by Megan Rix
Joe laughed. ‘Oh, you are a beauty and don’t you know it,’ he said, as he stroked the cat. Tiger purred. It had been too long since he’d been stroked. ‘Let me see that,’ Joe said, noting Tiger’s cut paw. Lucky he had his first-aid kit in his bag.
He was just reaching for it when there was a knock on the outside of the carriage door. Buster raced towards it, but Joe managed to step in front of him and got to it before it could be fully opened.
‘Morning, Officer,’ said the ruddy-faced conductor, observing the young man’s uniform.
‘Morning,’ Joe replied, his heart beating very fast. He looked the conductor in the eye, willing him not to look down because if he did so, he’d see Buster trying to poke his head through his legs.
‘Just checking everything is all right?’
‘Yes, quite all right, thank you. I –’
‘Conductor!’ a commanding voice down the corridor called. ‘Conductor!’
‘Right you are, Officer,’ the conductor said, and hurried off to see who was calling him.
Joe breathed out, closed the door and looked round at Tiger and Rose. Buster wagged his tail at him, head cocked to one side, one ear up and one ear down.
‘That was close,’ he said.
Rose thumped her tail and Buster stood on his back legs, putting his forepaws on the man’s legs. The dogs’ tails wagged in unison.
‘Now, who’d like to share my sandwiches? My mother always makes enough for a whole battalion,’ Joe said, opening his canvas kitbag. ‘“You never know when you’ll get a chance to eat next,” she says.’
The animals were more than willing to help him, and the train journey from London to Kent – Rose’s second trip on a steam train, but Buster and Tiger’s first – passed most pleasantly.
Down in Devon Robert and Lucy soon adjusted to life on Mr and Mrs Foster’s farm, although they missed their parents and pets terribly. In desperation Lucy wrote to Mrs Harris to find out how the animals were getting on:
Dear Mrs Harris,
I hope you are well and that Tiger, Rose and Buster are being good. Robert and I are fine in Devon. Tiger loves to play with feathers. Please would you give him this one to play with?
I would love to hear any news of them and how they are all getting on.
Yours sincerely,
Lucy Edwards
She popped the long pheasant feather she’d found into the envelope and sealed it.
Her bedroom walls were now half covered with sketches of Tiger, Rose and Buster. Tiger featured in more drawings than the other two as Lucy found cats easier to draw, so the pictures she did of him usually turned out better. There would have been more, but she’d run out of drawing paper.
‘Oh my, look at all these,’ Mrs Foster said, coming into Lucy’s room with her clean clothes.
‘That’s Tiger,’ Lucy said, pointing to his picture. ‘And this one’s Buster.’
‘He looks like a mischievous one,’ Mrs Foster said.
Lucy grinned. ‘He is!’ she agreed. ‘And this one’s –’
‘Rose,’ Mrs Foster said. ‘I’ve known Rose since she was a puppy. She came from a litter up at Moorvale Farm and she must have been only two weeks old when I first saw her. She didn’t even have her eyes open.’
‘Tell me more about what Rose was like as a puppy,’ Lucy said.
‘Well, she was a pretty little thing, very intelligent and very inquisitive. One day, when she must have been only seven weeks old, they thought they’d lost her – looked everywhere they did, only to find her curled up with the lamb they were hand-rearing.’
Lucy grinned.
‘Oh,’ Mrs Foster smiled as she remembered, ‘and she gave you her paw in the sweetest way, almost as if it was in slow motion and a very serious affair. People were always asking her to “shake hands”. Most dogs do it quick, but not Rose.’
Lucy couldn’t wait to see Rose again and try asking her to shake hands.
‘We’d have taken her, you know. By eight weeks old I could see there was something special about her, and to be honest I’d fallen for her. I was looking forward to bringing her home with us, but on the morning we went up to Moorvale Farm to say that we’d like to have her, we found that she’d already been taken. She became your grandfather’s dog, but I always had a special place for her in my heart.’
