Friska My Friend

by Patricia St John

  He began to get very tired and sat down under a tree to eat his lunch. He kept back some pork pie in case he found Friska. The sun was almost overhead now and he knew that he would soon come to a village. He knew that because he had sometimes driven there with his dad. He also knew that there was a shop. He felt very thirsty and was thrilled to find some change in his pocket. He could buy something to drink.

  The village came in sight at last. He trailed into the shop looking hot and dusty. The shopkeeper was a kind woman and let him sit on an empty bottle case to drink the Coke he bought. The shop was almost empty and the lady was chatty. So Colin told her all about Friska and asked her whether she knew of any caravans parked nearby.

  “Well, there’s three or four parked on the common through the village,” she said. “But you be careful. What do you think you’re going to do if you see your dog?”

  “I’ll call her by name,” said Colin. “She’ll come to me straight away.”

  “And maybe there will be others who’ll come as well,” said the woman. “Don’t you do any such thing! If you see your dog, you go straight home and call your parents. They shouldn’t have let you come all this way alone… you’re just a kid.”

  “What are the hop pickers like?” said Colin.

  “There’s good and bad, much the same as anyone else. Some are really nice, some are really rough. But they won’t take kindly to you walking off with what they think is their dog. Look, if you run up against any trouble, you come right back here, OK?”

  “OK.”

  Colin set off past the cottages and oast houses. He walked until he could see the vans and trailers on the common. There was quite a group of them, one behind the other. He moved a little nearer and then stopped. The last caravan but one was long and white and had scarlet curtains. Colin knew it at once. There was another caravan parked just beyond it. The hop pickers, who had come in for their lunch, were sitting round on steps and benches drinking from mugs. Right in the middle of the group was a large Alsatian dog.

  Chapter seven

  There was an old stone wall at the edge of the common and Colin crouched behind it. He could not see much but he knew that he would have to wait. This was the pickers’ lunch hour. Later, he supposed, they would go back to the fields, leaving the big dog to guard the camp. One thing he had noticed, though – the animal was on a chain.

  If he could creep round to the back of the last caravan without the dog seeing him, he could at least whisper at the keyhole. If he was guessing right, that caravan belonged to the younger boy’s family – the boy who had had his eye on Friska. If the boys’ families had travelled together they had probably camped together. If Friska was in there, he would only have to whisper. She would know his voice at once. He wasn’t sure what he would do after that. He would have to wait and see.

  He waited for a long time. He felt very small and alone. Big clouds came and hid the sun. Now and again he stood up and peered round the wall. The pickers had gone back, one by one, to the fields. At last only one old woman remained, nursing a baby. And, of course, there was the big dog.

  Now his moment had come and he felt very frightened. If only he hadn’t come alone! If only Dad or the vicar or even Joy were with him. He remembered that Sunday when he and Simon had searched the woods and sat on the rough log outside old Charlie’s cottage. It had been a shining morning and earlier on there had been a great rainbow. He stood still, remembering what they had talked about. “Don’t be afraid. ... ” Then that middle bit he always forgot… and then “I have called you by name; now you belong to me.”

  He tried to recall what the vicar had said about that verse. What had Simon talked about? Oh yes, thought Colin, I remember. The Father in heaven calls us to be his children… we can say yes or no… if we say yes, then we’re his and we need never feel lonely or afraid. He’ll always be there loving us, helping us... yes, that’s it. And then Colin knew he had to pray.

  “Dear God,” he whispered, “my name’s Colin and I’m saying yes. I want to be yours. Please help me now and don’t let me be so scared.”

  It was very quiet; the sun shone out suddenly from behind a big grey cloud. Up in a mountain ash tree, scarlet against the orange berries, a robin sang. The sun made everything look bright and the robin’s song was clear, brave and happy. Perhaps that’s God answering me, thought Colin. I’ll go ahead.

