CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Some of the Characters
1 Sleepy Sam
2 The Mystery Tour
3 Lonely Tower
4 Swimming Tea
5 Discoveries in Lonely Tower
6 They Visit the Hoof-and-Claw-Trimming Clinic
7 Linseed’s Store Opened
8 The Tunnel is Started
9 Lionease Grange
10 Slow Progress with the Tunnel
11 Captain Walrus’s Home
12 Monkey-and-Engine-Room Wood
13 The Great Picture Outrage
14 Wizard Blenkinsop’s Advice
15 Treacle Trouble
16 More Treacle Trouble
17 The Distribution Begins
18 Dinner and Danger
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Also by J.P. Martin
Copyright
For J.P. Martin’s first
great-grandchild
HAL
UNCLE AND THE TREACLE TROUBLE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 19748 4
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Penguin Random House Company
This ebook edition published 2015
Copyright © J.P. Martin, 1967
Illustrations © Quentin Blake, 1967
First Published in Great Britain
Jonathan Cape 9780224612272 1967
The right of J.P. Martin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
The Old Monkey
The One-Armed Badger
Goodman
Will Shudder
Cloutman
Gubbins
Cowgill
Alonzo S. Whitebeard
The King of the Badgers
Butterskin Mute
A.B. Fox
Waldovenison Smeare
Thomas Woeband
Leominster
Ira Smoothy
Jimmy Linseed
Dr Lyre
Sleepy Sam
The Respectable Horses
Captain Walrus
Wizard Blenkinsop
Auntie
Miss Wace
Beaver Hateman
Nailrod Hateman
Filljug Hateman
Sigismund Hateman
Flabskin
Hootman
Hitmouse
Jellytussle
The Wooden-Legged Donkey
The Giddings
Thomas and Cora Bear
Brashbag
Lady Lionease
Wobs and Gibson
The Singers and the Soapies
Trueback
The Crookball People
AFTER THE FAILURE of the dastardly gas attack by the Badfort crowd on Uncle and his followers, they felt, though triumphant, a little tired. They decided to spend a day or two quietly.
It was a bright morning and Uncle was standing in the moat blowing up water through his trunk between himself and the sun.
“Look, my friends, rainbows!” he called. “Even Badfort looks tolerable through a rainbow!”
That is one of the good things about being an elephant. You can make fountains and rainbows wherever there is water and sunshine. The moat which surrounds Uncle’s vast castle is a particularly good place for doing this. It is fed by seven clear streams, and here and there water foams and leaps into it from the mouths of stone gargoyles. This water comes from lakes which, strange to say, are on top of some of the towers that are grouped together to form the castle.
When Uncle spoke everybody stopped swimming and splashing to look at him. There is nothing Uncle’s followers like better than the sight of their leader enjoying himself.
But was he enjoying himself?
Certainly Beaver Hateman’s hideous home looked less ugly through a rainbow, but even a rainbow could not disguise the fact that it looked deserted; and whenever Badfort looks deserted it means that the inhabitants are plotting something. No stir of life. No distant shrieks or sounds of glass being smashed. Usually when Uncle bathes in the moat some disreputable person from Badfort comes to sit on the bank and jeer. Nobody was there this morning and Uncle felt increasingly uneasy.
“No doubt those ruffians are licking their wounds,” he said to the Old Monkey. “It is too early for them to have thought out any new plot, but you might just climb to the top of the drawbridge and see what they’re up to.”
“Oh, yes, sir! Can I borrow your field-glasses?”
“They are in the pocket of my dressing-gown on the bank there.”
Uncle finds a purple dressing-gown both dignified and convenient for everyday wear. It falls into majestic folds, and is easy to slip off when he wants to swim.
The Old Monkey jumped out of the water, fetched the glasses, and in no time his thin legs were twinkling up the nearest support of the wooden drawbridge.
Uncle lay back in the water for a minute or two. On his left was the front of Homeward, the part of the castle where he lives with the Old Monkey, the One-Armed Badger, Goodman the cat, Will Shudder the librarian, and two strong guardians, Cloutman and Gubbins. He could also see the nearest of the skyscraper towers, all of different colours and joined by water-chutes and railways. Other towers stand farther back, mysteriously alone, and with no water-chutes or railways. This book is about one of these strange towers and what Uncle found in it.
