The Lights Go On Again

by Kit Pearson

  “So what did you want to tell me?” she asked finally.

  He stared at her. Her braids were pinned around her face in a circle. It made her look like a flower.

  “I came to say goodbye,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, you’re going up north. But I’ll see you in September.”

  “You won’t!” said Gavin, close to tears. “I’m going back to England. I decided not to stay in Canada. My sister and grandfather and I are leaving tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor’s expression didn’t change.

  “I may come back and visit Canada in a while, though,” said Gavin.

  “We’ll be older then,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Uh-huh.” Maybe when they were older he’d know how to talk to her more easily. “I’ll write you a letter,” he said.

  “Okay.” Eleanor still looked as calm as if Gavin were only going away for the summer.

  “So … goodbye, then.”

  She just sat there. Didn’t she care at all? “Goodbye,” she mumbled, staring at the grass.

  Gavin walked away quickly. His legs quivered as he stomped to the front of the house and along the sidewalk.

  “Wait!” He was almost at the corner when Eleanor reached him. He turned around and she stood in front of him, trying to catch her breath. One of her braids had come loose. “Good luck, Gavin,” she said gravely. “I’ll never forget you.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she walked away.

  Gavin watched her go. Her lips were soft, like tiny cushions, and they tasted of lemonade.

  THAT EVENING everyone spoke in tender, careful voices, as if afraid the other person would break. Hanny made Norah and Gavin’s favourite foods for dinner. Then they sat in the den quietly, listening to a concert on the radio. Every once in a while Aunt Florence or Aunt Mary or Grandad would ask each other if some item or another had been packed.

  When the concert was over Gavin fiddled with the radio dial, wondering what the programmes were like in England. Then the door knocker sounded and everyone was relieved when the Worsleys marched in noisily.

  “I have a present for you, Gavin,” whispered Daphne. Gingerly, Gavin took the small box she handed him. It probably contained something disgusting.

  But to his surprise Daphne had given him the jackknife she always carried with her. “It’s to protect you in England,” she grinned. “You never know what wild animals you’ll meet there. You can use it to skin them.”

  “Thanks, Daphne!” said Gavin. “I’ll take good care of it.”

  When the Worsleys got up to go everyone was crying, especially Paige. “Oh, Norah, I can’t bear it! You’re the best friend I ever had!”

  Norah wiped her own eyes. She took Paige’s arm. “I’ll walk home with you—then we’ll have a little more time.”

  The rest of them went back into the den. Aunt Florence opened up Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town and began to read. She had begun it earlier in the month to try to cheer everyone up. But although the words she was reading were amusing, her voice was not. Gavin stared at her strong face and at Aunt Mary’s gentle one.

  “Excuse me,” he murmured, and slipped from the room. He went into the dim living room and curled up on the window-seat.

  Bosley hopped up beside him and collapsed in a silken pile at his feet. Gavin stroked him all over, from his smooth head to the ends of each of his fluffy feet, memorizing every freckle and patch. Bosley rolled over on his back with pleasure and Gavin tickled his stomach in the place he liked best. Then he pulled Creature out of his pocket. He was much too old to carry him around the way he used to, but tonight he needed him.

  Glancing out the window, he saw all the streetlights come on together. He had never seen that happen before. It was like that song, “When the Lights Go On Again.”

  The war was over and the world’s lights could shine again. That was good, of course; but the light was cruel as well as hopeful. It exposed all the bad things that had happened in the war—all the suffering. His parents crushed under their house, soldiers dying in the mud … and those mysterious, terrible bodies in Life magazine.

  Gavin shivered. Tomorrow he had to venture into that glaring new world. He had to leave behind the people and places he was so used to—that he loved. Bosley whined, and Gavin kissed the white streak between his eyes. Then he huddled against the warm dog.

  He couldn’t do it. He would go back into the den and tell them he was staying. In two days he and Bosley could be out in the canoe at Gairloch. He was only ten. How could he be expected to give up so much? He would stay.

  “Gavin? Are you all right?” Grandad came into the dark room and sat down beside him.

  “I’m scared,” whispered Gavin.

  “That’s understandable,” said Grandad. “You’re leaving everything that’s familiar to you. But what are you afraid of?”

  “Of England—and the war—and people getting killed like Muv and Dad—of everything!”

  “The war’s all over now, Gavin,” said Grandad gently. “You know that.”

  But England had always meant the horror of war. It was so hard to believe that the horror wouldn’t still be there.

  “What else are you afraid of?”

  “Starting a new school.”

  “That’s scary,” agreed Grandad, “but you’ve always done well and made friends in school here. I don’t see why it should be any different in England. It’ll seem different for a while, but you’ll soon get used to it. Anything else?”

  Gavin stroked Bosley’s head. “Everything ahead is so—so blank. I don’t know what’s going to happen! It’s so hard! Having to leave everybody, not knowing what it’ll be like.”

  “Life is hard, old man. I’m sorry the war has made you have to find that out so soon. And nobody ever knows what’s going to happen.” He chewed on the end of his pipe. “That’s what makes life interesting! I can’t tell you there won’t be bad times, but I promise you there will be lots of good times too. Think of this as an adventure!”

  An adventure … like the pilgrim fighting his giants, or Sir Launcelot setting out on a quest. They were beginning the adventure by going on a ship. And then he’d see his other sisters again, and his new nephew … A small flame of excitement flickered in Gavin.

  Maybe Sir Launcelot had to leave people he loved too. Maybe he’d even had a dog. He had to hurt them. But that didn’t keep him from his quest.

  “Feel better?” said Grandad.

