by Megan Rix
Chapter 15
Robert had always enjoyed working the sheep with Rose and his grandfather, when his grandfather had been alive. Now one of the things he most enjoyed about living on the farm was helping Mr Foster with his sheep.
Rose and his grandfather had had such a close bond that it was almost as though she knew what he was going to say before he said it. Mr Foster was trying to train his young sheepdog, Molly, but she didn’t seem to have the potential to grow into the exceptional sheepdog that Rose had been.
‘If I’d have known your grandmother was going to send Rose to London, I would have offered to buy Rose off her,’ Mr Foster said. He hadn’t been pleased when he’d heard that Rose was now a family pet.
Robert tried to explain that Rose was happy, but Mr Foster shook his head.
‘Sheepdogs have a natural instinct to herd, it’s in their blood …’
Robert nodded, smiling to himself. He’d seen Rose trying unsuccessfully to herd Buster and Tiger. They’d been much less cooperative than the sheep were. Buster would go where she wanted him to – sometimes – but Tiger was impossible to steer anywhere and would hiss at Rose to warn her off.
‘But we love Rose,’ Lucy said later, when Robert told her Mr Foster didn’t think Rose should be a family pet. ‘We’re always playing with her and we take very good care of her.’
Mr Foster came over to the table, drying his hands.
‘I don’t doubt that you do, Lucy. Not for one minute. I can see what caring children you are. But the thing is, people who have pet collies don’t always realize how strong that herding instinct is within them. A collie that can’t herd …’
Mrs Foster put Mr Foster’s dinner down in front of him. ‘Thanks, love.’
‘What about a collie that can’t herd?’ Robert asked him.
Mr Foster cut into his steak and kidney pie. ‘It’s like a greyhound that can’t run or a bird that can’t fly,’ he said. ‘What you’ve got is a very unhappy animal.’
A week of good food and resting her paw had done wonders for Rose. She was almost unrecognizable as the bedraggled creature Bluebell had found and Jack had carried on to the barge.
For the first few days she’d been unable to do more than lie on Jack’s bed and sleep and eat, but the poultice had helped to heal the infection, and then Alfred wrapped a bandage round Rose’s paw and used part of a sack as a slipper over the bandage to keep it clean, and Rose was free to wander the barge – cramped and narrow as it was.
The weather had turned warm and bright for October, and Rose liked to sit on the bow of the barge and see where they were heading next.
Bluebell trundled along on the riverbank’s towpath, pulling the coal-laden barge behind her.
Jack would often sit on the bow with Rose – or Gypsy, as he called her – just as he’d done with Ben. He liked having her with them. She was good company.
‘Bet you’d have so much to tell me if you could only speak, Gypsy,’ Jack told Rose, as a mother duck and her six ducklings swam past.
Buster and Tiger followed along behind. The barge wasn’t hard to keep in sight and was easy to find after they came back from foraging for food. The canal went on relentlessly wending its way to the sea, taking the barge and the animals with it.
Robert and Lucy’s position at the village school hadn’t got any better after Robert’s caning. But the trouble between Lucy and Pincher Jane had quietened down a little. Pincher Jane still looked daggers at Lucy, but she kept her distance.
Charlie didn’t help himself much by saying at every opportunity how much he liked staying with Mr and Mrs Foster, and how great Robert was and how strong he was and how if anyone thought they could beat Charlie up they’d have to go through Robert first.
Unfortunately, one of the people he told this to was the little brother of the leader of the biggest boy-group of evacuees. The kid told his big brother Gopher that Charlie had said Robert could take him, any day, which wasn’t exactly what Charlie had said, but which enraged Gopher all the same.
It might have helped if Charlie had told Robert what he’d said, but he didn’t think of it – so Robert had no warning when Gopher confronted him outside school the next morning.
‘So you think you can take me?’ said Gopher.
‘What? No – I …’
But Gopher was too worked up to listen, and he swung at Robert with a right hook that Robert only narrowly managed to avoid by ducking.
