The Return of the Railway Children

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Uncle Peter,” she said, hoping to lighten the mood a little. “Do you have any binoculars we could borrow?” She wasn’t going to mention she wanted them for spying on the Snigsons, of course. That was the sort of thing adults never approved of – even though she was certain they’d all be heroes if they really could uncover a secret stash of black-market food the Snigsons were hoarding somewhere, making money out of the war while people in the cities starved. For now, she planned to pretend that she and Gus wanted the binoculars to do some birdwatching. She was tempted to say they’d seen a golden eagle. Did you get golden eagles in Yorkshire? She wasn’t sure.

  As it was, Uncle Peter didn’t even seem to hear her.

  “Uncle Peter?” she said again.

  But Aunt Roberta shook her head. “Leave it just now,” she whispered. “Uncle Peter’s tired. He overdid it digging in the vegetable patch, I think.”

  Edie nodded as Aunt Roberta stood up and pushed back her chair. “Come on, now. Let’s tidy up these plates.” She clapped her hands and Uncle Peter flinched.

  “What was that?” Edie sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night. Somebody was screaming.

  “Help me! For god’s sake, help me!” The voice was shrill and shaking. Then there was a terrible stream of cursing and moaning – a torrent of awful swear words.

  Edie was shocked. It was Uncle Peter’s voice. What was wrong? She threw back her covers. But before she could move, the pad of hurrying feet sounded on the landing outside and she heard Uncle Peter’s door opening and closing. He screamed again, but this time another voice, Aunt Roberta’s, answered. It was soft and soothing, though Edie couldn’t make out the actual words.

  Edie’s heart was pumping as she sat there hugging her knees. She had never heard any grown-up shout terrible things like that before, especially not kind, gentle Uncle Peter. He must have had a terrifying nightmare to make him scream like that.

  She glanced over at Greta. She was still fast asleep, her thumb in her mouth and her fingers gripping Mr Churchill’s woolly grey ear. How could she have slept through all that noise? The soft yellowy bulb of the electric night light Greta always insisted on was glowing gently between their beds, but the rest of the room was pitch dark from the thick blackout curtains drawn across the windows. Even out here in the middle of the countryside, they weren’t allowed to show a chink of light. It would only take one stray German bomber to see a tiny glow and they might just decide to unload one of those deadly bombs on Three Chimneys. Edie had heard they often dropped them anywhere they could on the way back home, just to be rid of the extra weight.

  Her heart was still thumping, but the house was quiet again. Uncle Peter had stopped screaming. Edie leant over and turned the night light off. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window in the pitch dark. She lifted the corner of the heavy curtain and saw that there was a pale moon shining over the meadow. She wanted to open the window and breathe in the fresh air, but didn’t dare in case she woke Greta with the noise. The latch was stiff and creaky and it always needed a good, hard thump to make it budge. She pulled the curtain tight again and tiptoed back to the bed, stubbing her toe in the dark. She switched the little night light back on and lay down, staring at the ceiling. She was still tense, half-listening out for another cry. It felt like those awful nights in London, where she used lie awake waiting for the air-raid siren to scream.

  She closed her eyes and tried counting sheep – that was supposed to make you fall asleep. The trouble was, she couldn’t decide what sort of sheep they should be. In London when she’d counted sheep they were always white and fluffy. But that was before she’d come to Yorkshire and realized there was such a variety to choose from. Should they be white sheep or grey ones, black ones or speckle-faces? And should they jump over a gate, or a fence, or perhaps a lovely dry-stone wall like the ones that criss-crossed the fields here? It was no good. She was never going to get back to sleep like this. Her chest felt tight and she was hot and restless.

  She slid out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and slippers, and eased the door open. She stood on the dark landing for a moment, listening. She could see a crack of light under Uncle Peter’s door and heard the murmur of voices as he and Aunt Roberta talked. She turned as quietly as she could and crept downstairs. It was pitch dark with the shutters closed and she stumbled for a moment, forgetting the extra little step between the hall and the kitchen. She kicked the empty milk pail over and it clattered across the tiled floor.

