by Megan Rix
Not that he’d ever been on a horse, but he was sure they couldn’t be that hard to ride. He smiled to himself as he took a swig of his tea.
Arthur spent a lot of time imagining life as a soldier. Most of the time he saw himself as an infantryman like Oliver had been trained to be. But sometimes he pictured himself riding a horse or being a spy or driving one of the cars. Not that he’d ever been in a car, and there weren’t that many about, but he was sure he’d be able to drive one if he did get the chance. He even tried to imagine himself as a pilot of one of the planes he’d seen a picture of in the newspaper, although that wasn’t quite as easy to do.
As soon as Oliver and his friends had arrived home from the army training camp last week, Arthur had made Oliver tell him absolutely everything about it.
‘What did you have to eat?’
‘Bully beef and plum duff.’
‘How many other soldiers were there?’
‘Too many to count.’
‘What name was your battalion given?’
‘We were allowed to choose our own. Battersea Chums didn’t sound quite right and nor did Battersea Brigade, and Battersea Boys was too childish …’
‘So?’
‘We chose Battersea Beasts.’
Arthur’s eyes had opened wide.
‘Just like our football team!’
The name sounded perfect. He hoped the war wasn’t already over by the time he was old enough to join the Battersea Beasts. But everyone said it’d be done by Christmas and that was only three months away, so it didn’t seem very likely.
‘What did you have to do at camp all day?’
When Oliver told him how they had to run at a potato sack filled with sand and poke at it with the blade stuck to the end of their rifle, called a bayonet, Arthur had run straight to the greengrocer’s and begged him for a spare potato sack so he could have one just the same. He’d filled it with soil as he didn’t have any sand. He didn’t have a rifle or a bayonet either, so he ran at it with the broom instead. There wasn’t much space to do that in their tiny back garden, but he managed, just about.
When he told his friends about it, everyone wanted to have a go and there was even less space in the garden when they were there too.
‘We’re going to miss you,’ Lizzie said to Oliver as she came into the kitchen, her voice catching in her throat; saying out loud the words she’d been thinking made her realize just how much. She plonked herself down on a chair and picked up Mouser.
Mouser let herself be stroked, while gazing wistfully at the window.
‘What are you looking at?’ Lizzie asked the cat as she followed her gaze.
‘Almost time for me to be heading off to work,’ Mrs Jenson said sadly. ‘I wish I could stay to see you off, Oliver, I really do.’
Oliver didn’t have any family of his own and Mrs Jenson thought of him almost as an extra son. But the munitionettes’ work was too vital and too urgent for her to be given time off for any reason.
‘I don’t want anyone seeing me off,’ Oliver said firmly. ‘I’ll have Patrick and the others with me so it’s not like I’m heading out to the Western Front alone or with strangers.’
‘What is the Western Front exactly?’ Lizzie asked Oliver. It was talked about all the time, but not marked on the map at school.
‘It’s the thin strip of land between Germany, France and Belgium that we’re trying to hold, to stop the Germans from making their way through Belgium and into France … But you two don’t need to worry about that. Now there’s one thing I’d like to do before I leave …’
‘What’s that?’ Arthur asked him.
‘Well, I reckon there won’t be much time for football at the front – wouldn’t be surprised if there’s none at all. So, one last very quick game – it should be light enough to see the ball – before I go?’
He looked at Arthur and Lizzie.
‘Course,’ Lizzie said.
‘Good idea,’ said Arthur.
‘Take care and come home soon,’ Mrs Jenson said as she kissed Oliver on the cheek.
‘I will. Don’t worry about me.’
Mrs Jenson managed a watery smile as she pulled on her cap and headed off to work.
While Oliver and Arthur quickly finished their tea, Lizzie went back to her room to take the curling rags out of her hair. The curls worked best if she used the rags on wet hair and let it dry overnight.
Mouser miaowed at the window, asking to be let out.
‘In a minute,’ Lizzie told her as she unravelled more rags. Mouser miaowed again. ‘One minute,’ Lizzie said. ‘What’s the rush?’
Downstairs Oliver and Arthur heard a faint, high-pitched yelp.
‘Did you hear that?’ said Arthur.
‘Has someone got a new dog around here?’ Oliver asked. ‘I thought I heard something similar yesterday when we were playing football. I think it sounds like a dog’s bark.’
Oliver knew most of the neighbourhood dogs and recognized their different barks. But this didn’t sound the same as the Labrador from two doors along or the poodle that lived above the shop close to the factory. It also sounded very near and much more desperate.
He headed over to the kitchen door.
‘Come on,’ he said to Arthur.
They hurried out into the garden and over to the back gate that led to the alley behind the house.
‘Look! Arthur said. ‘I think it’s a puppy.’
Oliver was just in time to catch a glimpse of a grey shaggy coat before it disappeared back underneath the blackberry bush that ran along the alley.
‘It’s gone.’
Mouser jumped on to the back fence and then down into the alleyway and followed the puppy under the bush.
Oliver grinned. ‘Looks like Mouser’s made a new friend,’ he said.
‘It didn’t look much bigger than her,’ said Arthur. ‘Maybe that’s why she likes it. Maybe she thinks it’s another cat.’
Oliver laughed. ‘Whatever she thinks, I bet Mouser’s the one who’s in charge.’
Both of them knew Mouser was a cat who liked to get her own way; she usually managed it too.
‘What type of dog was it?’ asked Arthur.
‘I couldn’t tell, I’m afraid. I only caught a glimpse of its coat.’
‘Ready?’ Lizzie asked from the garden gate. They never played football in the back garden: it wasn’t big enough. So they all headed back into the house, picked up Oliver’s football and went out on to the street for one last game under the pink-streaked sky.
Chapter 3
‘Flip a coin for who’s in goal?’ Oliver said. But Arthur knew Oliver liked scoring goals more than saving them.
‘I’ll be in goal,’ he told him.
Lizzie and Oliver played against each other. Oliver had the ball first and dribbled it down the street, but then Lizzie tackled and got it away from him. She dribbled the ball towards Arthur, only to have Oliver take it off her, and then Lizzie g0t it again. She hesitated as she looked at Arthur in goal, waiting for her to strike. Oliver was leaving. He should be the one scoring.
‘Go on, Lizzie,’ Oliver said.
And Lizzie shot the ball straight into the goal space with her left foot.
‘You’re a natural, Lizzie,’ Oliver told her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Lizzie blushed at the compliment. She loved football, but not many of the other girls played, so she didn’t often get the chance.
Arthur kicked the ball back towards Oliver and Oliver dribbled it past Lizzie and kicked it straight into the goal. Then he scored two more goals in quick succession as Arthur groaned. He’d not stood a chance of stopping any of the goals so far. He kicked the ball back out again, but this time Oliver picked it up and kept hold of it.
‘Hey, Arthur,’ he said and threw his precious leather football to him. ‘You and Lizzie should look after this while I’m away. But don’t just let it sit on the shelf – it needs to be played with.’
Arthur grinned. ‘Do
n’t worry, it will be.’
He was a little surprised Oliver wasn’t taking his football with him and hadn’t somehow managed to squeeze it in his bag.
‘And think about me when you do play,’ Oliver added softly. ‘I’ll be back before Christmas for a rematch and I’ll know if you two haven’t been practising.’
Then he went back inside to pick up his kitbag.
‘Right, it’s time I got going.’
Lizzie ran to him and hugged him tightly as he came out of the front door.
‘No tears,’ Oliver told her.
‘No tears,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
The pink streaks in the sky had faded, leaving only a radiant turquoise-blue morning.
Oliver pumped Arthur’s hand up and down in a very grown-up handshake, and then he strode off down the street, whistling, as Lizzie and Arthur waved.
He was meeting the other Battersea Beasts at the station and he didn’t want to be late. They’d been looking forward to this for weeks.
When Lizzie and Arthur couldn’t see Oliver any more, they went home to have breakfast and get ready for school.
Neither of them spoke about how much they were going to miss him. It was too painful and raw.
Usually Mouser would be demanding her breakfast by now, but today she wasn’t there.
Arthur told Lizzie about Mouser’s new friend.
‘Looked like a puppy or a very small dog.’
‘’Spect she’ll be back by the time we get home from school,’ Lizzie said. It wasn’t like Mouser to miss a mealtime.
Ivor and Thumbs were outside the station looking at the cat poster Mrs Jenson had mentioned.
‘Say hello to Fritz the German from me,’ Ivor said when he saw Oliver.
‘Yeah, from me too,’ said Thumbs.
‘Might be able to say it yourself one day,’ Patrick told them, coming over to join Oliver. ‘If the army’s ever desperate enough to take you two.’
He laughed and gave them a quick wave before heading into the station with Oliver to catch their train.
‘Now just you listen …’ Thumbs said, his chin sticking out and his fists clenched, starting to follow Oliver and Patrick.
But Ivor pulled him away. He’d got a good idea. A way for them to make some much needed cash. He dragged Thumbs down the street to tell him about it.
‘If the army’s happy enough to pay for all them horses they’ve been using in the war, why shouldn’t they be happy to pay for cats too, especially if we happened to have five or six fine-looking rat-catching beasts all at once?’
Thumbs thought this was an excellent idea and the two of them set to work finding suitable-looking cats straight away. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.
‘Shame we couldn’t get a few from Battersea Dogs Home – bet they’ve got more than enough cats to spare,’ Ivor said, after they’d been cat hunting for a few hours.
‘Probably already donated them. Dogs too – I heard they already donated dogs.’ Thumbs frowned. ‘Why don’t they call it Battersea Dogs and Cats home when everyone knows they’ve got cats there as well?’
Ivor shrugged. It didn’t make sense to him either.
The wooded areas of Battersea Park were perfect for hunting in and Mouser visited them most days. Not that she needed to hunt for food as she was given more than enough at home and was never hungry. But still she came. Today the puppy trotted along beside her, his little tail wagging excitedly, as Mouser led him through the trees.
The park was home to many birds, from large ones like the heron that lived over on the banks of the lake, to the smaller wrens, robins and sparrows that nested in the woodland and drew Mouser’s gaze.
Although he was very hungry, the puppy wasn’t interested in the birds like Mouser was, but as soon as he saw a squirrel jump from one branch to the next he started to chase it, barking excitedly. The only problem was that there were so many squirrels that no sooner had he begun to chase one, he spotted another and raced off after that one instead, running round and round, this way and that.
Mouser didn’t try to catch a squirrel, having learnt long ago that it was virtually impossible. She did catch a mouse though and would have shared it with the puppy had he not gone running off squirrelling.
She washed her face and paws as she waited for him to come running back to her, which he did a short while later. He panted with the effort of all that running, then rolled over on to his back in the morning sunshine and waggled his legs in the air just for the fun of it. Mouser dropped what was left of the mouse next to him.
Ivor and Thumbs had already caught three pet cats by the time they spotted Mouser and the puppy. They’d found a large brown sack to keep the cats in, which were now wriggling and miaowing.
‘Here, puss,’ they called to Mouser, but she took no notice as she watched the puppy race off after a new squirrel that had scampered down from a tree and was running across the grass.
Ivor and Thumbs ran towards Mouser.
‘Get ready with the sack. We’ll corner her.’
Thumbs held the sack open and Ivor slowly moved towards Mouser from the other side.
‘Now!’
He pounced. Mouser yowled and the puppy turned and came running back. He clamped his teeth on to Ivor’s trouser leg – for which he got a sharp kick that sent him flying. Thumbs grabbed Mouser and Mouser tried to get away, but Thumbs had already had more than one struggle with a cat since they’d started collecting them and, although she scratched and tried to bite him, he didn’t let her go.
