by Megan Rix
Lizzie didn’t really like the idea of dressing a dog up if it wasn’t happy about it, although lots of people did dress up their dogs, and there were many such pictures of dogs and cats on people’s walls. She herself had a picture in her bedroom of three cats at a tea party, dressed in clothes with a toy tea set, and pictures like it were very popular.
‘I think Rosie likes wearing the bonnet,’ Arthur said. The little dog hadn’t once tried to remove it, so she couldn’t mind it that much.
‘What a good doggie,’ people commented as they dropped coin after coin into the collecting tin.
‘Thank you.’
‘You have her very well trained.’
‘It’s not due to us. She’s just a very good dog,’ Arthur said.
‘And available for rehoming,’ Lizzie added.
‘Really?’
Lizzie liked Rosie very much, but she still thought about Mouser every day, wishing she’d come home. And she missed Sammy and wished he could be the one in the pram instead, although he’d probably have preferred playing football and he might not have wanted to wear a bonnet. She wondered how he was getting on in his new role of mascot and she hoped the soldiers of the cavalry were treating him well.
‘Hello, you two,’ Amelia said, coming down the street. ‘Who’ve you got there?’
‘This is Rosie,’ Lizzie told her.
‘What a poppet,’ Amelia said as she stroked Rosie and Rosie licked her hand. ‘Stroking her would be such good therapy for my soldiers. If only the matron would allow me to bring pets in.’
Lizzie and Arthur agreed.
Chapter 19
As Mouser woke up, snuggled in between Leon and Beau, her new friends, she heard a sound coming from further down the trench. A sound that was impossible to resist. As she crept along the side of the trench, the noise got louder. Round the next corner, protected from the elements by a shelf in the side of the trench, was a large lattice wooden box.
The noises were coming from inside the box. She’d seen these birds before, back at home in the park, but she’d never been able to catch one! Mouser stuck out a paw, trying to reach inside the box.
‘Non, chérie,’ the young French soldier told her, shooing Mouser away from the messenger pigeons in their coop.
A pigeon flew on to the top of the trench and Mouser stopped and looked at it. Then she looked over at the soldier in charge of the birds who’d shooed her away. She gave a miaow.
The soldier came over to her and crouched down as he stroked her.
‘I’m sorry, little cat, but these birds are too important to be a snack for you,’ he told her in French.
Mouser rubbed her head against him as she took a yearning look at the bird that strutted along the trench parapet. The French soldier picked Mouser up and carried her away from the pigeon area back to Beau and Leon. As soon as he put her down, she ran over to them.
‘Play with your friends instead, chérie.’
Leon and Beau introduced Mouser to the cats in other trenches, although she never met the cats that had been brought over with her from Britain. Soon Mouser became a regular at French, German, Belgian and British trenches along a small section at the front. She was made welcome wherever she went as she was such a good rat-catcher.
Late at night she slipped out of whichever trench she happened to be in to join the other trench cats in no-man’s-land. Some of the cats had been donated to help the soldiers, but others were farm cats who’d run away when their owners had been forced to flee their homes.
In no-man’s-land the cats played together and caught rats. Sometimes they even howled at the full moon before returning to their home trench in the morning.
In the German trenches they called Mouser liebchen; in the French one it was usually chérie; the Belgians called her lieveling and the British called her a variety of names like Whiskers and Queenie.
Chapter 20
From the first day that Oliver had taken him with him, Sammy became his constant running companion and they always went together. Not only did they run together, but when Oliver went to sleep Sammy did too. Oliver’s mealtimes were Sammy’s mealtimes and most of the time what they ate was the same.
‘He must know your routes backwards by now,’ Lieutenant Morris at HQ said as he gave Sammy his usual shortbread biscuit. ‘I wish we had more dogs like him, especially if the threatened gas attacks happen. But no one listens to me,’ he sighed. ‘Stuck out here and not high enough up in the pecking order to be heard.’
