by Dodie Smith
Instantly the whole lawn seethed with wildly wagging tails.
“Thank you, thank you,” said Pongo. “But I mustn’t take so many.” He turned to Prince. “I think we’d better discuss it, while Missis holds a swooshing class—in the yew walk, I suggest. That’s long enough for them to practice speed.”
The yew walk was a stretch of grass between two tall yew hedges. Missis, feeling important, led the way there. Every dog except Pongo and Prince went with her. Even the nursing mothers took their puppies to watch.
Pongo then asked Prince if he would stay and guard the Dearlys. “I shan’t feel at ease unless you do. And of course Perdita must stay with you and as many dogs as you think are needed here.”
Prince would have liked to go to London, but he knew where his duty lay as he and Perdita were half-owners of the Dearlys. He also knew that Perdita was a home-loving dog—having been, during a tragic period of her youth, homeless. So he agreed to stay and said Pongo must take all the dogs he wished. “All my own family will want to come,” said Pongo. “What a blessing that Lucky’s chosen a wife as bright as he is. They’ll be a great help. So will Patch. And he’s longing to see Cadpig.”
Patch had never married. He had found out that, for the good of the Dalmatian breed, he ought not to hand on his patched ear. But he had not been unhappy. He had become a sort of uncle dog and was tremendously popular with puppies. He was always ready to play with them and he loved them all. But the great love of his life was his sister, Cadpig, of whom he had taken such care when she was a tiny, weak puppy. He was proud of her fame, but he had never ceased to miss her.
Pongo went on, “I wonder if I can risk taking Roly Poly.”
The fat pup who had had so many accidents was now a fat dog who still had accidents—and as he was larger, they were larger. At that very moment there was a roar of laughter from the dogs in the yew walk and Missis was heard saying, “Oh dear, have you hurt yourself, Roly? You’re not supposed to swoosh through things.”
“We’d better see what’s happening,” said Pongo.
They found that Roly Poly hadn’t done himself any harm, though he hadn’t done a yew hedge any good. Pongo whispered to Missis, “I hardly feel it will be safe to take Roly with us.”
“Neither will it be safe to leave him behind,” said Missis. “And I’d rather know the worst about him than just imagine the worst.”
“And his feelings would be terribly hurt if we didn’t take him. I’m afraid some dogs are bound to have their feelings hurt.”
But things didn’t turn out that way. It was taken for granted that Pongo would want his own family. And when he and Prince divided the remainder up, like choosing sides in a game (no married couples were separated), the ones who were to remain behind at once took to the idea of guarding the Dearlys and defending Hell Hall, though no one knew what from. It was all part of the perfect behavior of all dogs on that remarkable morning.
None of the dogs had any difficulty in learning to swoosh, but Pongo wanted to be sure that all the dogs coming to London were strong swooshers, so he left them to practice while he and Missis took a last look at their pets.
First they ran up to the big, comfortable attic which was shared by the Nannies. Nanny Cook, in a frilly nightgown, slept with her mouth open. Nanny Butler, in pyjamas, slept with her mouth firmly shut. They both looked comfortable and spendidly healthy.
“How kind they’ve always been to us,” said Missis. “Do you remember that night when they helped to wash the soot off us and all the puppies?”
Pongo said, “That was when we were at the end of an adventure. Now we’re at the beginning of one.”
“Well, thank goodness this one can’t have anything to do with Cruella de Vil,” said Missis, “as we know she had to leave England.”
“But—” Pongo broke off in time. Some months earlier he had heard the Dearlys saying that Cruella had come back. He had kept this from Missis at the time and he would go on keeping it from her. And, anyway, how could Cruella have anything to do with this mysterious sleeping?
They ran down to the Dearlys’ bedroom. Nothing had changed. The Dearlys still smiled in their sleep. The white cats, if not actually smiling, were looking as blissful as sleeping cats can.