To his right, as he lay there, Uncle could just see the ragged roof and crooked chimneys of Badfort. He could not see the rest of the view, but he knew that beyond Badfort lay the wide stretch of Gaby’s Marsh, across which wanders the Badgertown Railway, past Lost Clinkers, the disused gas works, where the gasometer looks like a grey balloon about to collapse, and past Mother Jones’s Siding to Badgertown itself. A shabby huddle of a place Badgertown, with Cheapman’s Store and the tumbledown palace of the King of the Badgers the only buildings of any size in it. Then beyond Badgertown were deep woods, and beyond those the silver streak of the sea.
As soon as Uncle saw the Old Monkey begin to swing down from cross-bar to cross-bar back to the ground he raised himself out of the water and went to meet him.
“Well?” he asked.
“They’re all there, sir.” The Old Monkey sounded worried. “They’re outside the front entrance to Badfort. I could see Beaver Hateman, Nailrod, Filljug, Sigismund, the Wooden-Legged Donkey, Hitmouse and Jellytussle. I couldn’t be certain, but I think even Hootman was wavering about!”
“Hootman!” Uncle was startled. “If you are correct and Hootman is there we can expect trouble very shortly.”
Hootman is the master-spirit behind the Badfort crowd. Nobody knows where he lives, for he is a sort of ghost and comes and goes like a shadow. One thing is certain, whenever Uncle has a really foul plot to contend with it is Hootman who originally thought of it.
“Well, my friend,” said Uncle, “what else did you see?”
The Old Monkey twisted his paws together unhappily.
“They’re playing a sort of game, sir.”
“What sort of game?”
“A . . . a . . . throwing game.”
“Proceed—”
Uncle doesn’t often get impatient with the Old Monkey, but he almost did now.
“They’ve fixed up a big frame with some black cloth stretched over it,” said the Old Monkey, at last. “They are throwing Black Tom bottles at it!”
“It sounds a mild enough game for them. Was there anything else?”
“There’s a sort of drawing on the black cloth, sir.”
“A drawing of what?” trumpeted Uncle, his patience finally giving way.
“An elephant, sir!” whispered the Old Monkey.
“An elephant, you say!” Uncle breathed out heavily. “Well, never mind, my friend. We must brush such insults off as if they were nothing but spider-webs!”
Goodman, who is very good at finding things out, now came scampering up to Uncle.
“Oh, no, sir,” he said, “I don’t think we ought to brush this off like a spider-web. I think it’s important! It’s a warning!”
“Goodman,” said Uncle, “be calm, and explain what you mean.”
Goodman pointed a paw at the stretch of wall behind them.
“What about the great mural? Beaver Hateman means to destroy it. They’re making a game of it now, but that’s what they’re planning to do!”
Uncle and his friends looked away from the sparkling waters of the moat to the wall which stretched emptily above their heads. A great mural, showing the life and good works of Uncle, was soon to be painted here. It had been commissioned by the King of the Badgers after the triumph at Crack House. Waldovenison Smeare, the well-known artist, was to start work in a few days.
“Goodman is right, sir,” gasped the Old Monkey. “They mean to destroy the mural.”
“I fear so,” said Uncle, gravely.
“We must guard it night and day!” said Goodman.
“I agree that some sort of plan must be made,” said Uncle. “But don’t let that villain Beaver Hateman spoil our time of rest and refreshment. The picture isn’t painted yet, but, as you say, Goodman, we have been warned! That makes us strong. What about a game of spigots before lunch? I’ll be busy in the afternoon, for Cowgill is coming to talk about putting up the scaffolding for the mural.”
Spigots is a game in which wooden balls are thrown into boxes, and Uncle is very good at it. They were in the middle of a splendid game when the Old Monkey came to Uncle in a state of excitement.
“Please, sir, there’s a man asleep in a wheelbarrow outside our front door.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle.
“Come and see, sir. He’s very fat and looks very funny!”
Everybody went along to the front door of Homeward, and there, just as the Old Monkey had said, was a vast wheelbarrow, painted red, and in it, lying curled up, was a fat man. He was so fat that his body seemed likely to burst the sides of the barrow. He was snoring gently. A card was pinned to his cap on which were the words SLEEPY SAM. Another card was fastened to his chest:
SLEEPY SAM
GENERAL AGENT
DAY AND NIGHT WATCHING
DON’T WAKE ME
Will discuss terms when
I wake up
DON’T WAKE ME
“A cool customer,” said Uncle. “A nice way to ask for work, I must say. In any case I can’t be bothered with him before lunch.”
