When We Were Warriors

by Emma Carroll

‘Look,’ Velvet spoke up. ‘Lynn knows animal stuff. She reads books on it and everything. Yesterday she mended a rat’s broken leg.’

  ‘My rat, actually,’ Mo added. ‘And I’m very glad she did. Better a limping rat than a dead one.’

  Robert almost brightened. ‘You managed to save the little chap, then?’

  Which struck Velvet as odd: what did he know about Sherlock? Then, in the torchlight she caught sight of his feet, and on them, a pair of very new-looking shoes.

  ‘It was you!’ she cried. ‘You were the one who found Sherlock and put him in a shoebox!’

  Robert admitted it was.

  ‘Thank you!’ Mo spluttered. ‘I mean, really. It was very decent of you!’

  Mo was looking at him now in a whole different way. And when Wisp reached out to Lynn and licked her hand, it seemed to win Robert over. Wiping his nose, he said, ‘We’d best get on with it, then.’

  ‘Sit up by her head and talk to her,’ Lynn instructed Robert, then to Velvet, ‘Untie your sweater. You’re going to hold the puppy in it as soon as it comes out.’

  Velvet did as Lynn asked. Though she was nervous, her brain felt sharp. We can do this, she thought. We really can do this. Glancing at Lynn’s calm, clever face she felt sure of it.

  ‘Right,’ said Lynn, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m going in.’

  There was a twist, a squelch. Lynn heaved. Wisp pushed. Moments later what looked like a lump of kidney landed in Velvet’s school jumper.

  ‘Rub it,’ Lynn told her. ‘Clear the sac off its nose so it can breathe.’

  Velvet rubbed. She watched in amazement as the slimy thing no bigger than a guinea pig squirmed and squeaked into life. She was still staring at it when Lynn nudged her.

  ‘There’s another one coming, get ready!’

  Before long, they’d delivered another black puppy, bringing the total to three. Then, just as Wisp was getting up to stretch herself and sniff Robert’s pockets for food, she started shaking again.

  ‘Watch out!’ Velvet cried. ‘There’s one more!’

  The puppy came out very fast. It was smaller than the others, with white on its face and paws. To Velvet, it was the most adorable of the lot. Yet although she rubbed it vigorously, the pup didn’t move.

  ‘We’ve saved Wisp and got three healthy ones, so that’s something,’ Lynn, tried to reason.

  Mo, who’d kept quiet in the background all the way through, shuffled alongside Velvet. ‘C’mon, let’s give it one last shot.’

  While Mo rubbed, she breathed into its bright pink muzzle. It didn’t work. When Wisp turned around, realising there was another puppy, she gave it a sniff, a tentative lick. And then, very gently but firmly, she cleaned the pup from nose to tail tip. Like Velvet and Mo, she didn’t give up.

  Finally, the puppy’s paws twitched. It coughed. A tiny tongue appeared. Velvet, tears rolling down her cheeks, watched as the puppy wriggled towards its mother’s belly and started to feed.

  Mo flung an arm round Robert’s shoulders, grinning. ‘We did it!’

  ‘Thanks, all of you,’ Robert said, and for the first time Velvet had ever seen him do so, he smiled.

  7

  Outside in the thundery daylight, Lynn remarked that they’d better go home to wash, since their bare arms and school shirts were looking rather stained.

  ‘We ought to speak to Robert’s mum too,’ Mo said. ‘Tell her he’s safe.’

  It was mid-morning, the road hot and noisy with shoppers and soldiers. Buses swinging in and out of the station made Velvet wonder if any of the drivers was Mr Clements, like Mo had told them.

  Her excitement at the newborn puppies was wearing off too. She felt sweaty and tired, and could suddenly see only problems: four new puppies to keep safe, when they hadn’t yet found a shelter for the existing pets. The railway arch was out of the question for tonight: they couldn’t bring other people and animals here when the pups were so young.

  They didn’t even have a proper name for this idea of theirs, either, still calling it The Plan. Which was a joke, when they didn’t have one.

  Deep in thought, Velvet didn’t see the bus pull into the kerb or Mr Perks step off it. She did, however, recognise Nipper. And Nipper, seeing her, swaggered across the pavement to her, dragging Mr Perks in his wake.

