The Wolf’s Howl
The Wolf is a strange and fearsome beast; it hunts in packs and kills without mercy. Many creatures in the Garden are afraid of the Wolf. When they hear the howl of the wolf, they quake in their boots, cover their eyes with their hooves or wake crying from a nightmare they thought was forgotten long ago. But the howl of the wolf is only a plaintive cry. For he, like all the creatures of the Garden, is at times sad and lonely. The Wolf needs the warmth of the pack, as much as he does the succour of his Master.
From Mr. Whizz’s Notebook, Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum.
Yin and Yang were twins. They always did everything together. Yin would play a melody – say, ding-aling-along – and Yang would add a rhythm. Bish! Bosh! Bash! And everyone would laugh when they went Bash Crash!
The problem for their parents was that if one was rebellious, then the other was, too. Instead of getting into mischief, they got themselves into double trouble, or as gnomes might say, the terrible twos. Yin and Yang were great practical jokers, and their pastime of choice was to wander into the woods with whistle and drum. There they would stop and search for the perfect spot, like a moosh bush, say, to jump out at passers-by.
When Cyril came rushing up – in pursuit of Laila on Handsomely, who you may recall had gone off in the opposite direction from Mr Whizz on Beautifully, the opportunity was too good to miss.
“Look,” said Yin. “It’s cheesy wheezy Cyril!”
“Now’s our chance,” said Yang. “Let’s prank on him.”
They jumped out from behind the moosh bush, blowing whistle and banging drum.
Bash Crash!
Cyril went flying. He tripped and fell on the ground.
Yin and Yang were in stitches.
“Nice one, bro!”
“Nice one, sis!”
“Neeswon!” went the moosh.
Cyril got up and brushed his knees down.
“Nitwits, what are you playing at? – I’ve got to find Laila. She’s on her own in the woods.”
Yin and Yang looked at each other with a kind of search me look.
“Who’s Laila?”
“She’s a yanger I met.”
“You brung a yanger into the woods?”
“No, sillies. I didn’t bring her. She’s with a unicorn.”
“Well, that’s alright then, isn’t,” said Yin.
“Yes,” said Yang, “the unicorn will look after her.”
“No, it’s not alright,” said Cyril. “Not if she falls off and there are wolves about.”
“You’re right,” said Yin. “It taint alright.”
“No, it taint,” said Yang. “Not if she falls off. And goes Crash Bash!”
“Wallop! Dollop!”
Yin looked at Yang, who was chuckling.
“Do you think we can give the wolves a fright?”
“The way you play that drum, why not?”
“Come on, Cyril,” said Yang, slapping him on the back. “Let’s go find the frighty pants.”
Wolves, of course, were not frighty pants. And neither, for that matter, was Laila as she sped on Handsomely through the woods. It was, she thought, far better than being up a treehouse, reading about unicorns. What more could she want? She was actually upon one! – Handsomely was so keen and skilful as he raced and dodged between trees Laila forgot Mr. Whizz’s warning and let go of his mane. “No hands!” she cried. “Like riding a bike!”
Regrettably, riding a unicorn is not like riding a bike. When Laila let go of his mane, Handsomely took this as a cue.
Unicorns have two kinds of speed, a kind of low-level cruise mane hugging speed, and no holds barred, kind of high velocity gallop. Handsomely leapt between two rather stout oaks who tried, in vain, to shrink their trunks. As he did so, Laila lost her balance and fell off.
The unicorn forgot the rider and sped on.
Laila was on the ground, but she was not unconscious. She had been lucky. Having fallen on a mossy covered mound that broke her fall, she was not so terribly hurt; just a little shocked and perhaps a little bruised.
“Handsomely!” she called.
But the unicorn had disappeared.
Laila looked round and up at the trees. She realised she was in a much darker, gloomier part of the wood. The trees were bent and gnarled, and they seemed to push and shove each other with their branches like old grumps.
Instinctively Laila reached into the back pocket of her jeans for her penknife, but it was not there. Nor was it in her snood. She groped around on the ground, but there was no glint of a knife among the roots and fallen leaves.
And what had happened to her torch? She groaned. “Oh, no!” she told herself. “That’s torn it.”
When she said torn it, it was as if the tearing had torn inside her.
She looked up at the trees and she strained to see the light from the path.
But there was no path and no light.
Her new friends, the wizard, the gnome and the unicorn seemed far away, and she was all alone in a dark wood.
Then she saw two yellow eyes peering at her from the undergrowth.
The wolf moved slowly, one paw in front of the other, as it started towards her.