‘Sevenoaks Station, alight here for Sevenoaks Station,’ the announcer said, as the train slowed down and stopped.
‘This is me,’ Joe said, picking up his bags. He wished he could take the animals with him, but there was no room for three pets on the airbase.
He closed the door securely behind him as he left the compartment. Buster whimpered, and went to the door and pawed at it.
‘Have a pleasant day, Officer,’ the conductor said, as Joe left the train.
Buster sat back on his haunches and stared at the door, his head cocked to one side, waiting for Officer Cadet Lawson to come back.
The whistle blew and the train was just about to leave the station when the animals’ compartment door opened again.
Buster jumped up and wagged his tail, but it wasn’t the kind airman returning. Their next prospective travelling companion was no animal lover and she gave a shriek that brought the conductor running to her aid.
‘What on earth …’ he said.
The animals raced past him as he made a grab for them and missed, and then there was chaos as they ran down the corridor, dodging past surprised passengers who got in their way, with the conductor determinedly behind them.
He managed to corner them at the end of the train.
‘Now I’ve got you!’ he gasped.
The conductor tried to grab Buster’s collar just as a latecomer opened the carriage door, and Buster managed to dodge past him and jump out of the train. Then the conductor tried to catch Tiger by the tail, but cats can be as slippery as eels when they need to be, and Tiger was no exception.
Rose slunk past the conductor unseen and out of the train, while the man was getting more and more tangled up with Tiger.
‘Yeowch! The beast scratched me,’ the conductor yelled, as Tiger leapt out of the train after his companions.
Hearing his friend’s yell, the coal stoker grabbed a large piece of coal and threw it at the ginger cat. It was hard to say who was more surprised when he scored a direct hit.
‘Gotcha!’ the stoker said, as the coal landed squarely on Tiger’s back, knocking him over.
Tiger gave a squeal of pain. But he leapt up immediately and ran out of the station after the other two. The three animals ran and ran until they were far away from the station, adrenalin and fear driving them on.
As the sun set, they came to a wooded area and stopped at a stream for a drink. Tiger climbed up a tree to sleep, while the other two settled down at its base.
At first the woodland night sounds disturbed all of them. Even Rose had not been out in the countryside all night before. The screech of an owl, the cry of a fox and a badger that rustled past all filled them with fear. But when no other animal came close enough to be seen, they finally fell fast asleep.
The dawn brought a beautiful pink sunrise and the wood was shrouded in mist. In his tree Tiger stretched, then noticed a nest just above him. It was breakfast time. He slunk up another branch to investigate, ignoring the pain from where the coal had hit him the day before.
Tiger had almost reached the nest when the mother bird saw him. She squawked and flew at him. Tiger swiped at her with his paw. The bird flew to a higher branch out of his reach, but she didn’t want to lose her eggs and so she squawked and flew at Tiger again. Tiger batted her away and lowered his head towards the egg prize that would soon be his. In desperation the bird dive-bombed him.
The crow’s squawking brought its mate flying back, and now both birds dive-bombed Tiger. The ferocity of the attack caught Tiger by sur
prise, and as cat and crows fought, the nest became dislodged and fell to the ground where the two dogs gobbled down the eggs.
Tiger saw a rabbit on the ground and raced down the tree and across the woodland after it, only to have the rabbit disappear into its burrow.
Hungry and sore, he slunk back to Buster and Rose. Finding food was becoming an exhausting challenge – and it was one that none of the animals had had to face before.
So many children had been evacuated to the area that the small village school couldn’t cope with the number. Not only were there not enough desks, there were also not enough books and not even enough paper or pencils to go round. The school resorted to using chalk and easels, but supplies were woefully inadequate even of these. It was decided that half the children should go to school in the morning and the other half in the afternoon.
Lucy was placed with the rest of the evacuee children. She wasn’t pleased when she saw that the ‘pincher’ girl was in her class. She’d hoped that the chapel was the last time she’d have to see her. No such luck.
