Mr Gum and the Cherry Tree

by Andy Stanton

  ‘Yes, free,’ said the Spirit of the Rainbow. ‘Look at Alan Taylor, child, for this is the lesson I want to share.’

  Polly looked over at the gingerbread headmaster. He was laughing in the grass, pets bouncing up and down on him – caterpillars, ladybirds and aphids! Caterpillars, ladybirds and aphids! Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy! It was tremendous.

  ‘See how he lets his pets go free,’ observed the Spirit of the Rainbow.

  ‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘He loves walkin’ them on their leads – but he’s always givin’ ’em time off to have their fun when they needs it.’

  ‘How right he is,’ said the lad. ‘But there is someone in this forest who NEVER lets anyone go free.’

  ‘Yes,’ shuddered Polly. ‘Mr Gum.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the lad. ‘Mr Gum is like a cruel pet-owner who wants his pets to be tied up all the time. Only Mr Gum’s pets are not caterpillars or insects –’

  ‘They’re the townsfolk!’ finished Polly. ‘He’s treatin’ the townsfolk jus’ like he owns ’em.’

  ‘Yes, child,’ said the Spirit of the Rainbow sombrely. ‘He is promising everyone they will be free, but really he’s just trying to control them.’

  ‘So what you’re sayin’ is –’

  ‘What I am saying, child, is not what is important,’ said the boy. ‘For words are merely words. And sounds are merely sounds. And once every hundred years a flower with the face of an angel blooms in a white tower and cries tears of pure love. But enough of these mysteries! Time draws on and I must away. I’ve got a swimming lesson at ten-thirty.’

  ‘But jus’ tell me one thing,’ said Polly as the boy got up to go. ‘Was Runtus ever real? Back when the forests was excellent with all them pixies an’ fairies an’ sprites – was Runtus there too?’

  For a moment it seemed the boy would tell her. His mouth opened – but then he seemed to think better of it.

  ‘I must away,’ he said, disappearing into the dazzling sunshine. And where he had sat were three fruit chews. One said ‘YES’, one said ‘NO’ and one said ‘MAYBE’.

  Chapter 14

  Precious Things

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  The sun was climbing higher through the treetops as one by one the townsfolk returned to the clearing. Old Granny, Jonathan Ripples, Martin Launderette, The Pamelas, the other Pamela who no one liked, Crazy Barry Fungus and many others besides. And they all had one thing in common: they all had faces. And they all had another thing in common: each and every one of them was carrying a gift for Runtus.

  Jonathan Ripples was carrying a photo of himself as a young man, thin and handsome like a film star, all those years before the hunger had got him.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  Martin Launderette had brought the toy washing machine he’d played with as a child. How he’d love to fill it with toy shirts and toy trousers and toy washing powder that was actually sherbet! And it was that toy washing machine that had made him want to open a launderette when he grew up.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  Beany McLeany, who loved things that rhymed, had brought his favourite things of all: a stuffed raccoon, a tablespoon and a blue balloon.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS!!’

  Friday O’Leary had brought a photo taken on his wedding day. The photo was actually of a doorknob factory in Liverpool but never mind. It had been taken on his wedding day and that was the important thing.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Alan Taylor, from where he and Polly lay hidden behind a tulip, the pets grazing at their side. ‘This stuff’s just worthless junk. What on earth can Mr Gum want with it?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Polly slowly. ‘I thought he was after their riches. But –’

  She looked at the townsfolk again. Seeing the dreamy way they gazed at their precious things. Seeing the careful way they held them . . .

  Suddenly she understood it all, and a chill went up her spine and a caterpillar went down her sock.

  ‘That’s it!’ cried Polly. ‘These are precious things, A.T.! They’re precious in the hearts of them townsfolks! They’re the things what gives ’em hope an’ reminds ’em of happier times.’

  ‘You’re right!’ exclaimed Alan Taylor. ‘By ginger, you’re right, Polly!’

  ‘An’ if they gives ’em up, it’s like they’re givin’ up a part of themselves!’ continued Polly. ‘It’s GAME OVER an’ Mr Gum’ll have total control of ’em all, just like he done planned! They’ll be at his command forever!’

  ‘Oh, Polly!’ cried Alan Taylor. ‘He’s not just taking their precious things – it’s like he’s stealing their very SOULS!’

  Polly gritted her teeth.

