by Megan Rix
Charlie opened his mouth and closed it again.
Robert reflected that Charlie really was a weird kid sometimes.
‘If we hurry, these should make the last post,’ Mrs Foster said.
‘I’ll take them.’ Charlie took Mrs Foster’s and Robert’s letters and ran out of the door with them.
‘We have to do something about Gran,’ Lucy whispered to Robert when she got back, and she told him what had happened.
But Robert was ahead of her. He’d already written to their mum to ask her what they should do for the best.
The next day Beatrice came round to the Fosters’ house. ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Charlie Wilkes,’ she said.
Charlie hoped she wasn’t going to shake or pinch him again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Beatrice told him.
‘What for?’ Charlie asked her.
‘I shouldn’t have shook you.’
Charlie definitely agreed with her about that. ‘Or pinched me,’ he said. ‘It hurt.’
‘I was frightened,’ Beatrice said.
‘You were frightened?’ Charlie thought she’d got it the wrong way round. He was the one who’d been frightened. ‘What of?’
‘That you’d go to war and be killed – like my son.’
‘Oh.’ Charlie took in what she’d said. ‘So you were trying to protect me, sort of?’
‘Exactly,’ Beatrice said. ‘Well, I can’t stand here all day, I’ve got work to do.’
‘Digging holes?’ Charlie asked her.
Beatrice stared at him with a very odd look. ‘Holes? What are you talking about?’ she said.
At first when Buster was taken and the gunshot fired, Rose and Tiger stayed very still for a long time.
In the early hours of the morning they moved on.
A farmer taking his sheep to market had two stowaways among his flock. Later, a lorry loaded with fish had two extra guests – and two less fish by the time it reached its destination.
But Rose and Tiger’s journey was not the same as it had been when they’d had Buster with them. Without Buster’s waggy tail and inquisitive nose, a large part of the joy had gone.
Once, Tiger spotted a Jack Russell ahead of them and raced down the street after it, only to discover that it wasn’t Buster. He went back to Rose whose nose had told her already that it wasn’t their friend but some other dog – one that didn’t smell of the sea and rabbits and adventures on Salisbury Plain.
And then there was a new smell. At first it was so faint Rose hardly registered it, but it gradually grew stronger until it couldn’t be ignored. It was the smell of sheep and moor ponies, Red Ruby Devon cattle and moorland heather. It was the smell of home.
Chapter 18
Lucy had waited so long for a reply to the now six letters she’d sent to Mrs Harris that finally she decided to ask about them at the Post Office, which doubled as the village shop. Inside, it was crammed to the brim with provisions and very busy as always. It wasn’t just a place to buy groceries, but a place to catch up on the latest gossip.
As Lucy tried to decide between liquorice sticks, butterscotch sweets or aniseed balls from the small array of sweets beside the Pears soap and Rinso washing powder, she listened to what was being said around her.
‘Like I said, I don’t blame you for taking him home – it’s not like there’s been any bombs in London, has there?’
‘Blasted phoney war – I’d take my young’un back …’
‘They’ll all have gone back to London before Christmas, you’ll see.’
Lucy ran all the way home to tell Robert the news.
‘So we didn’t need to leave and the pets didn’t need to go to the Harrises after all,’ she gasped.
Robert took one of the aniseed balls from the paper bag Lucy offered him.
‘Well, look on the bright side,’ he said.
Lucy wasn’t sure what he meant.
‘We might get to go back home for Christmas too,’ he grinned.
Lucy was particularly pleased when she got to school the next day and found that Pincher Jane had gone.
‘Where’s Jane?’ she asked Amy, who usually sat next to Jane. ‘Is she sick?’
‘Her dad came and took her home,’ Amy said.
‘Oh,’ said Lucy, although what she really wanted to do was dance around the room yelling with delight. ‘I’ll miss her.’ Which was true; Lucy would certainly notice that Pincher Jane wasn’t there any more.