  “Whoops!” She fumbled for it in the dark, set it upright again, and froze, her heart pounding louder than ever. Would someone shout out? Would Aunt Roberta come down to see what had happened?

  She held her breath and counted to a hundred in her head before she dared to move. Perhaps they hadn’t heard her after all.

  For a moment Edie wondered about just getting a glass of water and going back upstairs. But she felt too wide awake and restless. She’d been scared by Uncle Peter’s shouting and she couldn’t bear the thought of staying in bed. The night light wasn’t bright enough to read by, and she knew she’d just lie there worrying about things. About Fliss. And the war. And poor Uncle Peter now too.

  No. She didn’t want that. She wanted fresh air. Before she could change her mind, she slipped out through the garden door, darted round the side of the stables and ran across the moonlit meadow. She lost her slippers in the first few steps, but stopped to pick them up, and scampered on barefoot, clutching them in her hand. The moon was bright in the sky, its silvery light clear enough to see by. Everything looked black and white like a photograph to Edie. A bomber’s moon, as everyone had always called it on bad nights for air raids in London, because the enemy planes made the most of bright light and the chance to see their targets down below. But she was sure she’d be all right out here in the middle of the countryside.

  At first Edie just ran. It felt wonderful to feel so free with the cold night air on her face. But as she reached the bottom of the meadow, she stopped running and put her slippers on again. She picked her way over the stony ground at the edge of the grass. She knew, without having stopped to make the decision, that she was heading to the railway line.

  As she slithered towards the fence, her heart gave a leap. There was someone else there, sitting on the railings.

  “Hello, Edie,” said Gus. He didn’t even look round. “I wondered if you’d turn up.”

  Edie felt a great rush of relief. “Oh, it’s you!” she said, still keeping her voice to a whisper. It seemed wrong to talk loudly in the dark. “If I’d known you were here, I’d have brought a midnight feast.” She clambered on to the fence and sat beside him. Neither of them asked why the other one was awake.

  “Five minutes,” said Gus, tapping his watch.

  “Five minutes till what?” whispered Edie. “Till midnight?” Perhaps he thought she was serious about the feast.

  “Not midnight. We’re way past that,” he said. “Five minutes until the 4.36. If it’s on time.”

  “4.36?” asked Edie. “How do you how there’ll be a train then?”

  “Haven’t you heard it?” said Gus. “When you’re lying in bed at night?”

  “No,” said Edie. Her voice was growing a little louder now as she got used to being outside with the darkness all around her. “I usually sleep like a log. Except tonight, of course… ” She trailed off, sensing again that neither of them wanted to mention Uncle Peter and all those terrible things they’d heard him shout. She realized too, from the way he spoke, that Gus must lie awake most nights.

  “Have you been out here before?” she asked. “In the dark?”

  “No,” said Gus.

  “Oh, good!” Edie didn’t mean to sound so pleased. She was surprised how glad she was. It felt exciting being out here like this and she was happy she wasn’t playing catch-up with some adventure Gus had already had.

  “Is it just me,” she asked, “or is it getting darker?”

  “Much darker,” said Gus
, beside her. She realized she could hardly see his face any more. A thick cloud had passed across the moon.

  “Listen,” said Edie. “I can hear it.” There was the unmistakable chug-chug-chug of a train, far away, like a little drummer boy softly practicing a rhythm to get it right.

  She glanced down the line, expecting to see lights coming towards them but there was nothing. Just darkness. The noise grew louder – thumping now like a proud drum major in a big brass band.

  “Where is it?” she said. But before Gus could answer, a shadow roared out of the gloom. Steam whistled and the train flew past. There were no lights on it at all. Just a red glow from the firebox where the hot coals burned.

  Like the flames in a dragon’s mouth, Edie thought.

