by Megan Rix
‘Oliver!’ she cried as she threw herself into his arms. ‘It’s you, it’s really you,’ she said, over and over. ‘What’s happened to you? Are you all right? What’s happened to your leg?’
Oliver held her tight. ‘I’m just fine – managed to injure my ankle in a nasty fall so they’ve sent me home on leave,’ he said. ‘We went to the house, but there was no one there. The neighbours said I might find you all here; apparently Lizzie and Arthur have been busy,’ he said as they joined them.
For the first time they noticed the cat with him. ‘Mouser?’ exclaimed Lizzie.
Mouser miaowed as if she were agreeing that yes, that was her name.
Oliver looked from Lizzie to the cat in bewilderment.
‘This is your Mouser? I always called her that because she reminded me of your cat, but I never thought …’
‘She’s been gone for months; we thought we’d never see her again,’ said Lizzie as she scooped Mouser up into a hug. Mouser rubbed her head against the familiar, tender hand. Home at last.
‘This is Amelia,’ Lizzie said to Oliver as she ran up to join them.
Amelia pumped Oliver’s hand up and down. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘Very pleased indeed.’
Sammy ran to join them too, the football momentarily forgotten. He circled round and round them before rolling over on to the grass and rocking back and forth, his little legs waggling in the air as they all laughed.
Amelia was very interested to hear about how Sammy and Mouser had been such a help to the soldiers over in the trenches and asked if she could take them into the hospital to meet the patients.
‘They’ve got used to seeing the pets Lizzie and Arthur have brought in from Battersea, but I’m sure they’d love to meet two animals who were actually at the front,’ she said.
As they all entered the ward, the matron came to greet them and Sammy wagged his tail.
‘Who are these fine-looking fellows?’ she asked, bending down to give Sammy a scratch behind one ear.
Her initial uncertainty about bringing pets into the hospital had been forgotten when she saw the difference they made, and her own fear of animals had almost disappeared since meeting the Battersea dogs and cats too.
‘This is Sammy and Mouser,’ Amelia said as Sammy wagged his tail at the matron. ‘Heroes from the front.’
Mouser hopped on to Charlie’s bed and Charlie blinked as Mouser kneaded the blankets to make herself a comfortable spot and sat down.
‘She’s been in the trenches too,’ Amelia said softly as she lifted Charlie’s hand to rest on the cat. Then she gasped as Charlie’s fingers moved. He was stroking Mouser. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘That’s it.’ It was the first time she’d seen him do something independently since he’d come on to the ward.
All the soldiers wanted to meet Sammy and hear about the important message he’d delivered. Oliver told them how the little dog had run all day long to warn everyone about the imminent gas attack.
‘Probably saved hundreds of lives,’ one of the soldiers said, and Oliver agreed.
Chapter 37
Mouser took Sammy to explore the house that had been her only home before she’d been taken to the front. Sammy trotted happily behind her as they peered into each of the rooms, and Mouser tried each of the beds, and Sammy jumped up on each of them after her.
Fortunately Mrs Jenson was downstairs making the tea as she wouldn’t have approved of pets on beds, although she knew there was no way she could make Mouser do anything other than exactly what Mouser wanted to do.
But Mouser’s final choice wasn’t to lie on one of the beds, but in Lizzie’s wardrobe. It was dark and cosy, a bit like the sleep holes she’d got used to sharing in the trenches.
A few days later that’s where Lizzie found her. Lizzie was worried about Mouser. She didn’t seem to be her usual self.
‘I hope she’s OK,’ Lizzie said. ‘Mouser, come out now.’
But Mouser didn’t want to leave her spot inside Lizzie’s wardrobe and as soon as Lizzie lifted her out she crept back in again.
‘All right, stay in there if that’s where you really want to be,’ Lizzie said, after she’d taken Mouser out of the wardrobe for the fifth time. She really wasn’t doing any harm in there, but Lizzie had been looking forward to having her sleeping on her pillow once again.