  ‘Well, he hasn’t got ’em yet,’ she said determinedly. ‘We gotta stop him before it’s too late. It’s no use stopping him after it’s too late cos it’ll be too late!’

  ‘Well, come on then,’ said Alan Taylor gallantly. ‘Tally-ho, pets, tally-ho!’

  And so they followed the crowd into the clearing, brave Polly and little Alan Taylor and his hundreds of pets all rearing up before him like a vast moving sea of blue and yellow and green.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  The townsfolk encircled the tree, waving their precious things.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  ‘Oh, great Runtus, we have brought you our precious gifts just as you asked! For you are our mighty leader and –’

  ‘OI, TOWNSFOLK!’ shouted Polly, racing into their midst. ‘Shut up with all your “RUNTUS”es an’ listen, cos I gots news so astoundin’ that your minds is gonna explode out your faces an’ your legs is gonna melt with astonishment an’ your arms is gonna fly out their sockets an’ land on a nearby hill!’

  ‘You’d better not tell us then,’ said David Casserole, the Mayor. ‘That sounds absolutely horrible.’

  ‘No, you gots to know,’ said Polly. ‘Cos you all been taken for fools by that cherry tree. Cos now I know for sure – it isn’t no Runtus up in them leaves. No! It’s Mr Gum! I seen him myself, hidin’ there like a dirty great maggot with a hat on!’

  ‘What?!’ murmured the crowd. ‘Not Runtus? Hmm! Murmur! Murmur! Hmm! Murmur! Hmm! Debate! Murmur! Murmur!’

  ‘Hang on,’ demanded Martin Launderette, suddenly turning on Polly. ‘Why should we take your word for it?’

  ‘Yes,’ cried Jonathan Ripples. ‘Where’s your proof?’

  ‘I haven’t got none,’ admitted Polly. ‘Unfortunately my camera was eaten by a pretend centaur. But –’

  ‘No buts!’ declared Mayor Casserole. ‘It’s Runtus we like and it’s Runtus we came to see. Sorry, Polly, but the Old Ways are back and they’re here to stay!’

  Chapter 15

  Runtus and the Pets

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’

  The noise was deafening. It was so awful that the daffodils pressed their emergency REWIND buttons and shot back underground. It was so horrible that the weeping willows wept real tears. It was so unbearable that the elm trees elmigrated to another country.

  ‘RUNTUS! RUNTUS! RUNTUS!’ chanted the crowd. And then there came the most almighty cheer as Galloping Bill stepped out from the bushes, the gang of grinning goblins at his side.

  ‘Neeeeigh! Neeeeigh!’ said Galloping Bill, pawing at the morning air like he imagined a real centaur might do. ‘Now, I know you all come here to see yer favourite woodlan’ spirit! Am I right?’

  ‘YES!’ yelled the crowd.

  ‘Neeeeigh! Miaow! Who do you wanna see?’ shouted Galloping Bill, in his centaur-iest voice yet.

  ‘RUNTUS!’ yelled the crowd.

  ‘Well then, yer in luck!’ cried Galloping Bill, accidentally punching himself in the face with excitement. ‘Cos here comes the bloke what you loves to obey! The one what’s got important commands to say! The one what’s gonna change your lives today! It’s the one . . . the only . . . RUNTUS! Neeeeeeeigggghhh!’

  ‘YEAH!’ shouted the voice in the cherry tree as the crowd roa
red. ‘THAT’S RIGHT, ME OLD DEVOTED FOLLOWERS! IT’S ME! NOW, YOU ALL GOT YER PRECIOUS GIFTS TO SHOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE ME?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted the crowd.

  ‘GOOD. NOW HERE’S HOW IT’S GONNA WORK! YOU GOTTA GO OVER TO GALLOPIN’ BILL AN’ GIVE HIM YER PRECIOUS THINGS! IT’S AS SIMPLE AS A, B, RUNTUS! SO – WHO’S GONNA GO FIRST?’

  ‘Old Granny should go first,’ shouted someone. ‘She’s the one who led us here.’

  ‘Yes, Old Granny should go first!’ shouted someone else.

  ‘Yes, Old Granny!’ shouted someone else.

  ‘I don’t think Old Granny should go first!’ shouted someone else. But they were overruled. It was democracy.

