CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Some of the Characters
1 A Ride Round
2 Uncle’s Baths
3 The Challenge
4 The Muncle
5 A Journey to the Oil Tanks
6 Miss Maidy and Dr Lyre
7 Rudolph Arrives
8 A Quiet Morning
9 At Dearman’s Store
10 They Visit Watercress Tower
11 A Visit to Owl Springs
12 The Birthday Evening
13 Christmas Eve at Uncle’s
14 Night in the Haunted Tower
15 The Sweet Tower
16 The Danger
17 The Disaster
18 The Day of Public Rejoicing
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Also by J.P. Martin
Copyright
To
James, Andrew,
Alice, Judith, Matthew
UNCLE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 17291 7
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, 1964
Illustrations © Quentin Blake, 1964
First Published in Great Britain
Red Fox 9780099292401 1964
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.
RANDOM HOUSE CHILDREN’S PUBLISHERS UK
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
www.randomhousechildrens.co.uk
www.totallyrandombooks.co.uk
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Rudolph
Auntie
The Companion
The Old Monkey
The Muncle
The One-Armed Badger
Butterskin Mute
Gubbins
Don Guzman
Dr Lyre
Noddy Ninety
The Maestro
The Little Lion
Mig
Whitebeard
Captain Walrus
The Old Man
Eva
Lilac Stamper
The Respectable Horses
Dr Bunker
Titus Wiley
Samuel Hardbake
Cheapman
Dearman
The King of the Badgers
The Marquis of Wolftown
Badgers
Wolves
Leopards
Etc., etc.
Beaver Hateman
Nailrod Hateman (Sen.)
Nailrod Hateman (Jun.)
Filljug Hateman
Sigismund Hateman
Flabskin
Hitmouse
Mud-Dog
Oily Joe
Skinns
Crackbone
Hootman
Jellytussle
Abdullah the Clothes-Peg merchant
Toothie
The Wooden-Legged Donkey
The Bookman
Ghosts
Etc., etc.
Old Whitebeard
UNCLE IS AN elephant. He’s immensely rich, and he’s a B.A. He dresses well, generally in a purple dressing-gown, and often rides about on a traction engine, which he prefers to a car.
He lives in a house called Homeward, which is hard to describe, but try to think of about a hundred skyscrapers all joined together and surrounded by a moat with a drawbridge over it, and you’ll get some idea of it. The towers are of many colours, and there are bathing pools and gardens among them, also switchback railways running from tower to tower, and water-chutes from top to bottom.
Many dwarfs live in the top storeys. They pay rent to Uncle every Saturday. It’s only a farthing a week, but it mounts up when there are thousands of dwarfs.
There is one mysterious block in the middle called Lion Tower, which hardly anybody has been into. People have tried, but they get lost.
Exploring in Uncle’s house is a tricky business, but there’s one comfort, you are sure to come across something to eat, even if you have lost your way.
On the morning when this story starts, Uncle was waking in his room which looked out on to the moat.
His big bed was hung with red silk curtains, and they looked very grand in the morning sunlight.
In came the Old Monkey with a bucket of cocoa. He looks after Uncle very well because Uncle once saved him from a mean old stepfather who tried to sell him for sixpence. There are lots of other people who work for Uncle, but the Old Monkey is the chief one. They get on splendidly.
“Good morning,” said Uncle. “Anything happening over at Badfort?”
He drew the cocoa up with his trunk, and squirted it down his throat, never spilling a drop.
“Everything seems quiet, sir,” said the Old Monkey, drawing the window curtains and picking up a telescope which lay on the sill. He focused it on a large ramshackle building about a mile away and reported: “Beaver Hateman is just setting off for a ride on the Wooden-Legged Donkey, and Hitmouse is washing up.”
“Washing up, eh! They are peaceful,” said Uncle. “It might be a good day for a ride round.”
“Oh yes, sir, let’s go, sir,” said the Old Monkey, enthusiastically. There is nothing he likes so much as a ride round.
“Perhaps they’re turning over a new leaf at Badfort,” said Uncle, the bed groaning and creaking as he got out of it.
The Old Monkey said nothing. He knew from past experience that this wasn’t likely, but he put down the telescope.
“I’ll go and get the ham ready, sir,” he said.
Uncle picked up the telescope as soon as the Old Monkey had gone and had a look at Badfort himself. It’s rather hard when you have a splendid house yourself that the chief view from your windows should be that of your enemy’s dingy fortress, but this had to be endured, and it’s quite useless to pretend that Uncle wasn’t interested in the huge sprawl of Badfort, and the unseemly Badfort crowd who inhabited it.
Since Uncle became rich the people who live at Badfort have been his chief critics. They are jealous of him, and are delighted when they discover anything against him. For instance, he used, when he was young, to find it difficult to tell the truth always, but he wasn’t a very clever liar, because he couldn’t help blowing softly through his trunk when he was telling a lie, and people got to know of this. Also he once borrowed a bicycle without permission when he was at the University, and, being rather heavy, broke it. People have long memories for such deeds in a great person.
