September 24, 1940
Francis had taken refuge in Monkey Hill. Ming and Tang were gone. Perhaps for good. It was like losing George all over again, except this time Francis was the one left behind. In the end, the emptiness became too much to bear, so he joined Chiney and Jacky. He was torn between his promise to find Ming and Tang and completing his mission. He could perhaps make the long journey mostly on foot to Bletchley. But the thought of Ming and Tang stopped him from leaving, like an anchor pulling at his gut every time he drew closer to the edge of the zoo.
The monkeys had tried to cheer him up with their tumbles and acrobatics, but when they could barely bring more than a sigh from Francis, they left him alone. He settled himself at the very bottom of Monkey Hill, nestled within the smallest of crags. He felt safe there, secure. He gazed at the sky at night, wondering what he should do next. He desperately needed to deliver his message, but since Ming and Tang had been taken away, he had lost some of his fight… his determination. He wouldn’t even be alive now if it weren’t for Ming and Jean.
He finally came to a decision. He needed to know that Ming and Tang were safe before he continued on his mission. For that, he would need to devise a new plan: how to get to Whipsnade Zoo.
“There you are!” a voice hissed, startling Francis from his nap.
Francis tried to escape, but he had become so tightly wedged into his hiding place that he could only shuffle forward an inch before soft, warm hands enveloped him, gently pulling him out of his nest.
Jean examined Francis closely. “I’ve been so worried about you,” she said. “I thought that my father might have scared you off for good. Let me look at that wing.”
She carried Francis out of the monkeys’ enclosure. Francis smiled at Jacky and Chiney to reassure them he would be fine. Jean slipped Francis beneath her jacket, sending him into a dull darkness.
“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to see you.”
A few minutes later, Jean opened her jacket, blinding Francis with bright sunlight, which shone through the small window. They were in the back room of the giant panda enclosure again, where Jean had first treated him.
She carefully placed him on the desk and inspected his bad wing, gently lifting it up and down, left and right. The pain had faded to a dull ache, and although Francis felt as though he could probably fly again, he was nervous. His last two experiences hadn’t turned out so well.
Jean sighed and knelt down to look Francis in the eye. “I miss Ming and Tang, too,” she said. “That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it?”
Francis cooed quietly in response and Jean nodded. She filled a bowl with warm water and cleaned his feathers. This time the water turned a murky brown and Francis felt slightly embarrassed that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath.
When Jean finished, she pulled out a chair and sat down, handing Francis a handful of seed. She produced her own lunch from a tin container, breaking off a piece of her sandwich for Francis before she ate the rest. The two ate in a companionable silence and, not for the first time, Francis wished that he had a way to communicate with the humans so that he could be sure that Ming was safe and tell Jean about the message. Sometimes he had made gestures to George and it felt as though he had actually understood what Francis meant. Maybe he could do the same with Jean? Despite the fact that she was the boss’s daughter, he knew that she was a good human, and Francis was sure he could trust her.
He glanced up at the wall at a black-and-white photograph of a small panda cub that he presumed was Ming. Beside it was a map of the zoo. He studied it, but something wasn’t quite right. Some things were out of place, or not there at all, like the lion enclosure and the penguin pool. He stepped closer for a better look, then saw that a square area had been circled with a red pen, right beside the elephant house. Francis jumped up and tapped his beak on the circle, trying to get Jean’s attention.
“What is it?” Jean asked, putting her sandwich down.
Francis jumped again, tapping the photograph of Ming, then hopped to the side to jump up and tap the map. She watched Francis jump up and down a few more times with a puzzled expression on her face, and just when Francis was about to give up, she smiled.
“Ming!” she said. “Is that what you want to know?”
Francis almost collapsed with relief. He bobbed his head up and down as Jean stared at him, awestruck. “You really are a remarkable pigeon.”
She pointed to the map. “This is our sister zoo, Whipsnade.”
She opened a drawer, pulling out a larger map, and swiped her lunch to one side so that she could open it out fully on the desk. “This is where we are,” she said, pointing at London. “This is where Whipsnade is. Where Ming and Tang are.”
Francis hopped onto the spot on the map where Regent’s Park was. Bletchley Park was slightly off to the north, Francis estimated about fifty miles away. If his wing was good and his path clear, he could probably make the journey in just over an hour. He bent to see where Whipsnade was in comparison.
For the first time since Ming had been taken away, Francis smiled. The other zoo was only a fifteen-minute journey from Bletchley, if even that.
Francis tested his wing, seeing if he could raise it. It was a little stiff, but less painful than he had been expecting. Jean realized what he was trying to do. “Just go slowly,” she cautioned him. “The break seems to be healed, but your muscles have grown weaker from lack of exercise.”
Francis lifted his head to the window.
“How about we try it out?” Jean asked.
She carried Francis outside, behind the enclosure where there would be no prying eyes, then set Francis down on the ground.
“Ready?” she asked.