  Gavin nodded. “A little. I’m still afraid, though.” He sighed. “I’m such a coward, aren’t I, Grandad …”

  “A coward!” Grandad’s moustache quivered. “You listen to me, young man—you’re the bravest boy I’ve ever known! Everyone’s afraid. Being brave is going ahead despite your fear. It seems to me you’ve done that all along. Just look at all the difficulties you’ve faced in this war! You’re not a coward!”

  “Really?” grinned Gavin.

  “Really!” Grandad took Gavin’s hand. “Let’s go back into the den. You can’t leave those two alone on your last night.”

  THE TRAIN was waiting. Aunt Florence, Aunt Mary, Hanny and Norah were all crying.

  Gavin had hugged Bosley for the last time as they were leaving the house. The spaniel would travel up north with the Ogilvies tomorrow, and at the end of the summer he’d go back to Montreal with Uncle Reg. Gavin could still feel the warm, wet touch of his dog’s tongue on his face.

  A short distance away from them Dulcie and Lucy and the Milnes were also saying tearful goodbyes. “All aboard!” a man’s voice called.

  Norah kissed Aunt Florence last. “I will miss you so much!” cried Aunt Florence, releasing Norah from a bear hug.

  “Thank you for everything!” cried Norah, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Grandad kissed Aunt Mary’s cheek.

  “Thank you for lending us your children,” she sobbed.

  The old man turned to Aunt Florence, hesitated, then firmly kissed her cheek as w
ell. Aunt Florence looked startled, then she gave him a rueful smile. “Thank you from me as well, Mr. Loggin,” she said quietly.

  Gavin was passed from Hanny to Aunt Mary. Then he stood in front of Aunt Florence. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

  “Oh, my dear, dear little boy …” She pulled him into a deep, soft embrace and he inhaled the smell of her perfume. She clung to his arms as she held him out and said gruffly, “Be brave and happy, Gavin. We’ll see you next summer.” Then she let him go.

  “Come on, Gavin.” Norah took his hand and led him onto the train, just as she had done five years earlier. They found their seats. Grandad lifted their luggage onto the rack as Norah and Gavin leaned out the window, calling and waving to their Canadian family.

  “Goodbye! Goodbye!”

  “Goodbye! See you next summer!”

  Then the train moved out of the station and they began the long journey back to England.

  EPILOGUE

  September 28, 1945

  Dear Aunt Florence, Aunt Mary and Hanny,

  Thank you for your last letters. I’m glad Bosley is still okay. Uncle Reg sent me a picture of him. He looks fat! I hope Uncle Reg isn’t feeding him too much.

  Our house’s walls are almost fixed. Grandad and his friends work on it every day. We’re going to give the house a new name—Gairloch! When you come next summer it will be finished. And as soon as we move in I’m getting a dog! I’ve already picked it out—he’s part pointer and part retriever. I’ve named him Kilroy.

  Everyone in England rides bikes, even the grown-ups. I am using Norah’s old one. It’s heavy and black and not nearly as nice as my Canadian bike.

  School isn’t too bad. There’s only six other kids who are ten and only thirty-three in the whole school. We are the oldest age. My teacher’s name is Mr. Maybourne. He’s also the headmaster—that’s what they call “principal.” He’s quite strict and he complains because I’m behind the others. Some of the kids tease me about my accent and call me “Yank.” I told them they should call me “Canuck” instead. Joey said I was a coward because I left England during the war. But another boy called James stuck up for me. Yesterday James came for tea. He likes all my models. You can’t buy models in England any more.

  Norah goes to school in Ashford. She takes the train. Next year I’ll go there too, to a much bigger school where there are only boys. I’ll have to wear a uniform like Norah does.

  My sisters and Barry are fine. They talk about our parents all the time. Muriel says to tell you she will write soon.

  The baby is funny. His hair sticks straight up. I’m trying to teach him to say “Gavin” but he won’t.

  Andrew came to see us! He looks just the same. He is safe and didn’t get any wounds. He gave me a German badge. I’m the only person in the school who has one.

  Norah has a boy friend! His name is John. He’s sixteen and he goes to school in Ashford too. She met him on the train. Norah and John say they are pacifists and that the Allies shouldn’t have dropped the atomic bomb on Japan. I haven’t decided about that yet.

  Andrew told us he’s going to marry a Dutch girl called Alida. She has gone ahead to Canada to stay with his parents. They’re going to live in Saskatchewan while he takes acting. I guess you know that.

  Andrew and Norah and John and I went to London on the train. We saw Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. We looked for the King at Buckingham Palace but he didn’t come out. Lots and lots of the buildings in London were smashed in the war, just like our house. Andrew took us to a fancy restaurant. He let me have three desserts. Then we said goodbye to him and came back all by ourselves on the train.

  Gavin put down his pen and read over what he’d written. There was so much he’d left out. How the puppy he’d picked seemed afraid of him. How small and drab England was. How crowded they all were in Muriel and Barry’s tiny house. The meagre food. The bitter coldness inside, now that fall—autumn, he corrected himself—was here. Most of all, his constant, burning homesickness.

  He looked around the kitchen. Muriel was stirring a vile-smelling stew. Drying diapers were draped in front of the fire. Grandad sat in a corner behind his newspaper, puffing on his pipe. Norah was trying to concentrate on her homework at the other end of the table from Gavin.

  The baby toddled over to Gavin and grabbed his leg. “Ga-win,” he said clearly.

  “Did you hear that?” cried Gavin. “Richard said my name!” Everyone looked up and smiled at Richard and Gavin.

  Gavin picked up his pen again.

  I miss you very much and I miss Canada.

  I am being brave.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to Jean Little, Kay and Sandy Pearson, Patricia Runcic, Linda Shineton, Elizabeth Symon, Joan Weir—and especially to Claire Mackay for her generous advice.