Oliver looked down at Sammy. He did love running and he did love Lieutenant Morris’s biscuits. If Lieutenant Morris wasn’t there waiting for him with one then Sammy whined and went looking for him. And Lieutenant Morris was right about Sammy knowing the routes. Oliver was sure he could find his way back from here.
‘We could train him,’ he said.
‘We could,’ Lieutenant Morris agreed as Sammy looked from one to the other as they spoke. ‘But I’ve only got another week here before I’m being stationed along the final stretch of our battalion’s trench.’
Oliver thought that might not make too much difference. ‘He does like you very much, sir, but …’ He didn’t know how to say it politely.
Lieutenant Morris looked down at the last piece of biscuit in his hand and Sammy’s eyes firmly focused on it. He smiled ruefully.
‘Of course, he likes my biscuits more than me and who wouldn’t?’
He gave Sammy the last piece of shortbread.
‘I was sent three packets of these and I’ve still got two packets left. When I leave, I’ll make sure everyone knows that these biscuits are only to be given to Sammy as his reward for delivering messages. And tell them when they run out to order in some more.’
Oliver smiled as Sammy crunched up the biscuit and then checked the floor to see if he’d left any crumbs behind.
‘Come on, Sammy,’ he said, and together they ran back to the reserve trench.
As they ran, Sammy caught a familiar scent on the air. It was the smell of an old friend. He stopped running and sniffed the air, then started rushing round in circles about Oliver. He was certain his old friend had been here, but where was she now?
‘What are you doing, Sammy? Come on,’ Oliver called out to him. ‘It’s your favourite Maconochie stew in a tin for breakfast today.’
He ran on. Sammy hesitated for a moment and then ran after him. They were back just in time for breakfast.
‘That tin looks about the same size as the ones they use to put messages in for them messenger dogs,’ one of the Battersea Beasts said as they were eating. The stew wasn’t bad hot, but they were having to eat it cold today and no one besides Sammy was enjoying it much.
‘Does it?’ Oliver asked.
‘Yep.’
Oliver picked up an empty tin and turned it this way and that. If he just rounded off the edges …
‘Give it here, lad,’ the grizzled old soldier who’d stopped Oliver from stroking the messenger dog said. ‘I’ll see what I can do with it.’
Oliver looked at the tin and then back at the man.
‘Used to be a craftworker once. I can make you a message tin for your dog.’
Oliver handed over the Maconochie tin.
‘I’ll need more than one though,’ the soldier said.
Everyone wanted to volunteer their tins, but that was too many.
‘Five’ll be enough.’
‘Thanks,’ Oliver said. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Depends on how many shells Fritz sends over to us and which trench we’re in when he does.’
Oliver nodded gravely.
‘Soon as it’s good enough, your Sammy’ll have it.’
Sammy wagged his tail at the mention of his name.
‘He’s a fine little dog,’ the old soldier said as Sammy went over to him for a stroke.
Chapter 21
Lizzie and Arthur were very excited about the mayor’s march for the Princess Mary Christmas Fund that was coming up, and
the fête that was to follow it.
‘Our school choir’s going to be singing at it,’ Lizzie told Amelia and Kenneth when they arrived at Battersea one frosty morning.
‘The women from Mum’s factory are having a football match,’ said Arthur.
Amelia and Kenneth were trying to select which dogs, and possibly cats if they were carried, would be best suited to participate in the event.
‘There are just so many good dogs and cats it’s almost impossible to choose,’ Amelia groaned. ‘We’ll need your help on the march,’ she told Lizzie and Arthur. ‘There’s going to be so much to do and so many animals to look after …’
‘As well as raising money for the Sailors’ and Soldiers’ Christmas Fund, we can also use this opportunity to show people how well behaved and good these animals are,’ Kenneth said.
Lizzie and Arthur nodded.
‘We know it’s unlikely anyone would want to adopt a dog or a cat with the war on, but you never know, and just seeing them in the march will show people what lovely animals they are,’ Amelia told them.
‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Lizzie said.
Amelia beamed. ‘Deeds not words,’ she told Arthur.
‘Deeds not words,’ he grinned back.
