Whistling in the Dark

by Shirley Hughes

  I can tell you!” he said. “But we’re going to try it again if we can, aren’t we, Derek? Beats trying to get to sleep in a smelly air-raid shelter any time!”

  CHAPTER 15

  As the autumn term advanced, yet another cloud loomed on Joan’s horizon: the school party and dance, an event at which they were to be joined by the boys from the grammar school.

  “It’s meant to give us all a thrill, I suppose,” said Doreen gloomily. “I only hope they don’t try to make us do ballroom dancing. Having my feet trampled on by Ross or Derek isn’t my idea of a treat.”

  Angela Travis and her friends were getting very excited about what they were going to wear. Angela was boasting about a new dress that her relatives in America had sent her, together with four pairs of nylons – a huge triumph, intended to make everyone in the class green with envy.

  “What will you be wearing, Ania?” she asked sweetly, knowing very well that Ania only had her school uniform and whatever hand-me-down clothing the WVS had managed to find for her.

  “Oh, shut up, Angela,” said Doreen. “I don’t suppose anyone’ll notice what any of us wears.”

  Slowly, the main feeling in the class was turning in Ania’s favour. They were all sick of Angela’s bullying tactics during break time and her insufferable gloating. But only Joan knew Ania’s real story, and how lonely she was at Miss Mellor’s.

  She decided to make a drawing for Ania, a funny picture of a grinning crocodile emerging from a half-open door with two little legs sticking out of his jaws. She wrote a rhyme to go with it:

  “A fussy old lady named Mellor,

  Kept a crocodile down in the cellar.

  She said, ‘It’s all right –

  I feed him at night!’

  But whatever has happened to Mellor?”

  When Joan gave it to Ania at school the following day, Ania scrutinized it in silence for a long while. Then, very slowly, a tiny smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. Then she began to laugh. Ania was actually laughing! A small, stifled, timid laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

  Things are looking up, thought Joan.

  The build-up to the school dance involved a lot of serious preparation. They practised the foxtrot up and down the school gym to strict tempo dance music played on a wind-up gramophone operated by their gym mistress, who also called out the steps: “Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow! Now a reverse turn at the corner…”

  Joan’s problem – as this was an all-girls grammar school – was that the big, tall girls like her had to take the man’s part. Wheeling a smaller, daintier girl along while counting the steps under your breath was a feat that demanded maximum concentration. Joan wondered how on earth you were supposed to manage – if you ever actually got invited onto a dance floor by a male partner – to make the necessary light conversation as well as resist the urge to propel him firmly backwards.

  The event was scheduled for late afternoon, rather than evening, to avoid the blackout and the possibility of an air raid. They were let off school early that day to allow time to change out of uniform into their best dresses. Doreen had come up trumps by producing a really pretty dress for Ania to wear – very pale blue to set off her dark hair – as well as a pair of shoes that fitted her and even some precious nylons. At first Ania was reluctant to try them on. But when at last they persuaded her to change, and helped her loosen her hair out of the tightly wound braids and combed it back into a ponytail, the effect was a huge improvement.

  The grammar-school boys arrived promptly at four-thirty by bus or on bicycles. Sandwiches and soft drinks had been laid out in the school hall, where eagle-eyed members of staff were hovering. This was clearly going to be a heavily policed event. Grammar-school girls were not supposed to talk to the boys on their way to and from school, or outside the school gates. This invested boys with a glamour that they might not otherwise have had.

  Sometimes, in the mornings, as they cycled past (they were experts at riding with no hands on the handlebars), one of the boys would flick a screwed-up note at a girl. This struck Joan as rather romantic. But more often than not the messages she picked up said something like “Tell Doreen Russell I want to take her to the pictures next Saturday. I’ll see her outside the Queensway at 6.30” – which was disappointing, though not so much that Joan was ever going to let it spoil her friendship with Doreen.

  Now, shambling warily into the school hall, the boys showed less bravado than when they were on their bicycles. They herded sheepishly together on one side of the hall, loitering and jostling about in groups and attempting to appear nonchalant, while the girls chatted self-consciously on the other side.

