Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

“Now me mammy once said, don’t ye live all alone,

keep yore bits an’ small pieces together,

for one day you’ll need them to furnish yore home,

’neath a roof warm an’ safe from the weather.

For of all the fine places a heart’s ever known,

sure there’s none that I love like me dear little home.

Then go find ye someone who will care for ye good,

to sit quiet by yore side at the fire,

an’ if he treats ye decent as you hoped he would,

you’ll have all that your heart can desire.

For of all the fine places a heart’s ever known,

sure there’s none that I love like me dear little home.

Let the wind howl outside an’ the rain batter down,

with the hearth snug an’ cosy indoors,

no Queen in a palace who wears a gold crown,

knows a life full and happy as yours.

For of all the fine places a heart’s ever known,

sure there’s none that I love like me dear little home.”

Yoofus smiled fondly. “How would ye like a grand sweet wife like that now, Doogy Plumm?”

The Highlander rubbed his head thoughtfully. “Aye, she could slay all mah enemies by beltin”em o’er their skulls wi’ that cookpan o’ hers.”

The soup was thick and delicious. They shared it equally, with a small portion set aside to cool for Rockbottom.

Doogy watched the little creature as Didjety fed him from a folded dockleaf. “D’ye reckon he’ll ever talk one day?”

The volewife giggled. “Sure if he ever does, ’twill be only to ask wot’s for dessert! Won’t it, me little darlin’?”

The tortoise seemed to smile and nod his head. The Highlander was still curious about Rockbottom, though Yoofus and Didjety did not seem bothered at all.

Doogy stroked the little fellow’s head with his paw, enquiring further, “Ah wonder, has he ever ventured out o’ yon shell?”

The volethief replied, straight-faced, “He doesn’t like anybeast seein’ him wearin’ only his nightie. I saw him once, but he ran back into the shell.”

Doogy looked as if he believed Yoofus for a moment, then realised the water vole was joshing him. “Ye wee fibber!”

Yoofus looked innocent. “No I’m not!”

Doogy retorted, “An’ I say ye are!”

Didjety raised the empty cooking pan. “Here now, let’s have no more of that. Let’s be on our way.”

They continued the journey, Yoofus and Doogy lagging behind slightly, whispering to each other.

The Highlander shook his head. “Ah wonder if Tam an’ the Patrol made it back tae the Abbey.”

Yoofus watched his wife’s back as she plodded on with dogged determination. “Sure we’ll never know, mate. We’ll be wanderin’ this land until we’ve both got long grey beards an’ walkin’ sticks.”

Doogy nodded agreement; his confidence in their pathfinder was at a very low ebb. “Ah thought when we set out this mornin’ that yore wee wifey had some idea o’ the route tae go.”

Yoofus hitched Rockbottom up in his harness. “Mark my words, ould Doogy Plumm, we’re well lost. I don’t know wot possessed me t’let her lead the way. My Didjety’s never been much further than her own doorstep.”

A hill appeared ahead of them. Didjety hurried forward, ascending the steep slope. Yoofus stared up at her before commenting, “Didn’t we go up this hill yesterday? The pore creature’s demented, she’s dashin’ about like a madbeast now. Look!”

The volewife had reached the hilltop. She was dancing up and down, pointing frantically and shouting, “There it is! Redwaaaaaalllll!”

After a hasty scramble, Yoofus and Doogy joined her on the summit. The Highlander shaded a paw over his eyes. There in the distance he could see the south side of the Abbey.

The volethief cut a jig. Grabbing his wife, he hugged and kissed her, crying jubilantly, “Hahahaha! I knew ye’d find it, me own darlin’ sugarplum! Ye’d take us t’Redwall ye said, an’ sure enough ye did! Wasn’t I just sayin’ to Doogy here, if’n anybeast can get us to that Abbey, then my Didjety’s the one t’do it?”

Doogy sat down upon the great drum, nodding readily. He did not have the heart to speak the truth. “Och, he’s had nothin’ but the bonniest things tae say about ye, marm. An’ who am I tae doubt yore husband’s word?”

The Highlander looked at Rockbottom, who shook his little head and retreated into his shell.

Didjety was slightly flustered by the lavish praise being heaped upon her. But, being the practical volewife, she was quick to recover. “I thank ye both for yore faith in me. Now, we’d best get marchin’. Sure we don’t want t’be late for supper tonight.”

With renewed vigour, they stepped out toward their goal. The great drum trundled easily alongside Doogy, who controlled it like a hoop, with a stout twig. To keep their spirits up he sang an old marching song he recalled from his Highland days.

“Set mah plate an’ mah tankard on the table,

an’ watch out for me comin’ home tonight.

Keep mah supper in the oven if yore able,

an’ in the window place a welcome light.

Tramp tramp tramp! Hear what the Sergeant said,

tonight ah’ll be sleepin’ in mah own wee bed!

No more layin”neath the stars in the heather,

no more eatin’ what the greasy cook has burned,

no more toilin’ through the cold’n’rainy weather,

once tae mah bonny home ah have returned.

Tramp tramp tramp! Hear what the Sergeant said,

tonight ah’ll be sleepin’ in mah own wee bed!”

On the “tramp tramp” bits, Doogy hit the drum with his twig. He could not recall any more of the verses, so he sang it twice again, with Yoofus and Didjety joining in on the chorus with gusto. After a while, Yoofus began eyeing the drum. Doogy could tell he was planning to steal it—by one means or the other.

The volethief grinned cheerily at him. “Ah, sure ye must be gettin’ tired an’ weary of luggin’ an’ pushin’ that useless ould drum along. Why don’t ye let me take charge of the clumsy thing for a bit?”

Doogy left Yoofus in no doubt that he was on to him. “Ah’ll thank ye tae keep yore thievin’ eyes off’n this drum. Ye ken ’tis the property o’ Redwall Abbey, an’ that’s where I aim tae deliver it, all in good order. As tae what becomes o’ yore goodwife’s wee pet Rockbottom, well, the Abbot should be the one tae decide that!”

Didjety looked quite concerned. “But I couldn’t be without dear liddle Rockbottom, he’s me own darlin’ pet. D’ye think the Abbot will want to keep him, Mister Plumm?” She sobbed visibly and wiped her eyes upon her pinafore.

Doogy patted the volewife’s paw comfortingly. “From wot ah’ve seen of Abbot Humble, he’s a kindly auld beastie. He’d no steal yore pet from ye, marm. Ah’ll have a word wi’ him mahself.”

Didjety smiled gratefully. “My thanks to ye, Mister Plumm. Yore a darlin’, soft-hearted creature yoreself, to think of me the way ye do.”

Doogy’s bushy tail rose in an arc over his head and dropped down to cover his face, a sure sign of embarrassment in any squirrel. “Och, away with ye, Missus Lightpaw. Ah only do it ’cos ah’m so powerful fond o’ yore sausage rolls!”

The long day was drawing to a pleasant close as the weary travellers emerged from South Mossflower woodlands. Across the grassy commonland in front of them, Redwall Abbey rose majestically, all dusty pink and shadowed by the day’s last sunlight. The water voles were walking slightly in front of Doogy, who was still rolling the drum along.

As a born warrior, Doogy had always possessed an inbred sense of danger. As they broke through the trees onto the grassland, the squirrel warrior’s neck fur began prickling. The crack of paw upon twig caused him to whirl around, grabbing at his claymore hilt. He saw six vermin stalking through the undergrowth in an attempt to encircle him and his two friends, with Gulo the Savage at their centre.