  “They don’t have lights at night, so the bombers can’t see them,” said Gus, raising his voice above the noise now as the dark carriages rattled past.

  “Of course,” said Edie. It was like the blackout, except even more important out here. The Germans were always trying to bomb the railway lines. Nothing could move around the country without trains.

  The carriages rattled on and on and on.

  “It’s like a serpent,” she gasped. “The Dark Demon.” She had never seen a train so long. Not that she could see it now, of course. She could just make out the shape of the shadows enough to tell that they were not passenger carriages rattling by. The Dark Demon was some sort of goods train, with long low wagons, loaded up with ominous black mounds.

  “Bombs,” said Gus. “From the munitions factories.”

  Edie shuddered. She knew they were their bombs. Good bombs, she almost found herself saying. But that was nonsense. There was no such thing as a good bomb. She hated the thought of them all – screeching through the air, shattering everything to smithereens below.

  Then, with a last rattle of a final wagon, the mighty train was gone.

  “Phew!” Edie found she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a rush.

  “We never asked it to send our love,” said Gus.

  “I wouldn’t want it to,” said Edie. “Not that one. Not the Dark Demon.”

  “Fair enough,” said Gus. There was maybe just the hint of a laugh in his voice, but he didn’t tease her. She knew Perky would have done, if he’d been here.

  They both sank down and sat with their backs against the fence. Gus had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he spread it across their knees.

  “We should go back, really,” said Edie. But neither of them moved.

  “Bit dark still,” said Gus, glancing at the sky. “I wouldn’t want you twisting your ankle in the long grass.” He was teasing her now for sure. “You know how clumsy you are.” She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was grinning.

  She decided to ignore it. She knew he was only using her clumsiness as an excuse not to go home quite yet. The moon was coming out from behind the clouds again and they probably could have seen well enough to find their way. But neither of them seemed ready to move. She could still hear the sound of poor Uncle Peter’s dreadful screams echoing inside her head. It was nice to be out here in the fresh air for a while longer, even if it was a little chilly. Edie pulled the blanket up around her neck and yawned.

  “We mustn’t go to sleep,” she said. “Not here!”

  Chapter Nine

  The Telegram

  Edie woke slowly and pulled the blanket around her, keeping her eyes closed for a last moment of peace.

  She had fallen asleep sitting up, and she thought she was back in London with a Tube train rattling past her as she dozed against the wall on the Underground platform at Piccadilly.

  It didn’t smell like the Underground. It smelt clean and fresh … but there was a tang of smoke too.

  “Fliss?” She yawned, stretching out her hand, expecting to find her mother beside her.

  Then she opened her eyes and remembered where she was. She was on the bank above the railway track. It was light now and the sky was still pink from the sunrise. The dawn air was chilly and the grass was damp with dew. She pricked her ears. The sound she could hear was another train rumbling towards them. Gus was stretching sleepily beside her. He must have fallen asleep too.

  They staggered to their feet and she wrapped the blanket around herself, shivering, as the train rattled past. She could see the sleepy early-morning passengers slumped in their seats, some resting their tired heads against the windows, catching a last wink of sleep before the start of a busy day.

  “Sweet dreams!” she whispered.

  “6.06,” said Gus, checking his watch. “What shall we call this one?

  “The Dreaming Dragon,” said Edie decisively. “Come on. We better get back.”

  They were about to move off when they heard voices on the other side of the track. A railway porter’s hat popped into view above the opposite bank, followed by Len Snigson’s head and shoulders.

  “Listen, Donny, I’m telling you. It’s somewhere here,” he said. “From this telegraph pole, all the way back to the mouth of the tunnel.”

  “Quick!” hissed Edie. It was too late to climb back over the fence, but there was a little bush beside them. She shoved Gus hard, pushing him behind it and crouched down too. Peering through the tangled branches, she could see Len marching up and down the edge of the railway line with his head bent. A moment later his brother Donny appeared too, and they both began to pace together.

