The Little Grey Men

by BB

  ‘You must meet the woodpig’ (hedgehog), said Squirrel; ‘he’s always poking around in Crow Wood at all hours of the night; you never know, he may have come across Cloudberry, or at any rate had some news of him. And the White Owls, they should be able to help; we ought to go and see them. They live in the beech at the other end of the wood; they’ve been there for as long as I can remember, in spite of Giant Grum. We’ll go and see them sometime.’

  •

  The first thing the gnomes did the next morning was to go down the Folly to the boundary of the wood and portage some of their belongings from the boat. Sneezewort and Baldmoney were overjoyed to see the Dragonfly again, for they had spent so much labour in building her. They found the boat drawn up in the bracken, so cleverly hidden that the sharpest eyes would never have seen it. They carried away all the food they could, including some watercresses which Dodder had collected on the way up the Folly. Squirrel obligingly made many journeys up and down the pine tree, dumping all the food inside the drey; it was wonderful how roomy Tree Top House proved to be. Their moleskin sleeping-bags and change of clothes were welcome too, for the last few days the gnomes had been ‘living rough’.

  Squirrel thought it advisable to see the woodpigs and the white owls later on, as these creatures sleep during the day and it would have been a breach of good manners to disturb them; anyway they would have been too sleepy to talk or give any coherent account of anything.

  When all this was done, Squirrel went off to play in the wood and the gnomes found themselves at a loose end for the rest of the day, so they went off into the bracken to explore.

  Early in the afternoon, as they were poking about the roots of a fallen pine digging for pig-nuts, Baldmoney made a discovery.

  Down among a thicket of dead green nettle close to the root he suddenly saw a rounded brown object speckled all over with light spots. He was puzzled at first until he saw it was a hen pheasant. She was sitting on her nest and was fast asleep! He tiptoed back to the others and told them of his discovery.

  ‘Mrs Chinaman,’ exclaimed Sneezewort, ‘what a find!’ All three crept through the nettles to have a look at the sleeping bird. Sneezewort put his finger to his nose and his toothless mouth cracked into the semblance of a grin.

  ‘Here’s our chance to get even with that sneaking pheasant,’ he whispered; ‘we’ll steal her eggs, and won’t we have a feed! You keep cave for Giant Grum and cock pheasant and leave the rest to me!’

  He stole up close to the unsuspecting bird and, making no more noise than a mouse, he removed first one egg and then another without waking her. She only shuffled down lower on the nest and half-opened one eye. As he removed each large greenish egg he passed it back to Baldmoney and Dodger, who were waiting at his elbow. He worked with such skill that the hen pheasant never suspected anything. Soon they had seven eggs lying in the bracken and the gnomes carted them back to the foot of the pine.

  ‘What a feed we shall have,’ chuckled Dodder, ‘and how mad the birds will be when they find their eggs have gone!’

  When the hen awakened she found her mate standing by. ‘I’ve had such a funny dream,’ she said. ‘I dreamt my eggs had hatched, and I felt our babies creeping between my thighs!’ The vain cock bird strutted round. He was inordinately proud of his wife and family.

  ‘I’m afraid it will be a long time yet, my dear, before they hatch; you haven’t laid the full clutch yet.’

  Suddenly the hen let out a shriek. ‘They’ve gone, they’ve gone!’

  ‘What are gone?’

  ‘My eggs, stupid, someone has stolen them!’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘Look for yourself!’

  She got up and surveyed the empty nest with horror. ‘Not an egg! Something must have stolen them while I was asleep!’ He came running to her and together they surveyed the empty nest.

  ‘I know who it is!’ shrieked the incensed cock; ‘it’s those gnomes, I know it is. Giant Grum shall hear of this!’

  Cock! cock! cock! cock! cock! and he went blustering away through the wood followed by his tearful wife.

  •

  That evening, when the sun had gone down and the moon, nearly full, was climbing over the dark trees, the gnomes and Squirrel, after a royal feed of fresh pheasant eggs, set out to find Woodpig. They found him rootling down by the Folly.

  ‘Allow me to introduce Dodder, Baldmoney, and Sneezewort,’ said the squirrel, ‘friends of mine who are staying with me.’

  The hedgehog blinked. He had the quaintest little face, rather like a tiny pig, with a long snout and wee eyes, which, however, were very sharp and did not miss much.

