by Megan Rix
Tiger caught up on his sleep on Lucy’s pillow while Robert and Lucy took Rose and Buster for one last walk on the morning that they were being evacuated down to Devon.
‘I’m going to miss them so much,’ Lucy said as they headed down the road to the park. She swallowed hard to try to get rid of the lump in her throat.
‘Me too,’ said Robert. ‘But with any luck the war will be over in a few weeks’ time and we’ll all be back together.’
Lucy had heard the ‘short war’ rumour too, but she was doubtful that it could be over so quickly.
As soon as he saw they were heading for the park, Buster started pulling on his lead.
Why were they going so slowly? Didn’t they realize that the quicker they went the sooner they’d get there?
He strained on his lead, making wheezing sounds.
‘Take it easy, Buster. You don’t want to choke yourself,’ Robert told him.
Buster tried to slow down, but after a few seconds he’d forgotten and started pulling on his lead again.
Lucy was having a much easier time with Rose. Even though Rose had hardly ever had occasion to walk on a lead when she’d lived on the farm down in Devon, she’d quickly grasped the concept of walking at Lucy’s side rather than ahead of her.
‘Good girl, Rose,’ Lucy told her.
Once they’d gone through the park gate, they let the dogs off their leads. Buster was so excited that he raced around as fast as his short legs would go – which was pretty fast.
Rose padded along beside Lucy and Robert at first, but even she wasn’t immune to the excitement of the park, with its intriguing smells and other dogs to play with. She raced after Buster and they ran together, almost dancing, across the grass.
Robert and Lucy stopped to say hello to a yellow Labrador puppy, and Buster and Rose came running back to see what was going on.
‘He’s so sweet,’ Lucy said as she stroked the puppy.
‘His name’s Toby and let me tell you he can be quite a handful,’ the woman who was with him told them. ‘He’s my daughter’s dog, but I’m the one who has to clear up all the mess he makes.’
Toby rolled over on to his back and Buster gave him a sniff before letting the puppy clamber all over him.
‘Toby, come on – you’ll be the death of me, you will,’ the woman said. She clipped Toby’s lead to his collar and dragged him away. Toby looked back at Rose and Buster. Playtime had been much too short.
Robert and Lucy carried on walking with Buster and Rose, who stopped every now and again to sniff interesting smells before racing to catch up with the children.
They came to the large lake that had ducks swimming on it.
Robert clipped Buster’s lead back on.
‘Just in case,’ Robert said to Lucy, with a meaningful look. ‘We don’t want to have to be fishing him out of there – today of all days.’
Lucy took a deep breath. Momentarily she’d forgotten this was their last walk with Buster and Rose. She was determined not to cry because it would only upset the dogs, especially Rose who was very sensitive.
As soon as they got home, Lucy ran up the stairs to find Tiger, and buried her face in his soft fur. Tiger rubbed his head against Lucy’s and purred.
Downstairs Robert rolled around on the floor with Buster, the last wrestling match they’d have for a long time. Buster made the most of it by jumping all over him and licking his ear.
Upstairs, Lucy picked up the small brown cardboard suitcase that was lying on the bed beside her gas mask and identity card. Inside it she had a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a sketchbook and some pencils. You were only allowed to take as much as you could carry by yourself so Lucy had packed carefully.
‘Time to go!’ Mrs Edwards called up the stairs, dashing a tear away before the children saw. It broke her heart to let Robert and Lucy go, but she really didn’t have any other choice. She was going to be based on a special floating hospital on the River Thames during the war, and of course her husband was already back at the airbase continuing his reconnaissance work.
Lucy hugged Rose at the front door. ‘Goodbye, good girl,’ she said, and kissed Rose on the top of her furry head.
After Mrs Edwards and the children had left, Rose stood for a long while staring at the door through which they’d gone out. Buster looked at Rose and then looked at the door and whined. Tiger headed upstairs for more sleep.
