Grandpa's Great Escape

by David Walliams

  “DIVE! That’s right, man! As soon as my squadron of Spitfires descended through the clouds, we realised that this would be the fight of our lives.” Grandpa’s eyes lit up. He was back in the moment as if it was yesterday. “The radar had estimated a hundred planes in total. This looked more like two hundred! One hundred Junkers, and as many Messerschmitts. As for us, we had just twenty-seven Spitfires.”

  The children were enraptured. Miss Verity was busy scribbling up her precious facts facts facts on the blackboard – like how many aircraft on each side – in an array of multicoloured chalks. As soon as she had finished, she switched back to red chalk (for dates only) and opened her mouth as if she were about to speak. But before she could say a word, the entire class went, “SHUSH!”

  Grandpa was on a roll now. All the children were eating out of his hand. “I pressed on my machine guns and the battle commenced. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. The sky was filled with bullets, smoke and fire.

  Bang!

  I hit my first Messerschmitt. The Luftwaffe pilot parachuted out.

  Bang!

  And another!

  “Our mission that day was to take down the Junkers. They were the deadly ones. Each one of those bombers was carrying tonnes of explosives. If we didn’t stop them, their bombs would be raining down on the men, women and children of London. Up in the skies, the battle raged for what seemed like hours. The RAF must have shot down fifty enemy aircraft that day,” continued Grandpa. “Many of the other Luftwaffe planes were so badly damaged, they had to retreat back across the Channel quick smart. My squadron returned to base that day as heroes.”

  All the children in the class burst into wild applause.

  “HOORAY!”

  11

  A Legend

  As the applause died down in the classroom, Grandpa began again. “But this was no time for celebration. We knew the enemy would be back, and soon. In even greater numbers than before. The Battle of Britain had well and truly begun. As for my squadron, I lost four brave pilots that day.”

  The old man’s eyes glistened with tears.

  The entire class sat in stunned silence. So this was what a history lesson could be!

  The boy sitting next to Jack turned to him and whispered, “Your grandpa is a legend!”

  “I know,” replied Jack and smiled.

  “Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr Bunting,” said Miss Verity loudly, breaking the spell. “We are nearing the end of the lesson now. I have my red chalk poised at the ready. We need to note down all those facts, facts, facts! So please could you tell us all the year this happened?”

  “The year?” replied Grandpa.

  “Yes. I need to put it up on the board. If my pupils are to have any hope of passing their exam next term, we need to know facts, facts, facts! And yet more facts.”

  The old man looked at the teacher, confused. “It’s this year.”

  “What do you mean this year?” asked the teacher.

  “This year, madam. 1940.”

  The class chuckled uncertainly. Surely the old man was joking? Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  Miss Verity gave everyone another of her famous death stares and they were silent once more. “You seriously think this is 1940?”

  “Yes, of course it’s 1940! King George VI is on the throne. And Mr Churchill is the Prime Minister.”

  “No no no, Mr Bunting. This is 1983!”

  “It can’t be!”

  “Yes yes yes. Queen Elizabeth II is on the throne. And the wonderful Mrs Thatcher is the Prime Minister.”

  Grandpa did not look at all convinced. In fact, he stared at the teacher as if she was BONKERS! “Mrs?! A lady Prime Minister?! You must have a screw loose, madam!”

  “I think it is you who has the screw loose, Mr Bunting! Well, thank you so much for your oh-so-informative visit,” said the teacher sarcastically. “Now, goodbye.” As if shooing a pigeon, Miss Verity ushered the old man out of his chair. Under her breath she muttered to the class, “No need to write down a thing the old man said, after all! He doesn’t know what year it is and he is still wearing his slippers!”

  Poor Grandpa stood at the front of the class. He had been soaring in the sky; now he looked like he had crash-landed on the ground. Jack’s heart ached for him.

  DRING!

  The bell rang not a moment too soon. The boy had never been so relieved a lesson had ended.