At breaktime Amy sat by herself looking lonely, and over the next few days Lucy and Amy started to spend much more time together, until by the end of the week they were sitting next to each other in class and the best of friends.
On the same day that Charlie’s mum received Charlie’s letter, Mrs Edwards received a letter from Robert. It detailed his and Lucy’s concerns about their grandmother. Mrs Edwards immediately took the letter to Sylvia, the matron of the hospital ship.
Mrs Edwards liked Sylvia; during her fifteen-year career as a nurse she had worked for many matrons and Sylvia Carter was one of the best.
Sylvia seemed to get her staff to do all that needed doing and more, while always managing to make the work seem achievable. Sylvia’s face wasn’t naturally inclined to smile and she certainly wasn’t interested in having friendly chats with Mrs Edwards or the volunteer nurses, but Mrs Edwards had a lot of respect for her.
‘I’m not sure what I should do,’ Mrs Edwards said, standing in front of Sylvia’s desk while the matron read Robert’s letter.
‘Aren’t you, Helen?’ Sylvia said, looking up from the end of the letter. ‘I think it’s perfectly clear what you should do.’
Meanwhile Charlie’s mum read his letter. She was missing him just as badly as Charlie was missing her, maybe even more so. She kept thinking how it wouldn’t be a proper Christmas without her Charlie there. His billet mother down in Devon, Mrs Foster, had been very kind, keeping her informed of what was happening and how Charlie was getting on, but it wasn’t the same as having her little boy with her. And when she received the letter with Charlie’s addition on the back of the envelope, her mind was made up and she booked a train ticket down to Devon to fetch Charlie home.
Both women arrived in Devon the next day.
Helen Edwards was shocked at how dreadfully thin her mother was. There was nothing to her. What’s more, she felt guilty for expecting so much from her. How could she ever have imagined that Beatrice would be able to look after Robert and Lucy? Why hadn’t she noticed just how frail Beatrice was when she went to her father’s funeral?
‘I’m sorry,’ she told Beatrice. And she truly was.
Beatrice brushed her daughter’s apology aside. ‘You’re here now, Helen,’ she said. ‘And that’s all that matters. I miss my Bertie.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Mrs Edwards said, taking her mother’s hand.
It was more than twenty years ago – 1917 – and Mrs Edwards, or Helen Harper as she’d been then, had only been about Lucy’s age when they’d learnt that Bertie had been killed at the front. She could still remember the terrible inhuman wailing sound that her mother had made on hearing the news. She remembered the nightmares she’d had as a child, reliving again and again the imagined horror of her brother’s death. Later she’d come to realize that many of the soldiers who survived the war suffered just as much as those who’d died. Thousands of men came home from the Great War with mental problems. She’d seen them at the hospital where she’d trained. They’d experienced the misery and terror of life in the trenches, seeing their friends die and having to take the lives of their fellow men in battle. How could they just forget what they’d been through and go on with their everyday lives?
Helen tried to put these thoughts out of her head, and busied herself with unpacking her suitcase. She’d even brought William’s slippers with her – silly fool, she berated herself, but she hadn’t been able to leave them at home
when her husband had forgotten to take them with him. She hugged his slippers to her and wished that the war would be over soon so that they could all be back together.
Mrs Foster was very surprised when she opened the door to a pale woman in town clothes, who looked vaguely familiar.
‘May I help you?’ she asked her.
‘I’ve come to take my Charlie home,’ the woman said.
‘Oh – Charlie,’ said Mrs Foster, realizing that the reason the woman looked familiar was that she must be Charlie’s mother, or older sister. ‘He’s such a delightful –’
But the woman didn’t let Mrs Foster finish.
‘Where is he?’
‘Well, he’s at school –’
‘Where’s the school?’ the woman interrupted her.
‘About two miles down the lane.’
‘I’d better take his things.’