  All three gnomes bowed politely and Sneezewort and Baldmoney took off their skin caps.

  ‘We thought you might be able to help us,’ said Baldmoney; ‘we’re looking for another gnome, a brother of ours, Cloudberry, who came up the Folly some time ago and never returned.’

  Woodpig snuffled. ‘Oh yes, now you come to talk of it, I do seem to remember my mother telling me of a gnome she met by the Wood Pool.’

  ‘That must have been him,’ said the gnomes excitedly, ‘that must have been Cloudberry. No other gnomes live on the stream.’

  ‘Let me think,’ said the Woodpig. He sat wrapped in thought for a long time. ‘Yes, I remember now. He told my mother he was looking for the Folly Source, and asked her whether she had ever been up as far. When she said she hadn’t he went on up the Folly. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Where’s the Wood Pool?’ asked Baldmoney, turning to Squirrel.

  ‘Oh, that’s right in the middle of the wood, not far from the Giant’s house.’

  ‘Let’s go there,’ said Dodder, ‘we might find some trace of him.’

  Squirrel was sleepy, he did not like being out at night, so excusing himself, he returned to Tree Top House and the gnomes went on alone to find the Wood Pool.

  It was the most perfect night, so still and starlit with the calm light of the moon making strange shadows from the trees.

  Following the Woodpig’s instructions, they struck up the bank, leaving the stream and plunging deeper and deeper into the heart of the wood. Dog roses glimmered in the dusk and honeysuckle scented the air. On all sides the tall pines rose straight and still, and once or twice they saw the form of a roosting pheasant on the lower branches, with its long tail hanging down behind. Then the firs thinned and ash poles began, tall slender poles green with moss. There was considerably more light here, for their branches were thinner and let through the rays of the moon. Sometimes they saw the black bundle of a pigeon’s nest with a tail sticking over the edge, sometimes the form of a roosting pigeon beside it. And then they came to a well-trodden track, winding between bushes of box and holly. Baldmoney bent down and examined it carefully. There were marks of big hobnailed boots in the soft soil, many marks!

  ‘Giant Grum walks here,’ whispered Baldmoney; ‘perhaps this path leads to his house’ (the gnomes always spoke in whispers—somehow, in the wood, it was the natural thing to do). Once or twice they came upon a faded cartridge case and they cut off the brass cap carefully.

  At last, far away, they heard a faint soft murmur. Running water!

  They came suddenly on the pool. It was a lovely spot, hedged round with thick rhododendron bushes, and with the moon’s reflection on the still surface. Water voles were swimming about and, at the far end, two mallard. The murmur of water came from a hatch at one end of the pond where the overflow ran through an iron grill covered with moss. Dodder made a discovery.

  ‘This must be the Folly,’ he whispered. He was right. The stream ran into the pool at the far end and, after by-passing the hatch, fell in a tinkling waterfall down the steep bank.

  The ground was soft and miry near the edge of the pool, black with rotted leaves. Some large fish jumped out in the centre, sending shaking rings outwards which broke up the moon’s reflections.

  It was a most attractive place to the gnomes. They made a circuit of the pond, disturbin
g the waterfowl. The ducks got up, quacking loudly, and flew away over the trees.

  ‘Just the sort of place Cloudberry would like,’ whispered Dodder; ‘he always loved ponds and messing about with water.’ (As a matter of fact all gnomes love messing about with water, which, after all, is very understandable.) But they found no trace of Cloudberry and, after searching for a little longer they decided to follow the path which led past the pool into the heart of the wood. The murmur of the waterfall died away behind them and everything became very still.

  The ash poles gave way to oaks, fairly young trees, and sallow bushes grew everywhere. Then the trees opened out into a clearing and in the moonlight they saw a grisly sight. A split ash pole had been nailed to two oaks and from it hung a long line of things which at first appeared to be rags. They stole forward to get a better view, their shadows black in the moonlight.

  ‘Ugh! How horrible,’ gasped Dodder, covering his face with his hands, ‘how perfectly horrible!’ And indeed it was. For what appeared to be rags were the bodies of birds and animals nailed by the neck to the pole. Some were long dead, nothing but skeletons, to which a few scraps of fur or feather still adhered; owls, hawks, stoats, and weasels, and even the harmless birds like blackbirds and thrushes. No wonder birds were scarce in Crow Wood! A long dark shadow hung at the far end, the latest addition to this grim gallery.

