Read Online Wally The Wobbling Wellington 1980 Book

Wally was a wellington. A bright yellow wellington (well he was when he was clean), who had a brother called Willy.
Willy was always sensible, tidy and in the proper place.
Wally wasn’t.
He was always the wellington that was lost, or muddy. Or wobbly.

“Try and smarten yourself up,” said Willy crossly from across the hall. “Wobbling about over there is very untidy.”
Wally sighed. He found standing still very difficult. Very difficult indeed.
“Err, fancy a gob-stopper?” Wally asked afte less than a minute, and he produced a big shiny blue one.
“Certainly not!” replied Willy, pulling a face “Nasty sticky things. No wonder you are always wobbling, you are always full of gob-stoppers.”

Now that wasn’t quite true. Wally did eat a great many gob-stoppers, but the reason for his wobbling was simply that he was ticklish. When he came in from the garden the doormat tickled him.
The tufty carpet in the hall tickled him. And even the floor tiles with their
mirror-shine polish tickled him.
But that was all nothing compared with THE FEET!

Just then, THE FEET came along. CLONK CLONK CLONK.
They stopped at Willy first because Willy, being Willy, was always in the proper place. After a moment, they found Wally, and it was then that Wally saw the socks.

“Oh no!” Wally gasped. The socks were the big fluffy striped ones and Wally knew they would be terribly, terribly ticklish.
Just one look was enough to set Wally off. “Yeow! He he! Ha! Oh!” he giggled and wriggled and wobbled.
And he wobbled and wriggled and giggled so much, he sent both Willy and THE FEET flying. Right up the hall.
“Oh I can’t stop myself,” wobbled Wally at the mere thought of the socks, and he wobbled himself out of the front door, and landed on the lawn with a bump.

“Hey! Watch what you’re doing!” piped up
a voice.
It was Spicer the spider. Spicer didn’t really like wellies, especially wellies that wobbled. Wally stopped giggling and explained about his wobbling.
“Hmm,” said Spicer at last. “So you’re ticklish are you? Well, there’s only one thing to do. We must tire out your tickle.” “How?” asked Wally.
“Like this!” replied Spicer.

And using his eight hairy legs, Spicer tickled Wally as hard as he could.
“HE he! Ha ha! Ho ho he!” squealed Wally. “Stop, stop please, I’m tickled all over!” Wally thanked Spicer and felt sure he was cured. “I’m sure I’ll never be ticklish again,” he thought. But just at that moment a feather drifted down and landed on Wally’s nose. Can you guess what happened?
Yes. Wally giggled and started wobbling again.

Snodgrass the snail arrived and took a long slow look at Wally.
“Just watching you… wears … me… out,” he yawned, and almost fell asleep before he had said it.
“It wears me out as well,” sighed Wally, and he explained about his ticklishness and the wobbles.
Snodgrass thought for quite a long time. “Think slowly,” he said at last. “Then… by the time you’ve been tickled, the tickle… will … have… gone. If you see what I mean.” Wally didn’t.

But Wally thought it might be a good idea. So he tried thinking slowly.
He thought as slowly as he could. Then he tickled himself… and giggled at once.
“It must only work on snails,” he sighed.

While all this had been happening, Bertha the water barrel had been watching and, being worried at seeing such a silly wobbly welly, she called Wally over.
“Come over here young welly!” she ordered.
Wally looked up in surprise and wobbled
over.
Wally explained for the umpteenth time about THE FEET, about Willy, about his own ticklishness and finally about his wobbling. Bertha listened patiently.
“I see,” she said at last.” So you want to stop being ticklish?”
“Yes please,” replied Wally.

Bertha started splashing about and pulled out a large and very wet book from her barrel. Wally waited hopefully.
“Let me see now,” Bertha said as she thumbed through the soggy pages. “My cure for ticklishness comes right after my cure for silliness… I think.”
“Ah, here it is!” she cried. “Ticklishness.” Bertha’s book had an answer for everything. And the answer was always washing!
“Wash well and squeeze dry,” Bertha read out loud, as she reached out and got a firm grip on Wally.
“Err… I don’t think I like the sound of that,” muttered Wally, but before he could say any more, Bertha began.

Poor Wally.
He got soap in his eyes and soap in his ears. He spluttered and choked as Bertha scrubbed harder and harder.
And to make things worse, Bertha sang at the top of her voice.
“Screech!”
When the washing was finished, the squeezing began.
And Bertha had very strong arms.

“Oh!” groaned Wally as Bertha squeezed. “Ohh…,” he groaned as Bertha squeezed even harder.
And Bertha squeezed and she squeezed until Wally felt quite dizzy.

At last it was over and Bertha pointed a very stern finger.
“Now stand there to dry, young welly,” she said, and Wally shivered.
But he didn’t want to argue.
Not with someone as bossy as Bertha! “Gosh!” said Wally as soon as he was dry. “I’m all clean and shiny! And very un-wobbly! In fact, I’m just like Willy.”

And talking of Willy, there he was, hopping across the lawn with THE FEET.
KER-PLONK! KER-PLONK! KER-PLONK! “Gosh!” said Willy, just as Wally had done, “you’re all bright and clean and shiny.” “Yes,” said Wally shyly, and held his breath as one of THE FEET came down.
Wally waited for a moment and crossed his fingers.
But there was no tickle. No wriggle. And no giggle…
…and only the tiniest wobble!