Charlie's Gang

by Scilla James

  ‘Can you help? Mr Trundle? Something terrible has happened and we’ve got a rat infestation as big as the Green itself! Some terrible thing has brought these rats to our village fete. Who can have set them off? Please can you help Sir? It’s like the Pied Piper of wherever it was, all over again. Oh dear!’

  ‘Well now,’ said Trundle, looking calmly around at the chaotic scene, ‘of course I can. Unless there’s anyone else in the village you feel you can call on to help? There’s that Mrs Featherstone you know. She does a lot locally, so I’m told, and she’s cheap to the point of being free I understand. And that might just be her 4by4 pulling in now. D’you see, over there?’

  ‘Never mind her!’ exclaimed the Mayor. ‘We need serious professional rat catchers here. Name your price Mr Trundle.’

  But Mr Trundle declined to name a price. ‘It’s a matter of pest control Mr Mayor,’ he said, ‘I understand the Council intends to save several thousand pounds by taking on a volunteer to see to their pests. Could be that same person known as Featherstone who’s just driven in now, and is actually trying to drive out again if you look carefully. Now me and my dogs, we need to know that we’ve got our job back.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the Mayor impatiently. ‘You shall have it back, I promise. I’ll have a word first thing Monday at the Town Hall. Please, Mr Trundle!’

  Mr Trundle spat on his hand and held it out to the Mayor. ‘You can either sign a bit of paper, or do it in the old way and shake my hand on it now. As a gentleman.’ The Mayor looked at Trundle’s hand, spit included, and took out his note pad. Charlie couldn’t read what was written on it but it seemed to please Mr Trundle, who popped it into his pocket and smiled as he parked the van and opened the door for the dogs to jump out. ‘Silly old fool,’ he said, ‘but we’ll have a good dinner tonight. Come on dogs. Let’s show them how it’s done.’

  ‘Tactics!’ shouted Charlie. ‘Strategy! Let’s get them back to Rat Hall, then old man Trundle can get the job of clearing them out again.’

  The dogs began work. They chased and chased. The rats would just have scattered, but the dogs wanted them to go back the way they’d come. By the time Charlie and his gang started, dozens had found their way into the refreshment tent, where members of the Women’s Institute stood no nonsense and chased them out again. They stayed longer in the gazebo where small babies were being judged by the Chairman of the Parish Council. Indeed there came a loud shriek from her as she found herself about to pin the winning badge onto a large rat. Another shriek echoed across the Green as the winning cake was found to include a young rat underneath its cover. The rats got in between the rails of the fairground rides and one or two dozen took a flying leap from the top of a giant blown up slide.

  A few took to the bouncy castle, and the particularly hungry ones aimed for the birds of prey. That was a mistake of course, but at least the owls got some breakfast.

  Arriving rather late with several of the Christie children, Timba was delighted to see such excitement. Being a clever dog however, he also saw that Charlie and his gang had taken on too much for four dogs. Some of the rats were being chased off the Green, but others were still coming. Timba decided to help his friends, and since the Christie children never remembered to put Timba on a lead, he left them and ran into battle. Timba, as we know, was very fast, and scared of nothing.

  ‘Where to?’ he called to Charlie, ‘what’s the plan?’

  ‘Rat Hall,’ called Charlie, ‘we need to get them back there.’

  ‘Right!’ Timba began work..

  But as Charlie paused to watch Timba working, he began to feel faint. He looked around the Green. What had he done? There were too many rats, and not enough dogs. And his fear of these horrid little creatures began to get the better of him. He started feeling scared again.

  To add to his troubles, he had seen that far from Mrs Featherstone leaving the scene as she’d appeared to be doing when Mr Trundle pointed her out to the Mayor, she had in fact stopped her car and was busy losing an argument with her daughter, who was half in and half out of the front seat. Her three Jack Russells appeared to waiting for instructions from the young girl.

