Bomber Overhead

by Graveyard Greg

  Chapter 9

  He was lucky. The Burnett's were late with lunch, mainly because of their forced guests. Nancy wasn't too well and both women fussed over her and that threw lunch time off schedule. Mrs. Martha Burnett served soup and bread. She and Astrid Burnett brought the bowls in to the dining room ready filled. Everyone crowded around the table. Jeffery was forced to eat at one small corner while he balanced on a stool. He wished they could eat out in the kitchen as normal and wondered if their eating in the dining room had something to do with his soup appearing to be a lot thinner than everybody else's.

  He ate hungrily as the two Mr. Burnetts discussed the war, the bombing and the awful air raid on Coventry the previous Monday. Gordon put in an occasional word, but mostly they ignored him. The two Mrs. Burnetts sitting at the far end of the table buzzed on with local news as they tried to coax Nancy to eat.

  After lunch, with nothing to do and no place to sit for a quiet read, what with all the guests, he decided to return Arthur's gasmask box. He still carried his own gas mask, unlike most everybody else in the village. He'd heard people say that the Germans wouldn't use gas on civilian populations because of the fear of retaliation. But nobody said anything if you carried your gas mask, which is why he didn't ever feel silly with his own box slung over his shoulder.

  He went up the street toward the station, but did not cross the main road the way he would have if he'd been going to school. Instead he swung left across the railway bridge and past the poster covered hoarding that blocked people from climbing over the fence at the railway bridge. New posters had recently been put up to replace those that were worn or defaced. One of those that had been renewed was his favourite about the Battle of Britain. It showed a row of fighter pilots looking upwards to a blue sky and a Spitfire fighter flying over. Above the poster were the words: "NEVER HAS SO MUCH BEEN OWED BY SO MANY TO SO FEW"

  Every time he saw it he thought of those days. They seemed so long ago, but they weren't really. Only a few months ago German planes had come over in the broad daylight not fearing the RAF. But it hadn't been so easy for them. Spitfire and Hurricane fighters had attacked them and shot down a lot of them in what the newspapers and the wireless called the Battle of Britain. Many of the German pilots and crew bailed out and parachuted to earth where the police or the army captured them. Jeffery had never seen a parachute himself, but Peter and Arthur claimed to have seen one in the distance.

  He knew many German planes had been shot down. He saw often trailers sat parked alongside the lower edge of The Green loaded with the remains of a downed Heinkel or Dornier bomber. Nobody worried if people went right up and touched them. Jeffery liked to do that; he'd walk around trying to find a bit that was loose that he could pry off for a souvenir. One thing really puzzled him, though, was that sometimes the manufacturer's name stamped on the tires said DUNLOP, and alongside that other words in German. He plain didn't understand that. British cars and lorries had tires made by Dunlop. Dunlop was a British firm that made British tires. One of these days he'd have to find someone who knew to tell him what that was all about. Peter may have been able to find out from his brother George, but now that they were both gone he didn’t know who he could ask. He did ask Arthur, but for once the puzzle stumped him too. Maybe one day, if the opportunity arose, he'd ask Mr. Jones.

  Jeffery knew, of course, that British fighters had been shot down as well. Messerschmitt or Focke-Wulf fighters always flew with the German bombers. He'd often seen the little dots high in the air of British and German fighter aircraft circling each other and leaving white streamers behind. He'd knew they had to stay high to avoid running into the long cables of the Barrage Balloons. That was what the balloons were for, keeping the bombers high up. Headmaster Perkins son had been a fighter pilot, and he'd been shot down over the English Channel. He was missing and presumed dead. An actor in civilian life, early in the war he'd brought his acting company to the Church Hall to put on a Shakespeare play for the students. Jeffery, like most of the students, hadn't fully understood it, but it had been interesting. They never saw the ending, though. The air raid sirens had begun their wailing and everybody was sent home. Come to think of it, that was the start of the Battle of Britain.

  Ginger's father was in the services, too. He was a seaman in the Royal Navy, serving on a destroyer. Poor Ginger didn't really know where he was and worried about him. He was somewhere abroad, off at sea, her mother said in the letters, which didn't come often. Her mother was in the WRNS.

  He had been walking all the time as he daydreamed about the past few months. Suddenly realized he had reached The Green just across from Marwell Manor and the hostel. He hurried along the path and into the grounds. When he reached the door he rang the bell. As usual, Betsy appeared.

  "What do you want?"

  "I want to come in and see Arthur."

  "He's not in."

  "Where is he then?"

  "I'm sure I don't know? Do you think I keep track of all those little rag-a-muffins? That's not my job."

  "Is Jimmy…?" The door closed sharply in his face. Betsy would have probably slammed it had that not been against house rules. He thought about going around the back to see if any of the other children were about, but that was forbidden for visitors by themselves, He didn't want to be barred from visiting the hostel. Still carrying Arthur's gasmask box, uncertain of what to do with it he walked back down to the main gate. There two of the hostel girls stood chatting and giggling. "Have you seen Arthur?" He asked.

  "The Colonel took him and some of the others for a walk down to the canal," one of them said, and then they were gone and he'd forgotten to ask them to give Arthur his box.

  It was still early and there was nothing to do back at his billet. He decided to go for a walk in the small wooded area across the road from All Saint's Church. He tucked Arthur's box out of sight under a bush just inside the small gate meaning to come back for it before he went to his billet. He had a particular fondness for the woods. During the first spring after the evacuation, the temporary school he attended had organized nature walks for the children. It wasn't that they'd never seen grass or trees, but their being used to only the carefully kept city parks meant they'd never seen wild, natural beauty. At first they'd gone for walks around the perimeter of The Green. Along the edges of The Green cottages sat just back from the edge. Some of these had small orchards.

  At one of these, a woman called Mrs. Vaux had come out and spoken to the teacher in charge. Then she went away and came back with a box of apples. One each for the children. Later they started going down to the woods where, for one glorious two week period in May, Bluebells in profusion had covered the floor of the woods. There were thousands of them thrusting tall stalks up from the centre of lush green leaves. Each stalk bore large numbers of small, bell-shaped blue blooms hanging down the stems. The whole woods smelled as if a bottle of expensive perfume, much like that worn by the fine ladies he'd seen in London department stores, had been spilled. But the organized walks had been during the 'Phony War', before the fall of France, before the Dunkirk evacuation of the army from France, before the Battle of Britain and the Blitz. Life was harder now, for everybody.

  There were no flowers to be seen in mid-November. He didn't mind and shuffled through the leaves that covered the ground. At the far side of the woods he came out onto a dirt road and turned left. That would take him back to his billet. There an intersecting side road came up from a farm. Across the road from the woods, a house with a high wooden fence stood on the corner. As he neared the intersection, Gordon came up the side road. With him were Tommy Thorne from the hostel, and another village boy whose name he did not know.

  An evil grin split Tommy Thorne's lips. "'Allo, 'allo. Look who's here." His eyes held the glassy hardness that Jeffery had come to fear. "What you doing down here, Fraser?"

  Jeffery glanced behind, back the way he'd come, knowing it was futile. There was no escape.

  "Well, answer me, Fraser. What
you up to?"

  "Nothing," Jeffery replied. "Out for a walk."

  Gordon appeared to be a bit nervous. "Leave him, Tommy. We don’t need to bother with him."

  "What you worried about, Norm? Thought you didn’t like him."

  "I don't."

  All the time Tommy Thorne's eyes stayed wide and almost unblinking, staring at Jeffery who, though fearful, stared right back. The third boy said nothing, his face expressionless.

  "Wouldn't you like to teach him some respect, Norm?" Thorne asked. "We got the perfect chance to teach him some manners. Grab his arms you two."

  Gordon bit his lip, hesitating. Thorne twisted his head to look at him, bared his teeth and gave a little snarling growl. "Well, what you waiting for? Do what I say. Jump to it."

  The nameless boy stepped sharply forward and grabbed one of Jeffery's arms. Reluctantly, Gordon did the same with the other arm.

  "Right! Hold him up against that fence."

  His two captors dragged him backward to the fence and pinned him there. Thorne moved forward and stabbed a finger into Jeffery's chest.

  "Think you're the high and mighty smart one, don't you? Well you ain't." He drove the finger in a couple more times and then clenched the fist and began thumping none too lightly on Jeffery's chest. Opening the hand, he backhanded him across the side of the face near the right eye. Once, and then twice the hand landed. Jeffery, felt himself securely held against the fence by Gordon and the other boy. Using the fence as support, without thinking of the consequences, he lifted both feet into the air and kicked them forward. They slammed into Tommy Thorne's face.

  His tormenter reeled backwards, staggered but didn't fall and quickly recovered his balance. "You little swine," he said, giving another snarl. "You can't do that to me. I'll kill you. "Arms outstretched he leapt forward and grabbed Jeffery by the throat and began to squeeze and shake. Gordon let go and tried to pull him away and got a backhand for his trouble as Thorne let go with one hand for a moment and swung it sideways. The other boy let go as well as Thorne squeezed and shook, squeezed and shook. For Jeffery everything started to go gray. His legs buckled and he sagged. Still his attacker squeezed. Then as if from a distance he heard a woman shouting. A dog barked. Something seemed to be striking the attacker. The hands released Jeffrey's throat and he fell heavily onto the ground.

  The next thing he knew a dog snuffled at his face, licking. He opened his eyes to see a woman dressed in jumper, blouse and skirt. The dog was large with black spots on a white coat. He called that breed of dog Spotted Dick. Later the woman told him the real name was Dalmatian. She peered down with a worried frown on her face as she held the dog by its collar.

  "Boy," she said. "Boy, are you all right?" Then a man came up and asked what was going on and she said, "Take hold of Toby, Charlie. And pick up my mop please. If he can walk I'll take him inside."