by Anna Fargher
‘I did what was necessary,’ the rat insisted, his scarred jaw hardening with difficult memories. ‘I could not watch my country be crushed under Hitler’s jackboot.’
‘Hans’s knowledge of German customs and his ability to translate intercepted messages from the enemy have made him one of our most valuable members,’ Bernard cooed, and the rat shifted uncomfortably on his cotton reel. ‘Learn how to take a compliment, old chap!’ the pigeon said, slapping him on the back with his wing. ‘Courage is the finest quality because it guarantees all other virtues. Hans bravely escaped the enemy after they had nearly torn him to pieces and crossed the border into France before stowing away on a Lysander plane collecting humans from the French Resistance, all so he could join our fight here in Britain.’
Hans gave a slow, humble nod to the pigeon in thanks and Pip shuddered, eyeing the marks of violence scored across body.
‘Morse code is the fastest way for us to deliver and receive information from both our animal and human connections,’ Bernard cooed, and a smile drew across his beak. ‘But what really makes me chuckle is that our human contacts have no idea they are sometimes communicating with animals.’
‘And they think we’re the ignorant beasts,’ Hans scoffed.
‘Exactly! They’d never believe it! Nor would they suspect their own messenger pigeons.’ He gestured with his wing to the smaller structures behind his house. Turning to look over her shoulder, Pip’s eyes shone with curiosity as she saw pigeons peacefully roosting in their coops. ‘The fastest of us can fly a mile a minute. Well –’ Bernard smiled self-consciously, tapping his walking stick on the ground – ‘once upon a time, in my case.’
‘So you use pigeons for sending secret messages as well as Morse code?’ Pip asked, turning back to the elderly bird.
‘That’s right. The birds are more mobile and don’t rely on electricity,’ Bernard continued. ‘But it’s a risky business. On every errand, they can be shot or injured by shrapnel. Axis falcons hunt the skies for them too, and few survive the chase these days.’
‘What do the messages say?’
‘That’s top secret information, young Pip!’ he cooed, touching the side of his beak twice with the tip of his wing. ‘And as our motto states: A secret is only a secret if it remains unspoken. Although I can tell you they give instructions and share knowledge about enemy and Allied movements and so on, just like Morse code.’
‘But if these war pigeons are fighting with the humans, how can they work for Churchill’s Secret Animal Army at the same time?’
‘Every time they complete a human mission, they are given leave to rest in their home coop and when they are released for exercise, they slip away to volunteer for us. Let me introduce them to you,’ Bernard said, proudly pointing his wing to each coop housing a roosting pigeon. ‘That’s the Duke of Normandy, the first pigeon to arrive back in Britain from enemy lines during the D-Day invasion. And that’s GI Joe – he’s our swiftest bird, who saved over a hundred Allied soldiers and many more Italian civilians from an airstrike when radios failed. Alongside him is Blackie Harrington, you see the scars across his chest and neck?’
Pip nodded, her ears pricked up high.
‘He delivered a key message even after he was bloody with shrapnel wounds. And if you think that’s impressive,’ Bernard continued, pointing to a smaller pigeon with neat white markings around her eyes, ‘Mary of Exeter is unstoppable. She has been blown up, shot, attacked by a falcon and hit by shrapnel. She’s had twenty-two stitches, that’s the equivalent of four thousand stitches in a human soldier, although I doubt a man could survive to tell the tale.
‘Now you know all about us,’ Bernard said, turning to the little mouse still gazing at the pigeons. ‘Tell me – why do you need my help, young Pip?’
Fighting the tears filling her eyes, Pip recounted the hours that had led her to Bernard Booth’s door since the bomb hit James Smith & Sons Umbrellas. Cooing thoughtfully, the pigeon listened with his head sympathetically cocked to one side.
‘If you were alone and if everything you knew had been taken away from you,’ Pip finished with a sniff, ‘wouldn’t you try to find the last souls that loved you?’
There was silence. Her words struck Bernard, Hans and Dickin in such a way that none immediately had the heart to deny her impossible quest. Each had lost their homes and families in the war too, and none would ever fully recover from such sorrow. At last, Bernard spoke.
