The Cats of Butterwick Sands

by Gabriella Thomas

  The Cats of Butterwick Sands

  The Cats of

  Butterwick Sands

  Gabriella Thomas

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by

  The Book Guild Ltd

  9 Priory Business Park

  Wistow Road, Kibworth

  Leicestershire, LE8 0RX

  Freephone: 0800 999 2982

  www.bookguild.co.uk

  Email: info@bookguild.co.uk

  Twitter: @bookguild

  Copyright © 2017 Gabriella Thomas

  The right of Gabriella Thomas to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.

  ISBN 978 1912575 176

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  To my inspirations: my grandchildren Mariella and Elliot,

  my daughter Sonia and my son Alex,

  and special thanks to my husband Ivor.

  With thanks to Ena Hodzic for the illustrations.

  Contents

  Ernie And Old George

  The Caravan Park

  A Very Hot Day

  Hamish And The Chip Shop

  Lala And Milo

  Woody

  The Lost Kitten

  Blooms

  More Cats And Friends

  Ernie And The Siamese Twins

  The Cats’ Choir

  The Cats’ Blanket

  Big Changes In Butterwick.

  The Big Meeting

  The Animals’ Meeting

  The Grand Opening

  Happy Days

  1

  Ernie And Old George

  There is a small seaside town in the southeast of England, sadly rather run down now, called Butterwick Sands. It stands in the centre of a curved bay; there is a cliff overlooking the town at one end and then the seashore sweeps round and curves as far as the eye can see, past a small harbour and the pier and round toward Fairmile, the nearest ‘big’ town to Butterwick. At the other end of the bay towards the west, after miles and miles of beach and seashore, you will eventually reach another town, which has its own railway station; both the town and station are called Barrow-on-Sea. It was from here, up until a few years ago that buses and coaches would run every half an hour to Butterwick in the summer. Now only one bus will run every two hours in summer and only once a day in winter. In the past, trains used to run regularly, but today only a few will stop now and then. The locals say, “Trains used to come here from all over; it was so busy and full of life, it was great for the town… I suppose we are too old-fashioned now, kids want them rides where they hang upside down and all sorts.” Today the town relies on old George the station master to keep the station going hoping for the good times to come back again.

  The station has a cat called Ernie. He is a rather striking chocolate coloured tom-cat with green eyes who lives in the station master’s office and can be found most days sprawled on the desk, whilst his human George is looking after the station. George is very proud of the station and it is said by locals that George has been there forever, like his father before him. The station has won the “Best Kept Station” award for many years in a row and George has a display of little cups on a shelf in his office.

  “Look Ernie,” he says to the cat, “our potted flower displays are famous all over England, maybe even the whole world!” He will chuckle to himself and draw on his pipe, blowing the smoke in the air. Ernie has got used to the pipe smoke and the old man’s ways.

  Ernie has a white smudge at the corner of his mouth which makes it seem as though he is smiling, so whenever George speaks, he will look at Ernie, chuckle to himself and say, “Well even you’re laughing, Ernie.” Ernie likes to keep his human happy so he will give a small meow to show George he understands because after all, George looks after Ernie very well, only the best tit-bits and food that is cooked by George on the small stove in the back-room will do; chicken and fish, sometimes crab or a tasty meat pie and sometimes a plate of hot stew.

  George lives in the back-room of the station, as station masters used to do. In the back, there is a small sitting room with a bed in the corner covered by a patchwork quilt. A small table and two chairs sit in the middle of the room with a big hearth where George still lights his coal fire, takes up most of the back wall. Beside the fire is an old armchair which belonged to his mother. It is sagging now with bits of stuffing coming out of it, but George will not get rid of it. “Good bit of furniture that,” he says to Ernie, who gives a meow as he will often sleep on the armchair as the fancy takes him. On the mantelpiece are lots of faded black and white photographs of George as a boy; one is with his parents on the beach with his mum and dad on deckchairs. Mr George Locket Senior is wearing a magnificent handlebar moustache and Mrs Locket is looking very stern and wearing a big straw hat. George is sitting on the sand wearing a one-piece striped swimsuit with a very serious expression “My old dad, he was very strict, Ern, fair frightened I was of ’im I can tell you but he taught me manners and everything there is to know about trains!” Ernie was glad that it was George who looked after him; George was kind and never shouted at him. Old George remembered the days when the station was very busy.

  “Those were the days, Ernie,” he would say to his cat, “people would come here from far and wide to take the sea air and the beaches were packed with lots of families having fun. Ah! Those were the days.” Ernie felt that these times today were good too because, as the station was not busy, there was plenty of time to sleep in flower-pots, to chase mice, to sit on the station benches and watch the world go by… and to go into the old station buffet although it was now closed. It was where George kept all the nice tit-bits for their supper and Ernie would sometimes curl up in the old tea urn in winter and keep warm… Yes, all in all, it was a good life for a cat.

