Upon the Bole Hall
One cannot deny there is a kind of innocence in the Gnomes. Indeed, the Mistress will sometimes get frustrated with them for what she perceives as their gullibility. But if they are gullible, I wonder if it is such a bad quality. They will accept what you say and never question what you tell them. They do everything for the group and every gnome knows his place in the community, or as it is known the Bole Hall. And yet, paradoxically, the more one gets to know them one realises there is more to this simple reading of the Bole Hall. They will surprise one with their independence of spirit and ingenuity of mind.
From Mr. Whizz’s Notebook, Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum.
What’s going on, Perry? – No hoverboarding. Not today, Dad. Just popping round to Dave’s. Is the Duck back? – Just for the weekend. – Well, wish him quack, quack from me. See you later, Dad. Perry slipped on his elbow and chin pads. He put on his helmet and went out. He was half way to Dave the Duck Duckham’s house when he changed his mind and took the path to the wasteland. Anyway, he thought, why should I have to listen to the Duck? He’s always telling me I can never get a girlfriend. I’ll never make my hoverboard. Blah blah! He’s such a wind-up merchant. – Dad’s right. Quack! Quack! – As if annoyance with his mate was spurring him on, he rode the bike up to top of the hump and looked down at the gate. He free-wheeled down the hump and slid up to the gate and pushed it with the front wheel. The gate opened without any resistance. Before him there were two paths. One sloping east and bending into the undergrowth and the other sloping south. It was a little grassier and greener than the east path. He chose the south path and began to cycle along it. After a while the path became worn and overgrown. Once he had to get off the bike and wheel it stooping under some low branches. The trees here were not happy, he thought. And when he looked up at them, they seemed to loom in an angry sort of way, which put him on edge. He was still on edge when he heard the wolves. They were calling from some way off. Perry started pedalling faster. For a moment he thought the wolves were getting closer. He looked round and into the trees. Were they chasing him? Then the howls started to fade. Still he kept pedalling. The path began to twist and turn. Perry jumped puddles. He hiked up little banks. He dropped back down onto worn patches of earth and skipped between tree roots and tree stumps. Then he got into a wider bit of the path where the trees no longer oppressed him and started pedalling faster. Suddenly he saw it. There was a huge wolf with big paws and pointy ears in the middle of a clearing. Perry slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel to avoid the great beast. He honked the hooter. Honk! Honk! The wolf sprang and leapt. Perry ducked. Then he looked round and saw her, standing there with her bow raised… His heart had missed a beat. What had she said? We meet again, fair rider. He was left speechless as she ran off after the huge wolf.
HONK! HONK!
HONK!
Thus, it was, in the confusion and chaos of fainting nuns, giant wolves, bow-wielding huntresses, talking mallets and balls, frantic flutterbyes and baffled looking pannies, Young Master Peregrine Cusp became aware of the little green fellow poking his nose around his bike.
“Hey, what are you up to?”
The little green fellow honked the hooter and squealed with delight.
He looked up at Perry.
“Can I do it again?”
“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got to have one of these for my bike,” he said.
“Have you got a bike then?”
“Not exactly, but I’m going to build one.”
“What’s your name?”
“Cyril.”
“Cyril, mate, put it there.”
Perry held up his hand to high five, but the little fellow was not familiar with the gesture till he showed him how.
“What kind of bike is this?” he said.
“It’s called a BMX,” said Perry, feeling more comfortable now he was back on home ground. “The latest custom model. Built it myself. As you can see, it’s got the hooter… And it’s got ten gears.”
The little fellow stood staring at the cogs of the gears.
“Can you give it more gears?”
“In theory, yes.”
“What about tools? Have you got the tools to build it?”
“I’ve got them back at the garage.”
“Can you take me?”
Perry was in two minds.
“I don’t know, mate,” he said. “For starters, I’m not sure of the way. This place is so blinking confusing. It’s like a maze. And you got to keep to the path. If you don’t keep to the path, the wolves get you. The Huntress told me that. Anyway, the whole point of coming here was for Her.”
“The huntress. – You mean, the Mistress Dido.”
“Is that what you call her? – The Mistress Dido. She saved my life. I feel like I owe Her.”
The little green fellow looked puzzled.
“You cannot owe her money,” he said. “Only Smarmers want money.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
Perry struggled to find the right words to describe his feelings.
“I feel like I’m in her debt and want to help her out.”
The little green fellow scratched his head.
“The Mistress is always there for us gnomes,” he said eventually. “She protects the Bole Hall.”
“You’re dead right there. She’s amazing. What’s more she likes the BMX.”
“She does.”
“She loves it,” said Perry. “I took her for a ride on it. That’s when we met the gent in the funny hat.”
“Smarm.”
“That what you call him. He was the one who took a pot shot at me. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d be a dead man now.”
Cyril’s eyes lit up.
“I’ve just had a thought,” he said. “If I show you the way back to your garage, we can build the Mistress a bike.”
Perry did not need convincing.
“Cyril, mate, that’s a great idea,” he said. “We can build the bike together.”
“You’ll take me then?”
“Of course,” said Perry, “As long as you show me the way.”
Cyril was standing on the back of the BMX as they rode back down the path towards the gate.
He was on top of the world, calling to trees he knew off the path, or waving his hat at some hidden creature.
“Smeek! Smeekie!” he cried. “Look at me! Whoopie!”