  Jack pushed past the other children to get to his grandfather as they all shambled out of the classroom. It had gone from being the best history class ever to the absolute worst.

  Just as Jack reached Grandpa, Miss Verity called the boy back. “Jack? May I have a word, please?”

  “A moment, sir,” said the boy to his grandpa, as he plodded over to his teacher.

  “Promise me you will never bring your grandfather into my classroom again,” the lady hissed.

  “I promise!” replied Jack angrily. “There’s no way I am bringing him back here.”

  The boy spun around and reached out for Grandpa’s hand. His old skin felt almost like a child’s. Soft and silky.

  “Come along, Wing Commander. Let’s return to base.”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand,” muttered the old man. “Was the briefing not clear? Did I let you down?”

  Seeing his grandfather like this, it was hard not to cry. But Jack was determined to be strong. “No, Wing Commander, you didn’t. You never have and you never will.”

  12

  Bunking Off

  Bunking off school was not something Jack had ever done before. However, he knew he had to make sure Grandpa got all the way home. The old man was much more confused than usual. Miss Verity had completely taken the wind from beneath his wings and now Grandpa was looking a little wobbly.

  And the last thing the boy wanted to do was call his parents. If they found out how disastrously Grandpa’s visit to the school had gone, chances were they would want to send him straight to Twilight Towers. So Jack led them back to Grandpa’s flat.

  When the pair approached, Raj was in the grimy window of his shop. The newsagent was busy showing off his artistic side. He was arranging a rather surreal display of his two main special offers for the week – liquorice and football cards. The liquorice was wrapped around the cards, making both look highly undesirable. As soon as he spotted Jack and his grandfather, Raj rushed out of his shop to greet them.

  “Ah! Mr Bumting! Master Bumting!”

  “It’s Bunting!” corrected Jack.

  “That’s what I said!” protested Raj. “Bumting!”

  Like all the local children, Jack liked the newsagent very much. The man never failed to put a smile on your face.

  “So, Mr Bumting, how is my favourite customer today? I was worried sick when you went missing from your flat in the middle of the night.”

  “Ah, Char Wallah! There you are!” proclaimed Grandpa.

  “Char Wallah? What on earth does that mean?” asked Jack. He had never heard such a phrase before.

  Raj whispered to the boy, “I asked my father back in India. He told me it’s the name for an Indian man who serves tea – they sometimes did to British soldiers during World War II. I think your grandfather is getting more confused by the day.”

  “What’s that, Char Wallah?” barked Grandpa, as he started helping himself to some out-of-date bars of chocolate.

  “Nothing, sir!” replied Raj. “I’ve found it’s much easier just to go along with him,” he added in a whisper to Jack.

  “Me too,” replied the boy. “Now, I am going to need some help in getting him settled upstairs.”

  “Of course, young man. Before we go, might I be able to interest you in a copy of the Radio Times from 1975?”

  “No, thank you, Raj.”

  The newsagent was not giving up. “Many of the shows on TV now are repeats so it might still be accurate.”

  “We really should be getting him upstairs.”

  “O
f course. Now what would you give me for this chocolate-covered toffee? Someone has licked off the chocolate and the toffee centre is missing.” With that the newsagent took out a shiny piece of purple paper from his pocket.

  “Raj, that’s just the wrapper!”

  “That’s why it’s half price.”

  “There’s no sweet!”

  “You can sniff the wrapper!”

  “Enough chitter chatter, thank you Char Wallah!” interrupted Grandpa, as he stuffed a few of the out-of-date chocolate bars in his pockets for later. “It’s time for my afternoon nap!”

  It felt strange putting an old man to bed. Up until recently, it would have been Grandpa tucking Jack in. Now the roles had been reversed.

  Of late, Grandpa would become tired during the day. So he took an hour’s nap every day after lunch. Raj had locked up his shop for a short while so he could help Jack get his grandfather safely up the stairs.

  “Forty winks!” That’s what Grandpa always called his naptime. Raj drew the frayed curtains in the bedroom, as Jack arranged the old man’s blanket.