  George has never travelled and has spent all his life in Barrow-on-Sea. He was an only child and grew up in the town, going to the local church school and then following his father to work on the station. He learnt all about timetables, tickets and all the different steam engines and he would help to keep the station clean and tidy. He would help the tea lady, Mrs Peabody, in the small railway buffet on the station platform. She would always have a sticky bun kept aside for him. She was a very large rotund lady with a very red face which got redder throughout the day because of the tea urn steamer which was always puffing out steam to make endless cups of tea, it puffed and puffed and sounded like the big old steam trains that ran past every day. George thought that Mrs Peabody was the fattest lady he had ever seen. She would always squeeze him tight and it felt to young George like sinking into a giant pillow, she smelt of cough drops and a sweet perfume called ‘violets’.

  “Oh yes, it’s French, you know,” she would say and her red face would get redder and her chins would quiver, as she broke into peals of laughter, “Yes violets parfume, me lad. Mr Peabody always buys me violets parfume, romantic, ain’t he.” and her whole body would start shaking with laughter.

  The hug was always before a l
ovely sticky bun so George would endure it. She would then kiss him on the cheek leaving bright red marks as she wore the brightest and reddest lipstick that George had ever seen.

  Mrs Peabody had a young son called Bertie. Ernie and Bertie would spend hours after school playing together on the platform and in the station office. They were always getting up to mischief such as getting on and off the trains at the very last minute before the whistle was blown and the doors close; the winner of the game would be the one who could get off the train at the last possible second before the doors closed. Mrs Peabody would run out onto the platform her chins quivering and her ample bosom heaving, shouting, “Bertie, come back this minute. I will give you a good spanking, me lad!” Bertie and George would pretend to come back to the buffet but then would run off and hide in one of the many secret hidey holes on the station. George Locket Senior would always look very stern but would often chuckle to himself at their antics and games. He would walk into the office or the back rooms and see two pairs of feet peeking out from behind a big trunk or hear giggles from inside a cupboard, but whenever Mrs Peabody, red in the face from running asked him, “Mr Station Master, have you seen Bertie?”

  “No, madam, not around here. Now don’t fret, let’s have a nice cup of your wonderful tea,” and a little smile would form under his magnificent handlebar moustache.

  “Mrs Peabody,” George would tell Ernie, “never seen a body that fat,” and he would laugh and laugh until he had tears rolling down his cheeks. Ernie could never understand why the fat lady had been so funny. There was a very fat cat who lived in the town bakery called Ollie and he was fat because he ate sausage rolls every day. Ernie would lick his lips at the thought of a sausage roll but he would never leave the station and old George as, on the whole, he was very contented and there was even the odd mouse to chase around the platform, if he could be bothered to raise himself from the hearth or the armchair or from a nice flower-pot in the summer! Yes indeed, he was a very lucky cat. More old photographs of various aunts and uncles now long gone, adorned the mantelpiece, along with a particularly hideous green vase! Ernie had tried several times to knock it off the shelf with his long tail, almost succeeding several times.

  “Be careful, Ernie,” George would say, “that belonged to my Aunt Edith,” but George would always have a twinkle in his eye when he said it.

  George had never married. “Such a shame,” the ladies of Barrow would say, “he would have made a lovely husband, all alone with just his cat!” George had once ‘stepped’ out with a young lady called Wendy who now lived in the big town Fairmile, but it was not to be. George had got used to being alone now: the station was his home and all the passengers that came and went were his family and of course, Ernie was his best friend. In a little room just to the side of the bed-sitting room, was a small kitchen with a gas stove and an old stone sink. George still used a copper bath which was on a hook in the kitchen and once a week he would fill this up with hot water from the sink, set the bath on the floor in the bedsitting room and have a good scrub. He had never wished for a shower or proper bathroom.

  “Ernie,” he would say, “if you want to keep clean you will.” Ernie was always washing as cats do, wouldn’t it be simpler he thought if humans could wash themselves with their tongues? Ernie took great care of his appearance as befitting a station master’s cat, his fur was always gleaming and his long whiskers always well groomed.

  Outside George would lovingly tend to the many flower pots on the platforms creating beautiful and colourful floral displays all around the station. There are hanging baskets filled with flowers of the season, the benches on the platform are gleaming as George polishes them every day and he paints them every year a bright post-box red. The waiting room is spotless with a colourful rug on the floor and photos on the wall showing Barrow-on-Sea from different viewpoints, taken by a local resident of Barrow called Len. There is even a potted palm tree in a shiny brass bowl inside the chimney hearth, where in the old days; a roaring fire would be burning all day. On a round table there are lots of old leaflets and posters on the walls advertising local attractions and ‘fun days out’. There are other magazines like ‘Woman and Home’ and ‘Motoring Monthly’ and even an old copy of ‘The Beano’.

  Every so often a train will stop and George, very smart in his red and black uniform and peaked cap, will blow his whistle. “All aboard!” he will shout or, “Change here for trains to Fairmile or buses to Butterwick Sands.” Sometimes the old fashioned dial-up phone will ring in the ticket office; once it was a film crew wanting to film the station.

  “It is so quaint, so perfect,” said the nice film lady. She wanted George to blow his whistle and wave his flag, whilst a pretty young lady clambered onto the train in floods of tears just as a pale lanky young man arrived on the platform running after the train shouting, “Clara, come back. I love you.”