Francis clenched his beak and slowly flapped. He had done it before, he could do it again, he thought. His heart raced as he thought of how helpless he had felt when his wing had failed him. He shook his head determinedly. That wouldn’t happen this time. As long as he took his time and went slowly…
Without even thinking, he found himself in the air. He took Jean’s advice, trying not to push his wings too much, but he had forgotten the feeling of flying for the joy of it, and he was soon ducking and diving, circling overhead as Jean whooped and laughed below. Francis quickly retrieved the capsule from where he’d hidden it inside Ming’s enclosure, then set off. He landed in an oak tree, surveying the zoo for one last time, and then flew north, toward Bletchley.
September 21, 1940
There was a loud pounding. Ming tried to work out where it was coming from as she opened her eyes blearily. Then she realized that she was no longer at home, and that the pounding that reverberated in her ears and set her teeth on edge was coming from her own head.
“Francis?” she called out groggily. “Tang?”
She lifted her head, and the ground spun beneath her. She lay back down, staring at the floor. Wherever she was, it was quiet… well, a lot quieter than she was used to. There were no sounds of nearby city traffic or the humans making their way excitedly from one enclosure to another. There were no sounds of Tang snoring beside her. And there was no Francis.
Ming had always believed that she hated the noise of the zoo. How it never seemed to cease, day or night. But now that all she could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves blowing in the breeze and the occasional twitter of birdcall, Ming found she hated the quiet more.
She forced herself up and took in her surroundings. She was in a smaller enclosure than she was used to. This one had no thick metal bars or walls. It was simple, hastily put together with wooden posts rammed into the earth and wire mesh acting as a fence. A large building loomed to the left, and Ming realized that she knew where she was. A loud trumpeting sound from the elephant house a moment later confirmed her suspicions.
She was back at Whipsnade Zoo.
Water and bamboo had been left for her inside the cage, and despite feeling utterly sick with her pounding head, she forced herself to eat a
nd drink. She had no idea how long she’d been out, and no idea if she was to stay at Whipsnade or if they would be moving her somewhere else. She chomped down on the bamboo, chewing it for as long as she could, then forced herself to swallow it, even though her stomach gurgled in protest. Suddenly, she noticed a large black-and-white lump lurking beneath a blanket in the corner.
“Tang?”
Ming moved closer, afraid at how still and quiet the figure was. Tang usually made more noise when he slept than he did awake. She moved closer still, watching his back for any movement, any signs of life. She held out a trembling paw, intending to gently pat him, when the lump moved all of a sudden. Two black-ringed eyes stood facing her, familiar, but not. It was a giant panda all right, but not Tang.
“Who are you?” the giant panda demanded.
“I—I’m Ming,” she stuttered. “Who are you? Where have they taken Tang?”
The other giant panda narrowed her eyes. “What is Tang?” she asked. “And what are you doing in my enclosure?”
“I’m from London Zoo,” Ming replied, backing away slightly as the giant panda continued to glare in a not so friendly way. “They knocked us out—Tang and I—then I woke up here. Were you evacuated, too?” Ming couldn’t remember there being another giant panda at Whipsnade when she’d last been there, but then, she hadn’t been there very long and had been kept in a brick building, so she hadn’t been able to see very much at all.
The other giant panda’s eyes softened slightly. “I’m Sung. I heard about you the last time you were here—there was such excitement that the famous Ming was coming to stay. I’ve always lived here, but I think they wanted to keep us apart in case there was any kind of rivalry between us.”
“Rivalry?” Ming asked. “Over what?”
Sung gestured her head to the back of the enclosure. It went off slightly to the right, out of sight behind a low wall. Sung nodded at Ming to go ahead, and Ming turned the corner where there were three separate sleeping areas constructed from wooden crates. The first two were empty, but in the last was a snuffling, snoring lump.
“Tang!” Ming cried, amazed that she hadn’t heard him sooner.
She suddenly realized what Sung had meant. “The humans thought that you and I might fight over Tang?”
Ming didn’t know if she was still feeling the effects from the tranquilizer, but she burst into hysterical laughter, waking him.
“What are you so happy about?” Tang asked, looking from Ming to Sung. He rubbed his paws over his eyes. “Am I seeing double?”
Ming glanced at Sung, who rolled her eyes, and burst into laughter all over again.
They were interrupted by the sound of marching feet. Ming and Sung looked out through the wire fence to see a group of humans—men and boys—parading up and down. Many of the men were holding strange objects like broom handles, spades, and garden hoes, while the boys held sticks, resting over their shoulders.
“What are they doing?” Ming asked. She’d seen humans do some strange things in her time, but never something this unusual. “Have they gone mad?”
Sung snorted. “They call themselves the Home Guard,” she explained. “The male humans who were too old or too young to be sent into service formed their own little army unit, to keep us and the other humans safe while the soldiers fight on the front lines.”
Ming was unconvinced. “How can a bunch of old men with garden implements keep us safe?”
The parade was followed by a large group of children, who skipped along behind singing a song. It suddenly struck Ming that she hadn’t seen so many children in such a long time.
Sung saw her watching the children and said, “They were evacuated here from London, too. Many of them are the children of your zookeepers.”
“Does that mean we are safe here?” Ming asked.
Sung sat down with a sigh. “Supposedly. Although we haven’t been entirely missed by the Nazis.”