  Meanwhile across the other side of the Green, a van was pulling in, looking for somewhere to park amongst the chaos. Inside was Brian Wilson, a look of determination on his face, and next to him sat Beattie, trembling.

  ‘Somewhere here, Beattie, is that so-called one-time assistant of mine,’ said Brian. ‘We’re going to find him, and we’re going to tell him what we think of him. How dare he treat you as he did! The Rescue people said they’d rarely seen a dog as scared and hungry as you were when the warden brought you in. And I thought he was looking after you all that time!’

  But Beattie didn’t want Brian to tell Darren what he thought of him. She knew better than Brian what Darren was really like. The two of them had driven out to Ogden Wash, it being Saturday, and Andy and Mike had told them that Darren had gone over to the East Foxmould show.

  ‘He said he was going to offer his help to the organisers,’ said Andy, ‘but more likely he was going to pick a few pockets. He’ll be leaving our cottage next week. Says he’s going to live in Scotland. Good luck to the Scots, we say.’

  Brian parked the van. ‘The beer tent I think,’ he said, ‘is where Darren will be. Come on little dog, we need to sort this out. I’ll look after you.’ He picked Beattie up and carried her across the Green.

  Brian was so determined to find Darren that he seemed not to notice that there were a zillion rats all over the place, but Beattie noticed and she was scared. The time she’d spent in Rat Hall, she realised, had made it unlikely that she’d ever make a ratter. She couldn’t stand the sight of them. Thank goodness she was with Brian and in Small Removals instead.

  As soon as they entered the beer tent they saw Darren. Leaning on the bar, kicking the occasional rat out of the way of his feet, he was drinking a pint of bitter and explaining to the harassed barman, who didn’t want to listen, that he had once been big in pest control.

  ‘Oh yes?’ Brian’s voice cut in. ‘Pest control? Is that what you call neglecting my poor little Jack Russell terrier, and not feeding her till the dog warden rescued her from the streets?’ (Obviously Brian knew nothing of Beattie’s time in Rat Hall.)

  ‘Ah! It’s you is it,’ said Darren, looking neither ashamed nor sorry. ‘That dog of yours bit me you might like to know! That’s what she did, and I still owe her for it. In fact, now that you’re here Brian, you’ve given me a chance to pay her back!’ And so saying, Darren took a lunge at Brian, who was so surprised that he fell back. His leg although mended was still weak, and for a moment he couldn’t get up again. And while he lay there looking confused, Darren leaned down and picked a horrified Beattie off the ground and hurried out of the tent with her.

  ‘Now I’ve got you!’ he said, ‘at last! Little Whatsyourstupidname. The trouble you’ve caused me! And I’ve just got time to teach you a lesson or two before that dozy Brian catches up with us. He didn’t expect that punch did he? Ha ha.’

  Beattie was terrified. She barked and howled as loudly as she could. ‘Help!’ she cried, and struggled to free her mouth from Darren’s grip so she could bite him again. She wriggled and tried to scratch him. ‘Help! Help!’ But this time Darren was ready for her and he hung on.

  From about twenty metres away Dora heard the familiar voice. What? Is that my Beattie? What can she be doing here? I’d know that cry anywhere. Dora left Emily and ran to investigate, but Charlie got there first.

  Charlie had been standing in a terrible dream, unable to join his gang. His fear of rats had got the better of him all over again, but he heard Beattie’s cries and recognised the little terrier to whom he’d been so unkind, locked now under the arm of a mean looking man who appeared to be making off with her. Quick as a flash he ran at Darren, first nipping him hard on the ankles and then leaping right up on his strong back legs, to bite the arm Beattie was held by. One bite, and then another. He was s
narling and snapping and Darren, so surprised that he dropped Beattie, could do nothing to fend him off.

