by Pete Johnson
‘Half past five!’ I cried. ‘Even roosters aren’t up that early.’
‘I’m afraid you will be,’ said Miss Weed. ‘Half past five sharp, tomorrow.’
‘As it’s your first night here, we’re letting you off your chores tonight,’ said Farmer Benson.
‘But I’d like to do some chores tonight,’ cried Zac. It was really hard to tell who was the biggest suck-up, him or Harriet.
After we’d taken it in turns to visit the outdoor lavvy, everyone – except Zac – trooped off to bed.
Harriet found our chamber pot and Mrs Benson had also placed a china wash bowl and a large jug of water on the washstand in our bedroom. This was for us to wash ourselves. I started muttering more to myself than to Harriet, ‘Talk about living in the old days.’
Suddenly I thought longingly of my bedroom – and my mum. About now we’d be— but I immediately stopped thinking about all that and told myself I was being a wimp. I only had to stick it out here for three weeks, and if I could swallow a plateful of raw cabbage salad, I could put up with anything.
Then I noticed something hideous, apart from Harriet. Deep black material had been plastered all over the window. ‘Why on earth have they done that?’ I demanded.
‘This is to protect us in the night,’ replied Harriet. ‘For one little chink of light could guide an enemy bomber to us. Do you understand that?’ she added, as if I was completely thick.
A couple of minutes later Miss Weed came in and told us to switch the lights out. And then our room was plunged into darkness: heavy, thick darkness which seemed to loom over me. Suddenly I felt shut in. Trapped.
I jumped up into the bed, my heart racing.
‘Now what’s wrong, noisy?’ asked Harriet.
‘Oh, nothing, it’s just that the blackout makes this room so dark.’
‘People had to put up with it exactly like this in the war, and for years and years too,’ said Harriet in such a patronizing voice that I snapped.
‘I know, but I haven’t been in the war before. This is all new to me and I was just commenting that I don’t like it as dark as this.’
Then Harriet started making chicken noises. She really was a total idiot.
‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll punch your lights out.’ Then I stopped in alarm. I’d only been here a few hours and already I was starting a row.
But luckily Harriet thought I was joking and she put her head back and laughed. ‘Proper little firebrand, aren’t you? I shall have to watch you.’
‘Yes,’ I said feebly, biting my tongue like mad.
‘Still, it’s all good, babe, isn’t it! It’s all good.’ And she laughed again. One of her really loud ones which bounced all round the room.
I closed my eyes tight and thought, If I were given the choice of sharing a room with Harriet or a family of cockroaches – the cockroaches would win every single time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
News of the Other Evacuees
Zac
IT HAD BEEN a fantastic evening, but the best part was definitely assisting Farmer Benson with his chores.
Cold dark rain had been beating against the windows all evening, but now it had finally stopped, so the air felt magically fresh and clear. And there were so many other smells too all mixed up together, like chickens and straw, and yes, all right, manure.
I breathed them all in as deeply as I could, while Farmer Benson told me that in the morning I could collect the eggs and he’d teach me how to milk a cow. Next, I helped him check none of the rooms were showing a light.
‘In the war,’ I said, ‘neighbours threw stones at the windows of people who kept on showing lights.’
‘Well, I never knew that before,’ said Farmer Benson. ‘You’re a mine of information about those days, aren’t you?’
He sounded highly impressed. And that’s when I started playing a brand-new game. I began pretending I wasn’t just here for three weeks for a TV show. No, I was a proper evacuee and this was going to be my home for years and years. I loved imagining that. It made me feel my life was all sorted out.
Then I asked a question. ‘Earlier, you started telling us something about the other evacuees . . . what was that?’
‘Well, it’s supposed to be a surprise,’ said Farmer Benson. ‘But I don’t suppose the world will spin off its axis if I tell you. We’re having a bit of a get-together on Sunday for some of the people who were evacuated here seventy years ago. And we’re hoping both the lads who lived on this farm will be amongst them.’