  The atmosphere relaxed slightly after the boys had tucked into the refreshments. Then the music started up and they all looked nervous again. It was up to the boys to ask the girls to dance. Imagine having to do that and then getting turned down, thought Joan.

  Mind you, it was equally daunting being a girl. What if no boy wanted to dance with you? There was no worse fate than to be stranded as a wallflower, waiting in vain to be invited onto the dance floor. Better to dance with another girl.

  Some boys flunked the whole thing from the outset. This included Ross and Derek, who somehow managed to melt into the background and finish up what was left of the tea. Brian, on the other hand − to Joan’s utter astonishment − strode purposefully across the room and invited a redhead called Joyce Barber to dance. After grasping her firmly, he steered her along in fairly good time to the music, and even negotiated the corner with a nifty reverse turn. Where on earth did he learn to do that? thought Joan. And in front of all these people, teachers included? She had never seen him at any of the youth-club hops. Clearly he had hidden depths that none of the family knew about.

  Doreen, in spite of all her grumbling beforehand, had no shortage of partners. She chatted happily as she quickstepped up and down, watched with some envy by Angela Travis, who was lurking among her cronies at the far end of the hall. No one had invited her to dance, despite her new dress.

  Joan glanced around to see if she could spot David. He was chatting to a group of friends, but when he saw her, he waved and came over. “You know I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. “But are you game to risk it for once?”

  He put his arm around her waist, took her right hand in his in the approved manner, then they set off down the hall. He certainly wasn’t a good dancer, but Joan was too happy to care. She mustered all her skill to guide him around the floor without appearing too pushy. The music helped. It was a quickstep, so quite a few of the other dancers were falling over their own feet. David laughed a lot.

  “I never thought I’d manage that,” he said as at last they wound up, breathless, by the tea table. “Thanks a lot, Joan!”

  Joan felt that this whole event was working out far better than she had expected. Only Ania, standing alone, stiffly pressed up against the wall, paralysed with shyness, was a reminder of what an ordeal this kind of thing could be for some teenagers.

  One day, Joan thought, perhaps they’ll just play music and everyone will be able to get up and dance, whether anyone has asked them or not. Until then, she reflected, you could always follow Ross and Derek’s example and fall back on the refreshments.

  CHAPTER 16

  The event ended early, well before the air-raid sirens started. The boys melted away into the darkness on their bicycles, and most of the girls were met by a parent. Joan knew that Mum would not be able to manage this, as she was at home, putting Judy to bed. She looked around for someone to walk home with, but Brian seemed to have disappeared, and Doreen and David were seeing Ania back to Ashchurch Avenue. Mum hated Joan to be out alone in the blackout, but it was only a short distance home, and so she set out, walking at a brisk pace.

  It was dark now, and the overhanging trees in neighbouring front gardens cast dense shadows onto the pavement. There were, of course, no street lights, and all the houses already had their blackout curtains carefully drawn.


  Joan was nearly at her front gate when a figure suddenly stepped out of nowhere and stood right in front of her. It was a man wearing a cap pulled down well over his face.

  Joan stopped stock-still, ready to scream out at the top of her voice, but somehow no sound came. She tried to gather all her energy to run past him or to punch him in the stomach − anything to make those last few yards home. But the man made no move towards her. He simply stood there and politely removed his cap, so that she could see him clearly.

  “Please,” he said, “do not be frightened. I mean no harm. I only want to speak a word to you.”

  Joan paused, eyeing the distance between him and the gate.

  “What do you want?” she asked at last. “I warn you, my mum’s in there, and she’ll hear me if I scream.”

  “I only wish to tell you who I am. I am Lukasz – Lukasz Topolski. I am Ania’s uncle.”

  There was a long silence. At first, Joan was too surprised to speak. Then she asked, “Have you been around here before?”