  When they saw what it was the gnomes wept unrestrainedly. It was all that remained of poor Otter. Dodder was more upset than anyone, for had it not been for him, Otter would never have come to Crow Wood at all. Woodpigs were there too, their pathetic little spined jackets rustling in the passing breeze, and two fernbears (badgers). On the right-hand end of the pole was a handsome magpie. It must have been freshly killed for it was in beautiful plumage; the colours shone, even in the moonlight.

  Dodder began to search about in the long grass under the gibbet. The others wondered at this ghoulish occupation and watched him picking up a bone here and a feather there and examining the skull of a weasel. Then it dawned on them what he was doing. He was looking for the remains of Cloudberry! They helped him then, hardly daring to glance at the gruesome array above them. But they found nothing more than the skeletons of birds, crows, and squirrels.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this place,’ said Baldmoney suddenly; ‘let’s go, I feel quite sick.’

  So after one last look (the gnomes are thorough little people) they left the clearing and retraced their steps to the Wood Pool. Another path led over the hatch which they had not noticed before and this they followed. The surrounding trees threw black bars across it, and now and again they came upon signs of Giant Grum, a cigarette end tossed away, another cartridge case, an empty matchbox.

  Something began to squeal in the thick bushes ahead of them. It was the throttling agonizing squeal as of an animal in distress. Keeping to the shadow of the bushes, the gnomes went to investigate. They found a Bub’m caught by its neck in a snare. It was struggling violently and strangling itself. But in a minute the gnomes had it free, loosening the cruel wire, which Dodder put in his pocket. Poor thing, it was terribly frightened, and lay for some time with staring eyes and heaving sides. When it could speak it gasped its thanks.

  ‘Oh, that dreadful giant,’ exclaimed Sneezewort. Dodder was looking very grim. His face was rather less red than usual and he spoke through his teeth.

  ‘We must pay Giant Grum back for this, for Otter . . . everything. I don’t know how, but we will, before we go back to the Oak Pool. I owe it to Otter and his family, we owe it to the Wood People. The birds must come back and have no fear, the trees shall again hear their morning songs.’

  ‘Please go away from Crow Wood,’ sobbed the Bub’m who had now recovered from his ordeal; ‘he’ll only kill you too and hang you on the gibbet. What can we do? We are so small and weak—please go!’

  Dodder was silent, and for some time afterwards the others could get no reply to any of their questions.

  ‘What you said is all very well,’ remarked Baldmoney; ‘we came up here to find Cloudberry. I’m not sure that the Bub’m isn’t right—there’s not much we can do, you know. I say, let’s find Cloudberry first and then, if you like, we’ll try and do something.’

  ‘Well said,’ agreed Sneezewort, ‘that’s what I think. We are little and weak, Giant Grum is strong and big, the odds are all against us!’

  But still Dodder did not reply. In silence they trudged back past the Wood Pool and saw the dawn greying in its wan face. They met Woodpig going back to his daytime retreat under the bracken. They told him of their night’s adventures.

  ‘Ugh!’ he snuffled, ‘ugh, ugh! you must expect to see things like that in Crow Wood. Anyway I’m glad you didn’t find Cloudberry under the gibbet; I thought you might, though I didn’t like to say so. If you take an old woodpig’s advice, gnomes, leave this place and go on up the Folly. I can’t see you are going to do any good by stealing pheasant’s eggs (though I can’t blame you for that—I often do it myself ) and letting rabbits out of snares, lighting fires, and upsetting things generally. The end will be that Giant Grum will get really nasty. It’s no good running into a wasps’ nest—you’ll only get stung,’ and so saying, he trotted off into the bracken, looking like a big wood louse with pink legs.

  When the gnomes got back to the tree it was quite light and Squirrel had just awakened. He hoisted them up into the drey and tucked them up paternally. Then he went off into the wood to get his breakfast.

  It was some time before the gnomes could get to sleep, so they lay talking.

  ‘I wish we could do something,’ insisted Dodder. ‘If only we were as big as the giant. Supposing we were to have a meeting of all the Wood People and talk the whole thing out?’