Smeek, who was a frightened little vole, took fright and scurried down his hole.
“Cyril,” said Perry as they neared the gate, “you better pipe down now. You don’t want grandmothers jumping out of their bloomers at your green skin.”
But Perry did not need not to warn him. Although the outside world was of deep interest, Cyril was also wary of it, remembering, among other things, the dog that had chased him; perhaps it was for all these reasons that he shrunk back into his skin. When a gnome shrinks back into his skin, it is not as if they become entirely invisible, but they lose some of their natural visibility. So, upon reaching Perry’s house in the sleepy suburb where he lived it seemed that the gnome had indeed vanished.
“Hang on a second, mate. Where are you?”
“I’m here,” he said.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
Cyril tugged at Perry’s sleeve.
“Blow me! I’ve heard of the Invisible Man but never the Invisible Gnome. You get it? – Never mind.
“It’s an old TV series,” Perry went on. “Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. Then he got me watching it when I was a kid. This man, he’s a scientist, and becomes invisible. He raps himself up in bandages to look like a person. Then you can see him. Underneath you see he’s invisible. Personally, I think it’s pretty stupid. The special effects are not that good, but what do you expect? It was made in the nineteen sixties or something.”
The house was beginning to look familiar to Cyril, and he became suddenly apprehensive.
“Is that your garage?”
“Yes.”
“Have you got a cat?”
“As a matter of fact. – Why?”
Cyril was silent for a moment. This was the place where he’d seen the cat. He was afraid of cats, and their hissy fits. He chose, however, to say nothing about it.
“Perry,” he said, “I have a confession to make. I took this from your kitchen.”
A shiny object appeared from nowhere.
“I’ve been looking for that everywhere,” said Perry. “It’ll help us build the bike.”
The garage was an Aladdin’s Cave of bike parts, tools, cable and tyres. It reminded Cyril of the Shed, and for a moment he thought about Venables peering over some old mechanical contraption. But then again it was all so different. Venables’ contraptions were very old and rusty. The wheels were made of wood and there were no rubber tyres. And truth be told, none of them really worked; at least not like Perry’s bike.
One thing had particularly caught his eye.
“What are these?”
“Brake pads.”
“Oh, I get it!” he cried.
He picked them up and looked to see where they went on Perry’s bike.
Perry pulled down a frame off the wall. He found two wheels, one on top of a filing cabinet full of old documents belonging to Mum and Dad. The other was in a box on a shelf between jars of screws and nails, or what Dad called his bits and bobs.
They set to work.
If Cyril had enjoyed riding on the back of the bike, he seemed to have a sixth sense about bikes and bike parts, spanners and screwdrivers.
“Cyril, mate. You’re pretty handy at this,” said Perry. “Have you ever thought of doing it for living? – I tell you what, we could go into partnership. You could be my assistant mechanic.”
Perry started enthusing about the life of a mechanic.
“We need to have a workshop,” he said. “We can’t just use Dad’s garage. We’re going to need to expand, especially when I get the hover-board business going. Of course, you haven’t seen the hover-board. In fact, no one has, but just wait till you see the plans.”
Perry was still wittering on when his cat Soupy found the gnome.
The cat launched itself at Cyril, or rather what it thought was Cyril. Instinctively Cyril must have shrunk back into his skin.
“It’s the hissy!” he cried. “Help!”
He ran under the work bench and hid behind a couple of cardboard boxes full of turps and paint stripper.
“Take it easy, Sid,” said Perry. “He’s probably had too many catnips. I’ll put him in his cat box.”
But Cyril still would not come out from his hiding place.
“Has the hissy gone?” he said.
“It’s only Soupy,” said Perry. “He’s harmless.”
Perry went to fit the back wheel. He slotted it in between the mounting rims. “Mate,” he said after a while, “are you still there?”
He turned around to find Cyril sitting on the floor with Soupy who was stretched out in his arms and purring contentedly as Cyril tickled him under his collar.
“Thought you said you were scared of cats.”
“Soupy’s alright,” said Cyril. “He isn’t a real hissy.”
“You’re right about that,” said Perry. “He’s daft as a brush.”
As they wheeled the bikes out the garage, the cat would not leave them alone.
“Soups,” said Perry, “I thought I told you to get back to the house. Go on, scram!”
But the cat followed them down the street. Indeed, it must have been a strange sight to see from the twitching curtains of Mrs E. Jones: the young Cusp on his BMX, followed by another BMX, pedalling all on its own. Then the Cusp’s moggy prancing about at the rear.
When they reached the wasteland, needless to say, Cyril took to his new bike, as they say in these parts like the proverbial duck to the Duckham pond. Perry was really chuffed for him and he couldn’t help chuckling to himself when Cyril took the hump and flew through the gate – using his momentum to freewheel, no hands!
“Brillo pads!” he cried. “Brakes work like a dream!”
“Out the way, mate!” Perry called, as he hit the top of the hump and flew – flipping up the front wheel. He hit the ground running and shot through the gate. Cyril tried to swerve off the path. Too late! Perry clattered into him, and they ended up in a tangled heap.
Oh, well, accidents will happen I suppose… Nothing hurt… nothing broken… They picked themselves up, dusted themselves down and headed off down the path.
Unbeknown to the two bikers, however, Soupy had slipped through the gate behind them. He did so much want to be with his new-found green friend.