  Trembling like a croissant, Old Granny started forward. And the goblins taunted her as she went, gobbing cherry stones and pulling bad faces.

  ‘Stuppppid oldd womman!’ cackled Captain Ankles.

  ‘Look, she gott rubbbbish unfashionable hairrstyle!’ said Oink Balloon. ‘Ha ha ha!’

  And now Old Granny was kneeling in front of Galloping Bill.

  ‘Here,’ she whispered, handing him a piece of paper. It was ancient and yellow at the edges, and it was barely hanging together. It was a love letter from her first husband, written the day he’d been shipped off to the War:

  Dear Old Granny

  I’m afraid they’re shipping me off to the War. Who? I do not know. Why? I do not know. What War? I have no idea. But of one thing I am certain – I love your face and everything underneath it. I love all of you, Old Granny, and that is why I married you. You are the best.

  Adieu, my love

  Your adoring husband

  Old Manny

  Xx

  P.S. – Don’t touch the sherry I left in the drinks cabinet.

  ‘Is that yer most precious possession in the whole stupid world?’ sneered Galloping Bill.

  ‘It is,’ said Old Granny.

  ‘Then hand it over,’ he demanded.

  For a moment Old Granny seemed about to refuse. But then she bowed her head and handed it over. And as the letter left her hand, something in Old Granny’s eyes seemed to flash once, and then die out altogether.

  ‘Got it!’ shouted Galloping Bill triumphantly.

  ‘NICE ONE,’ rasped Runtus. ‘NOW, OLD GRANNY. REPEAT AFTER ME: “I HAVE GIVEN UP ME MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION.’”

  ‘I have given up my most precious possession,’ repeated Old Granny.

  ‘“AN’ NOW I WILL DO ANYTHIN’ FOR RUNTUS,”’ said the voice.

  ‘And now I will do anything for Runtus,’ said Old Granny.

  ‘“ME SOUL BELONGS TO RUNTUS FOREVER!’” said the voice.

  ‘My soul –’ began Old Granny, her voice trembling.

  The crowd cheered. The goblins cackled.

  ‘My soul,’ croaked Old Granny, through lips as dry as sand. ‘My soul belongs to –’

  But suddenly it hit Polly like a multicoloured bolt of lightning thrown into her brain by Cleveros, the God of Brilliant Ideas. Without a moment’s thought she snatched the lead from Alan Taylor’s gingerbread hand.

  ‘Polly!’ he cried in shock. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Sorry, A.T.,’ she replied, ‘but I jus’ thought of somethin’ the Spirit of the Rainbow done told me. Mr Gum’s controllin’ everyone like pets on leads. But sometimes you gots to let them pets go FREE!’

  TWANG-O!

  Polly bit through the dental floss – and the pets were off the lead.

  For a moment they just stood there doing nothing. A few of them popped out some last-minute babies. Then a great gust of wind picked them up and in that gust of wind Polly thought – just for a moment – that she could hear the Spirit of the Rainbow’s voice.

  ‘Go freeeeeee, little ones,’ it seemed to say. ‘Go freeeee!’

  The gust of wind blew the pets towards the cherry tree.

  Caterpillars, ladybirds, aphids. Hundreds of them. Thousands of the little tanglers. They landed in the lovely green leaves of the tree.

  And . . .

  It was one of the biggest nibbles the world had ever heard.

  In China people looked up at the noise and said, ‘Hmm, sounds like some caterpillars and ladybirds are nibbling a cherry tree over in England. Oh, and maybe some aphids too.’

  In Egypt the nibbling sound took a famous prince by surprise, causing him to trip over a prune.

  In San Francisco a team of Nibbleologists measured the nibble at 48.4 on the Official Nibble Scale. ‘It’s astounding!’ said the Chief Nibbleologist. ‘Especially as the Official Nibble Scale only goes up to 12. And especially as there’s no such thing as Nibbleologists in the first place.’

  Yes, it was a nibble of outstanding proportions, The Nibble That Shook The World.

  And then it was over. The caterpillars floated gently to earth on little parachutes of silk. And the ladybirds flew down with them, and the aphids hitch-hiked on their spotty backs. But the townsfolk hardly noticed, for they were gazing at the cherry tree in shock.

  The pets had feasted well. They’d stripped every single leaf from the cherry tree. Every last one. And now the Lord of the Cherry Tree was revealed in all his filthy glory.

