Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

As she had been speaking, the noise of stamping paws and singing voices had been swelling outside.

Toran went to the door. “Who knows, Sister? Great Seasons, what’s all that rackety din about?”

Old Phredd chuckled. “They’re singing the Summer Feast song. What a happy sound! Let’s go out and watch, eh, eh?”

Martha was less than enthusiastic, since she wanted to continue studying the book. But the Abbot patted her paw encouragingly. “You know, we can study the problem at our leisure, but next summer’s first day is a long time away. They sound so joyful and excited! Come on, young ’un, let’s go and see.”

Smilingly, the haremaid relented.

Up and down the wallsteps and all over the lawns, Redwallers, led by Horty, were joining paws and skipping about, singing lustily to the jolly tune.

“The sun could not shine brighter

upon this summer’s day,

my heart could not be lighter.

I’ve heard our Abbot say

there’ll be a feast this evening,

so listen one and all:

This afternoon we’ll run a race

around the Abbey wall!

Come form up in a line, pals,

and listen for your names,

it’s ready steady set and go,

for Redwall Abbey games!

There’s vittles in the kitchen,

good ale and cordials, too,

fine singers and musicians,

to play the evening through.

But first I’ll gird my robe up,

so I don’t trip or fall.

I’m going to be the first around

that high old Abbey wall!

Come form up in a line, pals,

and listen for your names,

it’s ready steady set and go,

for Redwall Abbey games!”

Martha could not resist the merry cavalcade. Clapping her paws in time to the lively song, she laughed happily. Sister Portula, whooping like a wildbeast, grabbed Martha’s chair and dashed off into the throng.

Abbot Carrul winked at Phredd. “My mistake for starting all this, but who could sit indoors studying on such a wonderful day?”

Toran, in complete agreement, shepherded both of his friends out of the way of the dancers. “You two stay here. I’ll go an’ bring two armchairs an’ the rest o’ the food out of the gatehouse. Ye can sit back an’ watch the whole thing in comfort. We can always look through dusty ole books tomorrow.”

Old Phredd spoke to a buttercup growing by the wall. “Heehee, now there’s a sensible young creature. Beasts like that make a body enjoy his old age, eh, eh?”

Bragoon and Saro stood outside the main gate. Memories flooded back as they touched the stout oak timbers.

The aging squirrel looked misty-eyed. “Dear ole Redwall Abbey! Sounds like they’re havin’ a good time in there, mate. Well, do we knock for the Gatekeeper?”

Bragoon scuffed the gravel path with his rudder as he pondered the question. “Hmm, we’ve been a long time gone. Suppose nobeast knows us anymore. Or worse, supposin’ they do recognise us an’ recall wot a pair of scoundrels we were! They might not want us back. Wot d’ye think?”

Saro gnawed at her lip. “Aye, I think yore right, Brag. Tell ye what, let’s just slip in unnoticed an’ sort of mingle with the crowd. That way we can judge the lay o’ the land.”

The otter grinned furtively at his companion. “The way we used to come an’ go, through the ole east wall gate. I’ll bet ye can still open it.”

Saro clapped his back with her bushy tail. “Great idea! Come on, let’s give it a try. We’ll disguise ourselves up a bit so as not to cause too much of a stir!”

Brother Weld, an old bankvole who was Abbey Beekeeper, perched on the arm of Abbot Carrul’s chair to watch the fun. Some of the other games were in progress, and competition among the Dibbuns was fierce.

The Abbot watched them fondly as he reminisced. “I was pretty good at the nut and spoon race in my younger seasons.”

Weld kept his eyes on the games as he observed drily, “Aye, Father, you beat me three seasons on the run. Then they caught you sticking your nut to the spoon with honey.”

Abbot Carrul cautioned him. “Not so loud, Weld, keep your voice down. We can’t have the young ’uns discovering that a Dibbun who cheated at nut and spoon is now their Abbot!”

Three of the Dibbuns—Muggum, Shilly and Yooch—were trying madly to win the greasy pole event. A big bag of candied chestnuts hung from the top of the pole. It resisted all their efforts. Each time, they ended up skimming dismally down to earth, caked with a mixture of soap and vegetable oil. After some earnest plotting, they hatched up a joint plan. Muggum stood tippaw, grasping the base of the pole. Yooch scrambled up the molebabe’s back and stood on his head. Both clung tightly to the pole, then Shilly climbed up over them onto Yooch’s head. Holding the pole with one paw, the squirrelbabe strove with her free paw to reach the bag. Unfortunately, the combined height of all three Dibbuns was still short of the prize. Muggum could not look up, his tiny face squinched by the weight of his two pals. But that did not stop him yelling out words of encouragement.

“Gurr, goo on Shilly, grab ee chesknutters naow!”

Shilly roared back at him. “I carn’t not gerrem, me paw bee’s too likkle’n’short!”

Yooch the molebabe grunted his contribution. “Moi pore bee’s flattinged, ’urry up!”

Amid the spectators’ shouts of support and hoots of laughter at the spectacle, Fenna came bounding out. The squirrelmaid hopped up the backs of all three Dibbuns. Launching herself from the top of Shilly’s head, she made a graceful leap. Fenna effortlessly unhooked the bag of candied chestnuts. Performing a spectacular somersault, she landed neatly on the ground, without a speck of grease anywhere on her.

She smiled smugly. “No trouble at all, the prize is mine!”

Martha’s voice cut across her jubilant cries. “Not fair! It’s the greasy pole you’re supposed to climb, not the greasy Dibbuns. You should forefeit the nuts, Fenna!”

Fenna stuck her lip out and pouted. “But I won them!”

The Abbot left his armchair and took possession of the bag. “The object is to get the nuts. There’s no hard-and-fast rule about climbing greasy poles. But be fair, Fenna. The little ones tried so hard, and they gave us all such fun. I suggest we split the nuts four ways betwixt you and them.”

Whilst everybeast was applauding the decision, Toran caught Shilly and Yooch as they fell backwards from the pole. Horty was left with the task of unsticking Muggum, who was practically plastered to the pole with grease. He tugged his snout politely to the young hare.

“Thankee, zurr, oi thort oi wuz stucked thurr fer loife!”

Horty gazed down at his clean tunic, now coated with the mess. “Oh, think nothin’ of it, old lad. My pleasure, wot!” He slipped and fell flat as he stumbled away from the pole.

By the pondside an old female squirrel, her face hooded against the sun by a cowl, was bathing her footpaws in the reeded shallows. An otter of medium size, his face also hooded, sat next to her. Sister Portula sought a seat in the reedshade alongside them, fanning her face with a dockleaf.

“Whew, this is certainly going to be a memorable summer!”

The otter glanced sideways at her. “Has afternoon tea been served yet, Sister?”

Portula swiped at a flying midge which was tormenting her. “We never serve afternoon tea when there’s going to be an evening feast. You knew that, didn’t you, Brother?”

The female squirrel sighed. “Oh no, I was lookin’ forward to some nice scones with strawberry preserve an’ meadowcream.”

Portula had to raise her voice to be heard over the sounds of sporting revellers. “The walltop race will be starting soon. I think first prize for that might be a cream tea with scones.”