‘That’s incredible!’ I cried. ‘To meet the very evacuees who lived on this farm all those years ago.’
‘I must look out those pictures of the two boys for you . . . although they’ll have changed quite a bit since then, I’m sure. Anyway, you’d better get off or Miss Weed will be after me. We have an early start tomorrow, you know.’
I sped up those stairs and was on the way to my bedroom when I heard Solly Seal call out, ‘Hey, Zachedimus or whatever your name is, come in here.’
I went into Solomon and Barney’s tiny but excellent bedroom (I would have loved that room myself). Barney was in bed. And Solly was perched on his arm. In that dim light Solly seemed more real than ever.
‘Now, what,’ asked Solly, tilting his head to one side, ‘have you been doing?’
‘Oh, just having a look round the farm. You’re very lucky being able to bring Solly with you, Barney.’
‘I insisted,’ said Barney. ‘I said, if you want me you must have my comedy partner too.’
‘Actually,’ called out Solly in his cheeky, high-pitched voice, ‘I was the one they really wanted.’
‘I also,’ said Barney, ‘gave out strict instructions that Solomon must never be put away in a cupboard or a drawer, because he couldn’t breathe in there. So if ever he’s not with me he must be allowed to lie on my bed or sit out on a table.’
‘And how long,’ I asked, ‘have you two been together?’
Solly leaned his chin onto Barney’s hand as if he was about to say something soppy, but then snapped, ‘Too long.’
‘It’s nearly a year now,’ said Barney. ‘And Dad says I’m as good as most professionals now.’
‘Is your dad a ventriloquist too?’ I asked.
‘No, he’s a clown: Mr Carrothead. I expect you’ve heard of him.’
I hadn’t, but I nodded as if I had and said, ‘That must be so good having a dad who’s a clown; mine just works in an office.’
‘So did mine, once,’ said Barney, ‘but he hated it so much he decided to follow his dream instead; never looked back since then. He has masses of requests. Sometimes he’ll do eight children’s parties in a week. He says entertaining is in his blood. It’s in mine too.’
‘So you’re going to follow in his footsteps?’ I said, fascinated by all this.
‘Well, my dad takes me along to a lot of his gigs now. And I help him a lot,’ he added proudly. I felt a rush of envy then. It must be great sharing something with your dad like that.
‘But I couldn’t go out on stage on my own,’ said Barney. ‘I need someone else with me.’
‘Is it hard being a ventriloquist?’ I asked.
Barney replied, ‘Speaking without moving your lips takes a lot of practice. Ps and Bs are the hardest. So never call your vent Peter – it will sound like “Eater”. But I don’t like talking about this in front of Solly.’
‘That’s because,’ said Solly, ‘I’m the brains of the outfit.’
Barney grinned affectionately at his seal. ‘I really think you are.’ I found myself smiling at the seal too.
Solly’s head leaned forward as if he was about to tell me something confidential. ‘We’re waiting for our big break,’ he began. ‘In fact, we’re hoping this might be it.’
Then Miss Weed called up the stairs: ‘Lights off in two minutes.’
‘Hey, I’d better go.’ I grinned. ‘Goodnight, you two.’ And I darted into my bedroom.
Leo was already in bed. �
�Enjoy doing your chores, did you?’ He made that one sentence sound so mocking. I really wished I was sharing with Barney and Solly, rather than him.
Then Miss Weed opened our door and said she was switching our lights off now. After she’d gone Leo asked me, ‘So, are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Oh, very much. It’s just so atmospheric. And now we’re lying in a room with not one trace of light in it – exactly as they would have done seventy years ago. So that’s fantastic.’ Then I added, ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Very nearly,’ said Leo, ‘because everything is just so weird.’
I had a feeling he thought I was weird too, but I didn’t care. And I wouldn’t let him spoil tonight, so I didn’t say anything else.
Outside I could hear some twittering and rustlings. There must be a bird’s nest above our window. And then a cow started mooing loudly and indignantly. It was all so different from the sounds of life at Aunt Sara’s, on an estate packed tightly with houses and people. And me on a camp-bed in a room that wasn’t even a bedroom.