  “Make sure my Spitfire is full up with fuel, will you, Squadron Leader? I need to be at the ready in case we are scrambled! The Luftwaffe could be back at any moment.”

  “Yes, of course, Grandpa,” replied Jack without thinking.

  “Who’s this ‘Grandpa’?” he demanded, suddenly looking wide awake.

  “I mean, yes, of course, Wing Commander, sir.” Jack added a salute to complete the illusion.

  “That’s better, officer. Dismissed. I’m plum tuckered out!”

  With that, the boy’s grandfather saluted and stifled a yawn. As soon as he had closed his eyes the deafening snoring began.

  “Zzzzzz! ZZzzzz! ZZZzzz! ZZZZzz! ZZZZZz! ZZZZZZ!”

  Up and down went the ends of the old man’s moustache as Jack and Raj tiptoed out of his bedroom.

  13

  The Willies

  Back down in his newsagent’s shop, Raj pulled out two old wooden crates for him and Jack to sit on. Next he rummaged around for something to eat, before deciding upon a battered Easter egg and half a packet of cheesy biscuits that had somehow found their way behind the radiator.

  “Thank you so much for calling my dad last night, Raj,” said Jack.

  “Of course, young Master Bumting. If truth be told, it isn’t the first time your grandfather has wandered out after dark.”

  “I know,” replied the boy. His face clouded with worry. A man of his grandfather’s age going missing at night in the depths of winter could one day be fatal.

  “The times before, I had always managed to chase down the street after him and bring him back upstairs. As you can see, I have an athletic build,” said the newsagent, as he slapped his tummy. It wobbled like a huge jelly, and like an earthquake the aftershocks went on for quite a while. “But last night I just wasn’t fast enough. I was feeling a little woozy as I had been at the chocolate liqueurs.”

  Jack wasn’t sure you could actually get tipsy on them. “How many did you have, Raj?”

  “Just three,” replied the newsagent innocently.

  “Surely there can’t be much alcohol in just three?”

  “Three boxes that is,” confessed Raj. “I feel rather hung over today. You see I hadn’t sold them at Christmas and they had gone out of date.”

  “But it’s only January.”

  “This was Christmas 1979.”

  “Oh,” replied the boy.

  “They had gone white,” the newsagent admitted. “Anyway, by the time I had finally managed to get out of bed, get dressed and stumble out on to the street, he had gone. I chased up and down the road, but there was no sign of him. Your grandfather can move fast. His mind may be going, but his body is still strong. So I rushed back into my flat, flicked through the telephone directory but there is a misprint as it says ‘Bunting’ and not ‘Bumting’.”

  The boy was about to interrupt to correct Raj, but thought better of it.

  “Still, eventually I found the number and called your father. Mr Bumting said he would go out and look for him in the car. Which reminds me, where on earth did you find your grandfather in the end?”

  “We looked all over town, Raj,” said Jack, picking up the story. “But we were looking in the wrong places. We were looking down when we should have been looking up.”

  The newsagent scratched his head. “I don’t follow you,” he said as he popped another cheesy biscuit in his mouth. “These are covered in furry mould,” he added, before pouring them all down his throat.

  “My grandpa always says ‘Up, up and away’. He used to say it during take off when he was a pilot with the RAF.”

  “So?”

  “So, I knew he would be up high somewhere. Now, where do you think is the highest point in the town?”

  Raj looked lost in thought for a moment. “That jar of Jelly Babies is very high up. I need a stepladder to get all the way up there.”

  Jack shook his head impatiently. “No! It’s the church spire.”

  “Goodness gracious! How on earth did your grandfather get up there?”

  “He must have climbed up. He wanted to touch the sky. When he was up there he thought he was piloting his Spitfire.”

  “Dear oh dear. On top of a church spire, thinking he’s driving a plane? The old man is lucky to be alive. I fear your grandfather’s mind is getting worse by the day.”

