The Selected Adventures of Bottersnikes and Gumbles Read online

  CONTENTS

  Running Down to the Beach

  Willigumble — Late as Usual

  The Adventures of Chank

  Spring in the Air

  The King’s Party

  Supergumble

  The Palace-mobile

  The Art of Catching Gumbles

  The Artist and the Dreamer

  Dump Development Scheme

  Hot and Strong

  Tinkingumble and the Dry Water

  Casting the Votes

  The Dark Forest

  Gumbleducks

  The Qwertyuiop

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Copyright

  RUNNING DOWN TO THE BEACH

  Bottersnikes are the laziest creatures, probably, in the whole world.

  They are too lazy to dig burrows, like rabbits, or to find hollow trees to live in as the small animals do, and would be horrified at the work of building nests, like birds. Bottersnikes find their homes readymade, in rubbish heaps. When they find a pile of tins, pots, pans and junk, they think it is lovely, and crawl in. And live there, sleeping mostly. Best of all they like the rubbish heaps along dusty roadsides in the lonely Australian bush, where they can sleep for weeks, undisturbed.

  Once, in a rubbish heap like this, two long black ears poked out of a watering can. The ears came first because they were twice as long as the head they belonged to. Between the ears appeared an ugly green face with slanted eyes, a nose like a cheese grater and a mean mouth with pointed teeth sticking out. The skin was wrinkly all over and little toadstools grew where the eyebrows should have been.

  This was the King of the Bottersnikes. He squeezed out of the watering can.

  The King’s ears turned bright red because he was angry — this always happens with Bottersnikes when they get angry — and the cause of his temper was a thistle growing through the bottom of his bed. But he was too lazy to pull it out and just stood there looking, with his ears growing redder. Near him he saw an old rusting car, propped against a gum tree. What a palace that would make for a Bottersnike King! ‘If someone would open the door,’ he thought, ‘I would get in.’

  So the King yelled at the top of his voice for help — and very loud that is; but the other Bottersnikes, all twenty or so of the King’s band, snored loudly from their beds in the rubbish to show they had not heard.

  This meant that the King would have to pull someone out of bed, kick him and twist his tail till he woke up, and make him open the car door, so that the King could get in. Bottersnikes go to no end of trouble to do things the easiest way. ‘There is no one, no one at all,’ the King growled, ‘who will help.’ His ears glowed in a royal rage that was quite terrible to see.

  As the King was yelling for help the Gumbles happened to be passing, which was just their bad luck. They were on their way down the hill to a little stream they knew of, called Earlyfruit Creek, where the water flowed into quiet pools and banks of sand made tiny beaches just right for Gumble paddling.

  ‘Hey, you!’ bawled the King to the Gumbles. ‘Come and open this door and help me in.’

  The Gumbles were a bit astonished, as all their friends in the bush were much politer than this, but being cheerful little creatures and always ready to lend a hand, like good Brownies, they said: ‘Well, all right, if it won’t take too long, because we’re in a hurry to get to the creek, you see.’

  ‘Don’t argue,’ the King said. ‘Just do as you’re told.’

  By climbing up each other’s backs the Gumbles managed to open the car door, and with a one-two-three all together shove they heaved the King into his new palace. Hearing the strange voices, the other Bottersnikes decided to wake up. They peered at these funny little creatures they’d not seen before and asked: ‘What are these?’

  ‘Useful,’ the King said, clambering on to the steering wheel. ‘That’s what they are. Grab ’em.’

  ‘Here, just a minute — you can’t do that,’ the Gumbles cried, all speaking at once, ‘We only stopped to lend a hand. We’re just running down to the beach. For a paddle in the cool water.’

  ‘Got you!’ shouted the Bottersnikes, and they grabbed those little Gumbles — this was quite easy, for though they are so lazy Bottersnikes can move faster than Gumbles when they have to because their legs are longer. And when they grabbed them they discovered a peculiar thing about Gumbles. They discovered that you can squeeze Gumbles to any shape you like without hurting them, and that if you press them very hard they flatten out like pancakes and cannot pop back to their proper shapes unless helped.

  ‘This,’ said the King, watching, ‘is more useful than ever.’

