by Lou Kuenzler
The guard appeared at the window too as Len Snigson thundered down the platform towards them. “Get on the train, you little urchin!” He pulled at Greta’s shoulders, but she clung like a limpet to Edie’s waist.
“Steady on!” snapped Aunt Roberta.
“Stop!” cried Edie, pulling Greta closer. “You’re hurting her.”
“It’s too late, anyway,” said Aunt Roberta. And she was right. Smoke shot out of the funnel as the train began to chug away, leaving Greta standing on the station, still clinging to Edie for dear life.
“Now you’ve blown it! The driver won’t stop for nowt,” sneered Len Snigson.
Greta looked up at her brother’s shocked face as he peered out of the window disappearing down the tracks.
“Gussy,” she sobbed, holding out her hand helplessly towards the moving train. And then, screaming twice as loudly, “Mr Churchill! Wait!”
Edie couldn’t stand it.
“Please,” she cried, running alongside the train and shouting to the Pied Piper and the guard. “Stop the train! Poor Greta can’t be left on her own! We’ll take her… and Gus too.”
“Gracious,” the Pied Piper gasped. The train was gathering speed. Before the guard could say a word, the door to Gus’s carriage was flung open again. Two suitcases, the woolly elephant and the book about aeroplanes flew on to the platform. The boy himself followed a moment later. There was a dull thud as he landed on the soft verge at the edge of the track, just beyond the station.
Edie gasped loudly, her heart pounding as Gus lay still. He’s dead, she thought.
But a second later Gus staggered to his feet, unhurt.
The Pied Piper craned her neck to look back down the line.
“There’ll be paperwork!” she hollered, waving her clipboard through the steam.
“Indeed!” Aunt Roberta didn’t shout, but her voice was loud and crisp and clear. “I suppose there will be.”
The train thundered away, taking the Pied Piper with it.
“Now you’ve done it!” said Len Snigson.
Gus pelted down the platform and scooped Greta up in his arms.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again,” he cried, shouting and hugging her all at the same time. Edie ran to them too and, without thinking, threw her arms around them both.
The hug only lasted a moment before Gus and Edie let go.
“You were jolly brave, to leap like that,” said Edie.
“Brave, but extremely foolish.” Aunt Roberta stepped forward and stared down at the three children.
“You could have been killed,” said Len Snigson.
“I–I know it was foolish,” Gus stammered. “Only I couldn’t think what else to do.” He raised his eyes and looked up at Aunt Roberta. “I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I’m Gus Smith, and this is my little sister, Greta.”
Edie watched, hardly daring to breathe. Would Aunt Roberta lose her temper with him? Poor Gus looked as if he could barely swallow. But at least he had got to speak for himself, like he wanted to. No labels or clipboards or lists. Only Greta seemed totally calm, oblivious to the drama. She beamed, giving Aunt Roberta her best toothiest grin. “Hello,” she said. “This is Mr Churchill.”
“Churchill? It’s a chuffin’ elephant!” snorted Len Snigson. “Don’t you have respect down there in London?”
“Hello, Greta,” said Aunt Roberta gently. “Hello, Mr Churchill.” Edie wondered if she saw the tiniest hint of a smile.
“If – if you don’t want us, we’ll get on the next train to Maidbridge as soon as it comes,” said Gus.
Aunt Roberta said nothing. She seemed to be thinking. Edie stared up at her, trying to read her face.
“Please don’t send them away. I know you’ve only just agreed to take me on. And that’s probably more than enough,” she said, her words tumbling over each other as she spoke. “But it would be so wonderful to have company at Three Chimneys.” She took a deep breath. “Like you and Fliss and Uncle Peter did when you first came… We could be just like you – three railway children!”
Edie felt this really would be a wonderful thing – like borrowing a brother and sister of her own for a while. “What do you think, Aunt Roberta? Oh, please say yes. Please say they can stay… ”
Chapter Four
Three Chimneys
“Come along then, children.” Aunt Roberta picked up Greta’s suitcase. She marched past Len Snigson, whose narrow eyes were as wide as the big brass buttons on his porter’s uniform. “You can stay tonight, but I’m not promising more than that.”
