Read Online The Wombles to the Rescue by Elisabeth Beresford - Free Book Online Page B

breath for a long time, but even so . . .’
    â€˜That’s the least of my problems, that is,’ replied Cousin Botany. ‘First off I never did think any of you’d take my idea serious, which is why I did keep so quiet about it, see?’
    Everybody nodded and Cousin Botany went on, ‘Then there was all the trouble of finding plants as we could eat and enjoy as would let themselves be grown underwater. Terrible times I had there, and those dratted Human Beings would keep throwing rubbish into the water. Poisonous stuff some of it too. Although I will say,’ Botany added grudgingly, ‘they’re not quite as bad as they used to be. Then there was the ducks. I had to grow plants as they wouldn’t fancy, otherwise they’d have had the lot. Greedy birds.’
    â€˜And how far have you got now?’ asked Tobermory.
    â€˜Well, the food’s there all right, but ’tis the harvesting, like, as young Wellington says. Planting out ain’t so simple, neither.’
    The others, who had all started to perk up, now felt not quite so optimistic. If the food was going to be so difficult to grow, was it going to be the answer to their problems after all?
    â€˜What about my oil rig?’ said Wellington, making his dreadful thinking face. ‘Couldn’t we use that?’
    â€˜For harvesting, yes. But what about the planting out, then?’
    Tobermory, Cousin Botany and Wellington all began to think and to draw little diagrams on bits of paper while they talked between themselves. They forgot all about Tomsk who hadn’t really followed a great deal of what had happened anyway. He had been hoping to get in a quick round of golf if the good (that is, cold, pouring wet) weather held up. Of course, if it rained too much it might have a bad effect on the course and he would have to add a bit more power to his drives with all that water lying about. Now if only the water could be drained away it would mean he could play golf in a real old downpour.
    Tomsk scratched the last of the mud off his fur, turned some ideas over in his head slowly and then, being a Womble of few words, said simply, ‘Do your underwater plants somewhere else.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, where? In puddles?’ said Wellington, who was sorry that his beautiful oil rig wasn’t going to be any use after all. Tobermory had just gently but firmly explained that a rig had to go down thousands of feet to strike oil, and that nine times out of ten they didn’t find it anyway.
    â€˜Under the Common,’ said Tomsk, one eye on the clock.
    â€˜In the burrow ?’
    â€˜Sort of. In tanks. Plenty of water about when it rains. Too much.’
    â€˜Oh, Tomsk, don’t be . . .’ Wellington began crossly when Cousin Botany suddenly threw his hat into the air and actually lifted the skirt of his apron and danced a few steps.
    â€˜â€™Tis it, ’tis it, you great gormless Womble,’ he said, while the others stared at him. ‘I couldn’t see the tanks for the pond, so I couldn’t.’
    â€˜Tanks, rainwater, drainage . . .’ Tobermory wrote rapidly on his list which had now reached No. 39. ‘Pipes. Inlets. Outlets. Lighting. A lot of help will be needed to find all the necessary equipment. All paws to the Underwater Plough! That’ll keep ’em busy and stop ’em fighting. Hurrah!’ And Tobermory put the pencil back behind his ear and really smiled properly for the first time since Great Uncle Bulgaria had gone to America.
    â€˜You don’t really think it’d work, do you?’ asked Wellington, feeling thoroughly put out now as he had never before considered Tomsk to be a Womble of Ideas.
    â€˜It’ll have to,’ said Tobermory. ‘Now there’s a lot to be done. First off . . . yes, yes, Tomsk, what is it? Stop waving your great paw about like that.’
    â€˜Can I go now, please,’ said Tomsk. ‘I mean if we’re