  The Bottersnikes blinked. They couldn’t see why it was useful at all — silly, squashy things, they thought.

  ‘Because,’ the King growled, ‘we can pop ’em into something and squash ’em down hard so’s they can’t get away, and when I want some work done they’ll be ready and waiting to do it.’

  Now the Bottersnikes began to get the idea. They would have servants for ever, to tidy up and keep them comfortable. ‘Hoo, hoo!’ they yelled. ‘What’ll we pop ’em into?’

  ‘Jam tins,’ roared the King. Another good idea! Naturally there were hundreds of them lying in the rubbish. ‘The proper thing is to shout “Got you!” and grab ’em, and pop ’em into jam tins.’

  ‘What a rotten thing to think of,’ cried the Gumbles. ‘When we only stopped to —’

  ‘Got you!’ shouted the Bottersnikes, and they grabbed the Gumbles and popped them into jam tins. And squashed them down hard, with horny fists. There were more than enough Gumbles for each Bottersnike to grab one. Some of the fattest, in fact, grabbed two.

  How they snuffled through their noses — which meant that they were laughing — how they rorted and snorted and hooed with glee at what they had done. ‘We done ourselves a good turn,’ the King announced. ‘We done a good day’s work.’

  Exhausted at the thought of this, they fell asleep at once, and the tinned Gumbles were left in the hot sun all afternoon, thinking of the cool creek where they had meant to paddle. Now, it seemed, they would never go there again.

  Towards evening some of the Bottersnikes woke up, disturbed by snores from the King’s palace — most royal ones, like trombones blaring. ‘All very well for ’im,’ the Bottersnikes thought, their ears going red, ‘but we ain’t got palaces to sleep in, and we ain’t comfy, and what’s to be done?’ Then they remembered the Gumbles. ‘Stop being lazy in them tins,’ they ordered, ‘and come and put our places comfy.’

  So the Gumbles were hauled out of the tins and put to work building bigger and better rubbish heaps for the Bottersnikes to crawl into; a nastier job for Gumbles would be impossible to find. ‘Harder, harder,’ the Bottersnikes bawled. ‘And don’t try and run away, ’cos we’re watching you!’

  But they did not see one little Gumble under the King’s car, where he was puzzling over a tin-opener he had found. This Gumble was the one who had tinks — every tink was a good idea — and as soon as he discovered how the tin-opener worked a real beauty came to him: tink! Clear as if you had tapped the edge of a glass with a spoon.

  Up jumped Tinkingumble with his bright idea and peered cautiously from behind a wheel. ‘Pssst! Bring me the jam tins one by one,’ he whispered to Happigumble and Merrigumble nearby. ‘Mind they don’t see you!’

  While the Bottersnikes were trying the new heaps to see if they were comfy, and squabbling over who should have the comfiest, they rolled the jam tins under the car where Tinkingumble cut the bottoms out of every one, working fast and secretly; then Happigumble and Merrigumble rolled them b
ack again taking care to keep the parts together so that they looked all right from the top. The job was done just in time.

  ‘It ain’t good,’ the Bottersnikes growled, ‘not a bit good, but it’ll have to do for tonight ’cos we’re tired, and you’ll have to work harder tomorrow.’ They shouted ‘Got you!’ and grabbed the Gumbles and popped them into the jam tins, and snuffled their noses about it because they knew they’d have servants tomorrow and forever. Then they went to sleep.

  When they were snoring safely Tinkingumble called ‘Now!’ and the Gumbles tried to stand up. The cut-out bottoms of the tins fell away nicely, just as planned, but they were still stuck in the round parts — absolutely wodged in.

  ‘How are we going to get away?’ said Happigumble. ‘My legs are so squashed up I can hardly move!’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Tinkingumble said unhappily. A tink came to the rescue as he spoke — only a small one, but quite clear. Following Tinkingumble’s, the jam tins blundered towards the road banging into each other as they went — it nearly made them giggly, and Gumbles are quite hopeless when they go giggly — and there they rocked themselves until the tins fell over on their sides, and the slope of the hill did the rest. The Gumbles ran down to the beach in their jam tins much, much faster than any Bottersnike could have chased them.