  “What a carry on,” laughed George. “Do you remember, Ernie? All I had to do was to do was blow me whistle! I got fifty pounds for it!” He began to laugh and laugh at the memory of it all until he cried. “Oh dear, oh dear what was it called, Ern? The heavy ’art, or something like that.” Ernie did remember because he got best line-caught salmon for his tea and he purred at the memory. Now, if you do ever get the chance to watch the film, look closely and in one scene you will see, peering out of the waiting room window, a chocolate brown cat with a white smudge on his lip, who looks like he is smiling… it’s Ernie!

  We will leave Ernie for the moment and come back to him later in our story, for now let’s go on to Butterwick and meet the other cats that live there.

  2

  The Caravan Park

  Butterwick Sands lies in the middle of the sweeping bay. Years ago it was a very lively place with people coming from miles around to the lovely wide golden beach; “Real sand,” the locals said, “not stones.” Real yellow sand which stretched for miles along the coast. The sea was blue-green and very cold, except for one memorable very hot summer when it was, “like a bath,” the locals said, “as warm as the foreign seas and no sharks round here!” At the far end of the town on the cliff top stands an old caravan park called ‘Happy Days’. There is still an old notice at the front entrance, it says:

  endless fun at happy days – we have a clubhouse

  swimming pool, pitch and putt, fun fair

  and lots more.

  The sign is now broken and flutters in the wind, the swimming pool painted bright blue with dolphins painted at the bottom of it is now full of weeds and the clubhouse has broken windows; an old pinball machine stands forlornly on the clubhouse decking. There is still a poster in the window which says:

  live here tonight

  tv’s billy shine and his band

  plus live disco!

  all welcome.

  The small fairground nearby lies abandoned with all the rides now covered in old tarpaulins. The ghost train, dodgem cars and Waltzer now stand sadly silent. The caravans are also empty now, except for two. Perched high on the cliff, these two caravans are near each other overlooking the bay. In one lives ‘Gypsy Mags’ and her pure black cat Fergus. In the other caravan, live a young couple, Ben and Sonia, and their two children: Mariella, who is three, and Elliot, who is two. Ben plays the guitar and teaches music a couple of days a week in the village school and Sonia makes colourful jewellery which she sells at local markets and fairs. Elliot and Mariella attend the village play school in Butterwick.They have a little terrier dog called Bowler who is black and white with very short legs. He is a very yappy dog who thinks he is a much bigger dog than he is and because of this he gets himself into lots of scrapes. “Lovely family,” the locals say, “such lovely little children.” The family also have a black and white cat called Kiya who spends her time ignoring the dog, asking for food, and sleeping. Her favourite saying is “I’m not really bothered”, which she isn’t.

  Gypsy Mags is very old, so ol
d that no-one knows just how old she is. She is very fit for her age, still walks upright and is reed thin. She wears colourful scarves and beads and lots of jangly bracelets which the little boy Elliot and his sister Mariella find fascinating. Old Mags still tells the odd fortune or reads a palm if anyone asks her to. Her caravan is brightly painted with lots of oil lamps hanging from the windows and inside, beautiful rugs, cushions and ornaments from all her travels cover every inch. It is warm and cosy and Mags still uses an oil stove to heat the caravan and a kettle is always boiling on top of it. Mags caravan is an old-fashioned horse-drawn one although she has not moved it anywhere for many years, so grazing peacefully behind her caravan is Malachi her faithful old horse; a rather temperamental and grumpy creature with a great deal to say if asked for his opinion, although his main saying is merely, “Hurmph!” When the weather is cold Malachi has a makeshift barn in the far corner of the fairground where the donkey rides used to be.

  Old Mags also keeps chickens and will give the eggs to Sonia, “for the kid’s tea”. She will also sell her eggs at the farmers Market that comes to Butterwick once a month and at the boot sale held weekly in the summer months on Ducketts Field, just out of town. Her chickens are a lively lot headed by a magnificent old rooster called Caesar. He is very puffed up with his own importance and believes that he has his hens under his control, but really they all think he is rather silly. Rhona, a Rhode Island hen and the oldest hen, will cluck, “Take no notice of the old fool,” when Caesar starts crowing, pulling poses and scratching the ground. It is only old Malachi who will give Caesar the time of day as they both love complaining about everything, especially the younger animals and the cats. Old Mags will never kill the chickens to eat them and so, during the day they are roaming free but at night they will settle in the barn with Malachi. The cats do not try and kill the chickens as there is enough food around the park. One time, a desperately hungry and thin vixen had come onto the park with her cubs and killed one of the younger chickens called Felicity out of her desperation to feed her young ones. Caesar has nearly crowed himself hoarse and all the other animals were very upset. Lucy, a Buff-Orpington and second in line to Rhona had to calm the other chickens down; they are called Hilary, Daphne, Caroline, and Mabel and they were all in a terrible state. Old Mags, Sonia, Ben and the children were also very upset but as Sonia explained to a tearful Mariella and Elliot, “The lady fox just wanted to feed her babies so she had to kill Felicity to feed them.”