by Roger Hurn
Once There Were Lions
By
Roger Hurn
© Roger Hurn 2012
Roger Hurn has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published 2012 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
CONTENTS:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter One
The Lions
I can still see it in my mind as plain as day. I turned the corner of Rolt Street and headed up Cold Harbour Lane. I hurried on past the warehouses to the wasteland where we had our secret hideout. Only the wasteland wasn’t there anymore. There was just a great big hole in the ground where a German plane had dropped a tonne of high explosives. The pilot had been aiming for the warehouses but he’d missed. They’d survived, but our den hadn’t. I wasn’t really surprised. The Nazis had flattened large parts of London so I wasn’t expecting our little patch would get away scot-free. Even so, it brought me up short.
But, wait a minute, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here. I should tell you who we were and why we had a den. Well, there was me of course. My name’s William Shapley but everyone calls me Billy - except my mum who calls me William. Then there was Thomas and Rosie. Thomas was my best friend and he was brilliant at football. His Dad went around telling anyone who’d listen that Thomas was going to play for Millwall when he grew up. But Thomas had a big secret. He wanted to play for Arsenal. He told me but he wouldn’t tell anyone else because Thomas didn’t want to upset his Dad. I didn’t blame him. Thomas’s Dad was a big bloke with a shouty voice. I was glad he wasn’t my father.
Rosie was Thomas’ sister. She was only a year younger than Thomas and she was a bit of a bossy boots but she didn’t tell tales and, like her big brother, she was good at sport. Mind you, Thomas’s Dad never boasted about her.
And then there was Eddie Johnson. He was an only child and his mother spoiled him rotten, which meant he really got the hump if he didn’t get his own way. But as he always had plenty of pocket money for sweets and trips to the pictures, we put up with his sulky nature and let him think he was our leader. But he wasn’t really. Simon was. Simon’s nickname was ‘Brainbox’. He was the cleverest kid in our school but he wasn’t a swot. Simon was born with an extra helping of brains – he couldn’t help it, it’s just the way it was. Anyway, for better or worse, that’s who was in our little gang. We called ourselves ‘The Lions’ after Millwall, our local football team, and so our hideout was ‘The Lions’ Den’.
Actually, our Den wasn’t much to look at. It was only an old shed; a left over part of a factory that had once stood on the site. The factory had been knocked down years ago but the demolition men must have forgotten about the shed so it waited there empty and abandoned until we came along and claimed it for ourselves.
We patched up the roof with some tarpaulin we thieved from Mr Entwhistle’s rag and bone yard. We stuck newspapers across the windows to keep out the rain and the wind and we used upturned wooden crates from the market as a table and chairs. Rosie put one of her mum’s glass jam jars on the table and stuck a paper flower in it to make it seem more cosy. Then Eddie painted the words: ‘LIONS’ DEN. KEEP OUT OR YOU WILL BE EATEN!’ on the front door in red paint (though Simon had to tell him where the apostrophe went). We were pretty pleased with what we’d done and we used to meet up there every day after school - and on Sundays if we could.
But now it was gone. Blown to smithereens by some nasty Nazi. I was standing there gawping at the hole when I heard a voice behind me say: ‘We thought you were never going to show up.’
I turned round and there were Thomas and Rosie. They didn’t look how I remembered them. Like me they were five years older. Thomas was really tall and gangly while Rosie was, and I hated myself for thinking it, quite pretty. She’d always been a tomboy but now she looked more like a young woman.
‘Mum only just gave me your message,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it looks like I’m not the only one who’s late. Where’re Eddie and Simon?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘Eddie’s still in Canada. He’s living with his relatives. We don’t think he’s coming back.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘His Mum won’t like that.’ I grinned at them but they didn’t grin back. ‘So where’s Simon then?’
There was a long silence. Thomas and Rosie glanced at each other like they were sharing some sort of guilty secret. Thomas looked down at his feet. Rosie stared at me. ‘Simon’s dead,’ she said.
