by Megan Rix
The estuary proved to be a larder of delights, a banquet of crabs and tide-stranded fishes. Buster was the first to spot a crab, and leapt at it, but it scuttled away and dug itself into the sand. He saw another and pounced on that, and this time when the crab tried to bury itself Buster was right behind it, digging too. He barked at the crabs as they tried to scuttle away from him, his little tail going nineteen to the dozen.
Tiger stalked the many wild birds that came to feed on the shrimps, crabs and small fishes. He sent flocks of Brent geese flying up into the sky and away whenever they spotted him.
Rose did not bark at her sea prey; she rarely barked at all, although she too feasted on the seafood. Often she sniffed at the air and seemed to be listening to the wind and the sea – as if it were directing her home.
As they followed the estuary to the sea and got closer to the beach, Buster spotted a creature bobbing in the waves. He raced into the sea and swam in and out of the waves with the seal, chasing the spray. Finally, he grew too cold and had to come in from the water, where he joined the other two on the beach, shivering and exhausted. The seal swam away to find other playmates.
That night they slept by the hull of an old fishing boat and they woke the next morning to find themselves near a harbour. It was early and the fishermen had just come in to shore with their catch.
Tiger was the most brazen of the three pets, and even when he was caught trying to steal some of the catch that the fishermen were selling he was rewarded with a fish head for his efforts.
‘Go on then, cat, here you go.’
On the one occasion Buster tried to copy him he was pounced on himself.
‘Got you!’ said a fisherman, scooping Buster up by the scruff of his neck. Buster twisted and turned, trying to get free, his short legs flailing desperately. But he couldn’t get away.
Then Tiger yeowled and hissed at the man and Rose danced around him baring her teeth, growling and barking, and the fisherman dropped Buster in surprise at their ferocity.
Buster landed on his back, but was up in a second and racing across the beach after the other two.
‘Dumb animals!’ the fisherman said, as the other fishermen around him laughed.
‘Better stick to catching fish from now on!’ one of them joked.
Always wary, Rose scavenged for food among the fish guts and wastage that was left behind at the harbour. She was more careful to avoid human contact than the other two, and Buster soon chose to copy what she did, checking that there was no one watching him before taking whatever he could find.
The three pets continued on round the coast, scavenging whenever they could, hunting whatever they could and sleeping anywhere they could find that was safe and dry.
Rose and Buster’s sensitive ears began to recognize the soft mosquito-like drone that turned into a roar as it came closer. They’d heard it more and more often as they travelled along the South Coast. The animals cowered, and then raced along the beach away from the patrolling RAF planes.
Soon the only people they saw on the beaches were soldiers putting up barbed-wire blockades to turn the beaches into no-go areas.
The soldiers shooed Rose, Buster and Tiger away with shouts and stone-throwing if they saw them.
‘Get away from the beach, you stupid animals …’
‘You’ll get yourselves blown to smithereens.’
The pets, not knowing why they were being treated with so much hostility, ran away, leaving the unwelcoming barbed-wire shoreline and heading inland.
Jim was proud of how well he knew his pigeons. Even though most people could never tell the birds apart, Jim knew each pigeon was uniquely different and found them as easy to identify as his own children.
Not only did the pigeons look different from each other, to Jim’s knowing eyes, their personalities were also different. Some gobbled up their food like it was the last meal they’d ever have, while others took it at a leisurely pace. They had preferred ways and places to sleep and once a pigeon chose a mate it was its mate for life.
Naturally, knowing his pigeons so well and observing them so acutely, Jim had his favourites, and of all his favourites, his most favourite was Lily. She had a way of tipping her head to one side and looking at him when he spoke to her that made him truly believe that the tiny feathery creature could understand his every word. Not that he said as much to the others on the airbase, of course. They’d think he’d gone loop de loop!
Lily had been born in the loft and successfully completed her training flights. She was fast, although not as fast as Hercules. Hercules was the fastest bird he’d ever had.
Lily was due to make her first flight by plane, a thought that made Jim nervous because of the risk of her being killed or not returning. Because young Joe Lawson knew his pigeons and William Edwards was a good man, Jim chose their Blenheim plane for Lily’s first flying trip. It wasn’t to be that long a flight. A short reconnaissance trip across the sea.
Joe had the pigeon carriers strapped to him and would attach a message to Lily’s leg should anything go wrong. They took two pigeons with them on every trip. Nothing had gone wrong so far and no one was expecting anything to go wrong this time. Along with Lily, Jim had to choose a more experienced pigeon to go on the flight. After some deliberation the pigeon he selected to go with Lily was his fastest bird, Hercules.
‘You watch out for her and come back safe, hear?’
He gave both the pigeons some corn and then took them over to the Blenheim.
‘Take care of them,’ Jim told Joe.
‘I will. Don’t you worry,’ Joe grinned.
Jim watched as the engineer drove the plane out of the hangar and William Edwards and his crew climbed on board.
He was still watching as William took over the controls and drove the plane down the runway and up into the crisp winter sky. He kept watching the plane until it was out of sight, and then he went back to the pigeon loft and brewed himself an extra-strong pot of tea.