  But Beattie was in shock, and fell to the ground unable to escape or even to move out of the way of the rats that were still all over the place, running around in confusion and biting whatever appeared in front of them. And Charlie could see that although Darren had run off in fear of being attacked by him again, Beattie was now in dire trouble from a group of rats that were about to go for her. A fallen helpless terrier they would attack. Without a thought for himself Charlie lunged himself at the rats surrounding the little dog, and he grabbed them and shook, one by one, until he’d either killed them or they ran away, and Beattie was safe again. Then he licked her frightened face and said, ‘I was horrible to you last time we met. I’m sorry. But you’ll be OK now.’

  Dora saw the whole thing. Torn between her delight at seeing her daughter again, her gratitude towards Charlie who had saved Beattie from that horrible man, and her realisation that Charlie was not a coward at all but an excellent ratter, she didn’t know what to think next.

  ‘Thank you thank you thank you,’ she said to Charlie. She gave Beattie a huge lick, as Brian came rushing out from the beer tent and picked Beattie up from the ground where she was still lying. ‘I’m so sorry Beattie,’ he said, ‘I should have expected something like that. But you’re safe now, and I reckon we’ll just let Darren go.’

  Dora followed Brian and called to Beattie, ‘Are you all right daughter? D’you want us to sort this man out too? I’m sure Charlie here will help.’ She looked at Charlie, who was happy to agree. In fact he felt ready for anything.

  It may seem strange to us that although Beattie had unexpectedly met her mother again and felt thrilled to have done so, she had no wish to return to her and her two sisters, but wanted only to continue her life with Brian. This is the way the world works for pets.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘Brian is a good man and he looks after me. There’s no time to tell you my story but I’m fine now. Give my love to Meg and Allie.’ And before anyone could say anymore about anything, Brian carried Beattie off and the two of them drove away happily to his flat in Birmingham. They never saw Darren again.

  Now Dora turned to Charlie. ‘There are too many rats here,’ she said, ‘you need some extra teeth.’ ‘Thanks,’ said Charlie, with relief. But I killed those rats!! I really did! He told himself then, and knew it was true, that his rat phobia had gone at last.

  A woman’s voice, loud and bossy, sounded across the Green.

  ‘Emily! Come here! Come here this minute!’

  Mrs Featherstone hadn’t wanted to leave the safety of her car, but had forced herself to come in search of Emily, who was of course with her terriers trying her best to help in the crisis. She was excited to have the chance to show off her girls, though even she was a little daunted by the size of the job that needed to be done. And she soon saw that she was hardly needed. Charlie and Dora, Snip, Spud, Herbie, Allie, Meg and Timba were all working together, and they were beginning to succeed.

  Mrs Featherstone marched into the beer tent.

  ‘What on earth is going on here? I thought this was a well-organised village entertainment, not a pest free-for-all. Who’s in charge here?’ She glared at the unfortunate barman, who shrugged and took no notice of her. In a corner of the bar she recognised Mr Trundle, who was sitting quietly with Mrs Nockerty, halfway through a pint of beer. She tackled him next.

  ‘Is this something to do with you? Have you brought these rats here? Somebody must have. They would hardly come by themselves!’

  ‘Well now, that’s where you’re wrong Missus,’ said Mr Trundle, ‘because rats, if they are not carefully controlled, will indeed pitch up wherever they like. Fetes, barbecues, town halls. Have you not read that Pied Piper story? Now had Hamlyn town employed a properly qualified pest expert to keep things under control in the first place, they might never have lost their children.’

  Mrs Featherstone failed to understand. ‘But what are you going to do about it? Have you got a pipe?’

  ‘Well,’ said Trundle, ‘personally I’m leaving it to my well- trained dogs. And looking out of the tent flap here, I see that your own girls are giving my boys a hand. What with the seven of them, and that handy little Border Terrier that lives near the pub, you will see that the ground is clearing, and that soon the fete will be able to get going again. Would you like a drink? Gin and tonic?’