  “Yes, I have been here. Many times, to back of your house. I think maybe once, twice, you see me. But I have no wish to frighten you like this. The Polish ladies at the Royal Hotel often speak of your mother − what a kind lady she is. I thought perhaps you help me talk to Ania. But I cannot come here in daytime. Only when dark. Because … because I fear maybe you have … visitor? Someone who would see me. Because … I cannot risk to be seen. But I wish to thank you now. You, your mother, your family. With all my heart. For your kindness to Ania.”

  “Well, she’s a friend,” said Joan. “She’s in my class at school, and she didn’t know anybody when she came, so I asked her to tea. Look, I’d better go indoors and fetch Mum—”

  “No – no! Cannot be seen. It is not safe. Just please to tell Ania that I am alive – that her Uncle Lukasz is here, near to her. And that I hope to meet with her one day soon, perhaps.”

  Before Joan could reply, he pulled on his cap and slipped silently back into the shadows. She heard his footsteps receding softly.

  Joan ran indoors.

  Judy was already in bed, and she found Mum alone in the back room, drinking a cup of tea.

  “Hello, darling,” she said. “How did the school dance go?”

  Joan brushed aside her question and told her about the unexpected encounter she had just had. “Shall I pass the message onto Ania, then?” Joan asked. She was bursting to tell Ania the wonderful news that her Uncle Lukasz was right here, so close to her. “Just think what this will mean to her, Mum!”

  But Mum was more cautious.

  “We have no idea whether this man’s genuine or not, Joanie,” she said. “No proof at all. From what you say, it seems as though he’s the man who has been hanging around here recently. But that doesn’t make him Ania’s uncle. There’s only one person who can prove that for certain, and that’s Ania.

  “But we don’t want to put her at risk by going searching for this man – just in case he isn’t who he says he is. And if he is her uncle, then we must be very careful because as a deserter he could end up in a military prison. So just for the moment, until I can arrange a safe meeting between them here without the Military Police finding out, it might be better if you don’t mention this to anyone.Not even Brian or Audrey.”

  And certainly not to Captain Ronnie Harper Jones, thought Joan to herself.

  CHAPTER 17

  “That’s all we need!” said Ross bitterly. “A kids’ party! We’re doing the salvage collection, aren’t we? Surely that’s enough without being expected to spend all Saturday afternoon playing daft games with a whole lot of snotty-nosed kids from Liverpool.”

  “There’ll be a tea, I suppose,” said Derek, but he sounded equally gloomy.

  Joan was expected to go too, of course. Miss Buckley, the head of the local WVS, had said it was obligatory that she turn up to help, and there was no getting out of it. So, at three o’clock, they trudged down the promenade, without their handcart, expecting the worst.

  The local WVS ladies had done their best to decorate what had once been the Royal Hotel dining room. They had made paper chains to hang along the walls and laid out the tea on trestle tables. The children were already assembled, the little ones rampaging up and down the room, impatient for the party games to begin. A group of older girls stood about, stubbornly resisting any attempt at festivity. The older boys had been taken off to do some football practice in the park.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” said one of the ladies, greeting Joan, Ross and Derek. “Captain Harper Jones has been extremely generous in providing the tea. He even said he might look in later, if he has time. Such a public-spirited man! He does so much for us locally. Now, I think we should have some party games before tea, don’t you? What about Musical Bumps? Miss Rudd, will you play the piano for us?”

  Miss Rudd struck up briskly. Joan took a couple of the very youngest children by the hand and they bounced up and down enthusiastically until the music stopped, at which point everyone had to fall down on the floor. The last person to fall down was out.

  Derek made very sure that it was him, and sloped off to lurk sardonically on the sidelines. Ross managed to get knocked out second and joined him, while Joan and the others struggled gamely on. Muscial Bumps was followed by Oranges and Lemons, then Squeak, Piggy, Squeak. By the time it came to Hunt the Thimble, Ross and Derek had given up all pretence at jollity, and even Joan had to suppress a desire to keep looking at her watch.

  At last tea was announced. But just as the children were all seated and beginning to tuck in, the doors of the room were flung open and in marched an army sergeant and two corporals, wearing the distinctive red on their caps to show they were the Military Police. Mrs Buckley hurried forward anxiously.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said the sergeant, saluting, “but we’ve had orders to search this building.”