Missis gave her basket a loving look, then suddenly cried, “Pongo, I’ve just remembered! Last night I had an important dream.” As a rule, Missis dreamt about food. In good dreams, jam-tarts grew on trees and chocolate drops came down like rain, and so on. In bad dreams food was often behind glass or in tins that couldn’t be opened. But this last dream was different from any dream she had ever had before and she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She only knew it was important. “There was a dazzling bright light,” she told Pongo. “And—oh dear, I can’t remember any more.”
“Perhaps it will come back to you,” said Pongo, though he rather hoped it wouldn’t. He enjoyed telling his own dreams, but wasn’t fond of listening to other people’s. “I think we should start now, my dear.”
So they kissed the Dearlys and looked very kindly at the cats. And Missis told her basket she would soon be home (she did this silently because Pongo would have laughed at her for talking to her basket). And then they ran downstairs.
When they reached the hall Pongo said, “Let’s go into Mr. Dearly’s study. I want to find out the meaning of that strange word Cadpig used, ‘metaphysical’. It’ll be in that dictionary.”
Pongo was a splendid reader—how often had he blessed those Alphabet Blocks he had played with as a pup! But he had never looked up a word in the dictionary and he wasn’t sure on which shelf the dictionary was kept. Also, the room was only dimly lit because the curtains were still drawn. But as he peered around, a shaft of sunlight came between the curtains (did they draw aside just a little to let it in?) and it shone full on a dark blue book which had “Dictionary” in gold letters on its back. He nosed it from the shelf and it slid gently to the floor, where it fell open. The bright shaft of sunlight shone on it.
“Bless me, it’s opened at the very word I want,” said Pongo.
“I do call that civil,” said Missis.
Pongo found the words which explained “metaphysical” as puzzling as the word itself. But when he read them aloud to Missis she understood two of them, “visionary” and “supernatural.” She said “visionary” was when you imagined things, and “supernatural” must mean extra specially natural.
“Or perhaps more than natural,” said Pongo. “And I see that metaphysics has something to do with the mind.”
Missis said, “I think metaphysical means magic—a kind of magic that comes from our own minds. That’s why we’re able to open doors today, and talk direct to Cadpig—and swoosh. Oh, Pongo, I like metaphysical!”
“I don’t think I do,” said Pongo. “I don’t think I like things I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you have such a splendid brain. My brain understands so little that it loves things it’s not supposed to understand. Anyway, I’ve taken to metaphysical.”
Pongo never thought Missis as silly as she thought herself. And he greatly depended on her instincts. He was a clever dog and he knew it. But he also knew that the cleverer he got, the less help he got from his instincts. So he was happy that he could rely on what his dear wife often called her “feelings.” And if she was in favor of metaphysical he would do his best to be, too.
He tried to put the dictionary back on its shelf, but could not manage it. Why? When this morning he could do so many things not usually possible?
“It’s because you don’t need to,” said Missis. “If you did, I’m sure metaphysical would help. The book will be quite safe on the floor.”
“Not if any puppies get in here.”
So Missis pushed the book under the sofa with her nose and said, “No puppy will find it there. And when we come back and Mr. Dearly’s awake we’ll show him where his dictionary is.”
But would they ever come back? Would Mr. Dearly ever wak
e? Pongo tried to turn these fears out of his mind. Anyway, he must hide them from Missis. He said briskly, “Now we must hurry.”
They ran out into the sunny garden.
4. The Great Swoosh
By now the fifty Dalmatians who were coming to London were accomplished swooshers. Pongo lined them up on the front lawn in rows of four. He and Missis were in the front row with Patch and Roly Poly. Lucky and his wife, Gay, were in the back row to see there were no stragglers. In between, dotted about, were the other members of Pongo’s family. They were looking forward to seeing their famous sister, Cadpig, in Downing Street.
When they were ready to start Pongo said to Missis, “It does seem strange to set out without so much as a drink of water. Shall I ask if any dog is thirsty?”
“Ask if you like, but no dog will be—any more than we are.”
Still, Pongo asked. But though the pond was at hand (which the dogs found more tasty than tap water) no dog wanted to drink.
“Very peculiar,” said Pongo.
“Just metaphysical,” said Missis.