  An owl, who saw all the tins rolling down the hill in the moonlight, was so surprised that he flew straight into a moult, and declared he’d never seen such a sight in all his years of hooting.

  At the bottom of the hill the Gumbles shot off the road into the bush, where a friendly bandicoot poked them out of the tins with his long nose. They put the jam tins in a bin marked Please Be Tidy and spent the rest of the night paddling at their favourite beach, for Gumbles are too busy having fun to waste time sleeping and there is no one to tell them when to go to bed.

  WILLIGUMBLE — LATE AS USUAL

  ‘We’ll never let ourselves get caught by those creatures again,’ the Gumbles said, next morning. ‘Never, never, never, never!’

  ‘We’ll go away where they’ll never find us,’ Happigumble said. ‘One more paddle first, though.’

  Someone suddenly cried, as they were paddling: ‘Where’s Willigumble? He’s not here!’

  They called for him but there was no answer, and searched up and down the creek-bank but there was no sign; and after much anxious hunting they sat down and looked at each other glumly. No one said a word, but in each Gumblehead was the dreadful thought: Willigumble must have been left behind with the Bottersnikes. Little Willi, on his own. He was the smallest Gumble of them all.

  Happigumble jumped up. ‘We’ll have to go and rescue him,’ he said. ‘Somehow.’

  They started up the hill towards the rubbish heaps. Somehow they would get him back.

  They had not gone far before a coloured thing came hurtling down the hill towards them. Faster and faster it came, off the road it bounced, sending them scattering, and lodged against a bush. It was an asparagus tin, with something inside that looked like a lump of dough — but when they pulled it out and squeezed it into shape, it was Willigumble. He was giggling all over.

  ‘Fatso of a Bottersnike couldn’t read,’ Willigumble gurgled. ‘Put me in the wrong tin!’

  ‘Silly old Willi, late as usual,’ the Gumbles joked. But there was great relief.

  ‘The Bottersnikes did kick up a rumpus when they found you’d all gone,’ Willigumble told them. ‘They turned the rubbish heaps upside down and all they found was the bottom of the jam tins; and then Owl told them about the tins rolling down the hill in the moonlight — disgusting, he called it, ’cos it scared the game — and the Bottersnikes told Owl not to be an idiot, it couldn’t happen, they said, and Owl told the Bottersnikes it could and did, and there was a fearful argument; and then the Bottersnikes said: “We’ll try it then, just to show what a fool Owl is,” and they took my tin across to the road and gave it a push — and here I am!’

  ‘And there are the Bottersnikes coming after us,’ cried Happigumble, ‘and O, grasshoppers, look at their ears! What are we going to do? Tinkingumble, have a tink quickly!’

  Two or three of them squeezed Tinkingumble till he was nearly all head, because he had his best tinks that way; and meanwhile the Bottersnikes were waddling down the hill shouting furiously and blaming Owl for letting their last Gumble get away. Their ears were brilliant. In their horny hands they carried new jam tins.

  The tink came in a moment, clear as a cricket’s chirrup, and the Gumbles crowded round. ‘What is it, Tinkingumble? What’s the tink?’

  ‘We must cross the creek,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, yes, but how? It’s too deep!’ For Gumbles, though they love to splash in shallow water, cannot swim.

  ‘In Willigumble’s tin, of course,’ he said. So they took Willigumble’s asparagus tin, the only one that didn’t have its bottom cut out, and using gum leaves as oars they paddled over in loads of four or five, with one oarsman bringing the tin back for the next trip.

  The Bottersnikes arrived at the sandy beach just as the last tinful rowed away — and there they stopped. Bottersnikes hate water. If they get wet, they shrink, and have to be hung up to dry. So they stood on the bank and raged. Safe on the other side the Gumbles pulled rude faces, cheekily waved goodbye and scuttled into the bush.

  The long ears glowed red hot with fury as the Bottersnikes howled and growled on the creek-bank, until at last the King roared ‘Snonk!’ and they became quieter.

  The King said: ‘We will make a Gumbletrap.’

  ‘A trap to catch Gumbles in — oh, clever, clever!’ the Bottersnikes shouted. But what did a Gumbletrap look like? The King knew, perhaps, but he wouldn’t tell them, he just stood there tickling his stomach with the end of his tail.

