WANDO RETURNS
By A. Woodcutter

Mrs. Woodmouse was just blinking the tiredness out of her eyes, after waking from a fitful sleep, but for the moment, she was content, warm and snuggled, close to Mr. Woodmouse, under their dandelion duvet.

The first rays of the sunlight of a new day were beginning to filter through their cottage window, when there was a knock at the door. Who can that be so early in the morning? she thought. Mrs Woodmouse shook Mr Woodmouse by the shoulder. “Mr. Woodmouse! Mr. Woodmouse, will you please wake up – somebody is knocking on our door." Mr. Woodmouse had been to a meeting the previous evening at the scrapyard in the wood. This area was once a very busy farm, producing products for the gentlefolk at the big house, but the bad magician put an end to that.

Not all the folk of the woodland could attend the meeting, because some had to keep a look out for the ferrets. The ferrets are the bad magician’s private security force and they try to frighten the woodland folk away, so they do not see the harm that the bad magician is doing to their woodland. And, if they should catch a slow one, they take them to Brock, the woodland bobby, and tell lies to get them into serious trouble, so they are thrown into the dungeons beneath the castle.

On a still day in the woodland, you can smell the ferrets coming. It is said by some that they pee themselves when they have to go out in the dark, and they cannot rid themselves of the smell.

The meeting had been called by The Furry Friends of Elvaston (FFOE), because of the uncertainty on the future of the woodlands which is their home. If a new owner took over the parkland, would all the animals, birds, beetles and spiders be driven away by the ferrets, so the humans can play a game called golf?

Mr. Woodmouse had imbibed a large quantity of elderberry wine during the meeting and had arrived home rather unsteadily. “Why are you shaking me Mrs. Woodmouse? I have a headache.” he said. She replied, “Please get out of bed and answer the door, we have a caller, and I will go and put my apron on.”

Mr. Woodmouse grudgingly rolled out of bed and went to open the cottage door. “Mr. Woodmouse”, shrieked Mrs. Woodmouse, “you have not put on your breeches”. “Wait a moment please”, called out Mr. Woodmouse rather sleepily to the caller at the door. “My dear husband, you have now put on your breeches back to front”, giggled Mrs. Woodmouse. “Oh dear”, sighed Mr. Woodmouse. Finally, Mr. Woodmouse opened the cottage door. “Good morning!” greeted the caller, “I don’t know about that”, murmured Mr. Woodmouse, to himself, “Oh, it’s you Wando, where have you been? Mrs. Woodmouse, it is Wando, the wood elf. Come on in, put the kettle on dear wife, we will have a cup of blackberry tea. Sit down and tell us where you have been, you have been gone all of the summer”.

"Yes”, replied Wando, “I have been on a long journey – I have been through many woods, and trodden many footpaths, far away from Derbyshire, in search of help, knowledge and truth. I went in search of the good magician, to ask him if he would help the woodland folk of Elvaston”. “Did you find him?” interrupted Mrs. Woodmouse. “Yes, I did”, replied Wando. “He listened to what I had to say. Hearing of our plight, he was deeply disturbed, and he announced to me that he would help us against the bad magician who lives high on a hill in a faraway place called Matlock, who intends to make our parkland disappear. The good magician said that he would punish the bad magician and all of his willing little workers, who scamper about, doing his bidding.”

"How will he help us”? asked Mrs. Woodmouse. “He did not say,” replied Wando. “He just said the woodland belongs to the good folk of Elvaston and it will always remain so. I will not allow the bad magician, the goblins and the gremlins to steal from the elves and creatures of the woodland, and the fairies in the wildflower meadow, who live beneath the buttercups. Those at the faraway place at Matlock will find they are stealing fairy gold.” Mrs. Woodmouse asked, “Did you also find knowledge?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Wando, “I discovered why the bad magician and his willing little workers called the humans of the village, yokels or simple folk. It seems the humans from the village send all the willing little workers, called gremlins, to the palace on the hill, in the faraway place called Matlock, and pay them money for going there. And then the gremlins elect one of their number to lead them. When this gremlin is chosen, they are given a title to show that they are the leader – Maximus Gassius. They then appoint the bad magician and pay him lots and lots of money which also belongs to the simple folk."

He continued, "And then, the bad magician employs lesser, little magicians called goblins. These do not have the same powers as the bad magician but they can still be very naughty. The goblins can make the simple folks taxes disappear quite easily and no one can see where the taxes have gone. The gremlins call the palace on the hill the Kremlin and over the entrance to the Kremlin, they have what is called a motto, and it reads; ‘if it is not broken, break it’".

“Excuse me Wando, but what is money?” asked Mrs. Woodmouse. “I have spoken about money before”, retorted Wando, “before I went on the long journey.” “Oh yes, I remember now, she replied, "It makes some humans do wicked things, and think only of themselves.” “That is correct,” said Wando, “But not all humans are like this – some are kind and care for others.” “Wando”, said Mr. Woodmouse, “my head is spinning from what you say. The humans from the village pay for the bad magician, the goblins and the gremlins to live at the palace on the hill called the Kremlin, but it is these same ones who are working to make their parkland disappear?”

“Correct,” replied Wando. “Well, they must be the same as Harry the hare in March!” “Exactly,” retorted Wando. “And that is why they are called yokels and simple folk by those in the Kremlin!” “I don’t think it is just Wando who is making your head spin dear husband – the elderberry wine you imbibed last evening had something to do with that.” At that, Mr. Woodmouse groaned, “I am going back to bed”. He climbed onto the bed and disappeared beneath the dandelion duvet.

“Could I have that cup of blackberry tea now please Mrs. Woodmouse? And a thick slice of hot-buttered toast, with a pot of home-made damson jam? that would be very nice - I will tell you more of the knowledge I learned on my long journey, when Mr. Woodmouse feels a little better”.