‘Pip,’ he said, cooing gravely, ‘this journey holds no hope. Mainland Europe is still very much at war, even after our victories in Normandy and southern Italy. Crossing the English Channel to northern France is fraught with danger from beginning to end. Even if you make it, the enemy occupy the rest of France and northern Italy and if they catch you, you may meet a fate worse than death.’ He shook his head. ‘I fear you will not make it.’
‘But my mother made it to England from Italy inside an umbrella – I know I can too. I have to try.’
‘Try as you might, this is not the time to travel to Italy and we cannot simply deliver you there like a postman. Your duty is to your country and we all have to pull together if we are going to win this war.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot help you.’
‘I will do whatever it takes!’ Pip cried. ‘Please let me go!’
‘I will help her,’ Hans said, looking at Bernard with a keen determination. ‘I have waited for my chance to return to my homeland for three years. With the Allies advancing upon Germany, I can gather vital information to open the path and send it back to you here. They say that with the help of the Americans and the Soviets, the war will not last much longer and I belong in Bavaria by Lake Eibsee, where my clan has lived and died for longer than memory. I wish to spend the rest of my days in a free Fatherland. I will deliver Pip to Gignese, then I will make my own way to Germany and help you bring an end to this war from there.’
‘No,’ Bernard said firmly, his neck feathers ruffling impatiently around his neck. ‘It makes no sense for you to join a suicide mission when your duty is to the Allied cause. The war is not over yet.’ He abruptly stood from the table and began hobbling back to his house, shaking his head. ‘Not by a long shot, and you know more than any of us what we are fighting against. Dickin, please take Pip back to her friends in St Giles. She needs food and plenty of rest after everything she has been through.’
‘Please,’ Pip said desperately, leaping from her seat. ‘They’re not my friends, didn’t you hear me? They left me to be skinned alive by those thieves! I never want to see them again.’
‘Now, now, Pip,’ the terrier said calmly, glancing at Hans brooding with frustration at the table. ‘There’s no point fightin’ over this. You’re better off this way. And Bernard’s right – it’s time you caught up with some shut-eye. You ain’t slept a wink and you’ve had a nasty shock.’ He tenderly nudged her with his shiny black nose. ‘Come on, let’s get ya back to yer mates.’
‘The humans need our help more than ever, young Pip,’ Bernard cooed from his doorway. ‘As you say, we’ve taken Normandy back but it’s a long, hard, road to Berlin. We must all make sacrifices and above all we must be brave,’ he said with a kind smile. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you. Good luck, and remember you must never give in. Never, except to the convictions of honour, courage and good sense.’ The pigeon turned his attention to Dickin and pointed his wing beyond the dozing pigeons. ‘You may take her via the river footpath and save yourself the swim. Hans, come inside – we have much to discuss.’
Despair thumped in Pip’s chest as she watched the rat and pigeon step into Bernard’s house and close the door as if she had never existed. Once again, Dickin took the umbrella between his teeth and beckoned her with a wagging tail to climb to the back of his neck. She shook her head and scowled.
‘Have it your way,’ he said, slowly padding past the roosting pigeons towards a dark corridor that led to the underground river footpath. ‘You’ll cheer up once you’ve had some
grub and a kip.’
Ignoring him, Pip stepped to Bernard’s door and pressed her ear against it, hoping to hear him and Hans mention anything about her plan. But as she stepped closer she heard something else entirely.
‘You and GI Joe shall conduct Operation Popeye with a group of French Resistance animals in Normandy called Noah’s Ark. The Axis animals will do anything to stop you so you must be on your guard. If this mission succeeds, we will be one step closer to stopping Hitler. When you and GI Joe deliver the message. . .’
Before Pip heard more, Dickin looked over his shoulder and uttered a low, insistent growl.
‘I mean it, mate.’ He barked gruffly, marching towards her with the umbrella in his mouth. ‘If Bernard catches you eavesdroppin’ you’ll be in a ton of trouble. Come with me now.’
He turned and continued walking away, trusting Pip to follow. Flicking her tail in frustration, she reluctantly moved away from Bernard’s door, racking her brain for anything she could do to make him change his mind. It was then that her eyes caught sight of a small, tightly rolled-up scroll of paper next to one of the sleeping pigeons. It was GI Joe, and at once her mind leaped with an idea. With a quick glance around her, she dashed for it, tucked it under her arm and hurried to Dickin with her heart thundering inside her ears.
