by Megan Rix
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Glossary
Acknowledgements
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PUFFIN BOOKS
Praise for Megan Rix
‘If you love Michael Morpurgo, you’ll enjoy this’ Sunday Express
‘A moving tale told with warmth, kindliness and lashings of good sense that lovers of Dick King-Smith will especially appreciate’ The Times
‘Every now and then a writer comes along with a unique way of storytelling. Meet Megan Rix … her novels are deeply moving and will strike a chord with animal lovers’ LoveReading
‘A perfect story for animal lovers and lovers of adventure stories’ Travelling Book Company
Praise from Megan’s young readers
‘I never liked reading until one day I was in Waterstones and I picked up some books. One was … called The Bomber Dog. I loved it so much I couldn’t put it down’ Luke, 8
‘I found this book amazing’ Nayah, 11
‘EPIC BOOK!!!’ Jessica, 13
‘One of my favourite books’ Chloe, Year 8
ABOUT THE BOOK
Meet the leader of the Suffragettes, Emmeline Pankhurst, and a particularly plucky pup, during a momentous time in history!
Alfie can’t believe his luck when he is allowed to keep a tiny puppy he finds abandoned on the street. Rascal is cute as a button and has lots of attitude, and Emmeline Pankhurst is thrilled that her ward Alfie has a new friend. Alfie and Rascal deliver messages between the Suffragettes as they organise their ‘Votes for Women’ campaign. But it’s sometimes dangerous work, and it’s not long before Alfie and Rascal find out the true cost of the fight.
Full of adventure, fascinating history and lovely animals, this is the perfect read for young fans of Dick King-Smith and Michael Morpurgo.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MEGAN RIX is the recent winner of the Stockton and Shrewsbury Children’s Book Awards, and has been shortlisted for numerous other children’s book awards. She lives with her husband by a river in England. When she’s not writing, she can be found walking her gorgeous dogs, Bella and Freya, who are often in the river.
Books by Megan Rix
THE GREAT ESCAPE
THE BOMBER DOG
THE HERO PUP
THE RUNAWAYS
A SOLDIER’S FRIEND
THE VICTORY DOGS
THE GREAT FIRE DOGS
WINSTON AND THE MARMALADE CAT
www.meganrix.com
‘Fall down seven times, get up eight’
Japanese proverb
‘We are fighting for a time when every little girl born into the world will have an equal chance with her brothers.’
Emmeline Pankhurst,
The Suffragette, 27 February 1914
Prologue
1906
‘Alfie, Alfie, wake up!’ a voice hissed into the darkness.
Half asleep, Alfie pulled the threadbare blanket over his head and wriggled down further in his lumpy bed. Around him in the dormitory, another hundred boys snored and snuffled as they slept, tired out from the long workhouse day. They were woken at six o’clock in the morning, did lessons till noon and then worked all afternoon, with only gruel and watery stew or bread for each meal, and went to bed at eight o’clock. Usually work meant putting the heads on pins, or breaking stones into little bits. Sometimes Alfie folded sheets that had been pressed by the mangle in the laundry and once he’d helped to peel hundreds and hundreds of potatoes. But this afternoon he’d been given a new, much more fun job.
‘Alfie, take Sniffer for a walk,’ Matron had said.
‘Me?’ Alfie wasn’t used to dogs and had never walked one before. He’d looked down at Matron’s elderly Yorkshire terrier, which could be very growly at people he wasn’t fond of.
The two of them set off round the workhouse yard, with Alfie gently holding Sniffer’s lead. This afternoon Sniffer didn’t growl even once.
‘Sniffer does seem to like you,’ Matron said, as Sniffer rolled over on to his back and Alfie gave him a tummy rub. ‘And he doesn’t like many people, as you know.’
Alfie liked Sniffer too and hoped he could take him for another walk in the morning.
‘Alfie – it’s me!’ A hand shook his shoulder and gave him a gentle flick on his sleepy shaved head.