When they arrived at Paddington Station, Mrs Edwards looked around her in dismay. There were hordes and hordes of people there. They’d have to push their way through to the platform.
‘Make sure you stay close,’ Mrs Edwards said to Robert. It would be easy for them to get separated in the throng. She took Lucy’s hand. Their train was at platform 12. It wouldn’t take them all the way to Witherton on the Moor, where their grandmother lived, but Mrs Edwards had been assured that buses would be provided to take the evacuated children to the outlying villages.
Whole schools were travelling together and there was an air of jubilation – as if they were off on a free school outing.
Mrs Edwards spoke to a teacher whose school was going down to Newton Abbot. When she explained their situation, she was told not to worry – they would take care of Robert and Lucy.
‘Some of the children on the train are going to be billeted at Witherton on the Moor and they’ll be attending the village school with your two.’
It was time to board.
‘Two by two,’ the teacher shouted. ‘Orderly fashion.’
Lucy noted that this school had been practising the evacuation process, just as hers had done.
Mrs Edwards hugged Robert and Lucy to her.
‘I’m worried about Tiger. What if he goes out at night and can’t find Mrs Harris’s house?’ Lucy said.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Mrs Edwards reassured her.
Mrs Edwards was sure of that. Elsie Harris was an ex-nursing colleague of hers, and very reliable. The pets would be safe and well looked-after with her.
The whistle blew.
‘Bye, Mum.’
‘See you soon.’
Mrs Edwards hoped she would see them soon, hoped it more than anything in the world. She tried to wave to them both through the windows, but she couldn’t see where they’d sat and the children all seemed to have their faces pressed against the glass and none of the faces were Lucy’s or Robert’s.
The whistle blew again and the train pulled out and away, leaving Mrs Edwards standing helplessly on the platform.
She left the station and caught the crowded bus back home. There were many other mothers on board the bus, looking shocked, with their handkerchiefs pressed to their faces to stem the tears. Like Mrs Edwards, they’d had to say goodbye to their children.
Mrs Edwards steeled herself not to cry. Most of her fellow mothers on the bus didn’t know who their children were going to. A lot of them didn’t even know exactly where they were going. At least her two weren’t going to strangers – they’d be staying with her mother in a place they knew. Although she’d never really been close to her mother since her elder brother’s death in the Great War, she knew she would take good care of them.
Mrs Edwards looked at her watch. She was going to have to hurry to get the pets over to the Harrises’ house before she was due to report at the floating hospital.
Chapter 5
Some cats take time to adjust to a new home and new people. Cats that are moved only a short distance of a few miles or so, often return to their old home and many need to be kept indoors for the first two or three weeks.
Tiger wasn’t like those cats.
As soon as they were left at the Harrises’ house, the ginger-and-white cat found the most comfortable chair and claimed it as his own by circling it twice – to press out any lumps and bumps in the cushions – and then settling down and closing his eyes.
While Rose lay awake most of the n
ight and Buster whimpered in his sleep, Tiger slept soundly. He stayed in his chosen chair and on their first morning, apart from the odd toilet break, that’s where he was to be found. The chair was next to the wireless in the faded flock-wallpapered living room. The room was dark and yellowed by coal and tobacco-smoke stains, the greying net curtains at the windows doing little to help brighten the place.
Rose lay by the hearth in the same room as Tiger, close to his chair. A beige rug that had seen better days protected her a little from the cold of the stone floor. She stared into the space where the unlit fire’s flames should be.
At least Buster was warm. He was in the kitchen with Mrs Harris, hoping for any scraps. Anything at all would do, he wasn’t particular, but he was always hungry. The Harrises’ house smelt of cooked cabbage. Buster would have willingly given cabbage a try if Mrs Harris would just give him some.
‘Get out of the way, Buster,’ Mrs Harris said. She was trying to get ready to go out and, wherever she went, there he was at her feet. ‘You’ll have me over at this rate.’
