The Pinhoe Egg. Diana Wynne Jones
the gates and into the village street. There, the Reverend Pinhoe, who had been standing in the churchyard, vaulted the wall and hurried over to help. “Dear, dear,” he said. “What a very strange thing for old Mrs Pinhoe to do!”
They wedged him in and jostled on, downhill through the village. As the hill got steeper, they were quite glad of the fact that the Reverend Pinhoe was no good at levitation. The bed went faster and faster and the vicar’s efforts were actually holding it back. Despite the way they were now going at a brisk trot, people who were not witches or not Pinhoes came out of the houses and trotted alongside to stare at Gammer and her roots. Others leant out of windows to get a look too. “I never knew a person could do that!” they all said. “Will she be like that permanently?”
“God knows!” Dad snarled, redder and shinier than ever.
Gammer smiled. And it very soon appeared that she had at least one more thing she could do.
There were frantic shouts from behind. They twisted their heads round and saw Great Uncle Lester, with Uncle Arthur running in great limping leaps behind him, racing down the street towards them. No one understood what they were shouting, but the way they were waving the bed-carriers to one side was quite clear.
“Everyone go right,” Dad said.
The bed and its crowd of carriers veered over towards the houses and, on Marianne’s side, began stumbling over doorsteps and barking shins on foot-scrapers, just as Dolly the donkey appeared, with her cart of furniture bounding behind her, apparently running for her life.
“Oh no!” groaned Uncle Richard.
The huge table from the kitchen in Woods House was chasing Dolly, gaining on her with every stride of its six massive wooden legs. Everyone else in the street screamed warnings and crowded to the sides. Uncle Arthur collapsed on the steps of the Pinhoe Arms. Great Uncle Lester fled the other way into the grocer’s. Only Uncle Richard bravely let go of the bed and jumped forward to try to drag Dolly to safety. But Dolly, her eyes set with panic, swerved aside from him and pattered on frantically. Uncle Richard had to throw himself flat as the great table veered to charge at him, its six legs going like pistons. Gammer almost certainly meant the table to go for the bed and its carriers, but as it galloped near enough, Uncle Charles, Dad, Uncle Simeon and the Reverend Pinhoe each put out a leg and kicked it hard in the side. That swung it back into the street again. It was after Dolly in a flash.
Dolly had gained a little when the table swerved, but the table went so fast that it looked as if, unless Dolly could turn right at the bottom of the hill towards Furze Cottage in time, or left towards the Dell, she was going to be squashed against the Post Office wall. Everyone except Marianne held their breaths. Marianne said angrily, “Gammer, if you’ve killed poor Dolly I’ll never forgive you!”
Gammer opened one eye. Marianne thought the look from it was slightly ashamed.
Dolly, seeing the wall coming up, uttered a braying scream. Somehow, no one knew how, she managed to throw herself and the cart sideways into Dell Lane. The cart rocked and shed a birdcage, a small table and a towel rail, but it stayed upright. Dolly, cart and all, sped out of sight, still screaming.
The table thundered on and hit the Post Office wall like a battering ram. It went in among the bricks as if the bricks weighed nothing, and ploughed on, deep into the raised lawn behind the wall. There it stopped.
When the shaken bed-carriers trotted up to the wreckage, Aunt Joy was standing above them on the ruins, with her arms folded ominously.
“You’ve done it now, haven’t you, you horrible old woman?” she said, glaring down at Gammer’s smug face. “Making everyone carry you around like this – you ought to be ashamed! Can you pay for all this? Can you? I don’t see why I should have to.”
“Abracadabra,” Gammer said. “Rhubarb.”
“That’s right. Pretend to be barmy,” said Aunt Joy. “And everyone will back you up, like they always do. If it was me, I’d dump you in the duck pond. Curse you, you old—!”
“That’s enough, Joy!” Dad commanded. “You’ve every right to be annoyed, and we’ll pay for the wall when we sell the house, but no cursing, please.”
“Well, get this table out of here at least,” Aunt Joy said. She turned her back and stalked away into the Post Office.
Everyone looked at the vast table, half buried in rubble and earth. “Should we take it down to the Dell?” a cousin asked doubtfully.
“How do you want it when it’s there?” Uncle Charles asked. “Half outside in the duck pond, or on one end sticking up through the roof? That house is small. And they say this table was built inside Woods House. It couldn’t have got in any other way.”
“In that case,” asked Great Aunt Sue, “how did it get out?”
Dad and the other uncles exchanged alarmed looks. The bed dipped as Uncle Simeon dropped his part of it and raced off up the hill to see if Woods House was still standing. Marianne was fairly sure that Gammer grinned.
“Let’s get on,” Dad said.
They arrived at the Dell to find Dolly, still harnessed to the cart, standing in the duck pond shaking all over, while angry ducks honked at her from the bank. Uncle Richard, who was Dolly’s adoring friend, dropped his part of the bed and galloped into the water to comfort her. Aunt Dinah, Mum, Nicola, Joe and a crowd of other people rushed anxiously out of the little house to meet the rest of them.
Everyone gratefully lowered the bed to the grass. As soon as it was down, Gammer sat up and held a queenly hand out to Aunt Dinah. “Welcome,” she said, “to your humble abode. And a cup of hot marmalade would be very welcome too.”
“Come inside then, dear,” Aunt Dinah said. “We’ve got your tea all ready for you.” She took hold of Gammer’s arm and, briskly and kindly, led Gammer away indoors.
“Lord!” said someone. “Did you know it’s four o’clock already?”
“Table?” suggested Uncle Charles. Marianne could tell he was anxious not to annoy Aunt Joy any further.
“In one moment,” Dad said. He stood staring at the little house, breathing heavily. Marianne could feel him building something around it in the same slow, careful way he made his furniture.
“Dear me,” said the Reverend Pinhoe. “Strong measures, Harry.”
Mum said, “You’ve stopped her from ever coming outside. Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“Yes,” said Dad. “She’ll be out of here as soon as my back’s turned, otherwise. And you all know what she can do when she’s riled. We got her here, and here she’ll stay – I’ve made sure of that. Now let’s take that dratted table back.”
They went back in a crowd to the Post Office, where everyone exclaimed at the damage. Joe said, “I wish I’d seen that happen!”
“You’d have run for your life like Dolly did,” Dad snapped, tired and cross. “Everybody levitate.”
With most of the spring cleaning party to help, the table came loose from the Post Office wall quite quickly, in a cloud of brick dust, grass, earth and broken bricks. But getting it back up the hill was not quick at all. It was heavy. People kept having to totter away and sit on doorsteps, exhausted. But Dad kept them all at it, until they were level with the Pinhoe Arms. Uncle Simeon met them there, looking mightily relieved.
“Nothing I can’t rebuild,” he said cheerfully. “It took out half the kitchen wall, along with some cabinets and the back door. I’ll get them on it next Monday. It’ll be a doddle compared with the wall down there. That’s going to take time, and money.”
“Ah well,” said Dad.
Uncle Arthur came limping out of the yard, leaning on