‘What we could really do with are some clothes to dress the dogs and cats up in for the march,’ Lizzie suggested.
Rosie’s bonnet had been very successful when it came to collecting money. And she was sure it would be the same at the mayor’s march.
‘Dogs shouldn’t have to wear clothes to be adorable. All they have to be is themselves,’ Amelia said.
‘I think Mellie is right, you know,’ agreed Kenneth. ‘I know Rosie didn’t mind her bonnet, but I’m not sure every dog or cat will feel the same and it might encourage people to dress up their pets, who might not like it.’
Kenneth was busy bandaging Toby’s paw, which the dog had started biting.
‘You’ll only get it infected if you keep doing that,’ he told him.
Toby made a groaning sort of sound and then gave Kenneth’s face a big slobbery lick.
‘Yes, I know. I know you love me,’ Kenneth said, wiping his face. ‘But no more paw biting, do you understand?’
‘Why’s he been biting his paw?’ Arthur asked.
‘It’s a symptom of stress, probably from how crowded it is in the kennels, but there’s little I can do other than bandage the paw and try to soothe him.’
‘Poor Toby,’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘Perhaps we’ll find him a new owner during the march.’
‘Mouser’s been gone for so long now, I just hope she’s being looked after somewhere,’ said Lizzie, swallowing back tears at the thought of their lost cat.
Arthur squeezed Lizzie’s hand. He missed Mouser and he missed Oliver too. He’d been spending lots of time helping at the Dogs Home, trying to fill the hours he’d usually spend playing football with the Battersea Beasts.
Mrs Jenson came along to support the mayor’s march too. She pushed Rosie’s pram down the street behind the Scouts in their uniforms and two school bands, one of which was made up of children from Lizzie and Arthur’s school.
‘Rosie is such a lovely dog,’ she said to Lizzie. ‘I honestly can’t imagine why she ended up at the Dogs Home.’
‘I know. It’s not right,’ Lizzie said, but since volunteering at the home she’d learnt that often there seemed no sense to what animals had to put up with. ‘Come on, Bertie.’ She was walking with a snowy white West Highland terrier.
Rosie, with her beautiful eyes and friendly nature, was as always a hit with the public. Mrs Jenson’s collecting tin was more than half full before they’d marched halfway down the High Street. Mrs Jenson felt very proud of all the work Arthur and Lizzie were doing at the Dogs Home. It had proved a good distraction for them both as she knew Lizzie missed Mouser, and that Arthur must miss Oliver, and playing football with the team of boys, who were all now off at war.
Kenneth was following with a one-eared retriever called Polly and he’d given Toby to Arthur to look after.
They smiled and shook their collecting tins as the spectators along the sides of the street waved and called out. Suddenly one voice rang out louder than all the rest.
‘That’s our dog, hey, that’s our dog Rover!’ a little boy and his grandfather shouted, pushing their way through the crowd towards Toby.
Toby saw them, did a double take and then almost pulled Arthur’s arm off as he dragged him over to the boy and the old man. There was no doubting that the dog knew them. The little boy threw his arms round Toby’s big slobbery head and there were tears in the old man’s eyes.
‘Thought Rover was gone for good,’ he said. ‘Never reckoned we’d see him again.’
Kenneth pushed his way over to them.
‘He was brought in to us by the police,’ he said. ‘Picked up after he’d been knocked over, but fortunately he wasn’t badly injured and he’s quite all right now, as you can see.’
The old man looked worried. ‘Is there much to pay? We can’t …’
Kenneth could see they weren’t rich. But he could also see clearly that they loved Toby and, more importantly to him, Toby loved them.
‘There’s no charge. I’m just pleased he’s going home,’ Kenneth said as the procession went in through the park gates.
The mayor stood on the bandstand and welcomed everyone. There was the smell of roasting chestnuts in the air.
‘Thank you all for coming and giving your support to this worthwhile cause,’ the mayor said. ‘Please give generously this afternoon as you enjoy the stalls and refreshments. There’s a tug of war that we’ll need participants for and races at the end of the day.’