Pongo had a few last words with Prince, Missis kissed Perdita affectionately, and all the dogs who were staying behind wished the little army good luck. Then Pongo said, “Now we’ll start very slowly. Then take your pace from Missis and me, and be ready to stop at the farm. I must have a word with the General. Gates, please!”
The tall gates swung open, and out at a slow swoosh went the thirteen rows of four Dalmatians. Then the gates swung together again.
When they were out on the road Pongo increased the pace and they reached the farm quickly—to find that a Beagle, two Spaniels, a very brave Pekingese and four dogs of mixed breed were lined up and ready to join up.
The sheepdog said, “I swooshed to the village and recruited them. And I’ve got myself a bright lad to train as a lieutenant.” He glared down at a small Jack Russell Terrier, “Not that he’ll ever be as good as Mrs. Willow, or as Lucky was at his age.”
“Yes, I will. I’ll be better,” said the Jack Russell Terrier, in a shrill voice, glaring back at the Sheepdog.
“Bless my soul, what impertinence,” said the General. “Still, I like a bit of spirit.” One reason that the General was so fond of the tabby cat was that she always answered him back and there was no doubt that the Jack Russell was going to be just as good at it.
Lucky had now got the eight dogs from the village into line.
“My guess is that you’ll be joined by volunteers all along the route,” said the General, “which is bound to delay you. So you’d better get a move on.”
“All dogs at the ready,” said Pongo and then, after saying goodbye to the General and the Jack Russell, he commanded, “Quick swoosh!”
The road from the farm twisted, so the swoosh wasn’t really quick at first. But after they were through the village—where all the dogs who were remaining on guard raised a hearty cheer—they were soon on the high road and could go full speed. Pongo found there was no need to bark instructions. Whatever pace he set was instantly followed. He found this puzzling and asked Missis if she could explain it.
Missis at once said, “It’s quite simple. You think a faster thought and we all go faster. You think a slower thought and we all slow down. Indeed, we only move forward at all because you think a forward thought.”
Just then there was a terrific commotion. Roly Poly swooshed backwards and bumped into the dog behind him, and that dog bumped into the dog that was behind him, and so on right to the back row of the army. Pongo both thought and barked “Halt!” and was thankful no one was hurt.
“But whatever happened, Roly?” he asked, while the dogs behind were picking themselves up.
“I was listening to what you and Mother were saying,” said Roly Poly. “And I accidentally thought a backward thought.”
“No one but your Father is to think any thoughts at all,” said Missis. “And you’d better warn all the other dogs, Pongo.”
But Pongo didn’t think this would be wise. “It might make them nervous. And no dog but Roly Poly would think a backward thought when we’re swooshing forward. All will be well if Roly will make his mind a blank.”
“I’ll try. I’ll try hard,” said Roly Poly.
The swoosh began again but this time Roly didn’t budge and was knocked down by the dog behind him. Again the army had to halt. Missis said, “He made his mind too blank—it didn’t let your thoughts in, Pongo. Roly, dear, tell your mind that it’s to do what your father’s mind tells it. Just until we get to London. Then you can think your own thoughts again.”
After that, they swooshed smoothly until they reached the town of Sudbury. Pongo, looking at the closed shops, thought of all the pleasant shopkeepers, now fast asleep. He knew many of them well as the Dearlys often brought him and Missis here on market days. How jolly—and noisy—the market had always been! Now it was deserted except for a group of dogs standing by Gainsborough’s statue, waiting to join the army. Pongo halted so that Lucky could fit them in.
Missis, looking up at the church clock, said, “Twelve o’clock, my favourite time! Both hands are in the same place so I can’t get them mixed.” Then, as the clock began to chime, she added, “Oh, Pongo, do you remember? It was striking twelve the first time we saw this town, when we came to rescue the puppies. But then it was striking midnight, which makes quite a different noise.”
“Not really,” said Pongo.
“Well, it does to me—because the feel of midnight is just a little scaring and the feel of midday isn’t. Though today even midday feels a bit peculiar.”