  “What are they doing?” mouthed Gus.

  “I think they’re looking for something,” she said, leaning towards him to whisper in his ear. She was crouching on her haunches and almost lost her balance as she shifted her weight. She put a hand out to steady herself and a bird shot up into the air, squawking. Edie was so startled, she screamed before she could stop herself. As she leapt back in surprise, she lost her balance completely and went tumbling down the steep bank, rolling over and over, thumping and bumping towards the railway line below.

  “Ouch!” She came to a sudden stop as her tumbling body smacked into Len Snigson’s big black boots.

  “Well, well!” he said, sucking the words through his teeth so it sounded almost as if he was smacking his lips together. “If it ain’t the little London rat. You keep turning up like a bad penny.”

  “I’m not a rat,” said Edie, trying to struggle up on to her hands and knees. How dare he talk to her like that? First he’d told her she had lice and now he was calling her a rat.

  “’Course you’re a rat,” said Len. He made no effort to help her up. “Tell her why, Donny.”

  “I dunno!” His brother just shrugged and stood by looking stupid.

  Len sighed. “Rats spy on folk, see. Rats poke about, sticking their greasy little snouts in where they’re not wanted.”

  “That’s right!” agreed Donny, picking up his brother’s theme at last. The two of them were circling round her, as if she really were a rat and they were yapping terriers determined not to let her escape from a trap.

  “Leave her alone!” Gus came charging down the bank behind them.

  “A pair o’ rats, eh?” Len spat on the rails. “Both spying on us, were you?”

  “Honestly, we weren’t,” said Edie as Gus leapt to her side. “We were just… ” She wished they weren’t wearing their pyjamas and dressing gowns. That made thinking of excuses rather hard.

  “Just what?” laughed Donny.

  “We came to watch the trains,” she said firmly. “And now, if you don’t mind, we’ll just go home for breakfast.”

  She grabbed Gus’s sleeve and took two big steps up the bank.

  “Ha!” Len let out a snort. “Run along, then. If I see your aunty, I’ll tell her you were out at the crack of dawn. She’d want to know.”

  “That’s right. Bairns shouldn’t be running around in their ’jamas,” added Donny.

  “Fine, you tell her,” said Edie, but her legs were shaking. She knew Aunt Roberta would be horrified if she knew they’d been out there half the night.

&nbs
p; “Leave it,” whispered Gus. He was the one tugging her sleeve now.

  But Edie spun around again. “I just wonder what it is you’re hiding, that’s all,” she said, staring down on the Snigsons from the safety of the bank.

  “We’re not hiding nowt,” said Donny, scratching his head. Len kicked him.

  “Shut up! We don’t have to say anything to them. They’re only kids.”

  “Of course you’re hiding something,” said Edie boldly. She climbed up on to the top of the fence. “Only people who are hiding something worry that they are being spied on.”

  Then, without waiting for an answer, she jumped down from the fence and walked up the hill to Three Chimneys.

  “I’m warning you,” hollered Len. “Keep your nose out of our business. Or I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

  When the children got home, they found Aunt Roberta had already left for the hospital.

  Uncle Peter was sitting at the kitchen table while Greta spooned mountains of sugar on top of her porridge, as if she’d never heard of rationing. Uncle Peter didn’t seem to notice. He barely even noticed that they had come in.

  “We went for a walk,” said Gus hastily.

  “In your pyjamas,” Greta giggled. “That’s silly.”

  Gus glared at her as he ladled porridge into bowls for him and Edie. But Uncle Peter didn’t even look over. He was still wearing his pyjamas too.

  Edie accidentally dropped her spoon on the floor with a clatter and he jumped.

  “Sorry,” she said as he sloshed hot black coffee all over the table. He looked up in utter confusion, and, for a terrible moment, Edie thought he was going to cry. “Here, let me get that.” She grabbed a cloth and wiped up the spill.