  “Now? But is that really necessary? We’re in the middle of a children’s party, as you can plainly see.”

  “It is essential, I’m afraid. We’ve had a tip-off that the army deserter we’re looking for may be hiding here.” The sergeant glanced around the room, as if the deserter might be hiding under the piano. “Please carry on. My men will start with the kitchens and storerooms, and then work their way up, floor by floor.”

  “Only the ground, first and second floors are in use,” Mrs Buckley told him. “The children’s dormitories are up there. The top floor and attics are locked up.” She beckoned to Basia and Gosia, the two Polish women who were helping with the tea. They stepped forward nervously. “These two ladies from my team live here on the premises. They will show you around.”

  The sergeant motioned for the two women to lead the way, and he and his men followed them out of the room, watched by wide-eyed, open-mouthed children. Joan was just as curious but managed not to show it.

  Tea was resumed, although they could hear heavy military boots tramping about overhead. Then, as the search party reached the locked door leading to the top floor, there was a noisy commotion, with Basia and Gosia wailing and protesting as the soldiers began to break it down.

  The tea party had now ground to a halt. Mrs Rudd struck up a cheerful tune on the piano, but no one felt like joining in with another game. Some of the younger children looked anxious, and one of them began to cry.

  “Sounds as though they’re doing a pretty thorough search up there,” said Ross.

  Joan was silent. She was remembering something one of the older girls had said, that day when they were collecting salvage, about the top floor being haunted and footsteps echoing overhead at night. Perhaps the rumour had spread, so that suspicion had grown locally and the Military Police had been tipped off. Was this where Ania’s uncle had been hiding?

  Joan got away from the party as soon as she could and ran all the way home. She needed to tell Mum about this right away.

  When Joan got home, Ronnie Harper Jones was in the back room with Mum. Brian was up in his room. He’d presum
ably decamped to there as soon as he had heard Ronnie’s voice in the hall.

  “I won’t stay long,” Ronnie said, taking off his greatcoat. He was in his self-important senior-officer mode. “I just dropped in to tell you the news. The Military Police have at last picked up a strong lead on that deserter fellow who’s been hanging around here. They’ve just finished searching the upper floors of the Royal Hotel, where they discovered signs of recent occupation – a camp bed, some clothing, that kind of thing. They’re pretty sure that the two Polish helpers who live at the hotel are responsible for trying to hide the man.”

  “I know about the search,” said Joan. “I was there. They came when we were trying to have a tea party for the children.”

  Ronnie ignored this, although Mum looked concerned at the thought that Joan had been caught up in something scary.

  “They’ll soon catch him now,” Ronnie said. “It’s only a matter of time. He won’t last long sleeping rough in this weather before he’s spotted. I don’t want to alarm you – just wanted to warn you to be extra careful. Keep your doors and windows locked and, of course, report anything suspicious immediately. Don’t worry, we’ll have him soon.”

  “Thank you for coming, Ronnie,” was all Mum had to say to that. She paused for a moment, considering her next words. “Especially as we know how busy you must be. We won’t keep you now. I’m sure we’ll be all right.”

  CHAPTER 18

  At school on Monday morning, Joan waited for a quiet moment in the playground to break the news to Ania that her Uncle Lukasz might have reappeared in her life. She braced herself for the reaction. Ania, usually so restrained and buttoned-down, clutched Joan’s arms tightly, wide-eyed and hardly able to speak.

  “My Uncle Lukasz? Here? Here in this place?” she said at last. “Shall I see him?”

  “It’s a bit complicated, I’m afraid, Ania. You see, he’s wanted by the Military Police – if he is your uncle, that is. They think this man has been hiding at the Royal Hotel, but there was a search there and now nobody knows where he is. So, please don’t say anything about this at school, or to Miss Mellor, or anyone − not just yet. My mum is trying to help you, to find out if he’s genuine. If he only ran away to see you, then he might be able to escape military prison. And you’re the one person who can tell us if he really is your uncle.”