Only one person flicked him like that.
Alfie’s eyes flew open. ‘What are you doing here, Daisy?’ he whispered into the darkness. ‘You’ll be for it if you’re caught.’
‘Get up.’ His big sister pulled the blanket from his bed.
It was freezing in the dormitory and Alfie had put all his day clothes back on over his nightshirt for warmth, even though he knew how much trouble he’d be in if Matron caught him wearing them. Daisy was wearing her grey workhouse dress and long white apron.
‘You shouldn’t be h–’ he said.
Daisy pressed her finger to his lips.
‘Shush! We’re leaving. Right now.’
Alfie gulped. They couldn’t just leave the workhouse, not without permission. What if Matron or the governor or the police caught them? They could be sent to prison or brought back to the workhouse and punished. Alfie didn’t want to be locked in a little room by himself or beaten with a stick, and he certainly didn’t want to be given less food to eat. There was barely enough to stop his belly from rumbling as it was.
‘Come on.’ Daisy grabbed his wrist and pulled him up.
‘We could get sent to prison …’
‘Sssh!’
Alfie pushed his bare feet into his wooden clogs and wrapped the blanket around his skinny shoulders. He didn’t have a coat and he wasn’t leaving the blanket behind, even though all of the boys in the dormitory knew what had happened to the other boys who’d tried to escape and been caught by the police. Not only had those boys been sent to prison but they were given even longer prison sentences because they’d dared to escape wearing stolen workhouse clothes.
Daisy was already making her way soundlessly past the sleeping boys, some of them crammed two or three to a narrow bed. Alfie tried to catch up with her, but one of his clogs slipped off and landed with a clonk on the floor. He froze with fear. The noise must have woken someone up! They’d be caught and then … well, Alfie didn’t like to think about that.
Daisy crept back to him, picked up his clog, then took off the one that was on his other foot. She put her finger to her lips and tiptoed to the dormitory door, with Alfie creeping after her. He was so scared he had to put his hands over his mouth to stop his teeth from chattering.
Daisy had left her own clogs in the corridor outside. She picked them up but didn’t put them back on. Alfie’s feet were freezing. They made little slapping sounds on the stone floor as he ran after his sister.
He’d often seen Daisy and the other girls on their hands and knees scrubbing the long corridors with hard brushes and soapy water. Matron said it had to be done every day to keep the dirt away. She didn’t like dirt. It was why he’d had to have his head shaved. ‘Fleas and sneezes spread diseases,’ she’d told him, as he watched locks of his dark hair landing on the floor and a small girl quickly gathered them up.
There were lots of sneezes and diseases at the workhouse, as well as fleas.
The stairs were just ahead of them. Downstairs was the room where Matron slept, with her name wri
tten on the door. Alfie stopped at the top of the stairs but Daisy took his hand and squeezed it.
‘We have to,’ she whispered.
The moon was shining through the big window on the landing and he saw that she looked as frightened as he felt.
He looked back along the corridor. Maybe they should go back? Daisy squeezed his hand again.
Alfie nodded but dared not speak. He held on to the polished wooden bannister and stepped as softly as he could. At the bottom he tiptoed across the tiled entrance hall after Daisy.
They were nearly past Matron’s door when a dog started yapping and Alfie almost jumped out of his skin.
Sniffer!
The yapping was followed by a great hacking, heaving cough from inside the room.
People were always getting sick at the workhouse. Some of them, like Alfie’s mum, didn’t get better and died from it. Now it sounded like Matron was sick too. But she was also awake!
Sniffer barked again, then he whined and Alfie heard the little dog scratching at the door.
Daisy grabbed Alfie’s arm and dragged him down a corridor leading to the dining hall and kitchens. She stopped so suddenly Alfie bumped into her.
‘This way,’ she said, pushing up a sash window and climbing out.
After a quick look behind him, Alfie followed her.