Lizzie sighed as she wrapped her hair in curling rags and got into bed. She looked over at the wardrobe where Mouser was lurking in the darkness.
‘I wish you’d come and sleep here,’ she said, patting her pillow. She was worried that Mouser wasn’t settling back into life at home after being away for so long.
But Mouser still didn’t come out. Maybe all the trauma of the shells going off and the war had left her too scared to sleep out in the open, Lizzie thought. She couldn’t think of any other explanation.
Amelia had told her and Arthur that what was needed for the soldiers who came home, unable to cope with what they’d seen in the war, was time, lots of time and patience.
‘No point trying to force them to forget, unless you want to be left with a man who’s not even himself any more,’ she’d said.
‘You just need a little time, Mouser,’ Lizzie told Mouser sleepily as she closed her eyes.
Inside the cupboard Mouser made a small mewling sound.
When Lizzie woke up, it was the middle of the night and very, very dark. She could hear a strange sound, a soft lowing sort of sound, and other noises, high-pitched squeaks, coming from inside the cupboard.
Lizzie ran into Arthur’s room, where Oliver was also staying.
‘Quick, you’ve got to come quick!’ she called, shaking them awake. ‘I think there’s something wrong with Mouser; she’s making all sorts of strange noises from inside my cupboard, but I can’t bear to look in case something really awful’s wrong.’
Arthur and Oliver followed Lizzie back into her bedroom, both still groggy from sleep. Sammy came running in behind them, wagging his tail, eager to know what all the excitement was about.
Slowly Arthur opened the cupboard door and peered in, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Sammy headed over to Mouser in the wardrobe, but stopped before he reached her, sat down and whined as if he wasn’t sure if he should approach or not.
‘Is she OK? Please let her be OK,’ Lizzie said.
‘Lizzie, shh, there’s nothing to worry about, look!’ Arthur said.
Lizzie gasped as she too peered inside the cupboard. There was Mouser and two tiny wriggling creatures curled up alongside her.
‘Kittens!’ Oliver smiled.
‘They’re so beautiful,’ Lizzie said as she crouched down further to get a closer look. ‘Their eyes are still closed.’
‘Don’t you remember what Kenneth told us?’ said Arthur. ‘They won’t open their eyes for about seven to ten days.’
Mouser made a soft sound and Sammy went to her, his tail wagging more gently now to meet the new additions to the family.
‘Well, I never,’ said Mrs Jenson, coming in and pulling her dressing gown around her.
‘Aren’t they beautiful?’ Lizzie said in awe.
‘Yes, they are,’ Mrs Jenson said, putting her arm round her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Very beautiful indeed.’
‘Mouser can’t go back to the front now she has kittens. They’ll need her to look after them,’ Lizzie said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Oliver told her. ‘She won’t have to go back, although I’d like to take Sammy when we do go.’
Sammy wagged his tail. He’d happily go anywhere with Oliver.
‘But I’ll need my football this time,’ Oliver said. ‘I’m not leaving it behind again.’
‘What shall we name them?’ said Arthur. ‘The little mites have to have names.’
‘How about Ivor and Thumbs?’ said Oliver with a smile. ‘After the two soldiers that saved Mouser.’
Lizzie and Arthur and Mrs Jenson agreed.
And so they did.
Afterwo
rd
Researching this story was fascinating but sadly not all my research could make it into the final book.
I was very sad to lose a whole section on Lizzie playing football for the munitionettes’ team at the factory where her mum works. At the time there were lots of women’s teams who played against each other for charity, and the matches were incredibly popular with the public. Probably the most famous of these teams was Dick Kerr’s Ladies FC, which was formed in 1917 and went on to play internationally.
I was also sorry to have to cut the information about the Brown Dog Affair and the statue that was erected in Battersea in 1906 in memory of him and the terrible things that had been done to him in the name of science. The statue was taken down in 1910 following the Brown Dog riots. A new Brown Dog statue was erected in Battersea Park in 1985.