  A Bottersnike called Glob spoke up. ‘Suppose there was a hole in the ground and we covered it with branches so’s they couldn’t see it, then when they walked over it they’d all fall in.’

  The King thought about this for two minutes and said: ‘Just what I was going to say myself. Dig the hole.’

  This looked too much like work, so Glob said, a bit nervously: ‘Why don’t we get Smiggles to dream one?’

  For very lazy people dreaming can be a way of getting things done, and this Bottersnike named Smiggles was useful sometimes because whatever he dreamed of became real — until he went to sleep again, then his first dream vanished to make room for his next. The trouble was that no one knew whether Smiggles would dream what he was told to dream about or something quite different.

  ‘Go to sleep, Smiggles,’ the King ordered, ‘and dream a hole. A big one.’

  Smiggles went to sleep with no difficulty at all, and while they waited for the dream to come along the others pottered about looking for a bit of rubbish to make them feel at home. Presently two of these pottering Bottersnikes found an old weedy hole near the road that someone had dug ages ago, but they didn’t know this, they said: ‘Idiot, he’s dreamed it in the wrong place,’ and went and told the King.

  ‘Move it,’ the King said. ‘Put it down by the creek.’

  Four Bottersnikes picked the hole up by the corners and staggered with it to the creek-bank, where they laid twigs and leaves over it so that it couldn’t be seen from the top. Also they threw a dead branch across the creek to make a bridge, and the hole was just by the end of the bridge so that as the Gumbles stepped off they would be sure to fall in.

  ‘A very cunning Gumbletrap,’ they boasted — and then Smiggles woke up. ‘Not a bad hole, Smig,’ they told him, ‘except it was in the wrong place.’

  ‘But I didn’t dream a hole,’ said Smiggles, puzzled. ‘I dreamed a radiogram.’ Which now stood awkwardly in the bush — an expensive model, with lots of knobs and polished wood, though under the circumstances, not much use.

  The King looked at Smiggles’ dreamwork and snorted, then at the cunning Gumbletrap, but was not pleased with that either. ‘The Gumbles are too light,’ he growled. ‘The
y’ll walk over the twigs without falling in. The idiot what thought of this Gumbletrap ought to have his head sat on.’

  Glob hurriedly suggested that they should all get into the hole — for they had to hide somewhere — and pull the Gumbles down as they came across. The Bottersnikes liked the idea of this. They squeezed in the hole together, covered up again with leaves and twigs, snuffled their noses loudly and had a bit of a sleep while they waited.

  All this time the Gumbles had been playing with some frogs farther down the creek. When the sun began to get hot they came back for another paddle at their favourite beach — all except Willigumble, who had stopped to tell some young tadpoles that they couldn’t possibly play leapfrog until they had grown legs. The Gumbles were ever so cautious. On the far bank they stopped, looked and listened, wary for the merest whiff of danger; but no Bottersnikes could be seen; so they trotted over the bridge … and stepped carefully over the Gumbletrap, which failed to catch a single Gumble.

  Gumbles are not so silly as to go crashing into covered holes — unless they go giggly, then they are silly enough for anything.

  ‘Funny about that hole covered with leaves. I’m sure it wasn’t there before,’ Happigumble remarked, and because it is difficult not to look into a hole, to see how deep it is, they moved the leaves and peeped in.

  It was a most extraordinary sight. Water from the creek had seeped into the hole while the Bottersnikes were dozing, and the great, fat creatures who had squeezed to get in had shrunk to the merest of red-eared blobs — no bigger than Gumbles, in fact; and they were howling and clamouring to be let out, but naturally their voices had shrunk too.

  The Gumbles went quite hopeless with giggling, at the sight.

  ‘Get us out of here!’ the Bottersnikes yelled in their ridiculous voices. ‘Can’t you see we’re drowning?’

  Shakily, the Gumbles lowered branches, and helped them out. Face to face with the shrunk ’snikes they burst into giggles all over again. ‘You don’t look nearly as bad this size,’ they sniggered. ‘It’s a very good size to be, don’t you think?’