Ok, so this is a love story about two worms who live in the garden at our home for waifs and strays. I guess I might lose some readers, but hang on a minute! Worms have five hearts and breathe in air and breathe out carbon dioxide, just like us. So why not stay a bit longer. It wont take long. Their names are Wilma and Willmott.
‘Do it now,’ said Wilma bossily, ‘while it’s dark!’
‘Why does it always have to be me?’ replied grumpy Willmott. ‘You know I’m afraid of the dark!’
‘You’re a grown worm,’ said Wilma, ‘worms live in the dark. And we need more air down here!’
‘But it’s scary up there. And those chickens bit off uncle Teds head, remember? I want to keep my head Wilma. Why don’t you do it for a change?’
‘Willmott Wormery!’ Wilma shouted and made some earth slide down the side of their sitting room, ‘you are a coward and Uncle Ted was a fool!’ she said crossly. ‘He went up in the daytime. What did he expect?’
‘Not to lose his head, that’s for certain!’ said Willmott quivering.
‘It’s dark now,’ said Wilma more gently, ‘I can’t go, I can hardly breathe!’
Willmott loved his wife. She was getting old and lucky to have survived as long as she had but that was probably because he had taken such good care of her, he thought. No, he couldn’t possible let her do it. He had to pluck up the courage and go himself.
As Willmott slid up to the top of their burrow, Wilma made the sign of the cross. ‘Don’t let anything happen to him,’ she said silently, ‘he’s a grumpy old so and so but I still love him.’
Willmott anxiously stuck his head out into the open and breathed in the cool night air. It was good, he thought and almost forgot to check for predators.
‘Be quick!’ shouted Wilma. ‘before you lose your head too!'
Willmott began to drag bits of leaves and straw into the burrow. Wilma helped at this point, by reaching up to get them.
‘Ah that’s better already,’ she said. ‘I can breathe easier now.’
Willmott dragged some tiny stones into the entrance.
‘We’ll soon have lots more air in here Wilma,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Put some supper on! I’ll be down now in a minute!’ (Remember, these are Welsh worms!)
Just as Wilma was about to prepare the food, she heard an almighty scream. It was poor Willmott.
‘It’s a chicken!’ he cried, his voice full of terror.
Wilma dropped everything and slid quickly up the burrow after poor Willmott.
‘He’s got me!’ shouted Willmott. ‘Goodbye Wilma!’
Poor Wilma struggled to the top to see that Willmott still had his head and was smiling.
‘What on earth are you playing at Willmott?’ she said breathlessly.
Willmott turned and wrapped himself around Wilma. ‘I needed to know that you truly loved me,’ he said grinning, ‘and now I know that you do!’ Then he kissed her.