Both Mrs Harris and Buster turned at the sound of slippered footsteps on the stairs. Mr Harris was on his way. He coughed, a morning phlegm-clearing ritual that he never missed.
‘Cup of tea, dear,’ Mrs Harris called out cheerily.
Mr Harris gave a muttered response that Mrs Harris took to mean Yes, please, dearest, a cup of tea would be lovely.
‘Will you get out of the way,’ she told Buster once again. His tail wagged. She was weakening. His persistence finally worked and she threw him a crust of bread. He wolfed it down in one gulp and then looked at her hopefully for more.
‘That’s it. No more!’ Mrs Harris said.
Mr Harris didn’t come into the kitchen. He picked up the newspaper from the hallway and went straight into the living room. He was wearing yesterday’s vest and dark striped trousers with braces, one of which was on his shoulder and the other round his waist.
Mr Harris was about to sit down when he saw Tiger. Tiger miaowed winningly, but Mr Harris wasn’t pleased to find a cat in his chair and swiped Tiger on the nose with his rolled-up newspaper. Tiger gave a howl of surprise and protest, and then, seeing Mr Harris was about to hit him again, jumped nimbly off the chair.
‘Is everything all right in there?’ Mrs Harris called from the kitchen.
‘Everything’s fine,’ came the reply.
‘What’s wrong with that cat?’
‘How am I supposed to know? Dumb animal.’
Rose looked at Mr Harris with her unusual blue eyes. He stared back at her, and she sighed and turned her head away.
Mr Harris sat down in his chair and opened his newspaper with a flourish.
Tiger tried to jump on Mr Harris’s lap, damaging the newspaper.
‘Gerroff!’
Tiger had to settle for the back of the armchair and a view of the pink bald patch on top of Mr Harris’s head.
Mr Harris scowled as he smoothed out his crumpled newspaper. He thought it was an imposition of the Edwardses to ask them to look after their animals. He’d never been all that keen on Mrs Edwards, who he’d once caught looking disapprovingly down her nose at him. She had no call to consider herself above him. He, in his opinion, was just as good as the likes of her.
‘And don’t she forget it,’ he said, not realizing his last phrase had been said aloud.
‘What did you say, dear?’ Mrs Harris asked, breezing in with his cup of tea.
He noted that the Jack Russell, constantly at her heels ever since the animals had arrived, was with her.
Mr Harris scowled at his wife. She was always breezing about these days. Busy as a buzzing bee, when what she should have been doing was taking care of him.
‘It’s not like they’re paying us to look after them,’ he said, nodding at the animals.
Mrs Harris breezed out again, having decided for one reason or another not to mention the money that had changed hands between Mrs Edwards and herself. She took off her apron.
‘There’s porridge for you on the stove. Give them a bit of whatever’s left over, would you?’
Mr Harris didn’t reply. He shouldn’t be expected to get his own breakfast or give it to the mutts they had staying with them. He knocked the remnants of tobacco from his pipe into the ashtray.
Mrs Harris buttoned up her coat. ‘Bye, love,’ she called from the front door. ‘I’ve got an extra shift so I won’t be back till late tonight.’
‘Hrumph.’
When she’d gone, Mr Harris stood up with a groan and went to the kitchen. He helped himself to a large bowl of porridge and sprinkled it with three heaped tablespoons of sugar before sitting down at the small Formica-topped table to eat it.
Buster sat on the floor by Mr Harris’s feet. He looked up at him with his head tilted to one side, pleading for a spoonful or two of porridge. Mr Harris studiously ignored him. He prided himself on not being a soft touch.
He didn’t give the animals porridge. He didn’t give them anything at all. He scraped up every last mouthful of porridge himself and left his bowl on the table.
Buster followed Mr Harris as he went back into the living room, watching as he pushed Tiger out of his chair once again and sat down.
‘Dumb animals.’
Mr Harris picked up his unlit pipe and sucked on it thoughtfully as he looked at Rose, Buster and Tiger. He hadn’t asked to have any of them billeted with them. He should have been consulted.