  The truth hit the boy like a runaway train and his eyes filled with tears. Instinctively, Raj put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “There, there, Jack, it’s OK to cry. Would you like to buy a pack of used tissues?”

  Jack didn’t fancy drying his eyes where a stranger had blown their nose, so replied, “No, thank you, Raj. The thing is, my mum and dad want Grandpa to go into that new old folk’s home, Twilight Towers.”

  “Oh dear,” muttered Raj, shaking his head.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I am sorry, young Master Bumting, but I do not like the look of that place one bit. It gives me the willies!”

  “It is on the edge of the moors.”

  Raj shuddered at the thought. “Some local people say the only way out of Twilight Towers is in a coffin,” he added gravely.

  “No!” exclaimed Jack. “Well, he can’t go there. But Raj – my parents have made up their minds. They are set on it!”

  “Why can’t your grandfather come and live with your family?”

  Suddenly a broad smile lit up the boy’s face. “I’d love that!”

  “That’s how we do things in India! The old folk are looked after by the younger folk. I have my elderly aunt living up in the flat with me.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes, Auntie Dhriti. She can’t actually leave the flat.”

  “Is she too old?”

  “No. Too big.” His voice lowered, and he looked up at the ceiling. “She was always a large lady, but since living above a sweet shop she has ballooned. I would have to hire a crane and knock down a wall if she ever wanted to pop out.”

  Jack painted this image in his mind for a moment – a large lady in a brightly coloured sari being winched out across the street. Then his thoughts returned to the important matter in hand: his grandfather.

  “We don’t have a spare room, but I’ve got bunk beds. In fact, Grandpa stayed last night. There’s no reason why he can’t stay forever! Raj, you are a genius!”

  “I know,” replied the newsagent.

  “I am going to run home and tell my mum and dad right away.”

  “You do that, young Master Bumting!”

  The boy dashed towards the door.

  “And please tell your good parents to pop by my shop soon. I have an excellent deal going on yoghurt. Well, I say yoghurt, it’s last month’s milk and…”

  But before the newsagent could finish his sentence, the boy was gone.

  14

  Cartwheels of Joy

  Needless to say, Jack’s parents had been extremely r
eluctant to move the old man into their home. However, the boy made such a passionate case for his grandfather that they finally caved in. Grandpa wouldn’t take up any space, because he would sleep in the boy’s bedroom. Plus Jack promised he would look after him whenever he was not at school. When his parents finally said ‘yes’, the boy wanted to cartwheel up and down the living room his heart was so full of joy.

  “This is only for a trial period,” Jack’s mother reminded him.

  “We are not sure we can cope forever, either, son,” muttered Dad sadly. “The doctors said his condition will get a lot worse over time. I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”

  “And if he goes missing in the night again,” announced Mum, “then that’s it, Jack! He has to go straight to Twilight Towers!”

  “Of course! Of course! He’ll be sleeping in my bedroom, so I can make sure that will never happen!” exclaimed the boy. Then Jack raced out of the house back to Grandpa’s flat to tell him the FANTASTIC news, grinning all the way.

  15

  Snoring Like an Elephant

  Jack helped the old man pack up all his belongings from his little flat. Aside from his memories, Grandpa didn’t have much. Flying goggles, a pot of moustache wax, a tin of spam. Then they walked the short distance to Grandpa’s new ‘quarters’.

  As soon as they were upstairs in the boy’s bedroom, the pair were playing World War II pilots. They were meant to have been in bed hours ago. However, together they took to the skies, Grandpa in his beloved Spitfire and Jack in his speedy Hurricane. “Up, up and away!” they cried, as they battled the mighty Luftwaffe. They made such a racket, they were in danger of waking up the whole street. For a moment, Jack didn’t care that he had no close friends to invite over to stay. This was the best sleepover ever! Just as the pair of flying aces were bringing their imaginary planes in to land, Mum thumped on the bedroom door. She shouted, “I said, ‘LIGHTS OUT!’”