  ‘Oh, Mr Perks! Oh, Nipper,’ Velvet cried, crouching down to fuss the dog’s ears and receive a faceful of licks. ‘I’m so glad to see you both!’

  It hadn’t occurred to her that they might come back to the city. And yet here they were, like an answer to her prayers. With Mr Perks as warden again, there’d be no need for Mr Jackson. All the pets could come back to the public shelter. Everyone would be safe together.

  The others were clearly thinking the same.

  ‘Welcome home, sir,’ Lynn said, struggling not to squeal in delight.

  ‘A decent air-raid warden at last,’ Mo chipped in. ‘Good to see you, Mr Perks.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Mr Perks, a little surprised. ‘This is quite a welcome, young people!’

  Velvet rushed on hopefully. ‘So you’ll be on duty tonight, won’t you – if there’s a raid?’

  ‘No, not me.’ Mr Perks rocked back on his heels. ‘That warden business wasn’t doing me any favours. For the good of my health, I’ve had to retire.’

  ‘What?’ Velvet was horrified. ‘But you can’t! I mean – we need you!’

  ‘Oh crikey,’ muttered Mo. ‘Now what do we do?’

  Lynn frowned. ‘But you are back from your sister’s, aren’t you, Mr Perks?’

  ‘For now, yes,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be going there tonight if there’s a raid. Best place to be, if you ask me.’

  It sounded as if Mr Perks had been coming to and from the city a fair bit recently, which was probably why Mo had seen him at the bus station the other day. Getting to her feet, Velvet noticed he looked healthier for it too, as if he’d had a few decent meals and spent time in the sunshine.

  ‘You’ve not been staying with your sister, then?’ Velvet asked.

  ‘Good heavens, no!’ He chuckled. ‘I like my own bed too much. What I do is go there when there’s an air-raid warning. There’s a decent bus service out that way, and quite nice up on the moors it is, these summer nights. You’re safer up there than down here.’

  Velvet was thrown. So was Lynn, who was staring at Nipper with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Do you take your dog on the bus?’ she asked. ‘The driver doesn’t mind?’

  Mr Perks rubbed his chin. ‘Funny you should say that, love, because the last bloke did. But this new driver is a gem. He’s a bit posh, like – he’s a conchie who’s been made to do the job. But he’s proper decent about animals and says he’ll take anyone’s pets if it helps.’

  Lynn looked at Velvet. ‘Do you think …?’

  But Velvet had already thought it. The man was Mr Clements. Had to be.

  ‘How big is his bus?’ she asked hurriedly. ‘Could it take, say, fifteen people and their pets?’

  ‘Well … I suppose so …’ Mr Perks frowned a little. ‘Why? That Jackson chap not letting animals in the public shelter?’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ said Mo.

  ‘He’s hateful,’ Lynn stated.

  ‘And looks like a ferret,’ Velvet added.

  Mr Perks tried not to laugh. ‘Listen, if you tell people to get here for the five o’clock bus, we’ll see what we can do.’

  They all nodded eagerly. It had to be worth a shot.

  *

  By quarter to five that evening, the pavement outside the bus station was full. There were the usual office workers, secretaries, shoppers. And in amongst them dogs, a box of cross-sounding hens, some cats, guinea pigs, a budgie carried in a handbag, and of course all their owners. Velvet, Lynn, Sherlock and Sprout were there too. For the sake of appearances, Mo had stayed behind with his parents.

  ‘Best of luck,’ he’d said, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘Here, Sherlock’s safer with you.’ And he’d hand
ed over his rat in his little splint, which made Velvet feel guilty again, but also very glad that Mo had forgiven her enough to trust her.

  When the bus pulled up and the driver opened the doors, Velvet saw straight away her guess was right. The man with dark hair and nervous hands was an absolute spitting image of Robert. If any of the Barton Street residents recognised Mr Clements, they didn’t say. They all got on the bus, shared a few pleasantries about their pets, then took their seats. Mr Perks was at the front, Nipper at his feet.

  ‘If the seat’s free, Mr Perks, I don’t mind if the old boy sits up with you,’ Mr Clements said, which made Velvet rather like him.

  On Mr Clements’s left cheek was a very gruesome scar. He might’ve done a fair bit of fighting in the previous war, she supposed. And like Mr Perks, for the good of his health, he couldn’t face doing it again. Though she still wondered why he wouldn’t fight Hitler, she realised too that things were often more complicated than they first seemed.