The little puppy tried to help his friend by barking and growling at the two boys, but it was no use. Mouser gave a yowl of protest as she was stuffed into the potato sack. She tore and bit desperately at the sacking, but she couldn’t get away.
‘Let’s try and get the dog too,’ Ivor said. ‘I can always get a few coppers for it from the dog-fighting ring.’
People came from miles around to watch the dog fights.
‘It’s a bit small, isn’t it?’ Thumbs said.
But Ivor shook his head. ‘If the dog’s big enough, they’ll use it in the ring – but a small one’ll be used as a bait dog for the fighting dogs to practise on.’
‘Doesn’t look like he’d last long against a fighting dog,’ Thumbs said.
The puppy was still growling, but neither of them were feeling the least bit scared.
Ivor shrugged. ‘Fighting dogs have got to have something to work on. Here, dog,’ he said, nodding to Thumbs to come at it from the other side. But the puppy raced away and hid in a bush before they could get close.
‘Not worth following it,’ Ivor said. ‘Wouldn’t get much for such a little scrap anyway.’
‘What are we going to do with the cats now we’ve caught them?’ Thumbs asked.
Ivor wasn’t sure. But he knew where the men who wanted to join up to go to war went – Battersea Recruiting Depot. So that is where they headed.
‘You’ve got what in there?’ the sergeant said, looking at the two scratched boys and the wriggling sack one of them was holding.
‘Cats,’ Ivor said. ‘Four of them.’
‘Cats!’ the sergeant bellowed. ‘What in the King’s name are you bringing me cats for?’
‘There’s a poster by the station,’ Thumbs explained patiently. ‘Said cats were needed at the front. So we’ve brought you some.’
‘Which we’ll gladly hand over – for a price,’ Ivor added.
The sergeant bellowed with laughter.
‘You want me to pay for some stray cats!’
‘They’re not stra–’ Thumbs started to say, but stopped when he got a sharp kick on the ankle from Ivor. ‘Ouch, what did you do that for?’
‘The army pays for the horses it requisitions,’ Ivor said.
‘Well, horses aren’t cats, are they? A horse is a noble beast born to carry man into battle. Don’t see many soldiers riding cats, do you? And just where did you find those cats anyway?’ the sergeant asked suspicious
ly.
‘Never mind,’ Ivor sighed. He nodded to Thumbs to pick up the sack. They’d just have to let the cats go.
‘Wait!’ the sergeant bellowed as they reached the door.
Ivor looked round hopefully. Maybe he’d changed his mind and was going to pay for the cats after all.
‘I think you can leave them here,’ the sergeant said. ‘Unless you want to explain again where you got them from?’
Ivor rolled his eyes as Thumbs put the sack down. They’d have to think of another way to make some money. But it was going to be hard to beat the shilling a day the army paid its privates.
Chapter 4
The puppy ran back along the alley behind the Jensons’ house as fast as his little legs would go. Perhaps he’d find his friend there.
When he arrived at the house, he tried to jump over the back garden fence like he’d seen Mouser do, but it wasn’t as easy for him. He tried again and again without managing it. It was really too high for a puppy to jump over, but he wouldn’t give up. He trotted up the alley a little way and then turned and ran back at the fence. This time he almost made it, but not quite; he had to scrabble with his claws clinging to the top to get over it, and he fell into the garden head first with a yelp. A moment later he was up and barking at the kitchen door.
Lizzie and Arthur had just arrived home from school.
‘It’s a puppy,’ Lizzie said in surprise as she looked out. Arthur came to see too.
‘I think it’s the same dog that went off with Mouser along the alley this morning,’ Arthur said. ‘Oliver and I saw him, but only from quite far away.’
He opened the kitchen door and the puppy came running in and then almost immediately hopped back out again. He looked behind him at Lizzie and Arthur and whined.
‘You don’t think something’s happened to Mouser, do you?’ Lizzie said. She couldn’t think what the puppy could be doing here. Didn’t it have an owner?