—
Richard found the two boys parading up and down the street of small houses near the river. Simon followed James, pushing an old baby carriage painted khaki and covered in military insignias. In front of one of the houses a woman swept the path.
Richard got off his bike, saluted them both, and looked in the carriage. He picked out one of the empty Sweet Caporal cigarette packets and frowned. “You’re not smoking are you?”
“No, sir,” James said. “We keep them for the aircraft identification pictures on the back.”
Richard tousled the boy’s hair. “I’ll make sure you get a few more from the men before we leave,” he said with a smile.
“Are you heading to Germany?” Simon asked with wide eyes.
“Just more training,” Richard replied. He reached inside his battledress jacket. “On behalf of the Canadian Army,” Richard said, “I am to present each of you with a regulation forage cap.” Richard had also put a pack of chewing gum inside each cap. “I haven’t got anything for Billy, but I will find him something suitable later.” He lifted a leg over his bike. “I expect a salute, me being the senior officer of this army.”
“Yes sir,” both boys chorused. They stuffed their gum into their pockets, put on their hats, and gave him their best salute.
“I’ve also got a special assignment,” he said, beckoning them closer. “Top secret.”
The boys huddled around.
“There are rumours that dignitaries will be coming to visit.”
The boys snapped to attention with bright eyes.
“I need you two right at the front of the lines, for any possible attempt on their lives.”
The boys nodded with furrowed brows.
The woman in front of the house a few doors down stopped sweeping and leaned on her broom. “Are you the same soldier who drove the truck out of my sister’s back garden?”
Richard looked up in surprise. “But I …” he stuttered.
“My boys haven’t stopped talking about you since they came home,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Carole Hunter,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come in for a cuppa.”
As Richard stepped onto a multi-coloured rag rug covering the linoleum floor, Billy came in from the kitchen. The dog paused by Richard’s knee for a moment and then lay down in front of him, curled up with his snout resting on his haunches.
“I’m very sorry about the damage done to your sister’s garden,” Richard said.
“Don’t give it another thought,” she said, indicating he was to sit. Crocheted doilies covered the backs of all the sitting room chairs. “You drove the truck out, not in. Billy has probably done more damage to the gardens around here than that army truck.”
“Dig a lot, do you?” Richard asked the dog.
The dog lifted his head, studied Richard’s face for a moment, and then put it down again.
“Nope,” James said, sitting on the floor beside the collie. “He chases airplanes, knocking anyone and anything out of the way.”
“He doesn’t bother with cars but he makes sure those planes head right back out to sea, don’t you Billy?” Simon said, rubbing the dog’s neck with affection. “Billy can sense them before anyone else can even hear them.”
“Most people do not appreciate Billy’s efforts at preventing an invasion,” Mrs. Hunter said on her way into the kitchen.
“He goes after our planes as well,” Simon said. “Billy has sent many women’s shopping baskets flying.”
“And sent people on bicycles flying,” James added. “Mr. Harrison fell in a heap of horse manure,” he reminded his brother with a giggle.
“Billy is better than any old air raid siren,” Simon said.
“That’s why I figured the plane circled back, without its engine,” James said. “Billy’s nose kept pointing at the ceiling and he barked like mad.”
“Why does he do it?” Richard asked.
“He thinks he’s working,” Mrs. Hunter said, returning with two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits.
“Working?” Richard repeated.
“He belongs to my uncle, but when he went off to war, we took Billy until he comes home,” James explained. “He’s used to herding sheep, so he tries to herd the airplanes instead.”
“I suppose I could write the German Air Force,” the boys’ mother said with a wry smile. “I could ask them to stop directing flights over our village.”
“Call the British Ministry of Aviation,” Richard suggested, enjoying the puzzled looks on the faces of two boys, not understanding the humour of their joke.
“Border Collies are happiest with a job,” Mrs. Hunter said, handing Richard one of the steaming cups. “It’s sad business trying to keep him inside.”
“You can’t just tie him up?” Richard asked, picking up a biscuit from the plate.
“We’ve tried tying him to the tree, but he breaks free,” James explained. He fed the dog a small piece of his biscuit.
Mrs. Hunter shot him a glance of disapproval. “And we don’t want to tie him so tight he’d strangle.”
“Billy is so smart,” Simon said. “Billy,” he said to the dog. “Introduce yourself.”
The collie jumped up, trotted forward, and did a bow. Simon waved his hand and the dog dropped to the floor. The boy turned his hand palm up and the dog rolled on his back, put his paws in the air and froze.
“Ask him if he’s dead,” Simon whispered.
“Are you dead, Billy?” Richard asked with a wide grin.
The dog lifted his head and gave a long low howl that sounded like, “Nooooo.”
Richard laughed. He patted his knee. “Come here boy,” he said. But the dog did not respond.
James covered his mouth and blew into his hand. The dog jumped up, walked to the front of the hearth and lay down. James removed the wedge-shaped mouth whistle from his hand and handed it to Richard.
“Have you had to pay anyone for damages?” Richard asked as he examined the whistle.
“Not yet,” she said with a shake of her head, “but I can see it coming.”