  Just as the bus was about to drive away, a motorbike pulled alongside it. Jumping from the bike, a soldier in US Army uniform ran to the bus and banged urgently on the door. A moment later Eddie was on board, scanning the rows of passengers.

  ‘This is the animal evacuation bus, right?’

  ‘I believe you could call it that,’ Mr Clements replied.

  ‘Good.’ Eddie nodded, then spotted Velvet and Lynn. ‘Hey! Listen, you kids. I’ve got to thank you for helping today. You did what we couldn’t do, and you were truly awesome.’

  Velvet knew she was going crimson. All the passengers were staring at her and Lynn, twisting in their seats or straining forwards, nudging each other.

  ‘What did they do?’ Mr Clements asked. ‘Something brave?’

  Eddie smiled proudly. ‘Let’s just say they found a missing boy and brought four amazing puppies into the world.’

  Velvet glanced nervously at Mr Clements. Did he guess who Eddie was talking about? Certainly, there was a redness spreading up his neck. And he might’ve had rather watery eyes, but it was hard to tell from where she was sitting.

  Thankfuly Eddie’s attention had quickly moved on to Sprout and all the other animals cuddled in to laps and standing in the aisle. ‘Man, back home we go everywhere on buses with our dogs, our chickens, even our hogs for market. Greyhound buses we call ’em. They go from town to town, state to state—’

  ‘Fascinating, I’m sure,’ interrupted a man in an office suit a few seats back. ‘But can we get going now, driver, or we’ll never make it home.’

  With a final thank you, Eddie departed. As the bus wound its way out of the city streets, the idea came to Velvet.

  ‘That’s it!’ she said to Lynn. ‘We should call it Operation Greyhound.’

  Lynn raised an eyebrow. ‘What, The Plan?’

  Velvet nodded. ‘Because this is the plan now, isn’t it? We can’t find anywhere to shelter in Plymouth so we’re getting out of town – on a bus.’

  ‘And if it’s a secret plan, then it needs a code name,’ Lynn said, warming to the idea. ‘One that Mr Jackson won’t guess.’

  It was the perfect name.

  *

  That night there was a thunderstorm. Rain fell in curtains across the moor, hissing over the scorched bracken before sweeping down towards the sea. At times, when the lightning was behind the clouds, it didn’t look that different from a bomb blast. The thunder that came with it was almost as loud.

  Down in the city the raid wasn’t as heavy as expected, though there was enough action to make the view from the moor spectacular. It was like looking down on a board game or a tablecloth, all spread out before them. In amongst the dark shapes and flashes, loud bangs and orange glows, Velvet thought of her mum working hard. She did miss having a mother who was around at home, who might cook supper sometimes or tuck her into bed at night. But mostly she was proud of her overall-wearing, bucket-carrying mum who was doing her bit to keep the city – and its pet dogs – safe.

  Mr Clements and his bus stayed with them through the storm, so they at least had somewhere dry to sit. They shared cake, flasks of tea, games of cards and silly stories. And to Velvet’s delight Nipper insisted on plonking himself on her lap.

  Though, it was funny how being out of the city made her feel almost homesick. All evening she thought of the others still down there – Mrs Parsloe driving her ambulance, Mo in the shelter, Robert, Wisp and those tiny puppies, most of all that little one with the white paws and chest. She really shouldn’t have been thinking about him, but she couldn’t help herself, though no good would come of it.

  8

  Yet, she had to ask, though it took Velvet a while to work up the courage. In her heart, she already knew what her mother’s answer would be, but it didn’t stop her trying. Nor did it help that these past weeks she kept visiting Wisp and her puppies at their home in Portland Place, and named the little white-pawed one Bertie after her long-dead grandad.

  ‘No, no, and for the last time, no,’ said Mrs Jones when her daughter finally brought the subject up, at a rare moment when they were sitting down for supper together.

  ‘Why not?’ Velvet pleaded.

  ‘It’ll bark all day when I’m trying to sleep,’ Mrs Jones replied. ‘And you know I don’t really like dogs.’

  ‘But I do,’ Velvet tried to tell her.

  Mrs Jones put down her fork. ‘Dogs need feeding and walking every single day. And what about its toilet business? What if it gets sick?’