There’d been talk about what should happen to pets, what with the war now coming, in the pub last night, and mention of a place nearby where they could be seen to.
Tiger jumped into the armchair as soon as Mr Harris left the room.
When he came back half an hour later, Mr Harris was washed and had a shirt and knitted bottle-green waistcoat over his vest. He left his slippers by the unlit fire and laced up his outdoor shoes.
Buster wagged his tail. But it wasn’t just Buster, it transpired, who was going out.
Children were squashed three and four to a seat on the bus that bumped down the country lanes towards Witherton on the Moor. There was nowhere to put the one suitcase of clothes or the single toy that each child was allowed to bring with them, so children had them balanced awkwardly on their laps or in the way at their feet. On the train some of them had had to use their suitcases as seats.
‘I feel sick,’ five-year-old Charlie complained to Lucy.
‘Try your hardest not to be,’ she told him. Although the truth was she was feeling sick too. The road twisted and turned so, and she longed for the journey to be over. The pets wouldn’t have liked the long train ride or this trip on the bus either, but she still wished, more than anything, that she and Robert could have brought Tiger, Buster and Rose with them.
‘Look!’ someone cried out, and pointed.
Children’s noses pressed to the bus windows. To the right of them the sea sparkled. For most of the children it was the first time they’d seen it.
‘It’s so huge.’
‘Them waves look dangerous.’
Robert smiled. The sea wasn’t dangerous. Not if you knew how to swim like he did. He’d been in and out of the sea two years ago when they’d come here to visit his grandparents.
‘You’re like a little seal,’ his grandfather had commented proudly as he’d ruffled Robert’s wet hair. ‘Just like I used to be.’
That was when he was ten and Lucy was seven and it was the last time he’d seen his grandfather. There’d been a letter, just before Easter, telling them Grandad was now in heaven. His mother had gone to the funeral and come back with Rose.
If they were close to the sea, then they must be coming close to Witherton on the Moor. Half an hour later the journey was over. The children piled out of the bus, looking slightly dazed. Many of them had been up since the early hours of the morning, waiting at Paddington. It had been a very long day and it wasn’
t over yet.
‘This way,’ Miss Hubbard shouted, pointing towards the chapel. Miss Hubbard was a tall, thin woman of about thirty, with short, curled brunette hair. She’d been the one in charge of their carriage on the long train trip from London, and she was just about worn out.
Robert heard the local people muttering as they filed past them, holding their suitcases, in a crocodile line towards the chapel.
‘Too many of them …’
‘Never have enough lice powder …’
‘… extra mouths to feed.’
And worse: ‘They should be sent back to where they came from.’
Little Charlie, whose hand Lucy insisted on holding, looked like he was about to start snivelling at any second. Robert wished Lucy would let go of him. He wasn’t their responsibility. Charlie would have to take care of himself. But of course Lucy didn’t see it like that. She’d always been a soft touch. Buster could wrap her round any of his paws, and would be as fat as a pig if Lucy was left in charge of him all the time.
Lucy looked over at Robert and smiled. He knew what that smile meant. It was her Can we keep him? smile. She’d really taken Charlie under her wing. When she got a bee in her bonnet, it was easier to go along with her rather than go against what she wanted to do. Lucy, for all her kindness, could be the most stubborn person in the world when she thought it was for a good cause.
His father’s words rang in Robert’s ears. ‘You’re the oldest, I’m depending on you to take care of her.’ Robert wouldn’t let him down.
‘Hurry up, now. No dawdling,’ Miss Hubbard said as they went through the chapel door. The chapel smelt damp and dusty. Villagers sat, unsmiling, in the pews. Miss Hubbard ushered everyone in. The headmaster of the evacuees’ school, Mr Faber, was having a cup of tea and a slice of cake with the vicar.
‘That’s it, Charlie,’ Robert said encouragingly.
Charlie, if anything, looked even more miserable than before. He certainly felt it.