Now they were in the yard where Alfie had taken Sniffer for a walk that afternoon. He’d never been out here at night and he moved closer to Daisy. Why had she brought him here? It wasn’t safe. The yard was surrounded on three sides by red brick walls. Alfie stared up at them. Had they been seen from one of the windows? Was someone standing there looking out? Or maybe someone was already on their way, running down the stairs to drag them back.
Alfie pulled his blanket over his head to hide his face.
In the fourth wall were the massive wooden gates of the workhouse. They were guarded day and night by a fierce man with a big stick. He lived in a little hut next to the gates. What if he came out? What if he caught them? Alfie didn’t want the gatekeeper to swing his stick at him or Daisy.
‘Stay in the shadows,’ Daisy told him, as they edged their way round the yard until they came to a small side door.
She pulled a large key from the pocket of her apron, turned it in the lock, swiftly lifted the latch, and the next moment they were out in the street.
Alfie looked at the workhouse behind him. They were out. Really out. He’d been at the Manchester workhouse since he was three and never been out of it before at night. He swallowed hard and tried not to think about what would happen if they were caught.
Daisy pulled a screwed-up piece of paper from her apron pocket.
‘What’s that?’ Alfie asked.
‘A map,’ she told him, as she peered at it under a gas light.
‘To where?’
‘To Mrs Pankhurst’s.’
‘Who’s Mrs Pankhurst?’
But Daisy didn’t answer. She put the map back in her pocket and pointed to the tall iron gates across the cobbled street.
Alfie gasped. ‘Not the cemetery! We can’t go in there.’
‘You’re not scared?’ Daisy hissed scornfully. ‘We’ve got a lot more to be frightened of from real-life living people than from any ghosts!’
But Alfie was scared and he really didn’t want to go into the cemetery – especially not at night. A drop of rain landed on his face and then one fell on his hand. He hoped the rain would keep the cemetery ghosts away.
‘If the workhouse gatekeeper comes looking for us, he won’t think to look in there, will he?’ Daisy said. ‘The cemetery’s not that big – if we run as fast as we can, we’ll be through it in no time. Here, I’ll hold your hand.’
Alfie sighed and squeezed through a gap in the padlocked gates after Daisy.
‘Run!’
It wasn’t easy running in clogs but Alfie moved so fast they didn’t have a chance to slip off. He was gasping so hard it felt like his heart was going to burst by the time they reached the other gate.
Daisy clutched her stomach and leant over, drawing in big breaths of freezing night air.
An owl hooted as it flew overhead and they both jumped in fear and then laughed with relief.
‘Just an owl.’
‘Now where?’ Alfie asked Daisy.
‘Down Nell Lane,’ she said, peering at her map, although Alfie didn’t think she could see it properly now it was drizzling with rain.
They headed down Nell Lane and then along the banks of Chorlton Brook, where there were no street lamps and it was very dark.
Alfie’s feet and legs were soon soaked in the long wet grass.
‘Is it much further to Mrs Pankhurst’s?’ he wanted to know when they reached Sandy Lane. ‘These clogs are rubbing the skin off my feet.’
They’d been walking for over an hour.
‘This is the quickest way,’ Daisy told him, as they headed into Ivy Green woods. ‘One of the old ladies, Mary Dingle, drew the map to Mrs Pankhurst’s house for me. She said we should always keep the river Mersey on our left.’
Alfie listened for the sound of running water. He couldn’t swim and he didn’t want to end up in the river!
Suddenly he heard someone groaning and icy fingers of terror ran down his spine.
‘Daisy –’ he started to say.
Daisy let out a great scream as a cow came running out of the bushes straight for her.
Not groaning but lowing!
The cow stopped dead and stared at them with its huge eyes. Alfie had never been close to a cow before but he wasn’t frightened. He went to stroke it but the cow backed off and then turned the other way.
‘I wasn’t really scared,’ Daisy said, as they headed onwards.
‘I know,’ Alfie told her.
