Small Tales from the Big Forest
Armadillo and Hare
Armadillo and Hare and the
Very Noisy Bear
I have dedicated books to my wonderful Gillie before, but as I am now even more dedicated to her I’m making another. Chapter 6 only exists because of Gillie’s cucumbers. JS
For Natasha and Nana. Without your help this book would probably not even be halfway done. RB
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
A Song Without Words
The Mystery of the Bath
Too Much Exercising
A Wardrobe and a Lamp Post?
An Invitation
Too Many Cucumbers
Armadillo’s Special Soup
Animal or Vegetable?
Armadillo and Hare’s Short Discussion
Copyright
A Song Without Words
The night’s deep darkness was soft and warm. Hare woke slowly, like a bubble drifting up through water before finally floating on the surface. What was that strange and distant sound? His ears were on alert. If Hare’s ears were the hands on a clock they were saying it was ten to two in the morning. Which it was.
Now his ears began to sway gently to the distant song. He got out of bed and padded across to his open window. A light breeze brought the strange and beautiful song closer still.
Hare’s bedroom door squeaked open and Armadillo appeared. He was wearing his dressing gown, inside out.
‘Ah, you’ve heard it too,’ Armadillo whispered.
‘It’s wonderful, magical,’ Hare murmured.
‘But where is it coming from?’
Armadillo grunted. ‘No idea. All I can tell is that it’s a song without words, but you sort of feel that there are words.’
‘And the words are wonderful.’ Hare nodded. ‘It’s so peaceful.’
The two companions stood in the darkness at the window until the song finished. Just as they turned away they heard a distant sing-song whisper on the wind.
‘Goodnight, Big Forest. Sweet dreams. Goodnight.’
Armadillo and Hare looked at each other. ‘Strange,’ muttered Armadillo. ‘But beautiful.’
‘I’ve never heard anything like it,’ said Hare. ‘It was so magical. Ethereal.’
Armadillo’s eyes widened and his snout twitched. ‘Ethereal, eh? That’s a rather splendid word, Hare. Where did it come from?’
‘It was in one of my books. I thought I would try and remember it.’
‘And so you have. Ethereal. I like that.’ Armadillo headed for the door. ‘I’m going back to sleep. It’s half-past two in the middle of the night.’
Hare smiled to himself in the dark and settled back into bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin. ‘Goodnight,’ he called out.
But there was only silence and the stars beyond.
Hare was up at daybreak. It was normally Armadillo who put breakfast together because he would be the earliest to get up. Hare liked to spend a bit of time first thing in the morning combing his long ears.
But today felt different. Was it something to do with the singing in the night? Perhaps it was, but Hare felt well rested, happy and – well, bouncy.
Now he bounced around the kitchen, putting out cups and plates, a jar of marmalade, and Armadillo’s special tomato jam which he liked to eat with his morning cheese.
‘My goodness, you have been busy!’ Armadillo stood in the doorway and studied the breakfast table. ‘I was just popping down to do all that and now you’ve done it. Thank you, Hare. What a display! Do you know, I slept like a baby last night.’
‘Hmm! Babies don’t snore.’ Hare smiled. ‘And look at you, Armadillo. You’ve got your dressing gown on inside out, again!’
‘I like it like that,’ claimed Armadillo. ‘It stays cleaner for longer.’
‘Not on the inside,’ argued Hare.
‘But the inside is the outside and the outside is the inside so what you see is the outside, and the outside that was the outside is now the inside. See?’
Hare was creasing up with laughter. ‘No, I don’t see. You’ve exhausted me. A moment ago I was all bouncy. Then you came into the room and I feel as if I’ve just got a puncture and I’m slowly going down. Like a tyre. Please stop talking in riddles. Come to the table and have some breakfast.’
Armadillo sat down. Soon they were both silent. Hare was munching muesli and Armadillo was chewing cheese.