  Mrs Featherstone was about to say that she did not want a drink but wanted something done, when she did as Mr Trundle advised and looked out through the tent flap. She saw that the ground was rapidly clearing, now that the dogs were working together. She saw her Dora and a tall Jack Russell pushing the rats away, with four, no, five dogs keeping them going in one direction. The fifth dog was Timba, but Mrs Featherstone had never noticed until today that terriers can look different from one another. Some are small and bandy legged, some tall, some rough coated and some smooth, and coats and ears can be any combination of colours. For the first time too, she saw that the dogs were working intelligently to solve the problem of the rats, and she looked at Mr Trundle with a new respect.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said.

  ‘Well now,’ he said, ‘how about that drink? And may I introduce you to Mrs Mabel Nockerty, who’s a good friend of mine and the owner of two of my dogs.’

  17

  East Foxmould Pest Control (Incorporated) (Any Pest Any Size)

  Autumn had arrived and the lanes around East Foxmould were running with water after two weeks of heavy rain. Fallen leaves blocked the ditches and narrowed the road so that Mr Trundle, always a slow and careful driver, was taking extra care today on his way to a very important ratting job. He pulled in where the lane widened a little, and waited.

  ‘Where is she then, Charlie boy?’ He asked his favourite Jack Russell, ‘we said 7.30 and I make it 7.32 already.’

  Charlie knew Mrs Featherstone would be there in a moment or two, because his ears were so much sharper than Mr Trundle’s and he’d heard her coming. She drove more slowly these days too. Charlie was looking forward to her arrival, and indeed to the whole day ahead. And here she was now.

  The sound of a horn round the corner, and Mrs Featherstone pulled up level with Mr Trundle and greeted him cheerfully.

  ‘Good morning! A bit damp but not cold. Shall I get the girls out? I’m sorry to ask you to pick them up like this but I need to get to the station by 8 o’clock.’ Mrs Featherstone climbed from her seat and opened the back door of her 4by4. Out jumped Dora, Allie and Meg. Mr Trundle got out too and opened the back doors of his van, and the three of them jumped in to join Charlie Snip Spud and Herbie. There was much tail wagging, and in the case of Spud and Allie, quite a few licks.

  ‘Mrs Christie asked if you could call on your way past her house,’ Mrs Featherstone said, ‘I saw her in the village shop yesterday and she told me you’re taking her Border Terrier. I understand that it’s going to be ‘all hands on deck’, so to speak. Sorry I can’t be there, but I have a train to catch as I said.’ Mrs Featherstone paused and smiled at Mr Trundle. ‘Actually I’m not sorry at all,’ she said. ‘I don’t like rats, and I’m very glad indeed that Emily will be safely in school today, though she’s bitterly disappointed of course. She tried to persuade me to let her have the day off if you please!’

  ‘Rat Hall’s not the best place for a child,’ Mr Trundle said, ‘even one as brave and clever as your Emily indeed. But if you like, I’ll take her out with me on some of my smaller jobs sometime. Maybe during the school holidays? Now that your dogs are working with mine so often. And if she’s determined to take over my business when she leaves school, I may as well train her up a bit, in time for my retirement.’

  Mrs Featherstone stared at him, then laughed nervously. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘you’re having a little joke with me I’m sure! Emily is definitely expected to pursue a career as an accountant. Her father and I decided that a long time ago.’


  ‘Whatever you say.’ Mr Trundle smiled and got back into his van. He winked at Charlie who hopped over to sit next to him in the front seat. An appropriate place for the gang leader, although Charlie made sure there was room for Dora too, should she wish to join him.

  ‘I’ll drop your girls home later when we’ve finished,’ called Mr Trundle, as Mrs Featherstone waved cheerfully and disappeared.

  ‘Here we go then boys and girls,’ the old man said. ‘It’s good to have all of you. We’ll just call and collect our Timba, then we’ll have everybody we need. Our complete team. And then it’s Rat Hall here we come, eh Charlie?’

  Yes, thought Charlie, Rat Hall, here we come! And just then, Dora jumped over to sit next to him in the front.

  The End