  Caught in the bare branches of the tree like the guiltiest spatula imaginable.

  ‘Well, townsfolk,’ said Polly quietly. ‘There’s your “Runtus”. There’s the one you was about to give your souls to, you sillies.’

  And the townsfolk saw they’d been played for fools by a master scoundrel.

  There was the briefest of pauses. Then –

  ‘GET HIMMMMMM!’

  Jonathan Ripples flew at the tree trunk, battering it with his bulk.

  KA-FLING!

  Mr Gum was knocked clear out of the branches.

  KA-FLY-THROUGH-THE-AIR!

  Mr Gum flew through the air.

  KA-LAND-JUST-TO-THE-SIDE-OF-BILLY!

  Not really. Mr Gum landed right on top of Billy splattering him up like a squirtflake.

  ‘GET ’EM!’ roared the crowd.

  ‘SHABBA ME LYIN’, DECEIVIN’ WHISKERS!’ shouted Mr Gum. ‘They’ll rip us to shreds an’ put each shred in a different prison! Come on, Billy me boy, gimme a ride out of here!’

  And like the coward he was, Mr Gum clambered on to Billy’s back and together they snoofed it out that forest just as fast as you please, or maybe even faster.

  ‘GET BACK HERE!’ roared the crowd. ‘WE HAVEN’T FINISHED WITH YOU!’ But though the townsfolk chased those villains for the rest of that day, somehow they managed to escape. For never was there a pair of rascals more slippery than Mr Gum and Billy William the Third, and that is why they are sometimes given the nickname ‘The Pair of Slippers’. And just like slippers they were gone, gone, gone. Gone where the wind would carry ’em. Gone where the wind would blow.

  Chapter 16

  Feasts and Such

  So that’s how the townsfolk’s souls were saved. And with the danger over it was time for a feast. The children ran hither and thither, picking wise berries from the trees, and Old Granny tested the berries to see if they were poisonous by asking each and every one, ‘Are you poisonous?’ The little girl called Peter made daisy chains to hang from the branches, and the little boy called Rita made daisy padlocks to make sure no one stole them. Jonathan Ripples went out bravely hunting and returned with wild boar and rabbits, and Martin Launderette pretended he’d caught them himself and Jonathan Ripples sat on him to teach him a lesson.

  And Friday O’Leary played the drums with a rat-and-a-tat-and-a-wiggle-of-his-hat, and then what do you think? Jake the dog came bounding down from his horse chestnut tree and it was time for stroking and patting and riding round on his great broad furry back. Broad as a beam it was, broad as a beam!

  And as the evening drew on, a bonfire was lit in the clearing and the food and wine flowed freely, my friends. And everywhere that Polly looked she saw the townsfolk, not as they had been when they were under Mr Gum’s spell but as they should be, merry and bright-
eyed and sometimes a bit drunk, especially Old Granny. And the goblins turned back into children and said sorry and Alan Taylor forgave them. And then the caterpillars all got together and did a load of cocoons and on the stroke of midnight – PLIM! – they turned into butterflies.

  ‘Goodbye, little friends,’ said Alan Taylor as the creatures flapped out of the forest, but it wasn’t goodbye – for all summer long those butterflies were seen flying through Lamonic Bibber, cheering people up with their colourful wings and sometimes being eaten by cats or getting stuck in electric fans.

  And as for Polly and her friends – Friday O’Leary, little Alan Taylor and big slobbery Jake – well, they’d never been happier.

  ‘I wonder if there ever was a real Runtus in these parts,’ said Polly as they cleared up after the feast. ‘What does you think, everyone?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Friday O’Leary, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Alan Taylor, gazing thoughtfully into the distance, only lower.

  ‘WOOF!’ said Jake, nuzzling Penelope the aphid. They had become quite good friends.

  Suddenly remembering something, Polly reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out the three fruit chews the Spirit of the Rainbow had given her. She handed one to each of her companions.

  ‘So,’ she asked again. ‘Does you think Runtus was ever real?’

  ‘YES,’ said Friday, reading what was written on his sweet wrapper.

  ‘NO,’ said Alan Taylor, reading what was written on his.

  Polly looked down at the wrapper of her own fruit chew. ‘MAYBE,’ she said. ‘Maybe.’

  And they all stood there in the grove, gazing at the cherry tree as dusk drew in, chewing it over.