“If he wakes I’ll say you’re not to be disturbed, sir,” said the Old Monkey, smiling.
“That’s right, pay him back in his own coin,” was Uncle’s reply.
Cowgill, Uncle’s engineer, who has an engineering shop on the ground floor of one of the towers nearest to Homeward, soon arrived and inspected the wall intended for the painting. He said he had a number of bird apprentices who were very good at flying side by side with light steel bars held in their beaks and that with their help he could put the scaffolding up in no time.
“Mind you,” he said, “it’s going to be a big picture, one hundred feet by thirty. That’s a big picture, that is!”
“It has to be seen from a distance,” said Uncle.
“You know who’s going to have the best view of it, don’t you?” said Cowgill, nodding towards Badfort.
“That had occurred to me,” said Uncle. “Grateful as I am to my friend the King of the Badgers for his princely gift, I can’t help feeling it’s going to be a big responsibility.”
“They’ll ruin it if they can!” said Cowgill.
As it was such a fine day they were having lunch outside by the moat. Sleepy Sam was still asleep in his wheelbarrow outside the front door.
“Here’s Biter, sir,” said the Old Monkey suddenly. “Oughtn’t we to shoo him off? He’s coming down near the wheelbarrow, and the fat man is still asleep.”
“Wait!” whispered Uncle.
Biter is a huge, ill-tempered raven, well known for making savage attacks on almost anybody. As they watched he hopped closer and closer to Sleepy Sam’s fat dangling hand.
Sam went on snoring, but, just as the bad-tempered bird stretched his neck to bite him, the big fingers suddenly closed on the sharp beak and held it fast – so fast that Biter could neither croak nor breathe. He made a shuffling, flapping struggle to get away, but it was no good. He began to go limp, and the fat hand made an idle circular movement and tossed him into the moat. The cool water at once revived him, and after some commotion he flew off, casting a glare of rage and fear at the fat snoring figure in the wheelbarrow.
“That was very smartly done,” said Uncle, greatly impressed.
As he spoke the huge figure in the barrow stirred, and the fat hand came up and turned over the card, which now read:
AWAKE AND OPEN TO OFFERS
“I’ll have a word with him,” said Uncle.
As Uncle came towards him Sleepy Sam bundled out of the wheelbarrow and made a sort of bow.
“Good morning, sir. Are you the owner of this castle?”
“I am,” said Uncle, “and I gather you are asking for employment.”
“Yes,” said Sleepy Sam, “as watchman. No time off, no wages, but two loaves of bread per day and two quarts of Koolvat. I sleep in my barrow.”
“Your terms are most unusual,” said Uncle.
“They suit me,” said Sleepy Sam.
Uncle frowned.
“I conclude you have given the matter full thought. I don’t want to employ you and then have you asking for a large salary.”
“I don’t want money. I’m rich. Look at these gold buttons. If I want to buy anything I cut off a button and sell it. They’re not easy to steal.”
He held out the front of his enormous coat. It was decorated with two close-set rows of buttons the size of half-crowns and of a dull yellow colour.
“Not at all easy,” agreed Uncle, “if the way you dealt with the bird Biter is anything to go by. You happen to have turned up when I am particularly in need of a watchman, and I think you may well be the man I want. My staff and myself have a good deal on hand, and can’t spend all our time watching the large picture which is shortly to be painted on that stretch of wall there. But it will need watching, for we have reason to believe some people will try to damage it.”
“If you mean that lot,” said Sleepy Sam, waving a hand towards Badfort, “you couldn’t do better than have me. I specialize in watching against Hateman. I know all his tricks.”
“A big claim,” said Uncle, “but on the evidence of my own eyes I feel inclined to try you. Start at once, and as the day is more than half over you’d better have your wages now.”
The Old Monkey brought Sleepy Sam two large loaves and two quarts of Koolvat. They all watched as he sat in the barrow and ate the loaves, sawing them into thick slices and stuffing each slice whole into his mouth. After he had emptied the cans of Koolvat he got out of the barrow again and waved at Uncle.
“Bye-bye,” he said, and started to trundle the barrow over the drawbridge.
“Strange character,” murmured Uncle, “but he might well be the person we want.”
“You never know,” said Cowgill, without much confidence.