“Leave me alone!” she cried.
The wolf snarled.
Laila stepped back and a branch dug into her back.
She grabbed the branch and pulled herself up onto the tree.
The wolf jumped and snapped.
“Grr!”
The tree came to her rescue, bending one of its branches towards her. At the same time, it seemed to bend its other branches to torment the wolf.
Branches swished and swooshed above the wolf. One poked him from behind. The wolf twisted and turned and tried to snap back, but the branch sprang up and the wolf fell onto the ground, belly up.
The wolf sat up with its ears flattened and, as if sensing its own foolishness, its tail slunk between its hind legs. It would have been funny, except Laila saw its teeth as it grimaced. They really were rather nasty and sharp.
“Nish ghrrs,” said the friendly tree.
“Nasty grrs,” said Laila who clung to the friendly tree as another wolf appeared below.
It brushed past the other wolf with its tail raised and stared up at the tree. Its lips curled up into a snarl and Laila shuddered.
She was suddenly very afraid. The other wolf must have sensed it, too, because it also began to snarl.
“Nish ghrrs!” said the friendly tree who sent one of its branches swishing and swoshing down on top of the nasty grrs.
“Anyways, who is the younger?”
“It’s not a younger, it’s a yanger.”
“A yanger, like Yin.”
“Twang won’t like that. You know what she thinks of yangers and youngers.”
“Twang won’t like it one itsy bit. There’s always trouble with a yanger or a younger about.”
“No, she won’t like it, but she won’t like it more if we don’t find the yanger. When a yanger turns, all the woods do crack and burn.”
“Oh, weepers and creepers! Where has that yanger got to?”
Such was the gnomes chatter as they went in search of the yanger, by which of course they meant Laila. It was a very fast kind of speech that matched their pace. For gnomes, of course, and not least Cyril Longhop can move quickly if they so choose through the woods. This was the purpose, too, of their chatter since it helped them to put their finding caps on. And, since even rebellious gnomes such as our three youngers here, Yin, Yang and Cyril, are in the habit of working together, it was with their chatter that their finding caps began to work in tandem with their looking thoughts.
Suddenly, Yin, who was a little ahead of Yang and Cyril, stopped.
“You ‘ear that?”
“What?”
“Grrs!”
They all froze and listened.
“You see ‘em. Over there, by the wishort.”
“Yeh, I see ‘em. Nasty grrs.”
“How many?”
“Three, four.”
“Five.”
“I got my piffle. Are you ready with your dum?”
“Whistle piffle, dum drum.”
“Dum drum, here we go!”
Gnomes are not renowned for being quiet in company, but they can if they wish move noiselessly and soundlessly.
Soundlessly and noiselessly the three gnomes began to sneak up on the wolves.
The wolves paced and sniffed the air. One of them, larger than the others, was looking up intently into the branches of the tree – as if waiting for some catch to drop.
“Now!” cried Cyril.
Bosh Bash Bish!
Ding-aling-adong! Hear my song!
Bish Bosh Bash!
Bing-aling-abong! Me dum goes dong!
Bash Bish Bosh!
Sing-aling-a-song! Path a-wide path a-long!
Bish Bash Bosh!
Bang the grrs! Twang the howlers!
The wolves turned.
Some howled; some took flight.
The gnomes repeated their nonsense. If it was nonsense, it was all nonsense of the Garden, and therefore made some sense in it, at least according the lore of that place.
The wolves scattered.
Yin and Yang slapped hands.
“I told you it would work.”
“Piece of cheese.”
“Oh! Yes, please!”
“Nothing but frighty pants.”
Cyril called up into the tree:
“Laila, are you there?”
“Cyril! Is that You?”
“Laila, come down!”
“Cyril, why don’t you come up here?”
“Laila, you don’t understand. We don’t have any time. The wolves will come back. We must get back to the path.”
“I don’t know, Cyril.”
“Laila, you must come down.”
But Laila refused to budge.
“Cyril,” she said, “I’m not coming down!”
Laila was disinclined to leave the safety of her tree. No amount of persuasion from Cyril seemed to make much difference to her. It was, she reasoned, much safer up in the tree than down on the ground where the wolves might get her. What is more, the tree was beginning to agree.
“Why don’t you climb inside my trunk?” it said. “It’s much safer there where nish grrs cannot get you. Then we can crush the nish grrs together.”
All this seemed to make sense to Laila, who began to look around for a hole to climb into.
“Is she stuck?”
“I knew it! Youngers and yangers always get stuck in these trees.”
