Upon the Wood or Woods
Whatever books of grammar might say, the question has always baffled me. What is the difference between a wood and the woods? And which trees are thicker or denser? The trees of a wood or the trees of a woods? Of course, a day does not go by when one does not find something to do in the wood or the woods. There are so many animals to see, so many insects to observe and so many plants to note and, of course, so many trees with which to converse. Where would one be without this wood or these woods?
From Mr. Whizz’s Notebook, Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum.
The woods near Laila’s home extended in all directions, with many tracks and paths. If this was a delight to walkers and runners alike, some local residents, known to Mum and Dad as the strident variety, could never be happy. They complained the paths were impossibly overgrown and meandering. They twisted and turned into unexpected dead ends. They could so easily get lost. It was true that, in places, the woods were rather dense and dark. Many of the trees it was thought were quite ancient, and possibly Celtic. At least, according to a boy in Laila’s class called Freddy Tommanny-Fibbs, Boadicea had performed a sacrifice in a fairy ring somewhere deep within before going on to sack Roman London.
If it was considered rather easy to lose one’s way, Laila was more than just a little wary and nervous as she came to the start of the woods. And being, as has already been noted, a rather imaginative girl, with her ear cocked for imaginary wolves, she was beginning to wonder whether it was such a good idea to enter alone when she heard a rustling in the bushes.
“Hello there,” said a voice.
“Who is it?” she replied.
“I’m Cyril. Who are you?”
“Laila.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“No, but I want one.”
“Horrible, snarly creatures!”
“They’re lovely!”
The voice appeared to step out from the trees, but Laila could not see anyone.
“Where are you?” she said.
“Here. Can you see me now?”
There was scurrying in the trees beside her, but she still could not see anyone.
“You are making an awful lot of noise,” she said. “But I still can’t see you.”
“If you must know, I’m afraid of dogs. I don’t want to come out from behind these trees.”
“Where can we go so I can see you?”
“I know just the place for us to go! – Follow me.”
“Why should I do that? – I don’t know you.”
“It’s not very far and you’ll be able to see me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise!”
From time to time Laila would call out:
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m still here.”
Whoever she was following was very used to the woods. In fact, she could hardly hear him so soundlessly did he move.
Laila followed the barely audible patter of tiny feet and the occasional hi-ing voice as best she could.
At length, they came to a gate. It was a rather tall gate made of wood with an old broken lock. The wall around it was overgrown with branch, leaf and bramble.
“Well,” said the voice, “here we are.”
“Here we are – where?”
“At the gate. – Are you still afraid?”
“I won’t be afraid if I can see you.”
“Here I am. Over here, just through the gate.”
“You’re not scary looking, are you?”
“Hardly. What are you waiting for?”
“Oh, this is getting silly,” said Laila, and she opened the gate.
Sitting on the stump of a tree was a little chap in a red hat. He had leafy green skin with a hint of yellow that gave him something of an autumnal aspect.
He smiled.
“Now you can see me,” he said, “bet you can’t catch me!”
The little green chap went bundling off into the woods.
But still Laila wondered: should she follow?
Cyril scampered along the path in his soundless way. He kept looking back to see if his new friend was following, and seeing that she was, he was encouraged. The path dipped into the undergrowth and Cyril ducked behind a bush. He waited until he saw Laila coming up the path.
“Oh, Cyril,” she said, “where have you got to?”
Stifling his giggles, he waited until she had gone further up the path; then, he called to her:
“Here I am!”
Then he ran off laughing.
In fact, so taken with the game and his little ruse was Cyril he had failed to spot the large gnome-like foot sticking out on the path.
He tripped and went hurtling into a tree.
“MUMM,” went the tree.
“Oh, sorry!” said Cyril, rubbing his knee. “I didn’t mean to.”
The tree mumbled something, and he hopped over to it to give it a pat, when he saw the owner of the gnome like foot.
Cedric glowered at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Playing hide and seek.”
