When flowers do bloom about,
We merrily go and sing ho ho,
Whortleberries come out.
Whortleberry, blaeberry, bilberry, too,
They taste so good to me, my friend,
As they must do to you,
And yet I say to you now,
Oh what is in a name,
For whortle bil or blae sir,
The berry’s all the same.
We range the forest far, for,
There’s nobeast will deny,
Nought is half so good, ho ho,
As a whortleberry pie.
Bil whortle blae, blae whortle bil,
All around the woodlands,
Field or valley or hill,
Get ready good old cook, marm,
Stoke up your oven’s fire,
A whortleberry pie this eve,
Is my dear heart’s desire!
Apodemus rose and stretched lazily. We’d best go down and open the gate if we want any pie for supper. Cmon, I’ll race you!
Malbun Crimp’s huge middle shook with laughter. Are you talking to me or that snail just by your footpaw? Race me indeed, we’ll soon need a hoist to get us up and down the wallstairs!
The Abbot gazed ruefully at his considerable stomach. Oh, for the days when we were Dibbuns.
The two old friends linked paws and shuffled off down the broad, red sandstone wallsteps, chunnering away to one another.
I’ll wager that snail would’ve beaten you easily.
Aye, you’re right, Mai, we’re built for comfort, not speed.
Right, and we’ve got the dignity of our positions to consider. Wouldn’t look right, a Father Abbot and a Healer Recorder, charging about like two frantic frogs.
Wandering between vegetable patches and around through the orchard, they came out onto the front lawns. Late daffodils, blue milkwort, buttercup and pink speedwell bordered the soft green grass. Behind them, as they made their way down the gravelled path to the main gate, Redwall Abbey reared high in dusty rose-hued splendour. Arches, buttresses, bell tower, carved gables and long stained-glass windows sat square in the centre of Abbey grounds and stout outer walls. Apodemus stopped a moment, turning to cast a fond eye over the ancient structure, then gripped his friend’s paw a little firmer and sighed. I love our Abbey, Mai. Sometimes I get up early just to look at it in dawn’s light. There’s no place like it, is there?
Malbun patted his paw fondly. No place at all, Ap. We’re lucky to be living here, very lucky!
Between them the two mice lifted the wooden gatelock bar amid ribald calls outside from the Redwallers.
Open up or we’ll scoff all these berries!
Quick, afore we starve t’death!
Hurr you’m never starven t’death with ee gurt stum-mick loike that on ee, zurr!
Huh, take a look at y’self, ole fatty chops!
The huge oaken doors swung open. Apodemus and Malbun jumped smartly aside as the Abbey creatures poured in: squirrels, mice, moles, hedgehogs, some shrews, three otters, even a large old female hare.
All of them carried some form of basket, pail or trug, laden with ripe whortleberries. Abbeybabes, or Dibbuns as they were called, had their paws and faces liberally stained with the purplish blue juice. The Abbot shook his head in mock severity at a molechild who was stained from top to tail.
Dearie me, master Ruggum. You look as if you’ve had a busy day.
Ruggum explained in curious molespeech. Oi wurr doin’ gurtly well, zurr.
Til ee rascal Bikkle pushed oi into ee barsket o’ berries, but oi etted moi way out’n’em!
Bikkle, a tiny squirrel with a huge bushy tail, tried hard to look the picture of innocence as she defended herself. Farver h’Abbot, Ruggum pulled me tail, so I chased’im ane failed into the berries hisself by askident!
Apodemus could not hide a smile as he replied. By askident? Goodness me, that Ruggum’s always having aski-dents. What d’you say, Memm Flackery?
The fat old female hare, who was nurse to all the Dibbuns, pulled off her poke bonnet and fanned her whiskers with it. Fiends, marauders, all of’em, wot! Into the tub with the bloomin’ lot of you, that’s what I jolly well say!
Yells of dismay arose from the Dibbuns.
Waaah! Not more tubs, Memm. Us on’y gotbaffed last night!
Oi’ll be scrubbed to ee shadow if’n you’m put oi in ee tub again, marm.
B’aint that roight, Turfee?
Turfee the mousebabe scowled darkly. They scrubs likkle ones t’death in this h’Abbey.
Gurdle Sprink, the hedgehog Cellarkeeper, eyed Turfee sternly. You mind yore manners, young’un. A bath’ll do ye the world o’ good, then off t’bed with the lot of ye!
A horrified silence fell over the Dibbun contingent, then Ruggum raised a small clenched paw and shouted. Dab!
Immediately the little creatures scattered, all yelling, Dab! Dab! Dab!
Memm Flackery grabbed the two nearest her to stop them escaping. I say, somebeast close the flippin’ gates, sharpish!
Skipper of otters was lithe and brawny. He swiftly closed the gates and dropped the gatelock shut. Catching a hogbabe by her apron strings, he shook his rudderlike tail in puzzlement. Dab? Wot’s Dab s’pposed t’mean, mate?
Crikulus, the ancient shrew Gatekeeper, explained. It’s those riddle scamps’ latest secret society. Dibbuns Against Bedtime, that’s wot Dab means. They don’t like bein’ sent off t’the dormitories early. Huh, I’ll never join’em, I loves my bed. I’d stay there all season if’n I could.
After a deal of chasing, the Dibbuns were rounded up and herded inside the Abbey. Memm and Friar Gooch, the Abbey squirrel cook, followed them in.
Hmm, think I’ll preserve some o’ those berries in honey.
Memm tried not to look crestfallen. Not all of’em, Friar, you are goin’
t’cook some tonight?
Friar Gooch patted her paw. Don’t fret yoreself, marm, I’ve planned some whortleberry sponge puddens with cream’n’crumble toppin’.
The fat Harenurse’s eyes lit up greedily. Oh my aunt’s whiskers, you’re a bloomin’ toff, Gooch, an absoballylutely first-rate grubslinger, wot wot!
Beyond the locked Abbey gates, Ruggum the molebabe and Bikkle the little squirrel sat on the path giggling. They had evaded capture by nipping out a second before Skipper shut the doors.
Hurr hurr hurr, ee Skipper a’most chopped moi tail offen in yon doors.
Oi bee’s most speedy furr a mole-choild, hurr hurr!
Bikkle whirled her bushy tail in delight. Us won’t get barfed an’ sended to bed early no no more!
Ruggum sucked juice from a berry he found on the path. Burr, Bikk, we’m shore t’get catchered if’n uz be a stop-pen owt yurr. Ee Memm bee’s orful farst furr a gurt fatty beast.
Bikkle did not hesitate. She grabbed her friend’s paw resolutely. Cummon, us run’way an’ live inna woods, Ruggs!
Ruggum brightened up at the thought of this capital scheme. You’m roight, Bikk. They’m b’aint goin’ to keep baffin uz an’ senden uz oop t’bed urrly til we’m old an’ dead and buried!
Paw in paw, the two Dibbuns trundled off north up the path, cutting off east into Mossflower woodlands and making plans for the marvellous life that lay ahead of them.
We live up inna tree an’ eat h’apples, an’, an’ ... anyfink!
Boi’okey uz will, an’ never get ee baff, or even ee likkle wash!