  ‘How can we do that?’ said the practical Sneezewort. ‘How could we let everyone know?’

  ‘Tonight is Midsummer’s Eve,’ said Dodder after a while. ‘In the old days it was a great night for our people, almost as important as Hallowe’en; even the humans kept indoors in fear of us. If only we could have a meeting tonight! There must be some way. Can’t you think of something, Baldmoney?’

  But I regret to say that all the reply he had was a snore!

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Gathering of the Wood People

  hat evening, when twilight fell, Baldmoney and Sneezewort were all for continuing the hunt for Cloudberry. But Dodder had set his mind on a meeting of the Wood People, and nothing they could say or do would turn him from his purpose. He always was stubborn, and now he had this new bee in his bonnet.

  They made a large meal of beechnut cakes, two dried mushrooms each, some smoked perch (a new experiment in the culinary line discovered by Dodder on his way up the Folly) and a handful of nuts which Squirrel brought them.

  When this had been disposed of Baldmoney and Sneezewort felt in a better frame of mind; besides, it was Midsummer’s Eve and for the Little People to fall out on such a night would be dreadful—it would be as bad as children quarrelling on Christmas Eve.

  They humoured Dodder, agreeing with everything he said. But how were they to begin to call the Wood People together? that was the question. Squirrel offered to visit all his friends, but it would take too long. Give him a week, he said, and it might be done. But no, Dodder insisted it must be that very night. The truth was, the death of Otter weighed heavily on his conscience and he felt it must be avenged. They talked and argued as the sun went down and the frog-like nightjars came out, hawking along the ridings, whirring their spinning wheels from every ferny shadow, and precious minutes slipped away. Then Dodder got up slowly and strapped on his leg.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the gnomes and Squirrel.

  ‘I want to be alone,’ Dodder replied; ‘you must not follow me. I am going a little way into the wood,’ and with the help of Squirrel he climbed down the tree.

  The others were alarmed. This was unlike Dodder and in a curious way they were awed. They stood round the base of the pine and watched th
e little hobbling figure vanish among the fern, saw the nodding bracken come to a standstill, and heard faint rustlings dying away in the wood.

  The moon (full now) climbed into the heavens, and millions of white moths wavered and clicked among the honeysuckle and fern brake. Far away an owl hooted, a solemn ghastly sound.

  Midsummer’s Eve in the woods! The magic of it! Cannot you picture the scene as I see it? The sombre trees, so still, so grave; the million exquisite scents of leaves, grass, and bracken; the sweet half-sickly smell of honeysuckle and faint spicy odour of the dark pines? And under Tree Top House the two gnomes and Squirrel, waiting, listening, with an ever-growing uneasiness which they found hard to explain.

  We will not follow Dodder to pry on him, we will stay beneath the pine with Baldmoney, Sneezewort, and Squirrel.

  •

  It needed but an hour to midnight when the fern rustled again and the halting figure of Dodder in his batskin coat came through the wood. His face seemed transfigured, as though a great weight had been lifted from him; the others stood dumbfounded. This was a new Dodder and they felt embarrassed.

  Nobody spoke, the silence of the forest wrapped them round.

  ‘Let us sit here a while beneath the pine,’ said Dodder in a whisper, ‘and let no one speak.’

  Baldmoney and Sneezewort obeyed, resting their chins on their knees. They noticed that Dodder was trembling and continually stroking his beard, a habit he had when excited; the atmosphere was electric. Even the animals and birds of the night seemed hushed, not an owl hooted, not a nightjar whirred. Was it their imagination, or did even the tiny dancing ghost moths cease to weave among the ferns and bushes? Never before was such a silence anywhere. Time was not, only the shadows of the trees moved as the big pale moon swung across the heavens.

  And then far, far away, from the heart of the forest, they heard a SOUND! At first so faint as to be hardly audible, but growing with each passing moment. Was it the song of some insect in the fern, the wind in the tree tops? Nearer it seemed to come, and then they knew it was pipe music, surely the loveliest music ever heard. It seemed not of this earth; yet in it was all the song of birds, of the wind passing over the meadow grasses and through slender reeds, the song of insects at the heat of noon, of trees in tumult, the voices of secret streams and broad rivers and of the eternal seas.