Then, out of nowhere, the singing began again. They both shot upright and stopped eating. They pushed back their chairs and stared out over the meadow towards the Big Forest. But there was nothing to see. Then they heard a familiar ‘ping-ping’ and a ‘parp-parp’ and Wombat came into view on her bicycle. She was doing a handstand on the handlebars. Wombat was good at that sort of thing.
‘Isn’t it exciting?!’ she shouted as she passed the little log cabin. ‘Such beee-ooo-tiful singing. All night! It’s coming from near the lake! I’m going to see what it is. Come on!’
Hare and Armadillo dropped everything and hurried outside.
As they crossed the dew-spangled meadow they met up with Jaguar and her great friend Invisible Stick Insect.
‘Interesting daywear, Armadillo,’ Jaguar remarked with a throaty chortle.
Armadillo grunted and snuffled. He tried to think of a smart reply, but couldn’t. Anyway, smart replies don’t really work if you’re wearing your dressing gown inside out.
‘It’s wonderful singing, isn’t it?’ squeaked Invisible Stick Insect. She was perched between Jaguar’s ears, where she looked like a bit of stick, naturally. ‘I wonder who it is.’
When they reached the edge of the lake they realised they were the last to arrive. Lobster, Elephant, Tortoise, Giraffe and Bear (of the polar variety) were already gathered together and staring.
There, right beside the edge of the lake, was a large bath. And in the bath there was an extraordinary bird. She was fabulously pink. One gorgeous, black-tipped wing was draped over the edge. The long neck and head were decorated with necklaces, a pearl choker, and rainbow-bright feathers like a magnificent crest on her head. She had long eyelashes that fluttered above eyes that sparkled with joy – and mischief.
And, of course, there was the song, which continued, an endless melody that swooped and soared and hovered and dived, only to soar again until it slowly faded away and ceased.
Then the wonderful bird turned her head with its enormous shining beak and gazed back at them. She sat up and opened both wings wide, and everyone gasped. There were feathers upon feathers, ever more colourful, dripping from the tips of her wings.
‘Darlings!’ she sang. ‘Welcome to my world!’
‘Her world?’ muttered Armadillo. ‘It’s not her world. It’s our world. She’s only just arrived!’
‘Sssh,’ whispered Hare sharply.
‘Darlings, sweethearts! I’m so enchanted to see you all. Oh, look at you, Jaguar. Such beauty and grace. And you there, Armadillo. Ha ha! You’re outrageous! Wearing your dressing gown! Inside out! I love it. You’ve made my day, Pops!’
Armadillo’s snout almost tied itself into a knot. ‘Pops?!’ he exploded. ‘Since when have I been called Pops?’ He pushed forward, clearing his throat loudly. ‘The name,’ he said, ‘is Armadillo.’
The bird trilled a laugh. ‘I know that. But in my heart you will always be Pops, and I love you, darling! You really are quite the thing.’
Armadillo was not at all sure that he wanted to be ‘quite the thing’. For a start he wasn’t sure what being quite the thing actually meant.
‘Look at all of you sweethearts! Aren’t you gorgeous
?’ The bird blew kisses to everyone with her wings. ‘I love you all. Let me introduce myself. I am Flamingo, singer, dancer, prancer and performer extraordinaire.’ Flamingo rose up and stepped from the bath. The gasp from the crowd was even louder.
Flamingo had legs. She had legs that seemed to go on, and on – and on.
‘Are they telescopic?’ asked Tortoise, before toppling backwards from having to stare up so far.
‘Phoowee!’ said Elephant. ‘Sheesh!’
Hare sighed and shook his head. ‘Extraordinary,’ he murmured. And for once Armadillo was speechless.
Flamingo stepped forward, gave an elegant curtsy and then – shimmered.
With her wings spread, Flamingo made her entire body tremble, so that all the jewels and feathery extensions sparkled and glittered with delight.
Giraffe was entranced. Wombat shook her head as if she couldn’t believe such beauty. Hare’s ears were dizzy with admiration. Armadillo’s eyes simply boggled.
Flamingo soaked up their adoration. ‘Darlings, I feel fabulous! I am fabulous!’