A crowd formed around the boys, shouting: ‘Fight, fight, fight!’
Gopher’s left arm took a swing and without even thinking Robert dodged and blocked him and punched him hard in the stomach.
Gopher doubled over in pain, then spun round and tried to backhand Robert in the face, but Robert blocked it and then drove his fist up, smashing Gopher’s head back.
Gopher staggered, as Mr Faber came storming up, waving his cane as usual like an extension of his arm.
‘What’s going on?’
‘It was his fault,’ Gopher gasped, pointing at Robert. ‘He started it.’
The others in Gopher’s gang chorused in agreement. ‘Yes – he started it, sir.’
‘Troublemaker.’
‘No he didn’t,’ Lucy shouted. ‘He didn’t do anything!’
‘Like the last time he was caught fighting, I presume?’ Mr Faber said.
‘Yes,’ Lucy said, but even as she spoke the word she knew she wasn’t helping.
‘Hold out your hand.’
‘Wait!’ Robert tried to protest, but he could see in Mr Faber’s face that he didn’t believe him. Or maybe he just wanted to make an example of somebody, anybody, as quickly as possible.
Gopher and his gang smirked.
Robert heard the swish of the cane before he felt the sharp crack as it struck his upturned palm, sending waves of pain up through his arm.
‘Other hand,’ Mr Faber said, and he brought the cane down even harder this time, almost knocking Robert to the ground with the force of it. ‘Now let that be a lesson to you.’ His face was so close to Robert’s that Robert could smell his sour breath.
For the rest of that day Robert sat at the back of the classroom hating Mr Faber while his hands burned. It was worse than last time; his hands still throbbed as he walked home with Lucy and Charlie. Lucy kept glancing over at him, worried. Charlie started snivelling.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Lucy said. ‘You’re not the one who got caned.’
‘I – I – I’m sorry,’ Charlie told Robert.
‘Sorry for what?’ Robert said, and the whole story came out.
‘You shouldn’t go round making things up,’ Lucy said. She was angry with Charlie on Robert’s behalf.
Robert looked as though he couldn’t quite believe the story that was coming out of Charlie’s mouth.
‘But you would protect me, wouldn’t you, Robert?’ Charlie said. He didn’t want that part to have been a lie.
And for the first time in a long time Robert found himself laughing, and the sting in his hands wasn’t quite so bad any more.
‘Of course I would!’ he said.
Charlie looked relieved and then he looked surprised. ‘What’s your gran doing in there?’ he suddenly asked.
Robert looked over to where Charlie was pointing. Their gran was sitting on a haystack next to a scarecrow in the middle of the opposite field.
Lucy and Robert ran towards her.
‘Hey, wait for me,’ Charlie shouted, and ran after them as fast as his much shorter legs could go.
‘Gran, are you all right?’ Robert said. What was she doing here? She looked frozen to the bone. He took off his coat and wrapped it round her thin shoulders.
Lucy took her gran’s hand as Charlie came running up to them.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ he said. He was out of breath from the running.
Beatrice hardly even seemed to know
who they were.
‘Gran, it’s us, Robert and Lucy, your grandchildren,’ Lucy said slowly, as if she was speaking to someone who was half asleep.
‘And me,’ said Charlie. ‘Don’t forget me. I’m Charlie, missis.’ He took Beatrice’s other hand and pumped it up and down.
The vigorous handshake seemed to bring Beatrice back to herself a little.
‘Lucy?’ she said. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in London? Where’s your mother?’
‘Come on, Gran,’ Robert said. ‘Let’s take you home.’ He helped her up and she went with them willingly.
They took Beatrice back to her farm and into the farmhouse. It was freezing cold. Lucy set about making a fire.
‘Go and see to the chickens,’ Robert told Charlie.
‘Do I have to?’ Charlie said. He wasn’t very keen on Mr and Mrs Foster’s chickens and didn’t expect Robert and Lucy’s gran’s chickens to be any friendlier.
‘Yes, you have to,’ Robert said. ‘And check that any other animals have been fed. You wouldn’t want them to be hungry, would you?’