“Really?” Edie beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You’re a brick!”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Gus.
“Thank you, Aunt Roberta,” cried Greta, running to catch up with her.
“She’s not your aunt,” hissed Gus. But if Aunt Roberta had heard, she didn’t seem to mind. Edie and Gus picked up their own cases and followed her through the waiting room before she could change her mind. All three children were still wearing their gas masks slung around their necks. Not that Edie could ever imagine needing them here: the air smelt so fresh and clean. As she stepped out of the station, she saw a sleepy cluster of cottages with spring flowers in the window boxes and a little village church beside a burbling stream.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, putting her bag down for a moment to look both ways up and down the quiet, hilly street. “Even prettier than I’d imagined.” She looked above the little houses towards the rolling moors beyond. “And wilder too,” she said with a tingle of excitement.
She reached down and picked up her case again, beginning to regret that she had packed so many of her favourite books. Whichever direction they were going, it was bound to be uphill.
“Here. Let me help. That looks heavy.” A figure stepped out of the shadows at the side of the lane. Edie jumped backwards. She almost screamed. Greta grabbed her hand. Gus slunk back too.
“Sorry.” The man blinked. Or at least, one eye did. The other seemed to be made of glass. He tried to smile, but only one side of his mouth moved. The other side – with the glass eye – drooped downwards. The skin on his cheek was tight and shiny, like polished leather on a new pair of shoes. It was scored with three thick scars. “I startled you.”
“No, sir!” blundered Gus.
“Not at all,” Edie added, but she wished she’d said nothing. Her voice came out far too loud. She might as well have taken one look at the poor man and run away screaming, for all the good her pretence at calmness did now. She tried her best not to stare, at least. Greta, on the other hand, was gawping with her mouth wide open. She took a step closer with her head on one side.
“What happened to your face?” she asked. “Did a tiger fight you?”
“No,” said the man. “I’m afraid it was a shell.”
“A shell?” said Greta. “Like a seashell?”
“Shh!” Gus pulled her backwards by the hood of her coat.
“Children,” said Aunt Roberta. “This is Peter.”
“Uncle Peter?” Edie gasped.
“Hello. You must be Edie.” He held out his hand. “No prizes for guessing that, though it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” He gave her that same half smile. “You’re the spitting image of Phil – or Fliss, as you call her!”
“Gosh!” Edie blushed. “I don’t think so. Not really… ” She was starting to gabble. She did so very much want Uncle Peter to like her. She didn’t want him to think that she was the sort of silly girl to be frightened by a few old wounds. She knew, of course, that he’d fought all those years ago in the Great War when he was practically just a boy, but she’d never expected he’d still bear terrible scars like this. Why had no one warned her? She swallowed and tried to take a breath. “What I mean to say is Fliss is so … oh, I don’t know … elegant. And I’m not.”
“Phyllis? Elegant? Do you hear that, Bobbie?” Uncle Peter snorted. “You should have seen her when she was your age, Edie. She trip
ped over her bootlaces about ten times a day. I used to tease her that she’d trip up going down the aisle to get married. Then her husband would trip over her trailing laces too and smash his nose in.” He looked at Aunt Roberta. “And what was it she used to say?”
“I don’t remember.” Aunt Roberta stiffened and picked up Greta’s suitcase again.
“Yes, you do,” said Uncle Peter. “She said she rather marry a fellow with a smashed-up nose than not marry anyone at all.”
“Well, she didn’t, did she?” said Aunt Roberta firmly. “She didn’t marry anybody, as it happens.” Her gaze flicked to Edie.
In that split second, Edie saw a cloud cross her aunt’s face. Her heart sank. She had no doubts now. She was the reason why Aunt Roberta and Fliss had fallen out. Aunt Roberta’s anger at Fliss was definitely because she had not been married when Edie was born. The sharp comment and the look of displeasure on her aunt’s face had said it all.
Edie turned away, squinting into the sun. She could feel Gus staring at her. For someone who didn’t like sharing his own family business, he was certainly hanging on every word now.
