’en or on Midsummer’s Eve. It was drunk direct from the shell, and one was just about as much as a gnome could manage at a sitting.

  Next Dodder overhauled the fishing tackle, throwing away all the rotten horsehair which had served as gut, replenishing his stocks with fresh horsehair casts which he had made during the long dark nights of November and December. Baldmoney and Sneezewort had amassed more than a dozen bone fish hooks, beautifully fashioned complete with barbs. With long practice the gnomes could make these in about an hour or two. They were about a quarter of an inch long, excessively sharp, with a tiny hole drilled through the shank. The end of the twisted horsehair cast was passed through this hole and knotted firmly. The best hook they had was of steel. Dodder had found it inside a minnow’s mouth. This minnow had evidently been caught by one of the miller’s brats and had broken the gut, and got away. Dodder prized this hook so much he always carried it about with him in an inside pocket of his batskin coat.

  Sneezewort beached the boats and went over his gear. He pulled the frogskin coracles up the shingle and scrubbed them out. Though these boats were easily upset, they were very streamworthy and durable, lasting for several seasons.

  The moleskin sleeping bags were turned inside out and laid in the sun to air, and soon the cave was scrubbed and fresh until it was as trim as a newly spring-cleaned house.

  The question of the trip up the Folly was not mentioned by any of the gnomes for the next few days, there was so much to do. But Baldmoney, as he went about his work, never ceased to plan and think, for he had set his mind on it and nothing would turn him.

  At last came April with its gentle showers and springing buds. Already the oak was thickening in its upper twigs and the rooks called all day from the rookery behind Lucking’s farm. They came to the oak for the live twigs, twisting them off with their mighty pickaxe bills from the upper branches.

  Ben’s wife was sitting on her three rough eggs up in the knot hole and soon the wheezing naked owlets would be born. Though the owls were very good friends to the gnomes, supplying them with all the skins they required, they were a bit of a nuisance to the little men. Beetle wings and castings were always tumbling down from the interior of the tree and making a mess of the dwelling chamber; poor Sneezewort spent a lot of his time sweeping up. Later, when the owlets were bigger, their wheezing calls for food kept the gnomes awake at night. But the owls were helpful birds, so no complaint was made, and after a while they became accustomed to the persistent squeaking.

  It was possible to climb up inside the oak to the owls’ nest; Baldmoney and Sneezewort frequently paid a visit to Ben’s family to see how they were getting on. The young owlets were at first rather ill-mannered, standing up in the nest and snapping their bills at the gnomes. But after a while they became friendly and were pleased to see them.

  There was another inhabitant of the oak tree . . . Zeete, the bat. Zeete seemed to spend the greater part of his life upside down below a knot hole, hanging by his needle-like hooks. Only in the evening, when the light dimmed and the midges danced over the water, did he unhook himself and go flittering away like a scrap of burnt paper. He was also useful to the gnomes, for he kept watch for the greatest enemy they had to fear, Man, and warned them of his approach. Through no faul
t of his own, he was a verminous little person.

  One afternoon, when the gnomes were sitting round the mouth of the cave enjoying the warm sun, Kingfisher shot over the meadow and perched on his favourite twig next to the oak apples. He held in his bill a straight piece of white bone which he dropped on to the shingle at Dodder’s feet.

  ‘There you are, Dodder, a nice sound bit of bone for your new leg. I found it outside the wood dog’s earth in Hallfields spinney. It’s rabbit bone and should serve the purpose.’ Dodder took it up and examined it.

  ‘Thank you, King of Fishers, it will do well; I’m much obliged to you, I’m sure!’

  ‘When are you going up the Folly?’ asked the Kingfisher after a pause. ‘I thought . . . excuse me . . . ’ (here he gulped prodigiously) ‘you would have started by now.’

  An awkward silence fell. ‘Well . . . er . . . as a matter of fact, we’ve been so busy,’ replied Baldmoney rather shamefacedly; ‘we’ve had the house to clean, and I haven’t made a start on the boat yet. But I’m going to, this week. I’ve got all the plans in my mind.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news, gnomes—I wish you luck; mistake to stay in the same place all your life. I shall see you up the brook; let me know when you are going, and remember I’m always willing to do anything I can to help.’ And with that he darted from his perch and went away down stream.

  After he had gone the gnomes said no word. Dodder began to work on his new leg at once. He shaved it down with the edge of a sharp flint (they used flints for lighting their fires), and he whittled and worked, bending low over his task. His beard kept getting in the way until he tucked it inside his batskin coat. He picked out a new acorn cup and fitted the stalk into the hollow end of the bone and after an hour had made a very neat job of it. He braced it up on to his leg, making it secure by strips of mouseskin, and then stumped up and down the shingle, still grim and silent. The other gnomes said no word.