‘I wonder how much we’ve raised for the Princess Mary Fund,’ Lizzie said excitedly.
‘A lot,’ everyone agreed.
‘The soldiers and sailors should easily all be able to have a Christmas gift with events like this going on across the country,’ Kenneth said.
But no one knew yet what the nation’s Christmas gift would be.
Ivor and Thumbs didn’t get to see the whole march or go to the fête because they were too busy signing up to go to war. They knew today would be a busy day for men joining up: patriotic events always saw them wanting to enlist and extra recruiters had been brought in from different areas for the day.
‘Today’s our only chance to sign up,’ Ivor told Thumbs. ‘These new recruiters won’t have seen us before, and won’t know we’re underage. I reckon we can fool ’em.’
‘Can we be in the Battersea Beasts battalion like our mates?’ Ivor asked as they stood at the recruiters’ table in the park with a line of men waiting behind them.
‘Don’t see why not,’ the man said, writing Ivor’s request on his enlistment form.
‘Me too,’ Thumbs, who was even younger than Ivor, said. ‘I want to be in the Battersea Beasts too.’
‘And you’re both definitely over eighteen?’ the recruiter said, eyeing them suspiciously.
‘Yes,’ Ivor and Thumbs lied in chorus.
‘When do we leave for the front?’
‘Won’t be till after Christmas now.’
‘That long?’ said Ivor and Thumbs.
‘War’ll probably be nearly over.’
They’d wanted to head out there straight away.
‘Lot of men wanting to get out there just as badly as you two. You’ll have to wait your turn,’ the recruiter said, and then he turned to the next man who was waiting to enlist.
Ivor and Thumbs celebrated their enlistment with a meat pie from the hawker stall.
Chapter 22
‘Here, lad,’ the grizzled old soldier called to Oliver when he came back from his run with Sammy. He threw something through the air and Oliver caught it. ‘Will that do for you?’
It was the message tin he’d made for Sammy. But it wasn’t just a message tin, it was a piece of trench art and Oliver thought it was the most beautiful bit of craftsmanship he’d ever s
een. It was unrecognizable as having once been a tin of Maconochie stew. It had Sammy’s name and Battersea Beasts embedded on it in bits of tin and other metal debris; it was not only beautiful, it was also strong. At least three tin layers thick and with a hoop for threading the tin through Sammy’s collar.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Oliver said, and it was very hard to believe that it had been made from tins and nails, bits of shrapnel and paint.
The soldier nodded and Oliver showed it to Patrick. He was about to show it to Sammy too when he saw that Sammy had gone over to the old soldier and was sitting in his lap as the soldier stroked him.
‘It’s like he’s saying thank you,’ Oliver told Patrick.
The next day Oliver decided it was time for Sammy’s first solo messenger dog run. He attached Sammy’s messenger tin to his collar.
‘That’s it, you look very smart,’ he said.
Sammy wagged his tail and gave Oliver’s face a lick.
When they arrived at HQ, Oliver found out it was Lieutenant Morris’s last day before he moved further along to the next section of the British trenches.
‘I think I’m going to miss Sammy’s visits most of all,’ Lieutenant Morris said.
He gave Sammy his biscuit as usual, but then he clipped the lead Oliver handed him to the little dog’s collar.
‘You wait here with me, Sammy.’
‘Give me half an hour,’ Oliver said. Although it wouldn’t take him that long to run back, he thought it’d be best if Sammy waited a little longer before being released.
‘Will do,’ Lieutenant Morris said, and Oliver ran back to the reserve trench alone.
Sammy wasn’t happy being left behind, but he did manage to eat some more of Lieutenant Morris’s biscuits.
Half an hour later Lieutenant Morris said to Sammy: ‘OK, let’s see if you can find your way back alone.’
He released Sammy and the little dog set off running as fast as he could in the direction that Oliver had gone.
Mouser had left the French trench shortly after her first breakfast of tinned fish, and she was on her way to the Belgian trench for her second breakfast when she saw the little dog racing along the communication trench below her.