  He tiptoed across the common, and skirted around the camp, until he was hidden out of sight behind the vans and trailers at the far end. Then he crept toward them. The old woman and the dog were hidden by the last two caravans. They could not see Colin and he could not see them.

  When he reached the shelter of the last caravan, he crouched down. Then he waited for a long time, just listening. Once or twice he thought he heard a scuffling movement inside. If Friska was there, he was surprised that she could not hear the loud beating of his heart.

  Then he took a deep breath and did it. Creeping round the corner of the caravan, he crouched against the steps and put his mouth to the crack below the door.

  “Friska!” he called, as loudly as he dared. “Friska, good dog! It’s me, Colin…”

  He got no further. It sounded as though something had suddenly exploded inside the caravan. There was a mad rush of paws and a frantic barking. Then there was the sound of furniture being knocked over and the hurtling of a body against the door. At the same time, the big Alsatian began barking too. Then Colin heard the old woman call out. A man appeared in the gap that led to the hop yards. He began to shout. Colin ran as he had never run before, dodging from caravan to caravan, streaking across the common and back to the wall. But he knew that if they ran after him, they would find him behind the wall. He must go further. So he ran uphill to where a beech tree grew with spreading roots and low boughs. It seemed made for him. He jumped, scrambled and started to climb, hand over hand, high up into the shelter of the thinner branches. No Alsatian could reach him now! He snuggled against the trunk until he got his breath back, and then peeped out through the veil of golden leaves.

  Everything was spread out below him. He could see the yellow bracken on the common and the hop poles stretching away toward the sky. Not far off was the cluster of vans and trailers. Blue smoke was rising from a bonfire and people were moving about. Behind him he could see the roofs and chimneys of the village and the road winding home. Then everything went quiet again. The hop pickers went back to work and there was no sign of the Alsatian. Colin breathed a great sigh of relief, rested his cheek against the smooth bark and closed his eyes. He’d found Friska! She was there, in the last caravan, and Dad or the police would find her.

  Then he noticed something else. The shadows were growing longer. The day was getting shorter. He had been out a very long time. He shinned down the tree but he did not dare appear on the road. He crept along behind brambles and gorse bushes until he was right at the edge of the village. Then he ran to the shop.

  The lady on the checkout looked up in surprise as the little boy with scratched hands and a dirty face walked in.

  “What happened?” she cried.

  “Found her!” said Colin. “At least, I know where she is.”

  “Good for you. What are you going to do now?”

  “Fetch my dad; could I phone him?’”

  “Sure; know his number?”

  Colin nodded. Mum answered the phone and when she heard his voice she sounded very cross.

  “Where are you, Colin? Your dad’s been searching the county for you. He’s been asking at all the camps and nobody has seen you. We were just about to call the police. How could you do such a thing?”

  Colin was quite surprised. “But I told you, Mum,” he said. “I said I was going to look for Friska. Mum, I’ve found her!”

  “Found her?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t got her yet. I’m in the village shop in Leigh. Tell Dad to come at once! It’s very important.”

  “I’ll ring him. Just stop where you are, Colin, and your dad
’ll come.”

  So Colin stopped and the lady gave him crisps and Coke. He stood at the window, watching for his dad. And when there were no customers, he talked to the lady about Friska. Then, the old farm van rattled up and Dad burst into the shop.

  “Where’s the lad?” he asked breathlessly, looking round. Then he saw Colin and spoke quite angrily. “Don’t you ever do a thing like that again, Colin! You scared the life out of your mum! Now what’s all this about the dog? Your mum said you’d found her.”

  Colin nodded. He wasn’t scared. He knew his dad was only angry because he loved him and had been worried about him.

  “She’s in the last caravan on the common,” he said. “You’ve got to come and get her with me! But you’ll have to be careful of the big Alsatian.”

  “Your son is quite a detective!” said the lady.

  Dad smiled. And Colin knew that Dad was actually quite proud of him. Colin thanked the lady very politely for all her help. He promised to bring Friska to visit her another day. Then he turned to his father.