It was what Aunt Sara called in the daytime her study. At night I’d lie there aching for my old life and my mum. The ache never left me either, it went on gnawing away at me all night. But that all belonged to my past, because I was never going back to Aunt Sara’s again.
That last thought just popped into my head. Then I said it to myself again: ‘I am never going back to Aunt Sara’s. This is where I live now.’
I was still pretending, of course. Only now the dream seemed to totally surround me, making me believe the most incredible things could really happen.
Finally I drifted off to sleep. A bit later, though, I woke with a start. I could hear something. I peered into the darkness. Someone was crouched out there in the darkness.
A vampire.
That was my first thought, because I’d had a few dreams about them recently: really horrible ones. Only they don’t exist. But someone was actually there in the corner of my room.
I slowly, cautiously, scrambled out of bed and edged towards the figure.
And then I got such a nasty shock.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We’re in a Time Slip
Zac
I WAS TOO shocked to even speak at first.
Then I whispered softly but accusingly, ‘You’re texting someone.’
And without a flicker of shame Leo looked up. ‘That’s right; smuggled this little baby past them all. They never looked in my—’
‘I don’t want to hear,’ I cried.
‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed.
I stood in front of him accusingly. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s against the rules.’
‘Ah, but I’m a rule-breaker,’ said Leo. ‘You show me a rule and I just have to smash it. Now you go back to sleep and let me continue my illegal activities in peace.’
Instead, I moved even closer to him and whispered, ‘We’re in the war years now and texting hasn’t even been invented.’
Leo looked at me. ‘If we’re really in the war years . . .’
‘We really are.’
‘Then I haven’t been born yet. So I can do whatever I want as I’m not actually here. Problem solved. Now, let me get back to texting my pet rabbit. He’s not been eating his lettuce because he’s missing me so much.’
‘Who are you really texting?’
‘Ah, you’re too clever for me. All right, I’m not texting my rabbit at all. I’m texting my mum and dad and bringing a little excitement into their dull lives. I’ll text yours too, if you like.’
My voice rose. ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t allow this. You’re destroying the whole wartime atmosphere.’ Then quite suddenly I leaped forward and snatched the mobile phone from him. I surprised myself nearly as much as him. ‘I’m keeping this until we return,’ I said.
‘Until we return!’ Leo shook his head. ‘We haven’t boarded a time machine, you know. You can’t actually re-wind time.’
‘Oh, yes, you can,’ I cried. ‘We’re in another zone completely. So don’t spoil it. We might never get another chance like this.’
‘Earth to Zac,’ he shouted. ‘This is still 2009 and we’re just in a reality show – a pretty rubbish one too, if you ask me. Now come on’ – his voice rose to a snarl – ‘give me my property back this very second, or else.’ And he smacked his fists together ominously.
‘I’m sensing definite hostility now,’ I said. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘And do you want a smack in the mouth?’
I really didn’t. But I also felt extremely strongly about this. ‘I’m sorry, but you had no business coming on this mission if you won’t abide by the rules and—’
‘Shut up,’ he interrupted suddenly, urgently. And then I heard it too, a creaking sound outside our door. I hastily flung the wretched mobile under my pillow, just as the door swung open.
Miss Weed, in a big green dressing gown and pink slippers, peered in at us suspiciously. ‘What on earth is going on here?’ she demanded.
And quick as a flash, Leo said, ‘Didn’t you hear us calling? We both need to perform Number Twos urgently.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she replied. ‘I apologize for not hearing you sooner. Now put your coats on and then quietly come downstairs. I shall make appropriate arrangements.’ Then she rushed off.
Leo stared at me. ‘You weren’t planning to give me away, were you?’
‘No, of course not,’ I said. Appalled as I was by his conduct, I couldn’t do that. I had my principles – and not snitching was definitely one of them.
‘Good, let’s get performing then.’