“You two, pipe down!” said Cyril who began to speak in a hoarse whisper:
“You know how these wishorts are, once they’re surrounded by grrs.”
“Every gnome knows that, Cyril! Wishorts are frighty pants.”
“Hey, yanger!” called Yin.
“Her name’s Laila.”
“Laila!” cried the twins together.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Yin. This is Yang!”
“Yin and Yang?”
“Hear our names, Yin and Yang
If it’s all the same, come down for Twang.”
“Cyril, are they your friends?”
“We’re not grrs if that’s what you mean.”
“Grrs? I heard the tree say that. It says the grrs are coming.”
“Laila, the grrs have gone!”
“No, they haven’t. The tree says they are coming again.”
“Come down here!
Come down for Yin!
Come down for Yang!
Come down for Whizz!
Come down for Twang!”
The gnomes repeated their naming nonsense.
As they did, Laila seemed to come to her senses, and she began to climb down from the tree.
“Cyril, have the wolves gone?”
“Come on,” he said. “We must get back to the path.”
Indeed, there was precious little time to waste, and certainly no time for pranks and larking about. Yin strapped her drum to her back and Yang pocketed his whistle. The gnomes were in a super hurry. Laila followed as best as she could. But she was still in a state of shock and she was finding it hard to keep up when she began to sense the presence of wolves. Though they kept hidden by the forest floor, she could hear the padding of their paws as they kept pace with them.
The gnomes also sensed the wolves, and now made no pretence of keeping quiet. Yin began to bang her drum and Yang blew his whistle. Cyril whooped and hollered.
“Don’t stray from the path!” they sang.
“Come back for tea!
Come back for Nose!
Come back for bedtime bath!”
For a while Laila could hear no padding of paws or panting of breath as if, indeed, the wolves had gone off for tea and a bath.
Of a sudden, there was a howl that seemed to be torn from the heart of a darker woods. The howl was taken up by another howl. Then another.
Laila was scared stiff. The wolf howls seemed to be right in her ears.
“It’s no good,” she cried, “I can’t go on. The wolves are calling me and telling me to turn.”
“Laila,” said Cyril, “don’t listen to them. They can’t make you turn if you don’t listen to them.”
But Laila was beside herself.
“I can’t, Cyril! They want me to turn!”
“Laila,” said Cyril. “Say cheese!”
“Cheese?”
“Yes. Think of something you like. Like cheese.”
“But I don’t like cheese.”
“What do you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“There must be something you like,” said Cyril. “What about strawbs?”
“I love strawbs. Have you got any?”
“I know just the place,” said Cyril, “where you can find the juiciest of strawbs, the juiciest of juicies. – Laila, just think of all those juicy strawbs…”
The Strawb Song
Strawbs for you and strawbs for me Strawbs for Bird and Cedric’s mum Strawbs in the Shed, strawbs on the treeS Strawbs in the Bole, strawbs in the sun Strawbs in the Garden, strawbs on the lawn Strawbs in the mouth of the naughty faun Strawbs for Chuck and strawbs for Ven Strawbs for Whizz, strawbs for the Miss Strawbs for Utterly and all are utterly bliss!
Although they did not dare attack, the wolves were all around them now. At the head of the pack was a large wolf with a tuft of silvery fur on his crown. He was a very bold gentleman indeed and growing bolder by the minute.
“Nasty grr!” cried Cyril.
He picked up a stone and threw it.
The stone hit the big grr on the nose.
The grr yelped and fell back.
Just as he was about to spring again, Laila saw a figure riding through the trees towards them.
It was Mr. Whizz on Beautifully.
And with them was Handsomely.
“Laila!” called the wizard. “There is no time to waste. You must mount Handsomely!”
The very trees seemed to part before the wizard who drove Beautifully between Laila and the pack leader – that large gentleman with the silvery tuft upon his crown. The wolf snapped at the heels of the unicorn, as the wizard began to intone:
“I’ve got an itchy chin.
Granny’s out the back
With a bottle of gin.
Scratch your beard
Send the grrs into a spin
There’s nothing to be feared
In the dim-dim’s din!”
The wolves suddenly stopped in their tracks. There was confusion in the ranks. Some were giddy with it, like they really had been helping themselves to Granny’s gin. Their ears flattened and their tails slunk between their legs. When the big wolf turned and bolted, the others turned and bolted with him.
“Laila!” cried Mr. Whizz. “Hold onto the mane!”
He pulled Beautifully round.
“Onwards to the path!”
“To the path!” cried the gnomes.
“For cheese and tea!
And bedtime bath!”