‘No,’ Charlie said.
‘The chickens probably haven’t even had any breakfast yet,’ Robert said.
So Charlie went.
Lucy made Gran a cup of sweet tea and Robert found a woollen blanket to wrap round her shoulders.
‘Why don’t you come back to the Fosters’ with us?’ Robert said. ‘At least you’d be warm there.’
But Beatrice wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’ve slept in my own bed for fifty years. I could never sleep anywhere else,’ she said. ‘And anyway I’ve got too much work to do to go lollygagging about.’
‘Do you think we should let Mum know?’ Lucy said, when Gran wasn’t listening.
Robert wasn’t sure. ‘She’d be so worried.’
Charlie came running in from feeding the chickens. His knee was scraped.
‘What happened to you?’ Lucy asked him.
He pointed his head in Beatrice’s direction. ‘Fell down one of the holes.’
At the Fosters’ house the wireless had pride of place in the floral-wallpapered living room and once it was on, it was given everyone’s full attention. The front room wasn’t used much during the week, unless there were special visitors, which there never seemed to be. But every Sunday afternoon Mr and Mrs Foster liked to listen to the ‘In Your Garden’ programme. Before the war Britain had been able to import much of the food it needed, but now the Ministry of Food wanted people to grow their own.
Charlie liked to show off his arm muscles as the special ‘Dig for Victory’ song was played. He was sure they must be growing bigger with all the digging he’d been doing since coming to the farm.
When the children finally arrived home from school that day, Mrs Foster announced that she was trying out one of the recipes from last Sunday’s show. ‘Would you like a drink to go with your dinner?’ she asked. She took a jug of something orange from the cool pantry and poured them a glass each.
Robert picked his glass up carefully. He didn’t want either Mr or Mrs Foster to know that he’d been caned. He took a sip just as Lucy took one from her glass. They gave each other a look.
‘Mmm, delicious,’ said Mrs Foster, taking a large swig.
Charlie was suspicious. The drink smelt funny. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Why don’t you try it and see,’ Mrs Foster said brightly.
But Charlie didn’t think he would. ‘What’s it called?’ he asked.
‘Carrotade,’ Mrs Foster said.
‘Carrotade?’ Charlie echoed.
Lucy took another sip of her drink, not wanting to upset Mrs Foster by not drinking it.
‘It’s really not too bad, Charlie,’ Lucy said. Although it really was horrible. ‘Try some.’
‘What’s it made of?’ Charlie asked.
‘It’s made from carrots and swede juice,’ Mrs Foster admitted, and she forced herself to take another mouthful of the unappetizing concoction. ‘It’s good for you – and it’ll help you see better in the dark.’
When Mr Foster took a large swig from his glass, the face he pulled convinced Charlie that carrotade was another name for poison.
Although Robert did his best to keep his hands hidden, Mr Foster noticed something was wrong.
‘What happened to your hands?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Robert started to say.
But Lucy was too incensed not to speak. ‘It was so unfair. Mr Faber shouldn’t have done it. He didn’t cane the one who started it, just Robert.’ Tears slipped down her face. ‘It was just like last time.’
Mr Foster looked at Robert.
He lowered his eyes and a blush crept across his face. ‘I … I got the cane for fighting,’ Robert said.
‘He was innocent!’ Lucy protested.
‘It was my fault for saying Robert was brave,’ Charlie told Mr Foster.
‘Eat your dinner,’ Mr Foster said.
And Charlie did, even though the mouthfuls were much harder to swallow than normal.
After dinner Mr and Mrs Foster had a whispered chat and then Mr Foster picked up his coat and left the house. He was gone for more than an hour before they heard his truck pull up in the farmyard.
He came in looking grim. Robert knew he couldn’t necessarily expect Mr Foster to believe him over a grown-up.
‘You won’t be going to school for the next few weeks,’ Mr Foster said.
Robert didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to cheer with relief. But part of him was worried. ‘Have I been expelled?’ he asked.