Rosie’s words didn’t make any sense to me. I shook my head. This wasn’t right. Loads of children had been killed in the war but I didn’t know any of them. Simon was ‘Brainbox’. He was clever. He knew the answers to all the questions the teachers asked in school. If you sat next to him in class and gave him a gobstopper or a sticky toffee he’d let you copy his work. Though, thinking about it, humbugs were his favourite. Simon would do your homework for you in return for a bag of mint humbugs. He was too brainy to be killed in a stupid war. So I knew he couldn’t be dead.
Chapter Two
Blood Brothers
As I stared at Rosie and Thomas in disbelief my mind went back to the last time the Lions were together. War had been declared and the government had decided that all of us children who lived in big cities were going to be sent to live in the countryside. They said Hitler was going to bomb the docks and the factories and as there weren’t any factories or docks in the villages we’d be safe there. What they didn’t say was that we wouldn’t see our mums and dads again for years. They’d called us evacuees and made it seem as if we were going off on a terrific adventure, a holiday where we’d have fun and games all day long. Well, it may have been that way for some but living with strangers, miles away from everybody I knew, wasn’t my idea of happiness.
Anyway, our gang all met up at the Lions’ Den the afternoon before we were due to be evacuated. We were feeling pretty down in the dumps though we tried to put a brave face on it.
‘I’m off to a farm in Wales,’ said Simon. ‘I’m quite looking forward to it actually. It’ll give me a good chance to study agriculture.’
‘Give you a good chance to fall face down in a cow pat more like,’ said Thomas.
Simon gave him a superior look. ‘Then, should that prove to be my fate I shall study cowpats. Either way I shall not waste my time.’
‘Good for you,’ said Rosie. ‘Thomas and me are being packed off to darkest Dorset.’
‘Really?’ said Simon. ‘Then you had better watch out for cowpats too.’
‘That’s right, I chimed in. ‘Especially if it’s as dark in Dorset as you say it is, Rosie!’
Rosie raised her eyebrows and gave me an old fashioned look.
‘Don’t you worry about us, Billy,’ said Thomas. ‘Mum says we can take a torch with us.’
‘And our torch is definitely brighter than you, Billy,’ said Rosie.
‘Gosh, does Gracie Fields know how witty you are?’ I said quick as a flash. ‘You’re a proper caution you are.’
Rosie stuck her tongue out at me.
‘Oh give it a rest you two,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ve got some interesting news.’
We all look at him expectantly. He smirked. He was chuffed to have our undivided attention. It didn’t happen often.
‘Well,’ he bragged, ‘while you lot are hobnobbing with a bunch of country bumpkins, I’m going on an ocean liner across the Atlantic Ocean to live with my rich uncle in Canada!’
Despite ourselves we were impressed. A rich uncle in Canada certainly beat cowpats in the country hands down but, of course, Eddie couldn’t leave it at that.
�
��I hope the ship meets up with a few German U-boats when we’re out in mid Atlantic,’ he said, ‘because maybe then I’ll get the chance to help the sailors fire the depth charges and sink them.’
‘I don’t think ocean liners actually have depth charges,’ said Simon.
‘The liner I’m sailing on has been fitted with them specially,’ snapped Eddie.
Simon didn’t argue with him. Eddie didn’t take kindly to people who disagreed with him. The rest of us thought Simon was probably right even though we didn’t say anything so there was a bit of an awkward silence. I tried to cheer everyone up with my impression of Adolph Hitler. I’d seen Charlie Chaplin do it when I went to the pictures and I reckoned I was as funny as Charlie but the others only smiled in a half-hearted sort of way so I soon let it drop.
‘It’s the end of the pride,’ said Eddie gloomily. ‘Well, for this pride of Lions anyway.’
Then Simon had a brainwave. ‘I say,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a wizard wheeze.’
We all looked at him expectantly.
‘We can write letters to each other every day while we are away so we can keep each other up-to-date with all our news.’ He paused and waved his finger at us like a professor lecturing his students. ‘And here’s the best bit - we can end each letter by writing the word ROAR in capital letters!’