In the cramped cockpit William steered the Blenheim towards the South Coast.
It was always freezing inside the plane and today it was even more so, but at least the snow had stopped falling for now and visibility was good. The sky was a vivid blue and clear, with just a few white clouds on the horizon. A perfect day for a reconnaissance sortie.
‘Everyone all right back there?’ he said into his inner communication headset.
‘Yes, sir,’ came the crackled reply.
In the back of the plane Joe had Lily and Hercules with him safely in their special pigeon vests that were attached to his parachute harness.
‘Up, up and away,’ he said to the birds. Lily blinked.
William flew the Blenheim out over the waves in the direction of France. Today’s mission seemed much like any other mission – until he saw the Messerschmitt Bf 109 flying towards them. They hadn’t been expecting to see one on a routine mission. What was it doing here?
‘Guv …’ the camera operator’s voice crackled.
‘I see it,’ William said into his headset.
The Messerschmitt was heading straight for them at 340 miles an hour and was already dangerously close.
William steered his plane downwards – if the Messerschmitt got a hit at the Blenheim’s vulnerable underbelly they’d have no chance of survival.
His quick manoeuvre stopped the German plane from getting under them, but it didn’t stop the machine-gun onslaught that followed. The Messerschmitt’s fire shot out the horizontal tail-plane and the steering cable was cut through. More gunfire hit the wing and they started hurtling downwards.
‘Bail out!’ William yelled into his headset. ‘Bail out!’
Michael knew he should have told his father about his secret pet rescue place. But days went by and all the time the pet rescue kept growing. Once he’d started, he couldn’t turn an animal away. Not when he knew what the alternative would be. He just
couldn’t.
‘What can I get you today?’ asked the red-faced butcher on the High Street, where he’d become a regular customer.
Michael showed him the last few coins he had left from his birthday and Christmas money.
‘Right.’
The butcher disappeared into the back and came back with a bag of bones. ‘Threw in a few sausages and some other bits I can’t use.’
‘Thank you.’ Michael held out his money.
‘On the house. Used to have a dog myself when I was a boy – Sailor, I called him, don’t know why. That dog followed me everywhere, broke my heart when I lost him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Michael said.
The butcher nodded. ‘I don’t care what anyone says, your lot are doing a good job.’
The bell on the butcher’s shop door jingled as Michael left with his meat.
As Michael moved the plank of wood he’d used to block off the gap in the fence and squeezed through the hole with his bag of bones he couldn’t help smiling at the butcher’s kindness.
But as he approached the basement, he realized something was wrong. Usually there’d be at least one or two animals out in the garden. As he got nearer, he had a horrible feeling that twisted in the pit of his stomach. It was so quiet – much too quiet.
He’d left the basement trapdoor wedged open, but now it was closed. He ran to the basement and pulled open the trapdoor with mounting dread.
‘No!’
The pets were all gone. He heard the rattle of a van engine starting up and ran round to the front of the house in time to see the NARPAC van drive off. He ran down the street after it as fast as he could, feeling like his heart was breaking.
‘Wait!’ he gasped, as it left him behind.
But it didn’t stop. It disappeared into the distance, taking his animals with it.
Chapter 17
Now that Robert wasn’t attending school any more, he spent his days with Mr Foster, helping on the farm.
Most of all he liked going out on the moorland where Mr Foster grazed his sheep. Often they took Molly with them and Mr Foster taught Robert, successfully, and Molly, with a lot less success, the commands that a shepherd uses with a sheepdog to herd sheep.
Some of the commands Robert remembered from when he used to go out shepherding with his grandfather.
‘Come-bye’ was used when the shepherd wanted the sheepdog to circle the sheep in a clockwise direction. ‘Away to me’ was used for anticlockwise.
‘Grandad used to whistle,’ Robert said, and Mr Foster nodded.
‘I’ll be using a whistle too if I can ever get her to understand the basic commands,’ he said, with a grimace.
The problem with Molly seemed to be that she wasn’t really all that interested in the sheep and didn’t much mind if they were rounded up or not.
The strong natural herding instinct seemed to be missing in her and she’d much rather spend her time running after the ball that Robert would throw for her. She’d chase after it, her tail wagging constantly, eyes beseeching Robert to throw it again as soon as she’d brought it to him.
‘She’s just not got the makings of a sheepdog,’ Mr Foster said with resignation.
‘So what will you do with her?’ Robert asked. Animals in the country had to earn their keep. No one had pets in the same way that people in towns did. Most people couldn’t afford to. A dog in Devon had to be a working dog, and Molly showed little natural ability for that.
‘Nothing, for the moment,’ Mr Foster said. ‘Not till this war’s over. I’m hoping it’ll all be done by Christmas and we can get back to normal. Then we’ll see.’
Robert was worried for Molly’s sake. Who would want to take her on down here?
He spent hours on the moor with Molly, trying to get her to learn how to be a sheepdog. But all she really wanted to do was play with her ball.
