Free The Wombles by Elizabeth Beresford Page A

golf ball come out of Tomsk’s ear, how he made Alderney vanish, and how he sawed Bungo in half no Womble could understand. And as if that wasn’t enough excitement there was the present-giving to follow.
    For the last few days before Christmas every Womble, however young, had been allowed out on to the Common to find a gift. This is an old, long-established custom and although December is not a good time of year in which to discover things, somehow there never seems to be a shortage. Of course, some Wombles say among themselves that before the great gift hunt starts Tobermory and Great Uncle Bulgaria have been seen to slip out with loaded baskets in their paws on the evening beforehand. But naturally this rumour is kept from the youngest Wombles and the fact remains that they always do find something.
    Whatever that something is, it’s always kept a secret and shown only to Tobermory or Madame Cholet – who besides being such a wonderful cook is also very good at sewing and mending – and that something is always turned into a very nice present. All the presents are then packed up in brightly coloured paper and placed in an enormous tub and after the meal and the speech and the conjuring tricks every Womble gathers round and, starting with the youngest, plunges his or her paw into it and pulls out a gift.
    And even more astonishing were the gifts which the elderly gentleman found. But then he was feeling very astonished altogether and his story really starts about three days before Christmas on a very bright, crisp afternoon.
    The name of the elderly gentleman was Mr D. Smith and he was the same person who had talked to Great Uncle Bulgaria on the night of the Concrete Mixer Expedition. He happened to read in the local paper about the strange way in which the concrete had vanished from the building site and exactly the correct money (plus the fifty pence tip) had been discovered by the site foreman. He was very puzzled by this and as he had plenty of time to spare, being retired from his job, he went along to see the foreman. The foreman listened to what the elderly gentleman had to say and then pushed back his cap and said, ‘Workmen, did you say?’
    ‘Very small workmen wearing oilskins, boots and sou’westers,’ said the elderly gentleman. ‘One of them spoke to me most politely. He had white whiskers.’
    ‘ I see,’ said the foreman in exactly that tone of voice which meant he didn’t see at all. ‘Well, thank you very much, sir . . .’
    And he went off winking at all the other workmen, and the elderly gentleman looked rather sad and went for a walk on the Common. He was becoming used to people treating him as though he had to be humoured and that only made him feel sadder than ever. So, although there was a decided nip in the air, he went and sat on the bench where he always went, and looked at the bare bushes and trees and sighed more than ever.
    And it was there that, three days before Christmas, Great Uncle Bulgaria met him. It was a lovely, sharp afternoon and Great Uncle Bulgaria had decided to slip out for a short walk before supper. He also wanted to see that all the young working Wombles were doing their jobs properly and, if possible, to catch a glimpse of Orinoco on his bicycle, which, Tobermory had assured him, was a sight not to be missed.
    Both Great Uncle Bulgaria and the elderly gentleman arrived at the bench at the same moment. On this occasion the old Womble was wearing a balaclava helmet, an overcoat which reached to his toes, and fur-lined boots, for there was frost in the air and he tended to feel the cold these days.
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the elderly gentleman.
    ‘No, after you, sir,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Good gracious me, surely we’ve met before?’
    ‘Yes indeed,’ said the elderly gentleman, recognising Great Uncle Bulgaria’s white whiskers and round spectacles. ‘It was – er . . .’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘Lovely afternoon,