William At War

by Richmal Crompton

‘All right,’ said William. ‘We’ll drill too.’

  For the rest of the morning, William’s band of A.F.S. followed the procedure of the mother branch next door. Ginger was sent round at frequent intervals to report any change in the programme.

  ‘They’re cleanin’ the trailers now.’

  And at once the Outlaws set to work upon the wheelbarrow, turning it upside down and dusting it with handkerchiefs already so grubby from various other activities that a little dirt more or less made no difference.

  ‘They’re squirtin’ their hose now.’

  And at once the Outlaws took down the bucket of water and set to work with the garden syringe. Fortunately it was only a short walk out of the town to refill the bucket at a convenient roadside ditch.

  Passers-by looked with amusement at the four boys busily intent on imitating their neighbours, but the Outlaws were too much occupied to have any time to spare for passers-by . . . If Section Officer Perkins knew of this caricature of his dignified proceedings taking place on the other side of the garage wall, he gave no signs of it. His face still wore its expression of portentous self-importance.

  At the end of the day William was well satisfied with the progress made by his band.

  ‘We’ve done all the things they’ve done,’ he said, ‘An’ we’ve done ’em jus’ as well – or a jolly sight better. We’ll come again tomorrow, an’ I bet we’ll soon be beatin’ ’em hollow.’

  Their ardour was unabated next morning, and they took up their position on the piece of waste ground.

  ‘P’raps they’ll be doin’ somethin’ a bit different today,’ said William hopefully.

  Ginger, sent to reconnoitre, brought news that they were preparing to fix trailers on to the cars.

  ‘They’re goin’ out somewhere,’ he said. ‘I bet they’re goin’ up to Lengham ponds.’

  ‘All right,’ said William, in his most business-like manner, ‘we’ll go there, too. Get everything ready quick.’

  In a few moments the A.F.S. cars came out of the garage, occupied by Section Officer Perkins and his band, the trailers attached.

  At once William and his company emerged from the piece of waste land, wheeling the wheelbarrow, complete with bucket of water, length of hose and syringe. Section Officer Perkins turned to glare at them, then drove on furiously.

  ‘Well, of course,’ said William as the cars vanished into the distance, ‘we can’t keep up with them. We’re not tryin’ to keep up with them. But I bet they’re goin’ to Lengham ponds. We’ll go there anyway an’ see.’

  They trundled their way through the town, spilling a good deal of water and rousing much amusement among the onlookers.

  ‘Bet they’re at Lengham ponds,’ William kept saying.

  And there, sure enough, they were. They were putting one end of a hose into the pond and directing water from the other end at various spots indicated by Section Officer Perkins. As the Outlaws appeared, they were just beginning to pack up the trailers to return home.

  The Outlaws trundled their barrow down to the pond, took out their syringe, and, under William’s direction, squirted a thin stream of water at the A.F.S.’s latest target, a tall, thin birch tree on the edge of the pond. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Section Officer Perkins happened to be passing behind the birch tree.

  The thin stream of water hit him full in the eye as he turned round . . . He strode towards the Outlaws, his face white with anger, and William, realising the inadequacy of his forces to deal with the situation, led a hasty retreat into the surrounding wood.

  ‘He’s jealous, that’s what he is,’ he said, as, having watched the departure of the rival band, he returned to the wheelbarrow, still carrying the precious syringe. ‘He’s jealous ’cause we’re as good as what his lot are.’

  ‘He was mad ’cause that water hit him in the eye,’ said Ginger, putting the facts of the case more simply.

  ‘Well, goodness me!’ said William. ‘Fancy a fireman mindin’ a bit of water in his eye. Corks! A fireman’s gotter get used to bein’ soaked all over. Jus’ shows what a rotten fireman he is,’ he ended with satisfaction. ‘I knew he was a rotten fireman soon as I saw him. Anyone’d be a rotten fireman with hair that colour. Stands to reason.’

  The routine of drilling and cleaning the wheelbarrow soon began to pall, and William’s plans of emulating the canteen by making a fire on the piece of waste land and cooking a mixture of cold sausage and roly-poly pudding (purloined from the larder) in an old saucepan (purloined from the dustbin) was nipped in the bud by a passing policeman.

  To make matters worse, Section Officer Perkins developed a new technique. He came and watched the Outlaws with a sneer of superior amusement. He brought his friends to sneer at them. He once deliberately directed the hose over the wall of the garage so that William was soaked from head to foot. Fortunately, William’s mother was out when he reached home, and his vague explanation, given on her return, of having ‘got into a bit of water’ was accepted with the inevitable, ‘William, you are dreadful! What will you do next?’

  ‘What we’ve gotter do,’ said William, addressing his band the following morning, ‘is to find a fire ’fore they do, an’ put it out. That’ll show ’em, all right. They’ll treat us a bit diff’rent after that. Jolly snooks for them, comin’ along after we’ve put the fire out. Come on. Let’s go an’ have a look for a fire.’

  Refilling the bucket at the ditch, testing the syringe to make sure that it was in working order, giving the wheelbarrow a final dust over with their handkerchiefs, the Outlaw A.F.S. sallied forth in search of a fire.

  They went through the main streets of Hadley inspecting each house and shop carefully, without result.

  ‘Gosh!’ said William at last, irritably. ‘You’d think with all these people there’d be a fire somewhere. To see ’em throwin’ down matches an’ cigarette ends all over the place you’d think there’d be no end of fires. Can’t think what happens to ’em all.’

  They abandoned the main streets at last and began to roam the smaller back streets, still inspecting each house carefully for signs of a conflagration.

  ‘Wouldn’t do ’em any harm to let us have a little one,’ he muttered pathetically. ‘Mean, I call it.’

  ‘Well, they don’t want fires,’ Ginger reminded him mildly.

  ‘No, but – well, you wouldn’t think a little one’d do ’em any harm. I mean, when you read of all the fires there are in the newspapers it seems sort of mean of ’em to start bein’ careful just when we’re lookin’ for one.’

  ‘S’pose we couldn’t start one ourselves,’ suggested Douglas.

  William shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said reluctantly. ‘That wouldn’t count. We’ve gotter find one.’

  ‘Look!’ said Ginger excitedly, pointing to a small back window. It was open a few inches at the top, and from the opening swirls of white vapour were pouring out.

  ‘That’s smoke! That’s a fire!’

  William stopped, set down the wheelbarrow and looked at it with the air of an expert.

  ‘Yes, that’s a fire all right,’ he said.

  He advanced and made a closer inspection through the window. Nothing could be seen but the thick eddies of white vapour.

  ‘It’s cert’nly a fire all right,’ he said again.

  The four Outlaws stood gazing in at the window.

  ‘Can’t see any flame,’ said Henry.

  ‘Course you can’t,’ said William. ‘It’s right inside the house, the flame is. We’ve gotter fight our way through the smoke to the flame. We’ve gotter tie handkerchiefs over our mouths an’ fight our way through the smoke same as the real ones do. There’s probably people unconscious inside, overpowered by the fumes, same as there are in the newspapers, an’ we’ve gotter rescue ’em.’

  ‘Won’t we let the others help at all?’ said Ginger, somewhat appalled by the magnitude of the task that lay before them.

  ‘Oh, yes, we’ll send ’em a message about i
t,’ said William, ‘an’ we’ll let ’em come along an’ help, but we’ll start on it alone first jus’ to show ’em. We’ll prob’ly ’ve put it out an’ rescued all the people by the time they get here.’

  A small boy in spectacles was passing along the street. William called to him.

  ‘I say,’ he said. ‘Go’n’ tell the A.F.S. at Hadley Garage that there’s a fire at,’ he glanced at the number of the street, ‘ten, Nelson Street, and tell ’em to come quick.’

  ‘A’ right,’ said the boy, and he set off with unexpected agility in the direction of the garage.

  ‘Now we’ve gotter put wet handkerchiefs over our faces,’ said William, ‘an’ get the syringe thing full and then fight our way in through the smoke. Ginger ’n’ me’ll put out the fire, an’ Henry an’ Douglas can rescue the people. I ’spect they’ll be unconscious. I ’spect you’ll have to squirt water on ’em and drag ’em out . . . It’s jolly dangerous an’ I ’spect that other lot of A.F.S.’ll get here too late to help. I ’spec we’ll get medals or somethin’.’

  It took longer than they thought to adjust the wet handkerchiefs. At last they were ready, however, and, armed with syringe and pail of water, headed by William, they marched up to the door.

  William flung it open.

  Clouds of white vapour enveloped him. Almost at the same time a door into the room from the house side opened and the figure of a woman entered. They could see it dimly through the thick vapour. Ginger pointed the syringe at it and squirted. He explained afterwards that his whole mind was set on squirting and somehow he couldn’t help squirting at the first thing he saw move.

  The woman gave a loud scream. It was a scream of anger and indignation. It was definitely not the grateful scream of someone being rescued from a fire. Instinctively the Outlaws drew back, and at that moment the A.F.S. from Hadley Garage arrived. The messenger had been a fleeter runner than he looked and had met them at the gate just starting out, completely equipped, for a mobility exercise. They had driven straight to the address given them by the spectacled small boy. Section Officer Perkins appeared at the door. Behind him was a fireman holding the nozzle of a hose, the other end of which was being attached to the nearest hydrant.

  With the opening of the door the atmosphere was gradually clearing. It showed a kettle boiling vigorously on a gas ring. It showed a large woman, standing arms akimbo and glaring angrily at Section Officer Perkins. Her face was dripping with water from Ginger’s syringe, but somehow that did not detract from the awful impressiveness of her appearance.

  ‘How dare you!’ she thundered.

  ‘I – I beg your pardon,’ stammered Section Officer Perkin’s.

  ‘I said “How dare you!”

  ‘I – I – I don’t know what you mean!’ spluttered Section Officer Perkins. ‘I – I—’

  ‘I shall report you to headquarters,’ went on the woman. ‘As if I hadn’t got enough trouble today. First that girl puts the kettle on and forgets all about it for over half an hour.’ She turned and switched off the gas with a sudden vicious gesture. ‘Gas bills mean nothing to her . . . And then you and your lot come larking along. Let me tell you, young man, I can take a joke as well as anyone, but I don’t call this a joke. I’ve heard of your sort and I think it’s time a stop was put to it. You’ve chosen the wrong house to come to with your tom-fool tricks and I shall report you to headquarters this minute. Larking into respectable folks’ houses and turning your hose-pipes on to them.’

  ‘I – I never turned the hose-pipe on to you,’ protested the Section Officer indignantly.

  ‘Am I wet or am I not?’ demanded the woman, turning her portly person to him for his inspection. There wasn’t any doubt at all that she was wet. Her hair was wet, her face was wet, her ample bosom was wet. ‘And,’ she went on without waiting for his answer, ‘you’ve got the impudence to say you never turned the hose-pipe on me.’

  ‘I – I – I never did!’ said Section Officer Perkins again.

  ‘Funny thing, isn’t it?’ she said sarcastically.

  The steam had now mostly found its way out or hung in beads of moisture on the walls and ceiling of the little spick-and-span scullery. ‘Funny thing to come in here, and get a squirt of water in my face and then look round and find you standing there with your hose-pipe. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. A man of your age larking about like a schoolboy! You deserve the sack and I hope you get it.’

  ‘Madam,’ said the Section Officer desperately, aware of his firemen sniggering behind him, ‘I protest. I got a message that there was a fire here and I came along.’

  ‘That’s a nice tale,’ said the woman. ‘Who sent the message and why need you start squirting me in the face the minute you get here?’

  Section Officer Perkins looked round. There was no one there but his own A.F.S. squad. William had long ago quietly withdrawn his band under cover of the steam before anyone had realised their presence.

  ‘I can’t understand what happened,’ he said. ‘A boy brought a message that there was a fire here and we were needed at once, and, as for turning on the hose, the very idea’s ridiculous.’

  ‘So you say,’ said the woman darkly. ‘I prefer to believe my eyes. And now that’s enough of your sauce, young man. Off you go or you won’t be the only one throwing water in people’s faces. Off you go and take your grinning monkeys with you. I’ve got work to do if you haven’t.’

  With that she pushed him back and slammed the door in his face. Section Officer Perkins drove slowly back to his station. His face was set and stern. He looked like an extremely dignified young man whose dignity has been sorely affronted. As he passed the piece of waste ground next to the garage he drove very slowly indeed, fixing his gaze intently on William and the Outlaws. They were, however, engaged on the innocent task of cleaning the wheelbarrow with the air of having been hard at work on it all morning.