“Who with?”
“Laila, of course.”
“Who is Laila?”
“She’s a girl I found in the woods.”
“Which side of the gate were you on?”
Cyril shuffled and looked at the ground.
“You didn’t!” said Cedric.
“She started talking to me.”
“I’m not even going to ask what you were doing there. But you know you’re not supposed to bring people through the gate. You’re supposed to stop them coming through.”
Cyril shrugged.
“Bit late now.”
Cedric’s eyes bulged and his large stomach heaved.
“Cyril, how could you! – You let her in through the gate. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?!”
Cyril looked very sheepish.
“Anyway,” he said, “what harm can it do? – I’ll take her back through the gate after we’ve finished playing.”
“Cyril, this is very serious,” said Cedric. “You know what can happen! – She could turn.”
“She won’t turn.”
“You don’t know. Besides, you know what can happen if she turns. I am going to have to report this to the Mistress.”
“No, wait!” said Cyril. “Don’t do that!”
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
Cedric was suddenly alarmed. “That was a howl,” he said.
Even if he had heard the distant howl, Cyril did not want to admit it.
“Oh, it’s probably just a boar.”
“No, it isn’t a boar. That’s a wolf if ever I heard one. – What are we going to do about the girl you brought into the Garden?”
“Come on,” said Cyril. “She’s only just up the path.”
Cyril set off at a jog.
“Hey!” cried Cedric. “Wait for me.”
“Keep up, fatso!”
But Cedric, who was not, as has been noted, the slimmest nor the fastest gnome on two feet, could not keep up. And he was soon gasping for breath and holding his legs.
“Cyril!” he cried. “Oh, botheration!”
Laila hesitated.
Although she was no longer afraid of the little green chap she had just met, she was worried about getting lost. What was the proper thing to do? “I know,” she said to herself out loud, “I’ll mark the trees as I go,” and took out her penknife.
She soon found, however, the trees did not like being marked. In fact, there seemed to be a little moan every time she carved her initials: L.C. The third time she did it, she swore the tree flinched. AIEE!
It gave her such a shock. She stumbled back and fell down into a gully.
“Whoa!” she cried to no one in particular. Floundering on the crumbling slope, she tried to grab hold of an exposed root of a tree but slid all the same down into the gully.
The gully was dark. And as she stood up and brushed the leaves and dirt off her clothes, she heard a noise.
“Is that you, Cyril?”
There was silence.
“Cyril!” she called again. “Where are you?!”
Then, in the distance, she heard the wolf howl. Laila had never seen a wolf, let alone heard one howl, except on those nature documentaries that Mum and sometimes Timmy enjoyed. It really was a most chilling sound.
Laila took out her torch and turned it on. Then she took out her penknife and opened the blade.
“Show yourself, you coward!” she shouted.
“I say, that’s not very nice,” said Cyril, peering down at her in the gully. “What are you doing down there?”
“The tree jumped when I carved my initials on it. Besides, you left me on my own.”
“Well, you should have kept up,” said Cyril, “otherwise the game doesn’t work.”
“Anyway,” he went on, “you shouldn’t be hurting the trees. They’re my friends.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Laila.
“I’m not being silly,” said Cyril. “You can’t go carving your name on trees.”
“Anyway,” she said, feeling guilty, “what was that noise?”
“What noise?”
“I thought I heard a wolf.”
Cyril hesitated. Though he knew Cedric was right, he did not want to take Laila back through the gate. At least not just yet. And since he was having such a good time, he wanted the game to continue.
“What if it was a wolf?” he said. “Were you afraid?”
“It was a little scary. But it did seem a long way away. Should I be scared?”
“You don’t need to worry,” said Cyril. “Wolves don’t come around here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” he said, looking down at his feet. “They don’t like it around here.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Cyril was relieved. He did so want to continue the game.
“You are still going to play, aren’t you, Laila?”
“Of course,” she said, “but this time it’s my turn to hide.”