Next morning Heffo, a strong young mustang who was Uncle’s postman, had deposited the usual barrel of letters in Uncle’s living-room, and Goodman and the Old Monkey were helping Uncle to deal with his vast correspondence. Uncle owns so much property, and has so many people working for him, that every post brings cheques for rent or for crops of maize and bananas, or else complaints from tenants, most of whom he has never seen. He always hates being disturbed when he is dealing with the post, so he frowned heavily when the light from the window was blocked by a large rough figure which had climbed up on the window-sill.
It was Beaver Hateman, who in the clear light of early morning was a shocking sight. He was wearing a tattered sack suit, and an old top hat above hair which looked like a bundle of badly stacked straw. He carried a stone club under one arm.
“Hi, Unc!” he shouted.
Uncle took off his glasses.
“Will you kindly address me properly,” he said.
“Oh, shut up!” said Hateman. “You’re not getting a lot of bowing and scraping from me! I’ve come to complain about that great fat friend of yours who was trespassing on my land last night!”
“I have no fat friend,” said Uncle, with dignity.
“You’re lying now, as usual!”
“I have a new employee called Sleepy Sam who might be described as somewhat corpulent!”
“Why can’t you talk straight!” snarled Beaver Hateman. “He’s fat, and he’s savage. There was Hitmouse, a harmless little fellow if ever I saw one, going home to his little hut outside Badfort when he stumbled over this great snoring bounder in a wheelbarrow. Before he knew it he was stabbed by a skewer! He’s very ill this morning with a severe skewer wound in the arm!”
The dwarf Hitmouse is about the most vicious of Beaver Hateman’s friends. He is the chief reporter on the Badfort News, and always walks about loaded with skewers, intending to stick them into as many people as possible. His most precious possession is a hating book in which he writes down lies about people.
“I gather that Hitmouse has been wounded by one of his own skewers for once,” said Uncle. “A most salutary lesson!”
“A most salutary lesson!” Hateman mimicked Uncle in a mincing voice. “Let me tell you I’ve had enough of your bullying! You pay for your dirty work to be done for you! Well, I’m not a coward! I’m here to make you suffer for that attack on a poor innocent little dwarf!”
Brandishing his stone club, Hateman pushed the window open and was about to jump down into the room. The Old Monkey gave a gasp of fright at this threat to his master, but a large fat hand moved idly into view from below the window-sill and grasping the ragged hem of Hateman’s sack suit gave it a sharp tug. The menacing figure was at once jerked back out of sight. A lot of babbling and snarling came from outside. A most revolting noise.
But by the time Uncle, the Old Monkey and Goodman had reached the window, Sleepy Sam seemed to be asleep again in his barrow, and Hateman, kicking up dust and stones, and still yelling with rage, was well on his way back to Badfort.
“Sleepy Sam seems to have begun watching Hateman and his friends already,” said Uncle. “I think he’s going to be an asset.”
The Old Monkey and Goodman agreed.
NEXT DAY COWGILL completed the scaffolding, and Waldovenison Smeare appeared with a large laundry basket of brushes and paints. Sleepy Sam was already in position in front of the wall on which the great painting was to be done.
“I hope you won’t mind having this man Sleepy Sam as a guard,” said Uncle to Smeare. “There have been rumours that some people may try to damage the picture.”
“Oh, I don’t mind Sam in the least,” said Smeare. “He appears to be asleep most of the time, which means he isn’t yapping and criticizing. You’ve no idea how rude people are to you when you’re painting.”
In every way the arrangement appeared to be a good one. At twelve o’clock each day Sam woke up, and at once the Old Monkey arrived with the two loaves and two quarts of Koolvat. This meal took about five minutes and then Sam had his daily exercise. He always turned a long series of somersaults along the edge of the moat. For ten minutes he whirled away like a catherine wheel, and then at once got back into his barrow again and went to sleep.
Of course, as soon as the mural was started a lot of people came strolling up to see it, but they were usually more interested in Sam than in Waldovenison Smeare. So the artist was able to go on with his great work undisturbed.
As things were quiet Uncle was pleased when one of the Respectable Horses rang up and suggested a ride. The sisters, Anna, Ann and Annette Crunch are all good friends of Uncle’s, and the open carriage, which they pull themselves, is very roomy – even for Uncle.
“Good morning,” said Miss Anna’s slow gentle voice. “You’ve had so many exertions lately that my sisters and I feel you need a break. We suggest that you, the Old Monkey and the dear One-Armed Badger might like a mystery tour.”