‘But – you’re not thinking of taking Charlie away …’
Mrs Foster realized that that was exactly what the woman was thinking, and her heart sank.
‘What else could I be expected to do after the way he’s been treated?’
Mrs Foster was flabbergasted. ‘Treated?’
Charlie’s mother pulled the envelope out of her bag and showed Mrs Foster what Charlie had written on the back of it. ‘I bin hurt bad.’
Now Mrs Foster understood. ‘Oh … oh, it was all a misunderstanding.’
She tried to explain about Beatrice, but Charlie’s mother was not in the mood to listen.
‘Which direction is the school?’
Mrs Foster felt as though her heart was breaking. She was going to miss Charlie terribly. The little boy with the quirky, gap-toothed smile had wormed his way into her heart and would always have his own special place there.
She collected together Charlie’s belongings.
‘I can show you the way to the school …’
But Charlie’s mum said she’d find it by herself.
‘Why don’t you stay here tonight and leave in the morning?’ Her husband and Robert were out with the sheep. They wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Charlie.
But Charlie’s mum said they’d be leaving as soon as she’d collected Charlie from school.
At school Charlie was listening to his teacher telling them about a horse in the Trojan War and wishing that he hadn’t already eaten his pasty, when the classroom door opened and Charlie could hardly believe his eyes.
‘Mum!’ He stumbled out of his chair, ran to her and threw his arms round her. ‘Mum – it’s my mum,’ he told the rest of his class.
‘Where are you going?’ Lucy called to him when she saw Charlie heading out of the playground with a woman she didn’t recognize.
‘I’m going home,’ Charlie told her, his face beaming.
Chapter 19
The two soldiers were very proud of their catch. Sergeant Hooper had told them to get him the little dog, and it hadn’t been easy, but they’d managed to track him through the woods and catch him.
‘Come on, Rover.’
‘We’ll be in Sarge’s good books for this.’
They carried Buster back to the camp in triumph – only he was as wriggly as an eel and as awkward as water to carry. Finally they knotted all four of their bootlaces together and tied the rope round the Jack Russell’s neck; now he had to go with them whether he wanted to or not!
‘Come on, Rover. We need you for the war effort.’
There was a dearth of healthy dogs to help with the war, due to thousands of them being killed in the first few weeks of the war being announced. Once the bombs started falling, dogs with good noses and tracking instincts were going to be desperately needed to help with the search and rescue of victims from damaged buildings. There were woefully few dogs now available, so few that the public was being asked to lend their pets to the war effort for the duration.
Adverts were appearing in national newspapers asking for people with suitable dogs to come forward.
Buster looked like an excellent candidate and their sergeant was a keen dog handler. As soon as he’d spotted Buster, he’d sent them after him.
Buster had gone quite a way and they’d almost given up by the time they found him down the rabbit hole.
The two soldiers had also shot at, but missed, the rabbit that Buster had been after.
‘That rabbit would have made a nice change from bully beef,’ they said, disgruntled.
They’d had bully beef, or corned beef as it was called on the tin, a lot since being posted to Salisbury. Bully beef stew, pie, fritters, even bully beef curry. A rabbit would have made a welcome change.
‘So you caught him?’ Sergeant Hooper said, nodding at Buster, when they got back.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Give him something to eat then, and we’ll see what he’s made of.’
Buster was given a tin plate filled with bully beef, which he found most palatable. It was soon wolfed down and the plate licked clean.
Sergeant Hooper had been a circus dog trainer before he signed up. He began Buster’s assessment as soon as Buster had finished his bully beef.
‘Right – let’s see what you’re made of, dog. Sit!’
Buster immediately sat. Sergeant Hooper smiled.
‘Down.’
Buster lay down.
‘Stay.’ Sergeant Hooper put his hand out flat in front of him, palm up, to reinforce his command. Sergeant Hooper walked away from him and then stopped.
‘Come!’
Buster raced to him and sat down in front of him. ‘Good, very good. You’d have made a good circus dog,’ he told Buster.