“Does everyone have a clothesline in their backyard?” Richard asked.
Mrs. Hunter nodded.
Richard had an idea. The longer Billy’s run, the less damage he’d do, but first he’d talk to Jack and Swipes. Ted, Richard knew, wouldn’t bother.
With the addition of a few poles, Richard, Swipes, and Jack were able to hook up a separate line with a lead that ran the full distance of all the backyards. Billy could now run back and forth, chasing his plane and saving them all from attack.
—
Dear Amy,
I had a ringside seat the other night at a large air battle. It seemed like thousands of planes overhead, but who could count, they were moving so fast and in all directions. Planes, both ours and theirs, were falling all over the place. Some crashed and exploded. Other planes flew away trailing smoke. The officers warned us to take cover, because of spent shell cases falling, but we all thought it was more fun to sit on the edge of the trench and watch. The Hurricanes shot down more enemy aircraft than all other defences combined.
The other day I met a dog that thinks he is protecting his family by chasing airplanes. I would love to get a dog like that when I get home.
I thought you would enjoy this newspaper article. You can take it to the Ladies’ Auxiliary.
Richard folded the small column Mrs. Hunter had pointed out to him in the evening news and put it inside the envelope. He had marked one of the paragraphs.
When the Mayor made an appeal for knit articles for the men serving the forces, everyone dug out their needles. Ninety-year-old Hilda Arnold saw an opportunity of doing her bit in a quiet way and applied for wool. So far she has knitted sixty-five pairs of socks, seven scarves, five pullovers, and filled a special request for sea boot stockings. Both her sons served in the last World War and are now with the Home Guard.
What Richard didn’t say was they were on their way to relieve the
8th Army Field Regiment at Banstead Park. Not far from Croydon, they would concentrate on firing practice at the Larkhill Artillery Ranges, home to the Royal School of Artillery and the twenty-five-pounder field gun.
Chapter 20
The Rabbits of Stonehenge
Dear Richard,
Tommy took your letter to school. He has been writing you the same letter since you went overseas but keeps rubbing out and changing it.
I knitted two more pairs of socks and sent them last week. Mr. Black says that the quartermaster might be giving other people your socks if the parcel doesn’t have the right address, but my letters get to you. I even write the word SOCKS on top so no one will think I am a spy.
When you save daylight where does it go? My father always says the point of saving is to earn interest. Does that make the days more interesting?
I hope you are making more money than a quartermaster.
Amy
—
The days of May brought orders of spit and polish for a special inspection.
“Who do you think it’s going to be?” Richard asked as he worked at shining his buttons.
“Could be General Gamelin,” Jack said. “He’s a bigwig in the French army.”
“Or Old Ironsides,” Ted said.
Soon the news of King George’s visit was on everybody’s lips. The people of the village talked nonstop about finding suitable positions for viewing. Richard read the posted duty sheet, delighted to learn he was to link up with the King’s entourage after his early morning patrol and escort them into camp.
“Take your mother to the knoll just outside the barracks for your security watch,” Richard told James and Simon that morning after his patrol. “I’ll expect a salute as I pass.”
The day of the visit, the newspaper entourage established themselves in their pre-arranged places. Richard parked his bike in the middle of the village crossroads to stop traffic. Everyone chattered and talked as they waited for the royals.
Richard joined the motorcycles in front of the car to lead them into camp, just as a flashbulb popped in his face. He couldn’t wink at the boys because of his owl-like goggles, but he nodded. At the sound of the cheers behind him, Richard knew they had seen the King’s car. The regiments waited for inspection on three sides of the parade square along with their two new twenty-five-pounder field guns.
Queen Elizabeth greeted the troops in a plain cloth coat, wool gloves, and a jaunty hat that looked like a squashed plate. King George wore an army commander cap. Richard envied his fur collared coat and soft leather gloves.
The band played as they inspected the line. Richard’s chest stirred and he held his head high. King George gave a speech with long pauses between his words and the gunners gave three lusty cheers for their colonel-in-chief.
Richard overheard some of the newspaper men’s comments as they broke rank.
“Their drill showed a little roughness,” one said.
“They’ve not been mobilized for very long.”
“They look like a clean-cut bunch of guys,” another said in an American accent.
—
The day after the inspection, the regiment proceeded in convoy to the Salisbury Plains. No one would have believed it was an army on the move with its strange collection of furniture vans, delivery trucks, and buses. The men went into tents across from the ancient Stonehenge ruins. Soldiers sweltering in wool uniforms filled the air with the smell of tobacco and loud stories. Once settled, they stood about their small fires in various states of undress. Cans of tea brewed. Shirts and socks hung on makeshift lines. Then blackout came into effect, fires extinguished, lamps out, and headlights off.
Richard and Jack sat on the brow of the hill that separated them from the stone circle of Stonehenge, listening to the small scuffling sounds in the grass around them. The moonlight revealed the slopes of the small hills surrounding the stones to be honeycombed with burrows. There were rabbits everywhere.