She indicated a shallow pond in a grassy paddock opposite their enclosure. A couple of ducks swam leisurely across it, while two giraffes—one adult, one no more than a few months old—chewed the leaves from a nearby tree. “That pond wasn’t always there,” Sung continued. “A bomb landed one night and that’s the crater it left behind. It slowly filled up with rainwater. There are others, too. The humans are keeping them as ponds. It’s too much hard work to keep filling them in.”
Ming felt uneasy. She’d been dragged away from her home and sent to Whipsnade to keep her safe. But how safe were any of them when the Nazis were planning such a big attack?
The Home Guard returned, then set to work in a field beside the giraffe house. Ming noticed that there were fewer animal enclosures than when she’d last been there, and many of the paddocks had been turned into vegetable patches. There were even chickens and a couple of goats wandering around. Ming felt like she was in more of a farm than a zoo.
“They work hard, the humans,” Sung said. “If it wasn’t for them growing all the food here, we would be a lot hungrier. They’ve grown enough to keep animals’ and humans’ bellies full.”
“What’s that?” Ming asked, pointing to a building at the top of the hill.
“That’s the fellows’ pavilion. They’ve turned it into an air-raid defense post. You can see across the countryside for miles from up there,” Sung said. “Or so I’ve heard.” She gestured to the wire mesh.
“Maybe one day we can take a look for ourselves?” Ming suggested, only half joking.
“I think you’ve done enough wandering, don’t you?” Tang asked.
Sung looked at Tang, then back to Ming expectantly.
Ming sighed. “Our keeper, Jean, forgot to lock our enclosure one evening, so a friend and I took a stroll around the zoo. Tang was too much of a coward to join us.”
“I was not!” Tang cried indignantly. “I was being the sensible one. Someone has to be, with you and Francis and the monkeys causing all kinds of commotion.”
“Francis?” Sung asked. “Is he another panda?”
Ming shook her head. “He’s a very important pigeon. He works for the National Pigeon Service and was taking a message to the humans to be decoded. But he didn’t make it.”
Sung gasped. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
Tang laughed. “He didn’t die! He was shot out of the sky by a spy plane and landed in our enclosure. He’s spent the last few weeks trying to find someone else to deliver the blasted message for him. It’s caused nothing but trouble.”
Sung sat quietly for a while, seeming lost in thought. She glanced up at Ming. “What was the message about?”
“Ming,” Tang warned. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Sung huffed. “Besides, who could I tell? It’s only us here.”
Ming wondered if she should tell the truth. Since she’d found out what the Nazis were planning, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. But wasn’t it better that Sung could be prepared for the worst?
“The Nazis are planning to blitz London,” Ming blurted out. “The air raids have been bad, but nothing compared to what the Nazis will do in a full-out attack.”
Sung’s eyes went wide.
“It won’t come to that,” Tang tried to reassure her. “Francis will deliver the message and our troops will be ready.”
He looked to Ming and she nodded, even though she had no idea what Francis’s plan was now. The fate of London, perhaps Great Britain, weighed on his shoulders. She wished she were still with him to help in some way.
The sky had begun to darken, and Ming was surprised at how quickly the day had gone by. In London Zoo the days often dragged, but here with two giant pandas for company, the time flew. Sung and Ming headed for their beds, with Sung taking the one at the opposite end to Tang’s and Ming taking the one in the middle. Tang was already snoring, but for once the noise didn’t bother Ming. It felt comforting having two friends beside her. She wondered if Francis would ever manage to deliver his message and if she�
�d ever see him again.
Her eyelids slowly drooped, and she soon found herself falling asleep, when she was rudely awoken by sirens. They sounded different than the ones in London; these were slightly echoey and distorted.
“What is that?” she asked Sung, who had awoken beside her.
“Wolves,” Sung told her. “They howl whenever the sirens go off. Sometimes they howl before the sirens start. Almost as though they can sense danger approaching.”
Ming listened. The wolves’ howls sounded full of sorrow, as though they were calling out for lost loved ones who never returned. I know how they feel, Ming thought sadly.
September 25, 1940
It had been almost six months since Francis had last seen his home at Bletchley, but as he flew, he barely had to think about which direction he was flying in. It was the natural homing instinct that every pigeon has—no matter where they were, even if they were lost, injured, or confused, they would always find their way home. He wondered if George had also somehow found his way home, but he knew that the chances of that were unlikely.
Francis soared lower, preparing for landing. Bletchley was a huge, sprawling mansion on luscious grounds. Along with the mansion, there were a number of huts, each housing intelligence officers and code breakers, who worked on messages and codes from various different sources. Francis had sneaked into one once and had seen curious machines that looked like typewriters. When the humans pressed one of the keys, a small lamp lit up. He’d later learned that they were called Enigma machines and were used to decipher coded German messages.
He continued on, over the trees and the long winding road that led to his home, then there it was! Bletchley. Standing proudly in the middle of the countryside. Francis was suddenly overcome with emotion. To him, Bletchley meant so many things—not only home, but family, friends, and a sense of pride that came with working alongside the humans and, in some small way, making a difference. What Francis and the other pigeons did here was important. Their actions could alter the course of history, could even bring an end to the war.
World War II Page 8