It is hard to say who is the head of Badfort. Beaver Hateman is the most active person there, and he has two brothers called Nailrod and Filljug. Then there’s a cousin called Sigismund Hateman. One of the most objectionable characters is Jellytussle. He is covered with shaking jelly of a bluish colour, and whenever he is about Uncle looks out for trouble. But perhaps it is safe to say that Hootman is the master spirit. Many people think he is a kind of ghost. Certainly he keeps in the background, but he works out many successful plots against Uncle.
Uncle looked with disapproval along the whole rickety length of Badfort, noting that there were more windows than ever stuffed with sacking. He changed the focus a little to look at the small Nissen hut outside the gate of Badfort. Yes, it was just as the Old Monkey had said. Hitmouse was washing up. Hitmouse, a little coward, who carried skewers as weapons, and who hated anybody else to be prosperous, lived a very untidy life. He had hundreds of cups and saucers, and he kept on using them till he had only a small place to sleep in near the door. When the muddle became unbearable he began to clean up.
“It may be a sign of trouble,” said Uncle thoughtfully.
Then he got on with his dressing.
There are no stairs from Uncle’s room. Instead he takes a big slide which lands him in the hall. When he wants to go up there’s a moving rope at the side. He can get hold of this with his trunk and it draws him up very quickly.
The Old Monkey was soon hard at work supplying him with hams. The Young Monkey came stumbling in with a net full of cabbage, but he is no good as a waiter. He stutters and shuffles about. When Uncle blows through his trunk he shakes like a jelly.
“Well,” said Uncle, “what’s in the post this morning?”
“Just this,” said the Old Monkey. He handed Uncle a cheque for £1,000 for the sale of maize, and a gold elephant’s trunk ring weighing three pounds.
“Ring up Cowgill,” said Uncle, “and tell him to get the traction engine ready.”
Cowgill, the engineer, was once an enemy of Uncle’s. He used to make splendid mechanical traps in the ground, and powerful steel catapults to discharge bags of ashes at him – a thing Uncle hated, for the ashes got up his trunk and spoilt his grandeur. However, that was a long time ago, and now all Cowgill’s skill is at Uncle’s disposal.
The traction engine was kept by him in first-class condition at his works, which are part of Uncle’s house. It is painted red, but the big fly-wheel is polished brass. In front of the engine is a small brass elephant as a mascot. This is kept very bright, but someone from Badfort often succeeds in throwing mud over it. This makes Uncle furious, for he can’t bear to see a spot on it. Uncle has a gilded armchair set among the coal, and there is a steam trumpet which makes a noise like an elephant. It’s most thrilling to hear it.
Uncle, the Old Monkey and Cowgill set out.
“We’ll call on Butterskin Mute on the way,” said Uncle.
Mute is the best farmer in the neighbourhood, and he supplies Uncle with fresh vegetables. He’s a little, smiling man, and he sometimes wears spade boots. These boots have short spades attached to them for digging.
“What’s the matter, Mute?” asked Uncle, thinking the little man looked low-spirited today.
“Beaver Hateman and some of the others have been over in the night and stolen my largest pumpkins,” said Butterskin Mute sadly. “Including one – a very big one – I was saving for you.”
“Those miscreants shall not go unpunished,” said Uncle. “Meanwhile, here is a bag of sugar, and a bag of coal from the traction engine to cheer you up. Now we must hurry on to Badgertown. We’re lunching at Cheapman’s today.”
An old man called Alonzo S. Whitebeard has the farm next to Mute’s. He has long white whiskers down to his feet, and he is a great miser. He has a silver sixpence as big as a millstone. It’s two feet thick, and almost six feet high, and therefore almost impossible, even for the Badfort crowd, to steal. At night he sits and looks at it, and as they went past now they thought they caught sight of it through a window.
They neared the dark hulk of Badfort. On the way they passed Gaby’s Marsh. The mud there is intensely sticky and infested by small savagely-biting fish called scobs. They are awful to eat.
“Beaver Hateman was catching scobs yesterday,” said the Old Monkey.
“They must be getting hard up for food,” said Uncle.
Everything seemed quiet at Badfort today. Nobody was sitting on the broken chairs outside the door, but as they got near, Beaver Hateman slid down the strong wire which is stretched from the door of Badfort to the door of Oily Joe’s where they mostly do their shopping.
“He must have quarrelled with the Wooden-Leg,” said Uncle.
Beaver Hateman and the Wooden-Legged Donkey are always together, and always quarrelling, but today the Wooden-Leg had remained behind. Perhaps it was he who put on a comic gramophone record as they passed a broken window – ‘Uncle Goes Fishing’. There was a yell of laughter, but Cowgill put on speed, and also blew the steam trumpet, and they got past without further incident.
Badgertown is a large flat place inhabited by badgers of the most simple and credulous nature. In the middle of the town there is a huge building known as Cheapman’s Store. It’s really a delightful place. You can get things there for next to nothing. Nearly all the badgers shop there.
Of course there are other shops, but they have a struggle. They get what customers they can by weeping at their doors and entreating people to come in. Of course they can buy their own provisions at Cheapman’s, but that naturally goes against the grain.