As Robert watched Molly make a mess of the simplest of tasks, he couldn’t help but compare her to Rose, who’d been so eager and so able to do whatever sheepdog task his grandfather had asked her to.
If only she were here to teach Molly a thing or two! he thought.
The pets awoke to the sounds of gunfire.
After a long day of hunting the day before, Rose, Buster and Tiger had travelled upwards and across country until they came to a clearing with some giant stone structures. Exhausted, their paws tired from walking, they’d settled down beside the strange stones and gone to sleep, watched over by the full moon.
Now, amidst the gunshots, they heard a loud rumbling sound. There was only one thing the animals could do when they saw a huge steel creature hurtling towards them, and that was run.
Sergeant Hooper, who was leading a military training exercise on Salisbury Plain, spotted the Jack Russell from his tank.
‘Get that dog!’ he told two of his men. They didn’t look particularly willing to go after it. ‘And don’t come back until you do,’ he added.
‘But, guv …’
Sergeant Hooper gave them a look that said he expected obedience, however long it took.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The wind’s in your favour. Use all the tracking skills you’ve been taught.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Buster, Tiger and Rose gradually outran the terrible steel beasts, and kept on running until they were too exhausted to run any more.
They stopped at a stream for a long, cool drink of water, and the panic was quickly forgotten. It was time for food. In the woods they chased a deer, but it was too fast for them. It disappeared into the bushes and they lost it.
Then Buster got the scent of a rabbit and was after it with terrier determination. Tiger did not choose to go down rabbit holes and Rose was too big. But Buster went straight down the hole – although it was a very tight squeeze. He simply had to get the rabbit and he wouldn’t be back until he did.
At the sound of the soldiers coming, Tiger leapt on to a branch of a tree and climbed higher and higher, while Rose lay down in a bush, hidden from view.
Buster was unaware of the men’s presence.
‘I saw it go this way, I tell you.’
Buster had almost reached the rabbit, could smell it just ahead. But the frightened creature had escaped through one of the warren’s many entrances and exits seconds before Buster’s head came poking out of it. The dog was grabbed by two strong hands.
‘Got you!’
Buster struggled and tried to escape, but the hands held on and wouldn’t let him go.
Tiger and Rose looked on, unseen by the soldiers.
Rose crouched down lower as they passed her, out of sight now. And then Rose and Tiger heard the terrible sound of a single gunshot being fired.
Bonfire Night had to be suspended because of the war, of course, but during the day there was a party in the village hall for the school children to celebrate it.
Lucy and Charlie were having a good time until Beatrice turned up in her nightdress, slippers on her feet.
Pincher Jane pointed at Beatrice and laughed scornfully. ‘She’s mad.’
‘Don’t say that about my gran!’ Lucy told her.
Even if she was beginning to wonder it herself, she didn’t want anyone else saying it.
‘Must run in the family,’ Pincher Jane snickered to her friends. But she didn’t say any more when she saw Lucy’s glowering face.
‘Gran, are you all right?’ Lucy asked Beatrice, although it was obvious that she wasn’t all right. Not at all.
She guided her to a chair and Lucy got her a cup of tea and some cake. Everyone was staring at her.
Beatrice took a sip of the tea, but she seemed disorientated and not at all sure who Lucy was or where she was.
‘Have you seen little Bertie?’ she asked. ‘I can’t find him, and his father is going to be so angry with me. He dotes on that boy.’
Lucy knew she was talking
about Uncle Bertie.
‘If you see him, tell him to come home, will you? His dinner is getting cold.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ Lucy said.
They had to get Gran home.
‘Come on, Charlie,’ said Lucy. ‘We’ve got to go.’
Charlie was not pleased to have to leave the party early.
‘When I’m big, I’m going to do whatever I like and not what other people tell me,’ he pouted as they left the hall. ‘And I’m going to be a soldier. Bang, bang, bang!’
He was very surprised when Beatrice grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
‘No you’re not!’ she said.
‘But …’
She shook him again, her thin fingers pinching into his flesh. ‘You’re not going to war. You can’t go to war.’
Lucy tried to help Charlie. ‘Gran, you’re hurting him,’ she said. She tried to pull Beatrice away, but her gran wouldn’t let go of Charlie.
‘Come on, Gran. Leave him alone now. He’s not going to war. He’s much too young.’
Beatrice finally let Charlie go.
Angry with Beatrice for hurting him, Charlie shouted at the top of his voice as soon as he was released: ‘Bang bang bang!’ before running off.
‘Come on, Gran,’ Lucy said, ‘let’s get you home.’
Once they were inside her house, Beatrice sat down at the kitchen table and started to weep. Lucy wasn’t sure what to do at first. Since they’d arrived in Devon she’d felt that she didn’t know her gran at all. But as she looked at the old lady sobbing, Lucy’s heart melted and she took her gran’s hand.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right.’
Beatrice barely seemed to hear her.
Charlie burst into the Fosters’ farmhouse as Robert was finishing his letter to his mother and Mrs Foster was finishing her letter to Charlie’s mother, telling her how well he’d been doing.
‘Are you all right?’ Robert asked Charlie.