All the other children in Lucy’s new class knew each other already because they’d all come from the same South London school. They’d already made their own friends.
Lucy felt isolated as the rest of her classmates stared at her. She tried to pretend she didn’t care that she didn’t have any friends. But she did care really. She cared a lot.
Her class was assigned Miss Hubbard as their teacher.
‘Now, Lucy, isn’t it?’ Miss Hubbard said, on the first day.
Lucy nodded.
‘Why don’t you go and sit over there.’ Miss Hubbard pointed to an empty chair next to a boy who had his finger up his nose.
Lucy could feel everyone staring at her as she walked to her place. She didn’t like it and wished she could be back at her old school.
‘Pick up your knitting needles. We’re going to be making RAF crew scarves, gloves and balaclavas for the war effort,’ Miss Hubbard said.
Lucy wrapped the grey wool she’d been given round her needle, thinking how much Tiger would have loved to play with the wool, and a tear dropped on to her knitting.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ the girl behind her said, giving her a poke.
‘Nothing.’ Lucy did her best to ignore her. But it wasn’t easy.
At breaktime the girl deliberately shoved past her, almost knocking her over, and when the bell rang and they all lined up, the girl was standing behind her and pulled her hair.
Lucy clenched her fist tight. She knew that she had to stay out of trouble, and she was doing her best, but it was very hard not to retaliate. Instead she turned round and glared at the girl, who merely pulled a face back at her. As they filed into the classroom Lucy made a silent wish. Please let us go home soon.
Chapter 10
The smell coming from the slightly open window of the large country house was so tantalizingly mouthwatering that no cat, let alone a hungry cat like Tiger, could have resisted it.
Tiger jumped on to the windowsill and peered in through the kitchen window, his tail twitching. Rose and Buster sat below the window and sniffed the air. The windowsill was too high above the ground for them to jump up to it, but the smell was almost as enticing to them as it was to Tiger. Rose’s stomach rumbled with hunger and a string of drool stretched from Buster’s mouth to the ground.
The smell that was so delicious was the aroma of freshly caught salmon cooking. Tiger, still on the windowsill, gave a miaow of pure longing and was shocked when a bald man with piercing light blue eyes suddenly appeared at the glass and stared out at him.
‘Hello there, my beauty,’ the man said, and he pushed the white lattice-framed window up further.
Tiger had not forgotten his last human encounter, which had ended with a lump of coal hitting his back. But somehow he knew this man was different. This man was a cat lover.
The man’s pudgy fingers reached out and stroked Tiger, and Tiger could feel all the worry of the last few days dissolving. He rubbed his chin against the man’s hand and purred with pleasure.
‘Oh, Winston, not another cat!’ a voice said.
Tiger froze but Winston’s hand didn’t stop stroking him, not even for one second. ‘Yes, and isn’t he a beauty,’ Winston said. ‘Bring over some of that salmon. I suspect he’s hungry.’
A moment later a small plate of still-warm salmon was put on the windowsill next to Tiger.
‘Go on, then,’ Winston told him.
Tiger didn’t need to be asked twice. The salmon was gone in no time at all and Tiger put his head to one side, looked at Winston, and miaowed hopefully for more.
Winston laughed. ‘More salmon and make it quick,’ he said.
Tiger was in heaven. Salmon and someone’s fingers that stroked him in just the right way.
‘Shut the window. I don’t like flies in my kitchen,’ the other voice said.
Winston lifted Tiger into the kitchen and pulled down the window behind him.
Outside Buster gave a whimper of disappointment, but no one heard him.
In the kitchen Tiger finished off his second plate of salmon. His stomach was now very full.
‘Come on, Cat,’ Winston said, and Tiger obediently followed the plump bald man out of the kitchen and down the passageway.
Other people stopped to admire Tiger as he walked behind the man.
‘That’s a fine-looking cat you have there, Mr Churchill.’
‘A very fine cat indeed,’ Winston agreed. ‘He came to the kitchen window and asked to be let in.’
