Free The Wombles by Elizabeth Beresford Page B

isn’t it? Just the right sort of weather for Christmas.’
    ‘Christmas,’ said the elderly gentleman with a sigh. ‘I remember when I was young it always snowed about now.’
    ‘So it did, so it did,’ agreed Great Uncle Bulgaria, rubbing his gloves together. ‘Tell me, sir, do you recall the great frost of . . . let me see, was it ’96 or ’97?’
    ‘’98,’ said the elderly gentleman firmly. ‘Ah, what a winter that was to be sure. Toboggan rides, the Thames was frozen over, and they put straw in the streets to stop the horses from sliding. Why, it seems only yesterday that . . .’
    As Great Uncle Bulgaria was the very soul of politeness he listened quietly to the elderly gentleman, nodding and saying ‘Ah, quite’, or ‘Yes indeed’, or ‘How very true’, whenever the occasion arose. The elderly gentleman was absolutely delighted to have such a splendid audience and after a while Great Uncle Bulgaria had to wriggle his feet inside his fur-lined boots to try and keep them warm, because the damp cold was seeping up through the frozen ground.
    ‘Christmas WAS Christmas in those days,’ said the elderly gentleman at last. ‘Tell me, sir, have you any family?’
    Great Uncle Bulgaria, whose mind had been wandering to other things, such as clue number three down in The Times crossword which had been bothering him all day, replied a little absently.
    ‘Family? Me? Oh yes, about two hundred and thirty of them.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the elderly gentleman.
    ‘Altogether, that is,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria hastily, ‘taking into account Great-Nephews and Nieces and Second Cousins Three Times Removed and so on. Do you not have a family yourself, sir?’
    ‘No, sir,’ said the elderly gentleman. ‘I had one son, but he went to America many, many years ago to seek his fortune. The last letter I had from him was posted in a town called Butte in the state of Montana. That must have been twenty years ago . . .’
    ‘Dear me,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. ‘So at Christmas you’ll be – er –?’
    ‘Oh, I shall be splendid, splendid,’ said the elderly gentleman, suddenly jumping to his feet. ‘Very pleased to have made your acquaintance again Mr –er?’
    ‘Womble,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria.
    Usually he didn’t have much to do with Human Beings. They were too untidy, too noisy, and given to telling lies, but like all Wombles he had a very warm heart and he knew perfectly well that the elderly gentleman had just told a polite fib about being all right. Great Uncle Bulgaria thought fast and came to a decision.
    ‘Ho-hum,’ he said, stroking his white whiskers, ‘ should you be free on Christmas evening and should you happen to be here I should be most honoured should you care to join me and my family for a small party.’
    ‘Ah, well now,’ said the elderly gentleman turning up his coat collar, for it had begun to sleet, ‘that’s very kind of you, sir, but I am rather fully engaged. However, should any of my arrangements fall through – perhaps I might avail myself of your generous invitation?’
    ‘Quite, quite,’ said Great Uncle Bulgaria. They said goodbye and the elderly gentleman went off across the Common, and the old Womble looked after him for a time and then shook his head and picked up his stick and went back to the burrow, and was so quiet and so sad for the rest of the evening that Tobermory became quite anxious, and sent Alderney off to the kitchen to make an extra sweet hot blackberry fruit juice. Great Uncle Bulgaria drank it down almost in one gulp and then said gravely, ‘I’m glad I ’m not a Human Being,’ and stumped off to finish The Times * crossword.
    * Great Uncle Bulgaria was re-reading The Times of July 1935 at this time. It was one of his favourite periods.
     
    Of course the elderly gentleman was there, exactly as Great Uncle Bulgaria had known he would be. He was carrying a small box done up in brightly coloured paper and he was wearing a