I’d not heard of the ‘Cat and Mouse Act’ of 1913 until my research led me to the hunger strikes of the suffragette movement. I read with great interest the 1914 Open Christmas Letter for peace written to the women of Germany and Austria, and signed by 101 British suffragists.
The Christmas message sounds like mockery to a world at war, but those of us who wished and still wish for peace may surely offer a solemn greeting to such of you who feel as we do.
And finally anyone who reads Lieutenant-Colonel Richardson’s book British War Dogs, Their Training and Psychology cannot fail to be moved by the work of the messenger dogs in World War I and the real-life accounts of those who saw the dogs in action:
He was coming from the front-line trenches – a little Welsh terrier. The ground was in a terrible condition and absolutely waterlogged. The little creature was running for all he was worth, hopping, jumping, plunging, all with the most obvious concentration of purpose. I could not imagine what he was doing until the dog came near and I saw the bulging message collar. As the dog sped past I could not help but notice the terribly earnest expression on his face.
Acknowledgements
Many inspiring animals and people helped me to create this book and I am very grateful to them all.
On the writing side I’ve been incredibly lucky to have worked with same amazingly talented people on all of my recent children’s books. Huge thanks, once again, to my wonderful, insightful, editor Anthea Townsend, copy-editors supreme Samantha Mackintosh and Jane Tait. My agent Clare Pearson who’s been with me through thick and thin. PR executive Hannah Macmillan, and sales team advocate Tineke Mollemans along with the booksellers, librarians and teachers who’ve been so encouraging. Not forgetting the many children who’ve emailed to say how much they’ve enjoyed the books and made suggestions for other stories. Thank you – it all makes such a difference.
Books shouldn’t be judged on their covers alone but Sara Chadwick-Holmes has done a stunning job, as has cartographer David Atkinson. It’s been a pleasure and I hope we all get to work on the next one together as well.
On the inspiration side, special thanks must go to animal loving Aunt Myra, her cat Bertie and cairn terrier dog Pele. I never got to meet Bertie or Pele in real life, although I’ve seen them together on the screen. When I heard how Bertie had acted as a guide-cat for Pele when he went blind I knew their story had to be told.
There are many dogs, old and young, of all shapes and sizes at the riverside where I take my dogs Traffy and Bella for our daily walk. I was amazed one day to see a small wire-coated terrier cross pushing a half-deflated football in front of her, tail wagging like mad as she ran along making excited yipping sounds.
That dog and football found a place in my story too.
Another dog in the book, Rosie, won her role in the story through an online charity auction. I didn’t know anything about her when her family made the bid so I was delighted when she turned out to have been made for the part (although I’m very glad she has a real-life family who love her lots).
Battersea Dogs Home is featured throughout the book and I’m indebted to the excellent ‘A Home of their Own’ for information on the history of the home, although my book is more concerned with the caring kindness of my imaginary staff and the characterful animals they look after. Dogs and cats at rescue homes were the first to be sent to the Front, and Battersea’s real-life dog Jack was awarded the Victoria Cross.
Thanks also to the many other excellent local and national rehoming centres and animal sanctuaries I visited. The care and hard work of the staff and the range of animal personalities I met were astounding.
The RSPCA has a WW1 Animal War Memorial Dispensary in Kilburn, London. Its dedication is:
‘Knowing nothing of the cause. Looking forward to no final victory. Filled only with love faith and loyalty they endured much and died for us. May we all remember them with gratitude and in the future commemorate their suffering and death by showing more kindness and consideration to living animals.’
I couldn’t agree more.
On the emotional support side endless thanks are due to my best friend and husband whose support and enthusiasm have enabled my writing to grow and develop more than I could ever have imagined.
Thanks, as always, also must go to our own dogs, Traffy and Bella; both perfect writer’s companions. Always ready to get out of bed and join me at 2 a.m. when I wake up with a new idea or plot resolution that must be written there and then. Always ready to accompany me on a long meditative walk and always ready to play at the tiniest hint that I might like a fun break.
