The Wombles Go round the World by Elisabeth Beresford

Author:Elisabeth Beresford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

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Tomsk climbed out of the trolley, fell flat on his face, got up and began to gather armfuls of snow. He’d always liked the cold weather ever since he had taught himself to ski, and after a few minutes he began to enjoy himself as he patted the snow into shape.

‘Going to make a shelter, going to make a burrow,’ Tomsk sang in his rumbling voice. ‘Come on, Wellington, lend us a paw.’

But Wellington just sat in the trolley, staring at the ice on the controls and listening to the shrill cry of the wind. He felt as if he couldn’t move – in fact, as if he’d never move again, but would just sit here for ever and ever, staring at nothing but the whiteness of the snow. He might even drift off to sleep in spite of being so cold. His head nodded forward and his eyes blinked shut and he was more than three parts asleep when Tomsk’s voice rumbled in his ear, ‘Come on, nearly there. We’ve got a lovely burrow all of our own. Have a look.’

And Wellington was lifted by the scruff of his neck out of the trolley. Tomsk shook him gently, till Wellington’s eyes blinked open a couple of times and then widened in real astonishment, for there, on the side of the icy mountain and in the middle of nowhere, was a small snow burrow. It was even furnished with their sleeping bags and belongings, and altogether it looked quite homely and even warm and welcoming.

‘Oh,’ said Wellington. ‘I s-s-say. S-s-sorry. Oh, Tomsk.’

‘Not bad, is it,’ agreed Tomsk. ‘Home from home. Let’s have a grass bread sandwich and a cupful of acorn juice. I rather like it here, you know. Quiet.’

They munched and drank in silence, hardly aware of the shrill wind outside because it was remarkably cosy in their snow burrow.

‘G’night,’ said Tomsk, zipping himself into his sleeping bag. ‘Things’ll look better in the morning, you know.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Wellington, ‘and Tomsk, I’m sorry about . . . that is . . . I should have helped . . . oh dear . . .’

‘Zzzzz,’ was the answer.

‘Yes,’ said Wellington and, remarkably, in the middle of nowhere, he too was going ‘zzzzz’ within a matter of seconds.

Indeed, it seemed only seconds later that both of them were suddenly awakened by the sound of deep, rumbling voices.

‘Whassat?’ said Wellington and Tomsk together.

The voices stopped and there was absolute silence apart from the wind. Wellington and Tomsk sat up, stretched, yawned and looked at each other and then at the front door of their snow burrow.

‘Better have a look,’ whispered Tomsk. ‘You stay there.’

Tomsk wriggled out of his sleeping bag and crawled on all fours out of the snow burrow. Then he straightened up and looked around, blinking. It was broad daylight now and, for a moment or two, he couldn’t see anything at all because the snow was absolutely blinding white and it was like trying to look directly at the sun. So Tomsk put his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed them and tried again.

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