“What’s the special line at Cheapman’s today?” asked Uncle.
“Motor-bikes only a halfpenny each, and flour at four sacks a penny,” said the Old Monkey with delight.
They went in, and Uncle ordered a halfpenny lunch for himself, the Old Monkey and Cowgill.
“There are twenty-five courses, sir,” said the Old Monkey, “and it will take about three hours to get through it.”
“Oh well,” said Uncle, “we might as well have it; we haven’t got a lot on today.”
At Cheapman’s, instead of your tipping the waiter, he gives you a present. Today the waiter handed Uncle a parcel containing a sewing machine, seven pounds of chocolate and a very good brass trumpet.
“You can have the sewing machine,” said Uncle to the Old Monkey. “It’s a mystery to me how Cheapman makes his profits.”
But make them he did. Cheapman is almost as rich as Uncle, and far richer than the King of the Badgers, who lives in a tumbledown palace on the edge of the town, and frequently has to arrange for loans from Uncle to tide him over difficulties.
They returned home a different way, a pleasant route through a deep lane with high hedges, but Uncle does not like it much, because it’s a noted place for what he calls treachery.
“Run through the lane and keep the hooter going!” he said to Cowgill.
The latter replied by putting on all steam and raising a deafening roar from the steam trumpet.
As they brushed through some thick bushes Uncle filled his trunk from one of the buckets he always keeps filled on the traction engine, just in case.
But nothing happened. They came out into the open unmolested.
“What’s happened to the Badfort crowd?” asked Uncle testily. “Are they losing their spirit or what? They’ve done nothing today!”
“Perhaps it’s because you are going to give out bathing tickets this afternoon,” suggested the Old Monkey. “Even the Badfort crowd like to go to the baths, sir.”
“Glad you reminded me,” said Uncle, feeling in the pocket of his dressing-gown for the bundle of tickets. “I’d almost forgotten.”
Homeward looked magnificent as they rode towards it, the sun shining on its pink and green and blue towers. At the base of one, a train was unloading six thousand cases of oranges. They stopped to watch. This train backed out, and an equally long one came up loaded with pineapples. This had only just disappeared when another came whistling up loaded with sacks of raisins. Each sack was put into a kind of catapult and shot into a hatchway three storeys up. It was a very pretty sight.
When the Old Monkey blew a trumpet Uncle heard a shout from Beaver Hateman: “Bathing tickets for tomorrow!” – and turned to see a strange crowd assembled.
All the Badfort crowd were there behaving very quietly for once. Whitebeard and his detestable stepfather were in the front. Flabskin was there positively blubbering for a ticket, Beaver Hateman was holding out his hand in a lordly way, and the Wooden-Legged Donkey held out his leg which has a small receptacle at the end for cash, tickets, etc.
“Do you think they ought to be allowed to go to the baths?” asked the Old Monkey anxiously.
“Oh, I think they might for once,” said Uncle, who was in a good humour after watching the fruit unloading. “They’ve been almost polite today.”
Back at Badfort Beaver Hateman congratulated his followers on their good behaviour.
“We must plan for tomorrow,” he said. “Some can be filling the waterpolo ball with glue and ink and tin-tacks, and remember to rub it thin in one place just before you throw it at the Old Monkey. Others can be putting drawing-pins in their bathing suits. The rest can get lunch ready.”
“Wait until we get into those baths!” muttered Hitmouse. He began to foam at the mouth with a kind of green froth, a sure sign that he is getting jealous of Uncle.
YOU WILL WANT to hear more about these wonderful baths that aroused such interest even among the hardened inhabitants of Badfort. They are situated right in the midst of a group of towers. It is impossible to find them without a guide; even Uncle does not know the way there. When he wants to go, he rings up on the telephone:
WASH-HOUSES 39485765764756
He has it written on a card because it’s not very easy to remember. But the moment after he gets through, a strong dwarf called Titus Wiley appears, carrying a bunch of keys in a leather wallet. The bath passage is at the side of the front door. It’s handy, but mysterious. There’s just a small keyhole, and the door is opened with an ordinary-looking key. But try to open it without that dwarf, and you will find your mistake.
Nailrod Hateman has spent hours working at the lock, and the Old Monkey has had many a go out of curiosity, but it’s no good. They have to wait for Titus Wiley.
When Uncle came out to go to the baths, a motley crew were lined up along the moat. Beaver Hateman was at the front, of course, and Whitebeard at the rear, nearly out of sight at the end of a string of badgers. He was occupying his time while they waited in trying to catch some fishes in the moat.
“Are you all ready to go?” said Uncle.
“Yes, we are, and hurry up!” said Beaver Hateman snappishly. Uncle looked at him sternly, and then said:
“Well, you can all turn round, and march round the tower keeping exact order; then the first to arrive at the other side will lead the way. And, mind you, no pushing! When the party arrives at the other side Alonzo S. Whitebeard will be in front and Beaver Hateman last!”
Beaver Hateman bubbled with rage, but he was so anxious to get into the baths that he curbed his temper, merely pinching Nailrod, who was next to him.