  “Come on, Dad,” he said. “Friska will think I’ve gone away and forgotten her.”

  Chapter eight

  They got into the van and drove straight to the camp. Dad parked on the common and he and Colin walked toward the caravans. The light was beginning to fade and the hop pickers were coming from the yards. A large strong-looking man was working on the last van. His arms were covered with grease and motor oil. But Dad was large and strong too and he went up to him.

  “Evening, mate,” he said pleasantly. “There seems to have been a bit of a mixup. I believe you’ve got my lad’s dog in the trailer. Can we have a look? It’s a black mongrel.”

  The man looked Dad full in the face. “See that dog?” he said, pointing to the large Alsatian. “He’s the only one we’ve got. If I let him off the chain you’d best run for it. He doesn’t like strangers.”

  They stood facing each other. Colin felt Dad give him a little push and he understood what that meant. He darted to the steps and called at the top of his voice.

  “Friska! It’s Colin. Good dog, Friska, good dog!”

  Once again there was a sudden explosion and the caravan seemed to rock. Friska was hurling herself against the door over and over again, barking and scratching with all her might. The Alsatian strained at its chain and barked furiously. A crowd of pickers came running up. Then a woman’s shrill voice cried, “Let the dog out, can’t you, before she smashes all the china!”

  A boy ran forward and opened the door and Friska sprang out with a force that made the crowd fall backwards. “Friska!” shouted Colin again and she turned and leaped on him, knocking him down.

  Then Colin got up and laughed. Friska stood on her hind legs, put her paws on her master’s shoulders, licked his face and wagged her tail.

  Another boy ran forward. “Meg!” he called loudly. “Meg, come here.”

  Colin glanced at him. He had dark curls half over his eyes. Colin recognised him. It was the younger boy that he’d seen before. Friska took not the slightest notice of that boy. Then she turned and growled at the big man who had been looking on in silence. He suddenly chuckled.

  “Meg,” he said. “Meg indeed!” He looked at the boy with the curls. “You wait till I get my hands on you, son!”

  Colin’s dad stepped forward. “Look, mate,” he said. “We don’t want the police in on this. There’s another fortnight of picking and you won’t want to shift yet. My lad’s been breaking his heart over that dog. Maybe your boy thought she was lost, or maybe he didn’t, but that’s not a problem. I’m willing to pay for the dog anyway. Take this and let’s be going and good luck to you.”

  The man held out his hand and there was a rustle of money. “Cheers,” he said, “and good luck to you and your lad.”

  Dad and Colin walked back to the van with Friska bounding beside them. They drove through the village in silence because Colin was too happy to speak. Then as they sped up the country road that led home, Colin said, “Dad, did you pay a lot to get her back?”

  “Yes,” said Dad. “She’s a good dog and worth it.” He rumpled Colin’s hair. “Taking you all round, you’re not a bad lad either.”

  “But she was ours already. Why should we pay for her?”

  “Well, I didn’t want a fuss, not with that crowd. Besides, she got away, didn’t she? You must keep a close eye on her in future, Col, especially at hopping time.”

  They were silent again. Now they could see the farm on the hill ahead of them, black against the last glow. Colin could see the warm light streaming from the kitchen window. He was longing to tell Dad all about his great day, but he thought he’d wait until they were all together.

  “Dad,” he said suddenly, “it’s like what the vicar was talking about. That bit from the Bible – the second part of that verse I always forget. It says, ‘Don’t be afraid. I have rescued you.’”

  “Eh? Oh, yes,” said Dad. “Jesus bought us back from bad things when he died for us. And I bought Friska back. Yes, Cal, I see what you mean.” Then he frowned. “Listen, Colin, if your mum tells you off, remember you deserve it. You never ought to have gone off on your own like that, scaring her stiff.

  Indoors, Mum had meant to be cross, but she couldn’t. She was too pleased to see Colin – and Friska – home and safe. And, when she heard the whole story, she was proud of Colin being so brave. Colin was so tired he only just managed to tell the story (and eat a big plate of sausage and chips) before he fell asleep. He was happy to go to bed because he knew when he woke up in the morning he’d find Friska in her basket by the cooker.

