The Wombles

While watching the Tour de France the other day I was impressed with the beautiful town of Cholet which hosted day four (the individual time trial) and was the start of day five. Apparently the town probably takes its name from the Latin ‘cauletum’, meaning cabbage, and owes the rise of its prosperity to the settlement of weavers; the chief industry is still the manufacture of linen and linen handkerchiefs.

I got to wondering whether this is where Madame Cholet from The Wombles got her name. And then I went into a merry meandering reminiscence about ‘70s children’s TV in general and The Wombles in particular. I used to love these furry little creatures who toddled about Wimbledon Common making good use of the things that they found from the things that the everyday folk left behind.

These days they have been appropriated by the eco-Nazis who like to think that they were the original recyclers, but really they were little scally scavengers. I liked the way Orinoco was a lazy fat womble who was inordinately fond of food and forty winks, always trying to shirk the work in favour of a nap. I felt an affiliation with him. I never really liked Wellington who I thought was a bit pompous and self-important. I’m saying no more.

I read the books too by Elizabeth Beresford and I thought they were great, but it was the TV series that really held my attention. The stop motion animation was very appealing to that age group and I was particularly taken by the way their noses wiggled up and down when they ate – much like Paddington Bear’s (another favourite, but I’ll save him for another day).

Bernard Cribbins' narration was a highlight and made it the great show it was. The song passed into my childhood memory, and I mean the ‘Underground overground wombling free; the wombles of Wimbledon Common are we’ one. We once sang it in a school inter-form choir competition – that line in the middle; ‘Pick up the papers and take them to Tobermory’ was incredibly high, even then. I was never a fan of that other thing – ‘Remember you’re a womble’ – although the video of people old enough to know better (you in the mustard polo neck; have you no shame?) dancing along on Top of the Pops is quite amusing.

There was a new series in the ‘90s which I never watched, being far too grown up – but this was also hijacked by political correctness and there was an annoying girl called Alderney with dungarees and pigtails, and a Rastafarian womble called Stepney with dark fur and short dreadlocks. It’s just not the same.

My favourites though were Tobermory and Tomsk – apparently they all chose their names from Great Uncle Bulgaria’s atlas – which explained their exotic sounds. My great aunt made me a Tobermory who was my very favourite soft toy for a while and I would fall asleep cuddling him. I guess this proves that I always liked the athletic, caring type who was strong and could fix things, even if he was a womble.

So who’s your favourite womble, and why?