Buster passed the initial assessment with flying colours. Now he’d need to go for more specialized training in Kent.
Sergeant Hooper sent a letter with the soldier that took Buster to Maidstone. ‘This is one fine little dog. Please treat him with the respect he deserves. Sergeant D.M. Hooper. PS He’ll do anything for a bit of bully beef.’
When Sam Malden went to meet their newest canine recruit at the station, he was very pleased when Buster wagged his tail as soon as they met and readily accepted a treat from him. Buster had just the right inquisitive and friendly temperament for the job.
Sam introduced Buster to the other dog handlers at the Kent centre straight away. Buster was the first potential search-and-rescue dog assigned to Sam that he was to be solely in charge of, and he was excited and nervous. Buster wasn’t nervous at all. He was too busy being stroked and sniffing new friends. When he saw a collie, he raced over to it excitedly. But it wasn’t Rose.
‘What do you think of him, lad?’ the corporal asked Sam.
‘Think I’m already smitten,’ Sam admitted.
‘Remember, he’s here to work.’
Sam didn’t forget. But he didn’t forget to make time to play with Buster either.
The other handlers commented on how well Buster and Sam worked together.
‘It’s like Patch knows what you’re going to ask him to do even before you’ve said it, Sam.’
‘Hardly have to teach him a thing – he just teaches himself.’
Buster excelled at agility training. The tunnels that he ran through weren’t dissimilar to rabbit holes, and climbing the A-frame apparatus was a whole lot easier than chasing a squirrel up a tree.
‘Your most important job is going to be to find people, Patch,’ Sam told him. Buster wagged his tail.
As a first step Buster spent a lot of time finding his ball. Then he moved on to finding soldiers that were hiding in the tunnels and simulations of damaged buildings and rubble.
‘Find him, Patch. Where is he?’
Sam was always really pleased with Buster when he successfully found the soldier. And Buster was always over the moon when Sam was pleased with him.
Finally there was scent training. Buster practised using his powerful can
ine nose to pick up the scent of a human in a collapsed building and alert Sam.
‘One day you might need to find someone buried under rubble from a bomb and all you’ll have is a smell to go on,’ Sam said.
The pair worked hard until, two weeks later, Sam and Buster were called into the corporal’s office.
‘I’ve got a special job for you two.’
‘Yes, sir?’ Sam said. Buster wagged his tail.
‘I need you to go to London and demonstrate what a search-and-rescue dog might be called on to do.’
‘Us, sir?’
‘Yes, and hopefully you’ll encourage more people to loan their dogs to the war effort. Heaven knows we’re going to need them when this thing really kicks off.’
Sam was so nervous the first time he and Buster did a demonstration that his hands were shaking and he felt sick.
Buster did everything Sam asked of him and captured the hearts of the audience as well.
‘What a sweet little dog. Reminds me of my Toby,’ a young girl said.
‘He never takes his eyes off that handler of his,’ commented her mother. ‘And that’s not like your Toby.’
Sam wasn’t so nervous at their next demonstration because Buster had performed so well at the first one. He was even less nervous at the one after that. Their fourth demonstration was at the Wood Green Animal Shelter and one of the spectators was Michael.
He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Buster. It couldn’t be. But it had to be.
‘Buster!’ Michael shouted.
Buster looked over at Michael and his tail started wagging a million times a minute – and the next moment he’d run over and leapt into Michael’s arms and was licking his face.
‘Hey, hey, I already had a wash this morning,’ Michael laughed, as Buster’s little tongue got busy.
‘You know him then?’ Sam said.
‘Oh yes, I know him,’ Michael said. ‘Buster’s a friend of mine’s dog.’
‘Not any more,’ Sam said. ‘He’s been conscripted for the war effort.’
Sam told Michael how Buster had been trained as a search-and-rescue dog. ‘And he’s one of the best they’ve seen so far.’