Beverley Nichols - The Tree that Sat Down

‘The Tree.’

‘I can’t believe the Tree said anything so foolish. The animals are quite beautiful enough already.’

‘Then why do we sell lacquer for ladybirds?’ asked Judy. ‘And if it comes to that, why do we sell Blackbeetle Polish?’

Mrs Judy frowned, for she was a very old lady, and she did not like to be contradicted. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s a matter of health .’

‘But Grannie, darling, that makes it better still. Beauty and Health. What could be better?’

‘We might open a Surgery,’ agreed Mrs Judy, grudgingly.

‘Why not both?’

‘It’ll mean a lot of work.’

‘But I could do all the Beauty Parlour. And I could help you in the Surgery, too.’

‘You couldn’t help with the Magic,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘That would all fall on me .’ She shook her head backwards and forwards. But Judy could see that she did not really mean it, for there was quite a bright sparkle in her eyes.

‘I shall have to read up a lot of old books,’ went on Mrs Judy. ‘And I shall have to polish my magic crystal and mend my magic wand.’

‘But Grannie, I didn’t even know you had a magic wand.’

‘Well, it’s rather old and cracked so I expect most of the magic has run out of it now,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Still, there’s no harm in trying. Deary me! We shall be busy for the next few days!’

Judy clapped her hands. ‘I’m so excited. Let’s begin now, this very minute. What is the first thing you would like me to do?’

Mrs Judy thought hard for a moment. ‘Well, my dear, I think that the first thing you should do is to say “Thank you” to the Tree for giving you such a good idea.’

‘Thank you,’ said Judy, rather shortly.

‘You must say it much more nicely than that,’ corrected Mrs Judy. ‘Say … “Thank you, Tree, for all that you have done for us, for your shelter and for your shade and for your wisdom.”’

So Judy said these words. And once again a little breeze sighed through the topmost branches, so that you would have sworn that the Tree had heard, and had bowed its head.

‘And now,’ cried Mrs Judy … ‘and now … to work!’

MEANWHILE SAM WAS not being idle; his wicked little head was full of all sorts of crafty schemes for enticing the animals to The Shop in the Ford; and though we very much hope that he will meet with his deserts in the end, at the moment it must be admitted that he was having a great deal of success. The Shop in the Ford was crowded from dawn to dusk, and you could hardly hear yourself speak for the purring and the twittering and the squeaking and the grunting.

And it so happened that on the very morning that Judy and her grannie were planning their Beauty Parlour and Surgery, Sam had a tremendous stroke of luck. The luck came in the shape of a bear, by the name of Mr Bruno. He is going to play a big part in our story, so please listen very carefully.

If you had seen Mr Bruno, lumbering happily along on that sunny morning, you would certainly never have guessed that he was a bear with a Secret; you would have said he was just a nice comfortable middle-aged bear, with a shaggy coat of which he was very proud, and a Mrs Bruno of whom he was very fond, and three small Master Brunos, whom he was bringing up to be good citizens of the wood.

‘What a happy person!’ you would have said. ‘With a freehold cave and a quantity of honey stored away for the winter and a loving family to look after him – what more could he want?’

But he was not a happy person at all – not really, because of his Secret. Sometimes he forgot his Secret for a while, and would dance and play and make the most amiable growls; and then suddenly he would remember it again, and stop dancing and playing, and wander off alone, to sit down under a tree and weep.

It was such an awful secret that, if we tell it to you, we hope you will keep it to yourselves.

We will tell you at once, in order to get it over.

This was Bruno’s secret:

HE HAD ESCAPED FROM A CIRCUS.

It was years and years ago, and you may be surprised that he had not forgotten it. But when you have heard his story, you will understand.

THE STORY OF BRUNO

Bruno was four years old when he escaped. Even in those days he was a big bear but he was very thin; they always kept him half-starved so that he should not grow strong enough to bite; and it was only because he had such a thick coat that you did not see his bones sticking out.

He could not remember anything about his parents, because he had been stolen from them when he was a baby. All he knew about life was his cage and the circus. His cage was so small that he had to twist his neck to get into it, and he always had cramp when he woke up in the morning. But the cage was better than the circus – oh, very much better! For in the circus he had to dance, even though his limbs were cramped, and jump through terrible flaming hoops which scorched his fur, and if he flinched or faltered, they prodded him with sharp sticks which made him bleed. The men with the sticks always had smiles on their faces, because they did not want the crowd to know how cruel they were. But though there were smiles on their faces there was sharp steel on the sticks, and if you are being beaten, it does not hurt any the less even if the man who beats you does it with a smile.

You see, it was a very wicked circus. Not all circuses are like that; there are many in which the animals are quite kindly treated. All the same, I think that they would much rather not be in circuses at all; they would rather be dancing by themselves under the green trees, and flying away where they wanted, into the blue sky.

It would be too long and sad a story to tell you all of Bruno’s life in the circus; all that you need know is how he escaped.

Although his keeper was always a little drunk at the end of the show, he usually managed to walk without stumbling. He used to prod Bruno into the cage and give him a final cut of the lash when he was inside, crying out ‘Pleasant dreams, you ugly beast, pleasant dreams!’ But this night there was no need for Bruno to crouch in the corner, covering his face with his paws, for the keeper was too drunk to lift the whip. He just slammed the door and staggered off. And before he was out of sight Bruno realized that he had forgotten to turn the key.

Bruno gasped, and stared at the door which was swinging on its hinges. One jump through that door, and he would be free. He blinked; he felt he must be dreaming … but no, he was wide awake. He took a step forward and then he paused, his heart thumping against his ribs. ‘Careful!’ he thought, ‘I must wait.’ The circus was still full of light and life and laughter; there were many people about; they would catch him before he had gone more than a few yards. Besides, he had a heavy iron chain round his wrist, which would clank and rattle and give him away.

So he lay down and pretended to be asleep. His throat was dry with excitement and his heart beat so fast that it hurt him; but he managed to stay very still.

But it seemed an eternity that he lay there, and every moment was filled with the fear that the keeper might remember, and come back to lock the door. Nobody came. One by one the lights of the circus were quenched, like coloured candles dying into the night, until there was no light but the moon.

*

All this time, Bruno had been trying to get his chain off. He gnawed at it with his teeth, he tugged at it with the claws of his left paw; all to no avail. He would willingly have cut off his arm to gain his freedom, but that was impossible.

Then he had an idea. It was a very brave idea, and it made him tremble to think of it, but it was the only thing to do, he would have to tie the chain to the cage and jump, knowing that the weight of his body would drag his paw through the iron ring. It would be agonizingly painful, it would scrape all the fur off, and it might break the bone, but it was worth going through any pain to escape.