Miss Weed was waiting for us with Farmer Benson. ‘Mr Benson has kindly agreed to assist you,’ she said, before going back downstairs.
If Farmer Benson was annoyed at being woken in the middle of the night, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘Now, boys, glad to see you’re wrapped up, as it’s surprisingly cold tonight. Normally I’d have a torch to guide us—’
‘But you can’t tonight because enemy aircraft might see our light,’ I interrupted eagerly.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘So as it’s so dark, I shall lead you there and I’m going to ask you, Zac, if you will be so kind as to hold onto my shoulder and Leo, will you take a firm grip of Zac’s shoulder? It’s a very black night. But don’t worry, I know this farm like the back of my hand, and so will you once you’ve been here a few days. Right, off we go.’
Shuffling forward, we set off. Leo suddenly burst out laughing.
‘Yes, this does have its comical side,’ said Farmer Benson. ‘In fact, I feel as if we’re performing some kind of late-night party game.’ He started laughing too then: a loud, deep rumble of a laugh. Soon I was joining in as well.
‘I hope Miss Weed doesn’t hear us,’ said Farmer Benson and somehow that thought made us laugh even louder.
At last we reached our totally unnecessary destination, Farmer Benson swung the lavatory door open. ‘It’s really quite comfortable.’
‘Loving it already,’ said Leo.
Then I had to pretend to use the lavatory too, and we shuffled back in the same fashion, giggling away as we went.
‘Well, it’s been a little adventure, hasn’t it?’ said Farmer Benson. ‘Now sleep tight, both of you – and no more laughing,’ he added, even though he’d been the one who’d started us off.
Upstairs I said, ‘Farmer Benson really is jolly decent.’
‘Jolly decent,’ echoed Leo mockingly. ‘Why are you speaking like that? Oh, don’t tell me – because we’re in 1939. Well, be jolly decent and give me my phone back.’
‘Do you promise not to use it again?’
‘No.’
‘Then I can’t let you have it back.’
‘If I fight you, I’ll win,’ he said.
‘I’m sure you will,’ I agreed, ‘as I’ve never been in a fight before, and don’t know the basics. But I feel so strongly about thi
s . . .’
‘All right,’ he cried wearily. ‘I promise. Now hand it over.’
I dug the mobile out from under my pillow and he grabbed it.
‘So how did you smuggle it in?’ I asked.
‘Easy,’ he replied. Then he picked up the book he’d brought in: a huge, fat one called Arthur Mee’s Encyclopaedia. ‘Look inside,’ he said.
I did, and then gasped. A massive hole had been cut inside it.
‘Took me ages,’ Leo said.
‘It must have,’ I cried.
‘But it’s a very snug hiding place for my mobile,’ he said. And the phone did fit perfectly into the hole he had specially cut.
‘You took such a risk, though,’ I said. ‘Anyone could have opened this book up and examined it.’
He grinned. ‘I know, but that’s what makes life great, isn’t it?’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘I’ll tell you something else. If they ever find this, I’ll be evicted quicker than you can say “Miss Weed rocks”. But don’t worry, they never will.’
CHAPTER NINE
Life with Harriet
Izzy
IT TOOK ME ages to get to sleep that night. The old-fashioned nightie I had on seemed to weigh a ton, the bed was hard and, as I mentioned before, the room was far too dark. But I’d finally just drifted off when Harriet shook me awake again.
‘What time is it?’ I gasped, thinking it was time to get up already.
‘Just gone half past three.’
‘What!’ I shrieked.
‘I’ve been so worried about you,’ she said, ‘and the strange noises you’ve been making.’
I blinked at her. ‘What noises?’
‘Oh, you’ve been snoring away for ages . . . and so loudly. I just thought you’d like to know, because I don’t think snoring is very healthy, is it?’
I sat up in bed. ‘Excuse me, but I don’t snore.’
‘Oh, you certainly do.’ She gave a high, tinkling laugh. ‘You snore just like my grandad; reminded me of him actually, only not quite as bad. He actually makes the windows rattle.’