“Poor old Phil! She has plenty of choice of husbands, though,” laughed Uncle Peter. “If it’s smashed-up fellows she’s after, we’re two a penny nowadays.” Edie looked up and he smiled and winked at her with his one good eye. Suddenly he didn’t look scary at all. He looked like a cheeky schoolboy, stirring up trouble with his big sister.
Edie smiled shyly back at him.
“Now, how about you introduce your friends?” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t come into the station to meet you. I… Well, to be honest, I find it all a bit noisy with those great big trains.”
“Fire-breathing dragons!” agreed Edie as he shook hands with Greta and Gus as she told him their names. Then he picked up Edie’s suitcase.
“Here, how about you give me that one too,” he said to Gus. As he stepped forward, Edie noticed that he had a limp on the same side as his bad eye and drooping mouth. “I expect you’ll all want to run up the hill and stretch your legs a bit after being stuck in a cramped train carriage for so long.”
Gus looked for a moment as if he might be too proud to let the old soldier take the case from him. But Edie tugged his sleeve. “Come on!” She felt certain it would offend Uncle Peter to say no. And he was right: she did want to run. After all that sitting around, she wanted to charge up the hill like a galloping horse.
“You can’t miss Three Chimneys,” said Uncle Peter. “It’s the little house at the top of the ridge, just past the stone stile by the old fir tree.
Edie glanced at Aunt Roberta.
“Go on, then!” she said. “It’ll do you good.” And the three children ran.
Three Chimneys was exactly as Fliss had described it. The little stone house stood in a sunny meadow on the brow of the hill, with the railway line winding away below. The house wasn’t big or grand, but it was very pretty. It had little square windows that caught the sunlight, a long, low roof and, of course, the three tall chimney pots which gave it its name. The station was out of sight, but Edie could see a great bridge with tall arches running across one end of the valley and, in the other direction, the yawning black mouth of a tunnel. “Like a dragon’s cave,” she whispered, holding her sides and trying to catch her breath from running.
“Is this our new home? For all of us?” panted Greta.
“Yes,” said Edie. “I hope so.”
She had a stitch and she was tired and muddy from racing up the hill, but at least she was better off than poor Mr Churchill. He had been dropped in a puddle along the way and Greta was holding him by his soggy trunk. Together, they all flopped down on the grass. Edie closed her eyes and let the warm late-afternoon sun tickle her face. Even Gus let out a contented sigh.
Nobody said anything for a while. Edie wasn’t even sure if she might have drifted off, when suddenly Greta gave an excited cry.
“Look!” she squealed. “There’s a llama.”
“A llama?” Edie sat up and blinked. A hairy white creature, tethered to a long metal chain, was munching dandelions beside them.
Edie smiled. “That’s not a llama,” she said. “It’s a goat.” Even she knew that – although she couldn’t remember ever having seen a goat in real life before.
“Oh!” Greta seemed to think about this for a moment and then shrugged. “Lovely llama,” she said, as if she didn’t care a jot what anybody else thought it might be.
Gus raised his eyebrows. “Papa painted her an animal alphabet all around our bedroom in our old house. L was for llama, you see.”
“And what about G?” Edie giggled. “No goats?”
Gus shook his head. “Gorilla!”
“E was for elephant,” said Greta. “And P was for—” “Piglet?” guessed Edie.
“Yes!” Greta cheered with delight. “A little pink one with a curly tail.”
“Liar!” said Gus. “It was a porcupine.”
Greta stuck out her tongue. “It can be a piglet if I want it to.”
Edie sensed another argument. Perhaps this is what it would have been like if she’d had a brother or sister too.
“Your father must be very clever to paint something like that for you,” she said, hoping to divert them.
“Oh, he is.” Greta gave Edie her most serious stare. “He builds bridges and things for the govern-or-ment,” she stumbled.
“Government?” Edie smiled. “He must be very important. But I thought you said he flew planes?” She looked at Gus. “In the RAF?”
“He does.” Gus stood up and brushed the grass from his knees. “He used to build bridges, that’s all. When he was an engineer. Before… ”
“Ah,” said Edie. “I see.” The war had a habit of changing everybody’s lives, but Gus seemed eager for the conversation to be over.