  Section Officer Perkins went into his office looking thoughtful.

  As soon as the A.F.S. had disappeared through the garage gates, William laid aside the handkerchief, with which he had been making a pretence of polishing the wheels, and heaved a sigh of relief.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Gosh! I was afraid they’d ’ve found out. Well, goodness me! It wasn’t our fault. It looked like a fire. How was anyone to know? I bet they’d ’ve thought it was a fire all right. I bet they’d ’ve squirted her, too . . . Corks! Wasn’t she mad! It was a jolly good thing there was all that mist about so’s they didn’t see us.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he be mad if he knew!’ chuckled Ginger.

  ‘Yes,’ said Douglas, ‘but he’s not likely to find out now.’

  But they were wrong. Section Officer Perkins had already found out. Chance had most unkindly delivered the Outlaws into his hand. He was going out to a neighbouring shop for some cigarettes when it happened. He met the small boy who had taken William’s message coming out of a sweet shop.

  Questioned, he gave a clear and concise account of the circumstances in which he had been sent to summon the A.F.S. to the ‘fire’. He described William and the Outlaws and their fire-fighting equipment in a way that left no room for doubt.

  Section Officer Perkins bore down upon the Outlaws just as they were setting out for home. There was a grimly triumphant gleam in his eye. He had made further inquiries since meeting the small boy and had come prepared to give a knock-out blow to his enemies.

  They listened with impassive faces and silent dismay to his short but pointed speech. He had discovered, he said, that it was they who had played the ‘disgraceful trick’ on him this morning, sending for him to a fire, when they knew perfectly well that there was no fire at all. He had got all their names and addresses and was going to see the father of each of them that evening. He hoped they would be severely punished. If ever he caught them on that piece of waste ground again he would send for the police . . . Then he swung on his heel and went away, smiling to himself. The Outlaws stared after him.

  ‘Cork
s!’ said William at last.

  ‘Crumbs!’ said Ginger.

  ‘Gosh!’ said Douglas and Henry simultaneously.

  ‘My father’ll be mad,’ said Ginger. ‘He’ll never b’lieve we weren’t playing a trick on ’em.’

  ‘Neither will mine,’ agreed the other Outlaws gloomily.

  ‘We’re goin’ to get in an awful row,’ said William. ‘’S never any good tellin’ my father what really happened. He won’t even listen.’

  ‘Neither will mine,’ agreed the other Outlaws.

  ‘I shan’t mind not comin’ here again,’ said William. ‘I was gettin’ tired of it, anyway. I’m sick of jus’ drillin’ an’ dustin’ the wheelbarrow – I mean the trailer – an’ that’s all they seem to do. I’ve jolly well had enough of it, an’ I’d ’ve stopped tomorrow anyway, but – corks! I’m goin’ to have an awful time! My father was mad last night ’cause an old woman came tellin’ tales about me breakin’ her cucumber frame. I was only tryin’ to hit a tree with a stone. I didn’t mean it to go in her old cucumber frame. Gosh! You should’ve heard the way he went on at me. He said he was sick of people complainin’ an’ the nex’ time it happened he’d give me somethin’ to remember an’ I bet he jolly well will, too. He’s got an awful temper.’

  Gloomily the Outlaws all agreed that their fathers had awful tempers, too.

  ‘D’you think if we went to him and explained . . .’ said Ginger.

  ‘No, not him!’ said William, who was on the whole a fairly good judge of human nature. ‘He wouldn’t b’lieve us, anyway, an’ he’d jus’ enjoy bein’ nasty.’

  ‘If we said we were sorry . . .’ said Henry tentatively.

  ‘He’d enjoy that still more,’ said William, ’an’ he’ll go’n’ complain to our fathers jus’ the same whatever we do.’

  ‘I’d jolly well like to give him somethin’ to complain of,’ said Ginger bitterly.

  William looked thoughtful for a few moments, then said slowly:

  ‘Yes . . . that wouldn’t be a bad idea . . . That wouldn’t be a bad idea at all . . . If I’ve gotter get into a row I’d rather get into it for doin’ somethin’ worth doin’. My father couldn’t be worse than he’s goin’ to be, anyway, an’ I’d like to do somethin’ to get even with old Monkey-face.’