  He was up early next day and he and Friska ran out into the cool, misty morning. The grass was covered with spiders’ webs. They went across the fields and chased about in the grass. Colin always took Friska for a run on Sunday mornings because she had to stay behind when they went to church. He especially wanted to go to church that morning because he wanted to tell the vicar all about his great adventure. So the moment the service was over, Colin rushed up to him.

  “Hey, Simon,” he said, grabbing his sleeve, “you know Friska was lost? Well, I went and found her. I went all by myself all the way to Leigh and I saw the caravans and…”

  “Just a moment,” said the vicar. “This is too good to hurry. I’ll go and shake hands with the people. You ask your mum if you can come over to the vicarage. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  So Joy promised to tell Friska that Colin wouldn’t be long. About twenty minutes later, Colin and the vicar sat down in the vicarage sitting room. Simon’s wife brought some juice and biscuits and she and their baby listened to the story too. And when Colin had finished, he said, “And you know, Simon, it was like the second bit of that verse. The bit I forget! We rescued Friska. Dad bought her back. He said it’s like what Jesus did on the cross. Friska needed rescuing so Dad paid the price to do it. We need rescuing from bad things, too, don’t we? And Jesus did it.”

  “Yes, Colin. That’s right,” said Simon.

  “And when I was sitting behind the wall I was scared and I said yes.”

  The vicar blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when we get scared, God’s there for us, isn’t he, when we belong to him? That’s what you said. God calls us by our name and we can say yes or no, and I said yes. It was as though God said, ‘You belong to me.’ And then I wasn’t so scared any more. Friska wasn’t scared when I called her by name. She came bounding out and then she belonged to me again. But Dad had to pay for her and she cost him a lot.”

  “Well done, Colin,” said the vicar. “You’ve really understood. ‘Don’t be afraid. I have rescued you.’ What your dad said was right. You had to be bought back too, Colin, before you could belong to God. Just like Friska got into the wrong hands, so we fall into the hands of bad stuff and wrong things. We tell lies and are selfish and lose our tempers. Think about it, Colin – if lies and arguing went into heaven, it wouldn’t be heaven any longer, would it? So we
need to be rescued from all that bad stuff so we can belong to God.”

  Colin looked thoughtful.

  “That’s why Jesus came. He died on the cross and was punished instead of us for the wrong things we had done. He paid for them instead of us so now we can be forgiven and belong to God again. So we’re rescued and bought back for God,” said Simon.

  Colin listened and nodded his head. “That’s why people love Jesus so much, Simon! Because he loved us enough to suffer so much.”

  Simon smiled. “You’ve got it!”

  Colin stood up. “I must get back to Friska. But yes, Simon, I do get it. ‘Don’t be afraid. I have rescued you. I have called you by name; now you belong to me.’ I can say it to Friska and God has said it to me.”

  He thought about it as he walked up the lane, scuffling through the golden leaves that had already started to fall. He felt very happy. He had shown Friska how much he loved her. He’d walked all that way. He’d braved the big Alsatian dog and the hop pickers. He’d crept up to the caravan and called her by name. He’d rescued her… she’d been bought back. And he knew Friska would always love him.

  But Jesus had done far more than Colin had done for his dog. Jesus had died on the cross and suffered a lot of pain to rescue Colin.

  I love him too, thought Colin. I’m glad I said yes. I’m glad I belong to God. There was a wild barking and Friska came hurtling down the lane to meet him.

  “And,” said Colin out loud, “I’m so very, VERY glad that Friska my friend is home again!”

  The Other Kitten

  Mark picked up a black and white kitten with four white paws and a white nose.

  “We’ll have this one,” he said. “No,” said Carol, picking up a grey tabby, “we’re having this one, and I’ll call it Fluff because it’s so soft.”