Richard had the eerie sensation they had moved back in time to what it was like hundreds of years ago when the stones were raised. During the day, they looked like ordinary stones, the kind you’d find in the Niagara gorge. But after dark, they seemed to take on a mysterious faint glow from the moon.
“What are those huge stones?” he asked.
“Something to do with Druids,” Jack said with a shrug.
“What’s a Druid?”
“People that dance about in the moonlight,” Jack said as he headed off to his tent.
Richard looked up at the battalions of stars that revealed themselves in the night sky. The total blackness didn’t bother him. He didn’t miss traffic signals, or the neon signs of Niagara Falls. His home town was nothing but noise, movement, and excitement. Richard thought about the quietness of the farms along the Niagara River until the hardness of the ground on his bottom made him get up. He left wondering if the stones would still be standing after the war.
—
Fargo camp was a collection of bell tents that held six to eight men. At the end of each battery’s tent line, the civilian drivers lived in a huge marquee. It reminded Richard of the circus tent that appeared at home on Stamford Green every July.
The drivers thought working for the Canadians was a lark; paid to drive by day, playing poker, dice, and any other game they could bet money on by night. Swipes and Ted were forever sneaking to the ends of the lines to get into a game.
Richard’s evening entertainment was visiting the stones. The rabbits left their burrows and crossed the plain like drops of brown ink. Once Richard watched an eagle wing low, as rigid as a fighter plane. The rabbits darted but one didn’t get away from the sharp talons. He heard it scream as it went into the air.
—
Dear Tommy,
Straight across the road from our tents there are some very strange stones. They have been standing up the same way in a circle for centuries. During the day the stones are quiet, but at night they swarm with thousands of rabbits. There are so many it looks as if the ground is moving. I don’t know how they survive because there is hardly any grass or leaves left around our huge town of tents and machinery.
When I go over at night the rabbits scatter, but then they come back. I am practicing moving so they won’t notice.
There is a new army scheme starting next week. I chose mathematics and mechanical arts courses for a start. I’ll be able to get a credit to make up for the school I left behind.
Here’s a joke for you to tell your friends. Why is it that whenever Mussolini goes to the movies, he always sits in a front row seat? Because it is the only way he’s sure to have the Italians behind him.
Your army pal,
Richard
—
Richard spent most of his time laying telephone lines to the pill box observation posts along the coast. As a signaller he had to know exactly where the lines travelled and how to fix them.
“Break in the line,” a gunner from headquarters called into his tent as he parted the tent’s canvas door. The open flap let in the sharp scent of wet grass.
“It figures,” Richard replied with wind howling in his ears. As the storm intensified it would become a blustery wet night. “Who’s driving maintenance?” he asked as he buttoned up.
“Billington’s waiting,” the soldier told him. “Glad it’s you and not me.”
The windows of the truck fogged up as sheets of rain smeared the road over the downs. Ted flung the truck around curves, lurching one way and the other. He worked the clutch wheels and brakes heedless of their sound. Richard hung on as each thumping bounce threatened to catapult him out of his seat. The truck finally skidded in the saturated ground and fishtailed to a stop. Ted settled behind the wheel and pulled his cap down over his eyes. “Wake me when you’re done,” he said with a smirk.
As Richard stepped from the cab, the nearby bushes rustled. Something Mr. Black said to him at the train station floated to mind. “Step carefully and always swing a long stick.” Ri
chard remembered Amy’s peal of laughter at his strange advice, but the sounds of rustling bushes made him decide to follow it.
He cut a short, stout branch from a tree. Richard hung his black-out light at the end of the branch and swung it from side to side as he walked. Everywhere there were rabbits. Once he found the break in the line, Richard repaired it. He waited beneath a small bridge for a moment to get out of the driving rain. When the moon came out from behind the clouds, the river beside the road glistened. Richard watched hundreds of wild rabbits nibble the grass along the banks.
From the radio set in the bed of the truck, he called the next outpost. They confirmed his message; the line was good. He could now get out of the rain and back under his blankets. Richard stepped into the cab and shivered.
“Got just the thing for you,” Ted said, handing him a silver bottle that looked as if it had been flattened by a train. “Take a swig, it’ll warm you up.”
Richard lifted it to his lips and took a cautious sip.
“Drink like a man,” Ted said with a growl and tipped the flask up from the bottom.
The fiery medicine-like liquid raced down Richard’s throat and landed in his stomach like a bomb. He coughed and choked as Ted took back the flask.
Ted tipped it up, swallowed with a gulp, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve watched you take lessons in everything the army has to offer,” he said with a wicked grin, “except drinking.” Ted offered the flask again.
“No,” Richard stammered. “No thanks.” He rolled down the window for some cool air. Whatever was in that flask, it seemed to warm the entire cab. “You should have seen all the rabbits,” Richard commented. “There must be thousands.”
Ted pulled up from his slouched position and pushed open the door. From the back of the truck he pulled out a roll of canvas. Richard jumped out to see what he was doing. Ted unrolled the canvas and reached for the sector’s Bren gun. He unbuttoned his battledress jacket and placed the automatic weapon into the sling across his chest.
Kid Soldier Page 10