Only Lobster crossed her claws over her chest and muttered darkly, ‘Who does she think she is? With a bath of all things! Beside a lake? A bath?’
Bear pushed forward and bowed deeply. ‘Madam,’ he growled. ‘I am Bear, of the polar variety, and I am almost a doctor. Furthermore, it may interest you to know that I play the drums.’
Flamingo’s eyes widened to huge, glossy, shining discs. ‘The drums! But darling, you’re a musician! We must work together! I shall sing like an angel – a large, very pink angel – and you, my sweet, you will hit your … things.’
‘Drums,’ Bear reminded her.
‘Yes! We shall make music. We shall dance and sing! Darlings, you are so lucky I am here!’
Several animals in the audience clapped loudly. Tortoise (who had a French mother) even shouted, ‘Ooh la la!’
But Armadillo nudged his friend hard and hissed in his ear, ‘She called me Pops!’
The Mystery of the Bath
Breakfast was being unusually noisy. Armadillo banged the coffee pot down on the table. ‘Pops!’ he exploded. He let two mugs come crashing down. ‘Pops! Pops!’
Hare watched from the doorway. One ear was up and one was down. ‘I think “Pops” is rather cute,’ he said.
‘Cute?’ Armadillo exploded again.
‘Yes. Flamingo obviously likes you,’ Hare suggested mischievously. ‘Not to mention your inside-out dressing gown.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t like …’ Armadillo broke off suddenly. He shook his head in confusion and growled, mostly at himself. He did like Flamingo. A lot.
Flamingo was exciting. Flamingo sang like an angel. Flamingo was flamboyant, thrilling and utterly … coral. Yes, coral was a better word than pink. Coral was a special, deep kind of pink and Flamingo was certainly special.
Armadillo poured coffee into the mugs. He grumbled on. ‘Of course I like Flamingo. But I don’t like being called “Pops”. It makes me feel old.’
Hare reached across the table and patted Armadillo’s paw. ‘My friend, you are old.’
‘I know, but I don’t like feeling it.’
‘Why don’t you tell Flamingo that you don’t want to be called “Pops”?’
‘I thought of that, but she will probably call me “darling” instead and that’s even worse.’
Hare laughed. ‘She calls everyone “darling”. You must have noticed. I think that maybe she’s come from a theatre.’
Armadillo’s eyes twinkled. ‘An escaped actress?’ he suggested. ‘Imagine that. It would be a bit like having an escaped prisoner here. How exciting!’
Hare didn’t think Flamingo had escaped from anything. He sat back in his chair and slowly sipped his coffee. The two of them were soon lost in exotic and wildly pink thoughts. Or coral, in Armadillo’s case.
The two friends were interrupted by a loud ‘ping-ping’ from outside, quickly followed by a ‘parp-parp’.
‘That will be Wombat,’ Armadillo declared. ‘I had better put that cheese back in the fridge before she sees it.’
Hare looked at Armadillo over his glasses. ‘I don’t think Wombat eats cheese.’
‘Good. But I’m not going to risk it,’ said Armadillo as there was a knock at the door. ‘You answer that.’
It wasn’t just Wombat who had come to visit. Lobster was with her. Lobster liked to ride in the basket on the front of Wombat’s bicycle.
‘Hello!’ said Wombat, cheerfully sniffing the air. ‘Ah – coffee. Is there any left?’
‘You are welcome to coffee,’ Armadillo said, rather grandly. ‘But I’m afraid we have no cheese.’
Lobster waved a large claw as if she wasn’t bothered with coffee or cheese. She didn’t look happy. Nobody was quite sure just what Lobster would look like if she was happy. For some reason she was nearly always disgruntled, annoyed or upset. Occasionally she was all three at once. Maybe it came from being underwater most of the time.
Hare thought that if he spent most of his time underwater he’d probably get a bit fed up.
Now Lobster folded her claws across her chest and eyed all three of them, one after the other. ‘Well?’ she snapped. ‘What are we going to do?’
Armadillo and Hare looked at each other and shrugged. Do about what?