“Come on!” He grabbed Greta’s hand and pulled her up too. “Let’s see who’s brave enough to stroke this llama… ”
“A llama?” The children heard a sharp laugh and turned their heads.
A boy on a delivery bicycle had peddled up the track to the house. Their three suitcases were squeezed into the big basket on the front. “Give over. That there’s no llama, London-lad,” he puffed. “It’s a—”
“A goat! I know,” said Gus, his face turning bright red. “I was just playing a game with my little sister.”
“He’s a beautiful, beautiful llama,” said Greta, spinning in a circle and curtseying to the goat as she held the edge of her skirt.
“Stop mucking around now,” hissed Gus. “You’re making idiots out of us all, Greta.”
“City folk, eh?” The boy caught Edie’s eye. He grinned and his freckled nose wrinkled with mischievous laughter. Edie could tell at once that he wasn’t being unkind. He was only teasing them.
“Hello. I’m Edie,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thank you for bringing our cases.”
“Albert Perks,” he said. “It’s no bother. Your uncle told me about your visit. I couldn’t let him take this lot all the way up the dale.” The boy’s warm Yorkshire accent seemed as friendly to Edie as his sparkly brown eyes.
“Albert Perks?” she said. It was the same name Aunt Roberta had mentioned. “Like the old porter … at the railway station.”
“Oh, aye,” said Albert. “You’ve heard of him, then? When your aunt and uncle were little’uns. Your ma too, I shouldn’t wonder?”
“That’s right,” said Edie delightedly. “They all thought the world of Mr Perks.” Fliss had told her about him many times: how the friendly porter always made them feel welcome at the station.
“Albert Perks was my grandfather,” said Albert proudly. “My dad’s an Albert Perks too.”
“Goodness,” said Edie. Her head was starting to spin a little. “Doesn’t it ever get confusing? All of you being called Albert Perks, I mean.”
“No.” Young Albert Perks shrugged. “My grandpa’s dead. Three years ago, come Christmas.”
“
I’m so sorry,” said Edie. She wished she’d never asked, but Albert shook his head.
“He had a good innings. And Dad’s off at the war just now. He’s in the navy. So I’m the only Albert Perks around for a while. Head of the family.” He grinned proudly. “Not that they call me Albert Perks, mind. They call me Perky.”
“Oh, that suits you,” cried Edie. “Perky” seemed such a perfect name for the chirpy, sandy-haired boy. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d peddled up the lane.
“Hello, Perky,” said Greta, grinning back at him with her own gap-toothed smile. She introduced herself, then held out her elephant too, of course. “This is Mr Churchill.”
“Oh, aye!” Perky chuckled. “Grand to meet you all.” He glanced towards Gus, who hadn’t said a word.
Edie leapt in. “That’s Gus. Gus Smith.”
“Oh, aye!” said Perky again. Gus barely glanced up. But Greta tugged at Perky’s sleeve.
“What about the llama?” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Stone the crows!” Perky fell off his bicycle in a mock faint. The whole thing toppled over and the suitcases went flying.
“Careful!” cried Gus. But Perky took no notice.
“First of all, that llama is a GOAT!” he bellowed, clutching his head in a show of despair. “And, I’ll trouble you to notice, he is most definitely a SHE.” He pointed to the enormous udder hanging between the nanny goat’s legs.
“Oh, dear!” Edie giggled. But Greta looked deadly serious.
“All right.” She plonked herself down on the grass beside Perky. “What’s her name, then?”
Perky sat up. “I don’t rightly know. You’ll have to ask your aunty.”
“Nurse Roberta is not our aunt,” said Gus.
But, just at that moment, the adults came into view at the top of the hill. Uncle Peter was leaning heavily on Aunt Roberta’s arm.
“Aunty Roberta! Aunty Roberta!” cried Greta, leaping to her feet. “What’s the llama’s name… ? I mean, the goat?”
“Erm. She doesn’t really have a name,” said Aunt Roberta, looking a little stunned. “We’ve only had her a week or two, since the ministry cleared her papers. She’s a nanny goat. We use her for milk.”