Soon they’d left the countryside behind and were back on the cobblestone streets. It started to rain more heavily and Alfie and Daisy huddled together under the workhouse blanket, but they were soaked through in no time.
Just as Alfie was thinking he couldn’t go any further, Daisy turned into a wide street lined with dark houses. Alfie caught a glimpse of the sign: Nelson Street. Daisy pulled him along faster, peering urgently at the house numbers, until finally they stopped at number 62. Daisy marched up to the front door and pulled on the brass bell pull.
Before long it was opened by a young woman wearing a thick dressing gown over her nightclothes, with her hair in white ribbon curlers. She stared at them through the rain.
‘Are you here to see Mother?’ she asked doubtfully, stepping back so they could come in.
‘Yes,’ a voice said from behind them. Alfie turned round and saw a thin, dark-haired young woman with clogs on her feet and a blanket-like shawl over her head to protect her from the rain. Just like them.
‘Are you from the workhouse too?’ Alfie asked her in the dimly lit passageway, and Daisy squeezed his hand to tell him to shush.
‘No, I’m Annie Kenney, and if women get the vote there won’t be any more workhouses.’ She smiled at Alfie as she pulled off her damp shawl and gave it to the young woman who’d let them in. ‘Thank you, Adela.’
Adela hid a tired yawn as she took the shawl.
‘Mother’s still up. She said she wouldn’t dream of sleeping until you’d safely arrived,’ she said to Annie.
Adela left them in a lamp-lit parlour with embroidered cushions on the chairs and velvet curtains at the window. There were paintings of the countryside on the walls and black-and-white photographs of people on the mantelpiece. Alfie had never been anywhere nearly as grand before. A smart, middle-aged lady with her hair in a bun was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire, sewing.
Annie Kenney bobbed a curtsy and Daisy quickly did the same. Alfie had no idea what he was supposed to do in the presence of a great lady, so he bowed low and then stood looking down at the rug on the floor.
‘Annie.’ The lady smiled.
‘I’m sorry I’m so late, Mrs Pankhurst …’
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‘Call me Emmeline,’ the lady said.
Annie nodded. ‘I couldn’t get away from Strangeways Prison until all the forms were signed. And then I hadn’t expected there would be so many people at the prison gates waiting to greet me. Friends from the mill, members of the choir, my two sisters, and many suffragettes from your Women’s Social and Political Union that I’d never even met before.’
Prison? Alfie thought. What had Annie been in prison for? And what was a suffragette? But he didn’t dare ask.
‘You’re here now and that’s all that matters,’ the lady told her. ‘I expect you’re glad to get away from those dreadful, hard plank beds in prison.’
‘I am indeed.’ Annie nodded. ‘But sad that dear Christabel’s still in there. Your daughter is so brave, Mrs Pankhurst – I mean, Emmeline. She said she would gladly go through it all again. We have to keep fighting for women to have the right to vote.’
As Mrs Pankhurst stood up, her sewing slipped to the floor and Alfie hurried to pick it up and hand it back to her.
She’d been sewing the words VOTES FOR WOMEN in purple thread on a white sash with a green border.
‘Thank you, dear,’ Mrs Pankhurst said, as she took the sewing from him. ‘What a helpful boy you’ve brought with you, Annie. Is he your brother?’
‘Oh, no, I didn’t bring him. We met on your doorstep, Mrs Pankhurst. He and his sister are from the workhouse,’ Annie told her.
Alfie looked over at Daisy and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know why they were here or what was happening. All he knew was that they were going to be in terrible trouble if they were sent back to the workhouse. They’d probably be sent to prison to sleep on plank beds.
Daisy swallowed hard. ‘You said you wanted to help children like us when you came to the workhouse, Mrs Pankhurst. You said you wished there was more you could do …’
Mrs Pankhurst nodded but she looked confused. ‘That was a long time ago, when I was on the board of the Poor Law Guardians, dear. I had to give up the post in 1898 when I was widowed.’