Wombat explained. ‘Lobster is concerned about Flamingo. She came to tell me all about it.’ She glanced at Hare and Armadillo. Maybe she winked. Wombat put a paw to her eye as if there was something in it. ‘I said we should talk to Armadillo and Hare because they are good listeners. Armadillo is very old—’
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Armadillo.
‘And sensible,’ Wombat added quickly, ‘and Hare is a good listener because he has such long ears.’
Hare gave a proud smile and pulled at each of his fabulously long ears in turn.
Lobster, however, was not interested in anyone’s ears. She pushed herself forward. ‘We are talking about Flamingo,’ she said crisply.
Armadillo raised his eyebrows. ‘Are we?’
‘Yes. What’s she doing here? And why on earth is she sitting in a bath right beside the lake? Isn’t there enough water in the lake? How did she get a bath here? Where on earth has she come from?’
Armadillo smiled. ‘Hare thinks she’s an escaped prisoner,’ he drawled teasingly.
‘No I didn’t,’ protested Hare. ‘That was you. I said a theatre, not a prison.’
But it was too late. Lobster seized on the new information and held it with both claws. ‘An escaped prisoner! I might have known. Of course, it all makes sense now. The bath, everything.’
Armadillo shook his old, grey head. ‘Well, I’m glad it makes sense for you, Lobster, but I don’t understand why Flamingo has a bath.’
‘Because she stole it, of course. That’s why she was in prison.’
Wombat frowned. ‘But if Flamingo was in prison for stealing a bath, she wouldn’t have it after she escaped, would she?’
Lobster rolled her little black eyes. ‘Flamingo escaped and collected the bath from where she had hidden it before she went to prison,’ she explained. ‘Or she escaped and immediately stole another bath. I bet that’s what she did. Once you start stealing baths you can’t stop. She’s probably got lots of them.’
Armadillo held up two paws. ‘Everyone, please stop talking nonsense. Now listen to me, especially you, Lobster. None of us know where Flamingo has come from. She is not an escaped prisoner. She has not been stealing baths. None of us even know Flamingo. She only arrived a day or so ago. We can’t go around judging someone when we don’t know anything about them.’
‘She’s different,’ snapped Lobster.
Armadillo snorted with laughter. ‘Lobster! Look at us. Giraffe, with his extraordinary long neck, Invisible Stick Insect, Bear, with his drums, you, me – we’re all different.’
Armadillo chuckled again and nodded. ‘We must give Flamingo time. We must get to know her. After all, she is a wo
nderful singer.’
‘Pffff!’ hissed Lobster. ‘I can sing better than she can, but only underwater.’
‘I think Armadillo is right,’ said Wombat. ‘You see, Lobster? I knew it would be a good idea to ask an old and wise person. I think having Flamingo around could be fun.’
‘Well said,’ agreed Hare, polishing his glasses with the end of his scarf.
All three of them turned to Lobster.
She eyed them beadily. ‘We shall see. All right, we will give Flamingo a chance. However, I am quite sure that you will all regret your decision. And don’t blame me if your bath suddenly vanishes. Then you’ll be sorry!’
Lobster marched out to Wombat’s bicycle and hauled herself into the basket. Wombat glanced at Armadillo and Hare. She shrugged and set off with Lobster.
Armadillo and Hare stood at the door and watched them leave. Armadillo took a deep breath, let out a long sigh and relaxed.
‘I do like it when life is interesting and full of questions,’ he said. ‘And the funny thing is it always makes me think that cheese is the answer. If you’ll excuse me, Hare, I think I might go and visit the fridge.’
Too Much Exercising
Hare was doing his morning exercises. Staying in good shape was important for Hare. Looking good was also important, and Hare was wearing his new gym kit. His dark-blue shorts had a lime-green lightning flash on each side. His red top had an even larger matching lime-green flash on the chest.
‘Very smart,’ Armadillo said in a dry voice. ‘Does it help you run faster?’
Armadillo and Hare and the Flamingo Affair Page 1