Winston opened the door to a room that smelt of leather and cigar smoke, and Tiger sauntered in.
‘Now, let’s see what’s been happening in the world.’
Winston sat down at his desk and lit a large cigar before starting to read the official papers in front of him.
Tiger hopped up on to the desk to join him and Winston didn’t seem to mind at all.
‘Now what shall I call you?’ Winston said to his new cat. ‘You really are a most magnificent specimen. Although you could do with a bit of feeding up. Hmm, I know, how about Jock?’
Tiger purred as Winston rubbed him behind his ears, which Winston took as being Tiger’s approval of his new name.
‘Yes, Jock it is then,’ he said.
Tiger bumped his head against Winston’s hand, hoping for more ear-rubbing. Winston duly obliged.
Later, when Winston moved to one of the leather armchairs, he patted his knees so that Tiger knew he was being invited to join him, and he hopped up into Winston’s lap, turned round a few times to ensure he was in the most comfortable spot, and fell fast asleep.
‘That’s it, Jock,’ Winston said, to the sleeping Tiger, as he read through his correspondence. ‘You have a nice rest.’
Safe and warm and with his belly full, Tiger slept on and on.
Outside the kitchen window Rose and Buster waited for Tiger to come back, but when he didn’t and the window remained firmly closed, the two dogs went off to explore the large garden by themselves. As soon as Buster spotted the pond he was drawn to it and Rose followed him. The pond was shallow, with lily-pads growing on it and large stepping-stones across it. But, more importantly, the pond was full of large black-spotted golden and white and peach-coloured fish. If they couldn’t have freshly cooked salmon, then they would catch their own fish.
After checking that there was no one approaching, the two dogs crossed the stones to the middle of the pond and slipped into the water. Working as a team, Buster and Rose corralled the koi carp into a corner of the pond and then dragged one to the side.
They froze as a lady came out to scatter bread, cake crumbs and bacon rind for the birds – if she’d looked their way, she’d have seen them with fish remnants in front of them. But fortunately she didn’t look, and when she’d gone Buster and Rose ate the bird food too.
Then Buster found a st
rand of discarded rope and he and Rose had a wild, growling game of tug in the rose garden.
As the sun set, it grew colder and lights appeared in the house. The two dogs stared at them as if transfixed. But they didn’t approach.
A broken wooden door led them inside a disused, dilapidated potting shed that kept them warm and dry for the night.
Winston liked to keep regular hours, and Tiger found that Winston’s routine suited him perfectly. After a few days spent at Chartwell, Tiger was so attuned to this routine that it was as though he’d never lived anywhere else. Winston woke at 7.30 and had his breakfast brought to him in bed, as usual. Tiger also remained on the bed, where he’d spent the night, as usual, and ate his breakfast of salmon from a bowl on a silver tray.
Breakfast finished, Tiger curled up and went back to sleep for a few more hours while Winston read his mail and all the national newspapers and dictated to his secretaries, who scribbled down his words in their notebooks and gave Tiger strokes.
At 11.00 Tiger went out in the garden for a prowl, but not for long. Winston came looking for him after half an hour.
‘Jock, Jock, where are you?’
Tiger ran to him and they wandered around the garden together. ‘Smell that magnolia, Jock, isn’t it heavenly? Doesn’t it make you glad to be alive?’
Winston frowned when they came to the water garden.
‘Some of the fish seem to be missing.’
Tiger, who was fast getting used to being called Jock, had liver for his dinner in the banqueting room. The dinner guests in their evening suits admired him.
‘He really is a beautiful animal – and he just turned up one day, you say?’
‘Yes,’ Winston said. ‘Completely out of the blue. Like Will-o’-the Wisp.’
But like Will-o’-the Wisp, a few days later Tiger was gone.
Chapter 11
Charlie had more trouble than Robert or Lucy getting used to farm life – mainly due to his being terrified of the Red Ruby Devon cows that he was convinced were waiting to eat him as soon as he turned his back on them.