He beamed, but we all groaned. ‘Oh put a sock in it, Brainbox,’ said Eddie. ‘That was not one of your better wheezes. You may like writing but I think it’s a pain in the neck.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Thomas. ‘Letter writing is too much like hard work.’
‘So I think we’re all agreed your idea isn’t a roaring success,’ I said.
Everybody groaned and Rosie shook her head at me sadly but before she could say anything, Eddie pulled a mother-of-pearl handled penknife from his pocket.
His uncle Jim had given it to him for his eleventh birthday. Eddie said it had once belonged to an Indian Maharaja who had presented it to his uncle for saving his life when they went on a man-eating tiger hunt together. I had my doubts about that because, according to my mum, Eddie’s uncle had never gone any further east than Margate, but it was never a good idea to contradict Eddie unless you wanted a row followed by a fit of the sulks.
‘You can stuff letter writing up your jumper, Simon,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a much better idea. We can use my knife to make ourselves blood brothers.’
We gaped at him open mouthed. We must have looked like a row of dead codfish on a fishmonger’s slab. ‘What are you on about?’ I said.
‘It’s obvious. We’ll have a special ceremony where we cut the palms of our hands and let the blood mingle. That’s what Red Indian braves do before they go on the warpath. It’s powerful magic.’ Eddie nodded enthusiastically and thrust the knife towards us. ‘Now, who’s going to be first?’
None of us fancied the idea of Eddie slicing up our hands. We shuffled uneasily and cleared our throats and sneaked glances at each other. Simon’s idea may have been boring but at least it wasn’t likely to give us blood poisoning. It was another embarrassing moment and Eddie started to lose his temper.
‘You lot are just cowardy custards,’ he fumed. ‘All right then. I’ll get the ball rolling.’ He sawed at his hand with the edge of his knife. The blade was blunt and nothing much happened except that Eddie’s pride was hurt. This was bad news. Eddie in a sulk was not a pretty sight. But luckily Rosie saved the day. She produced a pin from somewhere.
‘We could use this to prick our thumbs and get blood,’ she said.
I swallowed hard. I wasn’t keen on having my thumb stabbed with a pin and I could see by their faces that Simon and Eddie both felt the same way.
‘I don’t know if the magic still works if you use a pin,’ said Eddie. ‘I don’t think Red Indians had pins.’
‘Yes they did,’ said Simon. He couldn’t help himself. If he knew a fact he had to share it, even when he should have kept it to himself. Eddie and I glared at him.
‘There you are then,’ said Rosie. ‘A pin it is.’
None of us wanted to lose face in front of a girl so we had no choice but to agree. Rosie looked at me. ‘Come on, Billy,’ she said, ‘you first.’
Before I could protest, Rosie grabbed my hand and jabbed me with the pin.
‘Now that didn’t hurt at all, did it?’ she said as she squeezed out a drop of cherry red blood from my thumb.
‘Did it?’ Eddie looked at me anxiously.
I felt faint but I forced myself to smile. ‘It jolly well didn’t,’ I said.
‘Good,’ said Rosie as she wiped the pin on her grubby hankie. ‘Who’s next?’
Simon shrugged and held out his thumb. ‘Just don’t give me tetanus with that thing, Rosie. My Mum can’t afford to pay for a doctor!’
Rosie ignored him and drew blood. Simon winced but then grinned at her. ‘Thanks, nurse Rosie. You’re a proper little Florence Nightingale and no mistake.’
Thomas was next in line for the stabbing treatment. ‘Go easy, sis,’ he said.
Rosie frowned at him. ‘Oh stop whining. If I muck up you’ve still got your other thumb.’
Rosie punctured her brother without further ado. Thomas yelped and glowered at his sister. Rosie sighed. ‘You are such a big baby, Thomas.’ Thomas harrumphed but before he could say anything Rosie ordered a very reluctant Eddie to come forward and take his turn.
‘Err … maybe we should just forget about being blood brothers,’ said Eddie.
‘Not on your life, Eddie Hobson,’ said Rosie firmly. ‘This was your idea and we’re all going through with it. So hold out your hand.’