‘That’s it,’ he said, feeling her scurry up his front leg to the back of his neck, ‘I knew you’d come round.’
Pip smiled. Somehow, as soon as she found a way, she and the umbrella would leave for France and deliver the message to the French Resistance in exchange for safe passage to Gignese.
CHAPTER NINE
THE RIVER THAMES
Pip flinched every time the paper scroll crinkled under her arm as Dickin returned to the dark underground canal tunnel, following a stone footpath that ran alongside the black, rushing water. With each step the river grew louder and as it swelled to a roar, she watched it race downwards and shoot through a large opening in a wall that brought the tunnel to an end.
‘Not far now,’ Dickin said, rounding a corner to the right and stepping into a side tunnel thick with shadows. ‘I’ll find us a nice sarnie when we get back to St Giles. And I bet your mates will be happy to see ya after everythin’ that’s happened to ya.’
‘They don’t give a stuff about me,’ Pip said, remembering the altercation with the thieves. ‘If they did, they never would have left me like that. I don’t need them or their stinking friendship. I don’t need anybody.’
‘It sounds like you’ve got a lonely life ahead of you then. Everybody needs somebody.’
Pip’s throat tightened. She already knew she had a lonely life ahead of her without Mama and Papa. She closed her eyes and pictured Mama’s kind face that righted every wrong, and Papa’s smile that was as warm as it was mischievous. She wondered what they would do if they were with her now as she took the scroll from under her arm. Slowly and carefully, keeping an eye on Dickin’s twitching ears, she unpeeled the edge of the roll of paper to see what was inside.
At that moment, a dark figure darted across their path, closely followed by a second. Coming to an abrupt stop, Dickin squinted in the gloom with a vigorous sniff. Quickly hiding the scroll under her arm again, Pip’s nose twitched uneasily, smelling something that made her shudder.
‘Who’s there?’ Dickin growled, the fur on the back of his neck bristling with unease. ‘Answer me!’ he yapped. ‘Now!’
‘Well look who it is.’ A sharp voice sneered in the darkness, speaking loudly over the river rushing nearby. A growl rumbled in Dickin’s throat as he took two cautious steps backwards to the water’s edge.
‘Twice in one day,’ another voice said, revealing sharp, rotting teeth in the gloom. ‘Now there’s a stroke a luck!’
Watching the figures step closer, Pip gasped with horror. It was the crooks, and both bore crimson cuts from the fight with Hans and Dickin earlier that day. The rat’s ears were torn to ribbons and the sparrow could only open one eye.
‘Climb down and stay back, Pip,’ the terrier said urgently, dipping his head to the ground. Pip clambered down at once and dashed to a nearby wall, holding the scroll tighter than ever under her arm. ‘This could get ugly.’
‘You bet it will, fleabag,’ the sparrow snarled. ‘I’ve thought of nuffin’ else since you chucked us in the canal.’
Dickin growled, curling his lips around his sharp white fangs. At once, the thieves pounced on his muzzle and the dog yelped as claws, teeth and talons ripped into his fur. With a frenzied shake of his head, the umbrella struck their bodies and hurled them away from him. At the same moment, Dickin gasped as it slipped from his jaws and slammed into the wall above Pip with a bang. Diving out of harm’s way, she cried out with fear as the umbrella bounced off the bricks and fell dangerously close to the edge of the side tunnel, and the water rushing through the opening below.
The rat leaped to the umbrella as the sparrow clawed and pecked at Dickin’s eyes and nose. Before the rat could snatch the canopy, Pip threw herself to the umbrella’s silver handle, perilously hanging over the water’s edge, and hurried along it with her heart in her throat. Remembering Papa teaching her about Jonas Hanway and the King of Persia, she pressed the small button concealed in a carved fig leaf on its side, bursting the canopy open. Catapulted into the air, the rat hurled into the sparrow, knocking him from his vicious perch on Dickin’s head. As the crooks tumbled to the ground, the dog pounced with a fearful roar. Scrapping together in a ball of fur and feathers, two crunches sounded as Dickin’s jaws snapped shut around them.
Breathless with horror, Pip turned away and looked at the water below, rushing through the large hole in the wall. Beyond it, there was a glimmer of sunlight shimmering on the surface of a great expanse of water moving swiftly to the left. Her whiskers popped upright with an idea. Dickin had told her the River Fleet ended when it flowed into the River Thames. Mama and Papa had taught her the Thames was the only big river in London, flowing into the North Sea, which led to mainland Europe. Her heart raced with a sudden impulse. She had the message in the scroll – if she could sail the umbrella to Normandy she’d have her chance to help the French Resistance in exchange for help in getting to Italy. This was it!
With a glance at Dickin, who was still a few paces away from her, she ran up inside the open umbrella canopy and pushing it with all her might, she turned it around to face the canal.
‘What are you doing?’ the dog yapped urgently, hearing the umbrella scrape roughly across the ground. As he hurried to reach the umbrella, it tipped over the edge and hit the swiftly moving water below with a small splash. ‘No!’ he howled, shifting nervously on his paws as he considered jumping in after her. ‘That’s the Thames! The water is too dangerous! Humans drown in there!’
‘I’ll be all right!’ Pip cried.
The truth was that she had no idea what was going to happen now. All she knew was that she had to get herself and the umbrella to Gignese – she couldn’t stay in St Giles with all its bad friends and thieves. And if Dickin, Hans and Bernard Booth couldn’t help her, then she had to help herself.
As she looked up at the terrier desperately sprinting alongside the rushing water, tears filled her eyes. She was really going to miss him. He had been the best friend she had ever had.
‘No!’ Dickin barked desperately, seeing the scroll under Pip’s arm. ‘That’s not meant for you! You’ll never make it!’
‘Goodbye, Dickin!’ Pip said. ‘Thank you for—’
But before she could say more, the water gurgled and the umbrella abruptly slammed onto its side as it was sucked through the opening. Plunging downwards, it smacked the surface of the Thames and span in a circle. Lying flat on her back against the canopy, Pip stared into the enormous, swirling clouds glowing with the first pinks and oranges of sunset. As the strong current swiftly carried the umbrella across the water, her ears pricked as she heard a familiar melody. Carefully scampering to the top of the upturned silver handle, she looked upstream.
In the increasing distance, towering over the enormous river and the surrounding buildings, stood a long, slim, silhouette pointing into a coral sky. As its bells tolled eight o’clock, she saw Big Ben for the first time.
Soon, the dappled clouds above the Thames bled scarlet and violet, and in the fading light London laid bare its wounds from the past five years of war. Each destroyed building stood for another devastated family, and Pip’s heart grew heavy wondering how the world had become so mad with war and hatred. The great, unharmed grey dome of St Paul’s Cathedral passed by and at once she felt stronger for seeing it standing tall above the ruins. Whatever happened in France, she couldn’t fail, because she would have tried. Mama and Papa would be proud of that, she thought, unravelling the scroll in her paws to look inside.
‘“John has a long moustache,”’ she read aloud. It sounded ridiculous and made no sense to her at all.
Knowing she was finally on her way to Italy, the weight of the previous day and night clung to every hair on her body. Weak with exhaustion, she carefully clambered down the umbrella handle to the canopy, carrying the scroll in her paw, and crawled behind the top notch where her family nest used to be. With a yawn that shuddered her body from the tips of her whiskers to the end of her tail, she curled into a little ball and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But as Pip gently rocked back and forth inside the umbrella bobbing across the water, a shuddering boom sounded in the distance downstream.
CHAPTER TEN
THE VOYAGE
The air grew dense with thunder, and dark, anvil-shaped clouds flashed with lightning as the umbrella snaked along the River Thames. As night set in, the buildings along the riverbank thinned, until they were replaced by fields of sun-scorched grass swishing in the gloom above muddy-brown waters rippling along the marshland. Further ahead, the river expanded into a vast blanket of water, like an enormous, wet slate floor, white crests of waves somersaulting across its surface. Above it, the sky blackened in an inhospitable temper, as if displeased that the umbrella had entered its house uninvited, blowing a forbidding wind in its direction.