‘No – if there’s still no bombs in London, the London school is going back at the end of term and taking their teachers, including your Mr Faber, with them. For now, I need you on the farm.’
Robert nodded, feeling a gigantic surge of relief. ‘Thank you.’
As Rose got better, she moved about the barge more, but her favourite place to sit was always the bow.
‘You’re like our figurehead,’ Jack said, and Rose looked at him as if she understood every word.
Sailors had believed for centuries that a figurehead brought them luck. For Jack the sight of Rose in the bow always made him smile, and as his grandfather said, to be happy was good fortune indeed.
While Rose basked in the sun at the front of the barge, Buster and Tiger trailed along behind. Together the two of them were an excellent hunting team, and water rats and rabbits didn’t really stand a chance with Buster flushing them out into Tiger’s path and Tiger waiting, ready to pounce.
And then one morning, very early, ten days after she had collapsed, Rose knew it was time to leave the warmth and security of the barge. Jack had reclaimed his own bed and made Rose a bed of her own from some sacking and a blanket on the floor. Before she went, Rose spent a long time watching Jack sleeping. It would be easy to stay with him, to spend her days on the barge watching the riverbank pass by.
Rose slipped out of the cabin and jumped off the barge on to the bank.
Bluebell bent her head to nuzzle her and Rose wagged her tail.
In the cabin Jack woke and saw that Rose wasn’t there.
In the bushes Buster and Tiger waited for her. Bluebell whinnied as Rose ran to them.
Buster danced around her with delight when she joined them. Tiger showed a little more restraint and licked his paws, before launching himself at her and circling round and round her, bumping his head against her legs.
From the barge deck Jack watched as the three friends greeted each other.
He kept very quiet and didn’t call out or try to stop her, even though more than anything he wanted her to stay. Rose looked back just before the animals disappeared into the woodland and Jack raised his hand in a goodbye.
He knew she wouldn’t be back.
‘Where’s Gypsy?’ Alfred asked, when he got up.
Jack told him
that Gypsy was gone and what he’d seen.
‘Somewhere else she needed to be,’ Alfred said, and Jack nodded.
He gave Bluebell her breakfast and rubbed her neck. ‘If you hadn’t stopped on that towpath when you did, then Gypsy probably wouldn’t have survived,’ he told her. ‘You’re a good horse, you are.’
He tethered Bluebell to the barge and Alfred cast off the rope.
‘Let’s get going, old girl,’ Jack said to Bluebell, and they continued on their watery way.
Chapter 16
Michael tried not to bring too many unwanted pets to the basement, but it was so hard to choose who should be allowed in and who should not. He tried to make a decision on whether each animal would be able to survive without his help, but it was virtually impossible to do so: all of them would be better off having regular food and a dry place to sleep.
Every time he went there he knew he’d done the right thing. He’d blocked the fence hole off but left the basement trapdoor open so the animals could come in and out as they liked.
The kittens were stronger now and full of energy. They raced to greet him and see what food he’d brought them.
As well as the kittens and their mother there was an elderly yellow Lab, two puppies of unknown breed, an Old English sheepdog, a Siamese cat, a tabby and three black cats – one of which was blind and tended by the other two. Michael loved them all.
He used his own savings and bought food for them from the butcher’s on the High Street and mixed it with biscuits or oats and rice. He’d told no one about the place. But he was facing the very real problem of not having enough money to keep buying food for much longer. He couldn’t ask his dad or NARPAC for help, but the animals would need even more food as they got bigger and stronger. He stared around the basement at the collection of animals. What was he going to do when he ran out of money?
Rose sniffed the air, her powerful nose catching the tang of the sea in the distance. The salty smell reminded her of her old home and mornings when the wind drove the smell of the sea up on to the moor where the sheep grazed.
Buster and Tiger followed Rose down to the estuary, their paws growing accustomed to the softness of the yielding wet sand beneath them. Buster was thirsty and drank deeply from the salty water. Tiger took one lap and didn’t drink any more, but Buster kept on drinking, only to retch the water back up.