  ‘I’ll look after it.’

  ‘Will you?’ Mrs Jones asked. ‘You can’t even be trusted to get yourself to the air-raid shelter.’

  Velvet sighed. She’d been expecting her mother to say something about that.

  ‘Yes, Mr Jackson told me.’ Mrs Jones glared. ‘You’ve been missing rather a lot, apparently. He keeps a register of everyone’s absences and you’re not the only one who’s been missing, either.’

  Velvet opened her mouth, then shut it quickly. Telling her mum about Operation Greyhound would only get her into more trouble. But it wasn’t fair. Why was it only supposed to be grown-ups who helped the war effort? At least Eddie had trusted them to find Robert and Wisp that day – and they done a decent job of it too.

  She stabbed her meat pie, trying hard not to cry. Yesterday, Mrs Clements had put an advert in the window of the corner shop, saying ‘Pups for sale – two boys, two girls – to loving homes only’. Though there was an unspoken understanding that Bertie was Velvet’s, if she couldn’t actually have him, then someone else would have to.

  *

  Lynn was having better luck with her mum. Somehow word had got to her about Sherlock’s mended leg and Wisp’s difficult delivery, and though Mrs Parsloe had always hoped her daughter would do a clean, safe job like being a teacher or an office manager, she was enormously proud.

  ‘This vet business you’re so set on?’ she’d said. ‘We need to have a proper chat about it. See what training you’ll need.’

  ‘The funny thing is,’ Lynn confessed to Velvet when they were alone, ‘I’d not the foggiest idea what I was doing when I delivered the pups!’

  ‘But you thought it through and did it,’ Velvet reminded her. ‘And it worked.’

  She just wished she could use the same approach on her own mother.

  Even Robert had won his mother round. Back home in Portland Place, Wisp and her pups were given pride of place in the Clementses’ kitchen. When Velvet visited she’d sit cross-legged on the floor, cuddling, cleaning, feeding puppies, especially Bertie, who had a knack for climbing up her chest and falling asleep right underneath her chin. He smelled so sweet it made her mouth water.

  But now the time was fast approaching when she was going to have to say goodbye to him, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to.

  *

  A few days later, Robert called by with the news she’d been dreading.

  ‘Try not to get upset, but someone’s coming to look at the puppies tonight,’ he told her.


  Velvet gulped. ‘Who?’

  ‘A man. He’s after two pups, apparently.’

  Once they’d got to know Mrs Clements, they discovered she was very nice – not a bit like their own sharp-eyed mothers who never missed a trick. But one thing Mrs Clements was strict about was finding good homes for the puppies.

  ‘Do you want to come along and meet him?’ Robert asked.

  Velvet thought it over. Either way it was going to be agony.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she decided. It was better than pacing the floor at home.

  *

  The man, when he arrived – late and smiling his apology – was none other than Eddie the American soldier. Mrs Clements showed him out to the kitchen, where Velvet, Lynn and Robert were chatting anxiously.

  Straight away, Robert recognised Eddie as the soldier who’d tried – and failed – to persuade him to leave the railway arches and go home and stammered a ‘hullo’. Lynn shook his hand again. Velvet tried to smile: she knew how much Eddie loved dogs, but it still pained her to think he might choose Bertie.

  ‘To be very clear,’ Mrs Clements told him, ‘these dogs are pets, not military animals. They absolutely must have loving homes.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘I understand that, ma’am. The puppies aren’t for me. They’re for two young pals of mine who I know – just know – will treat your dogs right.’

  While Robert sat with Wisp, Eddie was shown each of the puppies. They’d grown to the size of cats by now, and were going to be rough-haired like their mum. As they bounded about the kitchen on their too-big paws, it was impossible not to love them. But when Eddie picked up Bertie, Velvet’s heart pinched.

  ‘Not him!’ she wanted desperately to say. ‘He’s taken!’ But instead, she had to stand there, swallowing the words.

  In the end Eddie couldn’t choose, and said he’d be back tomorrow. Initially, Velvet was relieved. But she knew it was only prolonging the agony.

  *

  At home, she found her mother crying in the kitchen. She was so taken aback she didn’t know what to do. Mrs Jones never cried, and didn’t encourage it in others, either. Yet here she was, blowing her nose and weeping loudly.