‘Yes, Eddie, we’ve all had Nurse Nightingale giving us the pin cushion treatment,’ said Simon. ‘Now it’s your turn to take your medicine.’
Eddie opened his mouth to say something but Rosie grabbed his hand and stuck the pin deep into his thumb. ‘Ouch!’ he yelped. ‘That hurt!’
‘Really?’ said Rosie. ‘Well, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll use chloroform.’
Eddie’s face darkened. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now it’s your turn. Give me that pin and let’s see how you like it!’
But Rosie didn’t hand it over. Instead she pricked her own thumb. ‘You boys,’ she said. ‘You always have to make a big fuss over nothing.’
We were outraged, but Rosie stared us down.
‘Now are we going to do this blood brothers malarkey or not?’ she said. ‘Because if we don’t hurry up all the blood will dry and you brave boys will have suffered in vain.’
‘We are,’ said Simon holding out his blood smeared thumb. ‘We have suffered the ordeal of the hat pin together, so now let us seal this bond with our blood.’
We all touched our thumbs together. ‘Now we are blood brothers,’ he said. ‘Though, actually, I suppose you’re more of a blood sister, Rosie.’
She frowned at him.
‘Which is just as good,’ he added hurriedly.
We stood together for a moment in silence, none of us quite sure what to do next. Then Eddie spoke up. He seemed to be over his sulk.
‘Listen, we’ve got to make a solemn vow that when the war is over we’ll meet up here again in the Den and celebrate. I’ll get my Mum to buy us loads of sweets and pop and cakes and we’ll have a smashing time.’ He looked at us expectantly.
‘That’s a terrific idea, Eddie,’ said Simon. ‘But if we’re going to make a solemn vow we need a bible or something to swear it on.’
Eddie beamed at us all. ‘I’ve got the very thing here,’ he said as he reached into his pocket.
I was shocked to think that Eddie carried a bible around with him, but actually he didn’t. He pulled out a crumpled and creased programme from the last Millwall home game. ‘What do you reckon, chaps? Will this do?’
Simon nodded. ‘It’ll do splendidly for us Lions.’
Then, in his best Winston Churchill voice, he said: ‘When this war is over and we’ve given Adolph Hitler and his Nazi thugs the sound thrashi
ng they so richly deserve, we, the Lions of Millwall, hereby swear that we will reassemble in this our Den and make merry with sweets and pop and cake provided by that capital fellow Edward Hobson esquire.’
Simon paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, go on then you lot, swear it.’
‘We swear,’ we said in unison.
‘Good,’ said Simon. ‘Now let’s seal the vow with our customary lions’ roar.’
We put our heads back and roared like we did at the end of every get together in the Den but somehow, despite Simon’s best efforts, our hearts weren’t in it. We chatted for a few minutes but soon ran out of things to say and so we parted silently and sadly without any of the usual teasing and pushing and shoving.
Now more than five years had passed and here I stood with the last of the Lions. ‘What happened to Simon?’ I asked. Then, not really wanting to know right away I said, ‘No, tell me what happened to you two first.’ I suppose I was hoping that by putting off hearing the details I could stop Simon’s death from being real – at least for a little while longer.
Rosie and Thomas exchanged a glance then Rosie said, ‘Let’s go and sit down behind that wall. It’ll give us some shelter from the wind. It’s not exactly the Lions’ Den but it’ll have to do.’
The wall had caught some of the blast that had destroyed our old hideout but enough of it was still standing to allow us some privacy. We sat with our backs against it and Thomas and Rosie told me their story.
Chapter Three
Thomas and Rosie
‘On the day we were evacuated, Mum took us up to Waterloo Station,’ said Rosie. ‘We were clutching our suitcases with our nametags round our necks and we had our gas masks in cardboard boxes hanging on strings over our shoulders. Mum put us on the train. She said we were off to Dorset and it was a lovely place. Though I don’t know how she knew. She’s never been out of London in her life.’ Rosie shrugged then continued. ‘Anyway, Thomas helped me to put our cases and gas masks on the luggage rack above the seat and then we pushed our heads out of the carriage window to kiss Mum goodbye.’