Soon they were on their way again and swooshing through beautiful open country. It was a marvellous high summer day, in fact Missis thought it was the highest summer day she had ever known. The sky seemed farther away than usual and looked more like blue velvet than a normal sky does; Missis felt she would like to stroke it. Tall trees looked particularly tall and their heavy foliage looked particularly soft and furry. Cornfields were turning gold and the very air seemed golden and not just because the sun was shining; the air seemed to have a golden haze of its own. And the whole countryside was utterly still.
Missis said, “Isn’t it strange that, though we’re moving so fast, our ears aren’t blowing back?”
“And I can’t feel any breeze on my nose,” said Pongo.
“All the winds, like all the creatures but dogs, must be asleep. Pongo, I am enjoying this peaceful swoosh.”
Pongo felt it wasn’t safe to feel peaceful. But he didn’t want to worry Missis so he told her to go on enjoying herself.
“You mean, as long as I can,” said Missis, guessing that his sense of responsibility was making him anxious. “And so I will. But I could enjoy myself much more if you were enjoying yourself. Do try. Remember that enjoyment’s something you can store up. Once you’ve had it, no one can take it away.”
“That’s a fine maxim, my dear.”
“A what, Pongo?”
“A maxim. It’s a word I’ve heard Mr. Dearly use. I think it means something you specially believe in.”
“Fancy me speaking a maxim!” said Missis, proudly. “Anyway, try to relax. Perhaps there may be worries ahead of us, but don’t let’s meet them half way.”
So Pongo relaxed and the whole army of Hover-dogs swooshed peacefully through the still, silent morning, stopping only when dogs were waiting to join the army. But the worries that lay ahead were soon reaching out toward them. While they were waiting for Lucky to fit some dogs in, Pongo felt a sudden stirring in his mind and, a moment later, he heard Cadpig barking. (The thought wave had come just ahead of the bark—like light traveling faster than sound.) He answered at once.
“Thank goodness I’ve found you,” said Cadpig. “It isn’t easy to get in touch with dogs who are on the move. Where are you and how soon will you be at No. 10?”
Pongo said he thought they were about half way and would be at least another hour.
“You’re being terribly slow,” said Cadpig.
Pongo explained that they sometimes had to stop for dogs who wanted to come with them.
Cadpig brushed this aside. “Let them come on their own.”
“But they don’t know the way,” said Pongo. “I do, because I’ve often driven to London with Mr. Dearly.”
“They can get to London if they think about getting to London,” said Cadpig. “I’ve had that information barked all over England. But some dogs just want to be led. Anyway, far too many dogs are coming. There’s a seething mass of dogs outside No. 10. Oh Father, do hurry!”
“Anything specially wrong, dear?” asked Missis.
“Nothing I can bark about. But I do have a lot on my mind. I must go, I’m being called—I think we may be getting through to America. Now swoosh your fastest, but look out for traffic when you get near London.”
“Traffic?” said Pongo, astonished.
“I mean dog traffic, of course. There are dog jams all over the place. Get as close to Downing Street as you can and then bark to me. I’ll send an escort. Goodbye for now.”
All the dogs had heard Cadpig so Pongo only had to give the order “Full swoosh ahead” and set the fastest pace he could. Missis didn’t care for it at all. She said, “All the peace is gone. Well, Cadpig never was a peaceful dog. Pongo, did you think she sounded scared?”
Pongo had, indeed, thought so but he didn’t want to worry Missis, so he just said, “Perhaps it was simply that her voice was a little tired. She must have done a powerful lot of barking this morning. Well, we shall soon be there to help her.”
There were now fewer waiting dogs who had to be stopped for, as many of them had started on their own. But when, after a long, fast swoosh, the outskirts of London were reached, traffic problems began and it was no longer possible to swoosh fast. Dogs were coming from all directions, in small groups and long processions, it was difficult to judge who had the right of way. Pongo wished the traffic lights were working—and suddenly they were! He didn’t feel he was a sufficiently powerful wisher to have done this on his own, so he could only think that Cadpig had somehow arranged it.