“Indeed yes,” said Uncle. “An afternoon ride, in this fine weather and in your pleasant company, would be a mental relief.”
“Right,” said Miss Anna. “We’ll be at Homeward soon after two. Would you kindly include Mr Cloutman in the party? He’s so strong, and capable of dealing with any little awkward event that might occur.”
Cloutman and Gubbins are indeed strong, and can deal with almost any rough character. The One-Armed Badger simply loves carrying parcels and is never so happy as when invisible under a tower of packages. He has to go on most excursions as he gets so upset if he’s left behind.
As usual the Respectable Horses, in their shining black coats and with their hooves well polished, were a most impressive sight; and Uncle and his party got into the carriage feeling sure that an interesting afternoon lay ahead.
“As it’s a mystery tour we can’t, of course, tell you where we are going,” said Miss Anna. “All I can say is that it will get more and more interesting as we go on. It’s rather sordid at the beginning, I’m afraid.”
It was indeed. The route lay behind Badfort, and that detestable place looked even worse, if possible, from the back. Horrible rags flapped at the windows, and on a wretched peeling wall was painted the notice ‘Stealing Taught Here’. Also there was a very shabby cinema with a buckled pig-skin roof and a notice over the door: ‘You only pay when you leave’. As they swept majestically past, a young bullock was just coming out of this miserable place. A hand shot out from the ticket office, seized his purse and pushed him into a puddle.
“I am staggered,” said Uncle, “at the credulity of these creatures. Surely everybody knows by now that nothing but harm can come from visiting any part of Badfort!”
Badfort was soon only a shadow on the horizon and they were travelling through a hilly countryside that was quite new to Uncle.
After a time they came to a small monument in carved brown stone which showed the figure of a horse. Underneath was the inscription:
KIND CUTHBERT
This stone commemorates the good deeds of a simple horse. Although his paddock was less than an acre he contrived to give grazing to wayfarers. Sometimes as many as four friends shared his stable, and he never refused rides to children who asked politely. This statue is erected by three friends who prefer to remain unknown.
“Well, ladies, this is most impressive,” said Uncle. He looked shrewdly at the three horses, who had a sort of smiling look, even if, being horses, they couldn’t smile properly. “I think I know,” he added, “who the three friends are. May I ask if you erected this touching monument?”
Miss Anna said quietly, “We would rather not say.”
Uncle was sure he was right, and his respect for the horses increased.
Soon they came to a very curious hill. It seemed to be smoking at the top, and at the same time a heavy shower of snow was falling into a crater.
“Oh, sir,” cried the Old Monkey, “this must be the snowstorm volcano! We’ve often heard of it!”
“You’re right,” said Uncle. “I say, this is most uncommon. I can’t understand it. There is no snow here, but look at all the snow falling into the crater – and see how fast it is being whirled round.”
“As if it was going through a fan!” said the Old Monkey. “Isn’t it lovely, sir!”
“Mark my words,” said Uncle, “there’ll be a fine blow-up soon. You watch!”
Uncle was right. Soon there was a heavy rumbling, and the next moment flames, cinders and lava came hurtling out of the crater and were tossed into the air. Everybody gasped. It was a wonderful sight. The Respectable Horses, although they had seen an eruption a number of times before, had never seen such a big one.
“Most gratifying,” said Uncle.
After waiting for the volcano to erupt again, which it showed no sign of doing, they drove over a grassy plain to a low-lying range of hills. It wasn’t long before they came to Ezra Lake. The lake was perfectly round and the water was of a pale blue, shot through by a vivid red.
It was difficult to see where the red came from, for the water seemed all blue at times, and then parts of it turned to a deep crimson, or a pale pink. Swimming in the lake were lots of silver fish, but they changed colour with the water, and were sometimes pink and sometimes pale blue. On the whole the water was calm, but every now and then a wave swept round and round the lake. As it surged gently past it turned red and then blue, and scores of silver fishes were to be seen flashing in its wake.
“Now this,” said Miss Anna, who did all the talking for the sisters, “is where we have chosen to have tea.”
“I congratulate you on your choice, ladies,” said Uncle.
The One-Armed Badger, of course, helped with the setting out of the feast. As usual, he had brought a good stock of the substantial provisions Uncle loves, but the Respectable Horses served the tea.