As I sit here writing this, at 3 a.m., Traffy is lying beside me on the sofa with her head on a cushion and a cuddly soft toy beside her.
Finally, A Soldier’s Friend is very much about rescue pets and sometimes people worry about taking on pets that need rehoming. There is very rarely any justification for this worry and most rehomed pets become a much-loved part of the family, sometimes even before they’ve left the rescue centre.
Nevertheless, sadly many pets are still waiting for a new forever-home. Maybe it’ll be yours.
Chapter 1
London, 1940
Misty had a bed of her own, by the fire downstairs, but she always chose to lie on Jack’s bed. The soft, cream-coated dog with floppy ears yawned and stretched her large pregnant tummy out across the bed and watched as her beloved owner twisted the green woollen tie round his neck and then undid it again with a loud sigh.
Twelve-year-old Amy watched her older brother too.
‘Can I help?’ she asked him.
But Jack shook his head. He’d have to manage it by himself once he was in the army.
‘Why do things like tying ties and shoelaces have to be so tricky?’ he said.
Misty gave a soft whine as if she were agreeing with him.
Amy stroked Misty’s furry head and began reciting the rhyme they’d been taught at school to help them remember how to knot their ties:
‘The hare sees the fox and hops over the log, under the log, around the log once … around the log twice … and dives into his hole … safe and sound.’
Jack grinned and finally managed to get the tie tied. But no sooner had he done so than Misty started scratching frantically at the brown candlewick bedspread, tearing at it with her paws and biting at it with her teeth.
‘Misty, no!’ said Jack.
Misty stopped, mid-scratch, and looked over at him, her soft brown eyes staring straight into his.
She’d been acting very oddly over the past few days − crying and hiding in corners and under the kitchen dresser, ripping Jack and Amy’s father’s newspaper to shreds before he’d even had a chance to read it. She’d already pulled the bedspread off Jack’s bed twice and bundled it up on the floor.
Destructive behaviour like this wasn’t like Misty at all. Ever since she’d been a puppy she had been a steady, gentle sort of dog.
At first, they’d thought that somehow she knew Jack was going away and this was her way of saying she wanted him to stay. But then they’d realized that Misty was in fact pregnant. Once they knew that, her behaviour seemed perfectly natural – they
just had to remind her not to act like that indoors!
‘She’s trying to make a nest again!’ said Amy. ‘To find somewhere safe for her puppies to be born.’
‘Good girl, Misty,’ Jack said. ‘You’re all right.’
He sat down on the bed beside the dog his mother and father had finally got him, after years of begging, six years ago. A black-and-white photo of Misty was on the cabinet next to his bed all ready for him to pack and take with him.
This was going to be Misty’s first litter of puppies and Jack was gutted that he was going to miss it.
‘If only I could be here with her,’ he said for the hundredth time.
But they both knew he couldn’t be. Jack was eighteen and had had his call-up papers to join the army. His orders were to report to the basic training camp first thing in the morning to fulfil his military service duty. After that, he’d be going to the front. There was no way out of it.
‘It’s Jack who should be all jittery, not you,’ Amy told Misty as Jack pulled at the green woollen tie that was half strangling him. ‘He’s the one going off to war. All you’re going to be doing is having pups – and that’ll be lovely.’
Misty pressed herself close to Jack and then crawled on to his lap as if she were still a young puppy. He could feel her heart racing. He kissed the top of Misty’s furry head. He was going to miss her so badly. She’d slept on his bed every night for the past six years, ever since she’d come to live with them as a ten-week-old puppy. He didn’t know how he was going to sleep without her there.
Misty stretched up her neck so Jack could scratch under her chin.
‘Promise you’ll take good care of her?’ he said to Amy.
‘I promise,’ she said. ‘Two walks a day and all the treats I’m allowed to give her. She can sleep in my room if she likes, but I bet she’ll keep sleeping in your room as usual, waiting on your bed for you to come home.’