 
Evacuee Jeffrey Fraser and his two friends must cope. when Marwell Village, intended as their place of safety, is shaken when a German bomber finds it.

Jeffrey, Ginger and Arthur, are separated from their parents and must survive in a strange culture after being evacuated from London's inner city. As the war rages and the bombs of the Blitz show no sign of stopping, Ginger finds a stray kitten and appeals to the others to help find a home for it. They are willing, but Jeffrey needs to deal with the death of his best friend as well as a less than satisfactory billet and the attentions of a bully who has it in for him. Arthur has to contend with an accusation that he burned down a haystack.

Jeffrey gets a job at a farm after seeking, and failing, to get the farmer to take the kitten. Later, the boys discover an abandoned mill tower and decide to make a home for the kitten there. Ginger rejects this, but they use the place as a club house where they can keep their shrapnel souvenirs and Arthur's cherished incendiary bomb. Everything changes when a downed German airman takes Ginger prisoner and demands food. Jeffrey is caught stealing a chicken from the farm, but convinces the farmer to help in a plan to rescue Ginger. Will his plan succeed? Or fail?

Bomber Overhead

by

Jim Francis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright James A. Francis 2011

Bomber Overhead

Chapter 1

The night sky above Marwell was filled with stars. The moon had set. All seemed peaceful although the Air Raid Siren had sounded half an hour previously. The residents of Marwell were still unaware that a stray German bomber winged its way through the sky towards them. Jeffrey lay awake in the place where he shared sleeping space with Gordon. As with many young people during the Blitz, this place was in the cupboard beneath the stairs in a semi-detached house.

Jeffrey had been wakened by Gordon's snoring, which was not unusual, and as always it made Jeffrey want to kick Gordon's head. This would have been easy as the two of them slept head to foot in the cubby-hole as it was called. Jeffrey's place was against the wall next to the gas and electric meters, his head to the far end. Gordon had the spot near the door. Jeffrey's feet were so close to Gordon's head that kicking it would have been easy.

He had three reasons for not kicking him. Firstly it would be unkind. After all, could Gordon help it if he snored? Secondly Jeffery was a sort of visitor in the house and Gordon was the only son. Mrs. Burnett, Gordon's mother, didn't like her son being upset unless it was she who upset him. Thirdly Gordon was older and bigger than he was and had a tendency to thump Jeffery at the slightest excuse. Apart from all that, Jeffery knew he wouldn't get a fair hearing from Mrs. Burnett after the ensuing rumpus. At least, that's the way he had it worked out.

As he turned on his side and pulled the blanket over his head, he heard the deep, heavy pulsed drone of the twin engine German bomber as it came closer. Brrum, pause. Brrum, pause. The sound was peculiar with no mistaking what made it. Jeffery's best friend, Peter, said his father had told him that an aircraft floating in the air tried to spin in a direction opposite to the spin of its propellers. The Germans built their twin engine bombers with engines that spun the propellers in opposite directions, and this cancelled the unwanted spin. It also cancelled the sound from the engines at regular intervals. That caused a pulsed engine noise. British aircraft, with a different system, had a steady drone. Jeffery didn't understand any of it too well, but he understood enough to know that the sound he heard meant that the approaching aircraft was a German bomber.

And bombers like the one overhead were the reason why Gordon and Jeffery slept under the stairs. Of course, everybody knew that being under the stairs wouldn't protect them from a direct bomb hit, but it did protect from shrapnel and flying glass from blown out windows.

"Gordon," he whispered, "Gordon. There's a bomber coming."

Honk! Snort! Crump! Snuffle! Gordon slept on.

The bomber groaned from a heavy load of bombs. Peter had also told him that the bombers came in over the coast to the north or to the south carrying their loads and then swung around for the run over London. Every night, Peter said, they tried to take a different route so that the anti-aircraft guns couldn't concentrate in one spot or in front of the city. Only the ones that got lost flew over Marwell. Jeffery didn't know if any of this was true, but it sounded reasonable.

The war and the destruction it caused saddened Jeffery. People talked of the German army preparing an invasion and he worried that the German soldiers would come. They'd already overrun much of Europe -- Poland, France, Denmark, Belgium, Holland. The war was the reason he was in this house. Jeffrey was an evacuee, evacuated from London in case there was bombing like what was going on now. His present billet at the Burnett's was his third in just over a year.

Mr. Burnett, the householder, had joined the Home Guard. Once a week he marched and drilled, along with other local men, on the path running along the edge of the gravel pit behind the house. Jeffery liked to go out back and watch them march. They pretended the broomsticks held stiffly on their shoulders were rifles. Mr. Burnett said real rifles had been promised in a month. Two of the men used their own shotguns, shouldering them as best they could for the drill. The men hated being watched at their broomstick drill and always shouted at him to go away.

Even though he was only eleven, Jeffery wanted to fight if the Germans invaded. Gordon owned a small book with a picture of an anti-tank rifle on the front. It didn't look that big, and he longed for one of those. Then he'd be able to shoot at the German tanks if ever they arrived. That would help make an end to the war. With the war over, he'd be able to go back to London again and live with his mother and father and his brothers and sister.

A wave of happiness swept him at the thought of life before the war. His parents were far poorer than most Marwell people, but he'd been happy then. He wasn't very happy these days.

At first he'd been billeted with a nice middle-aged couple who'd been very kind to him and his sister, but the man got himself into trouble with the police because of Black Market dealings and they'd been moved. He hated the memories of the second billet and always tried to push them out of his mind. He'd been very glad to get away from there, but didn't know why they'd been moved.

Now, with the third move, he'd been separated from his sister. They lived on different sides of the village and didn't get to see each other much. His sister, being older, went to a different school. His two older brothers who'd attended different London schools had been evacuated separately to other parts of England.

Now his mother and father had been split up. He had a new baby sister and his mother had been moved out into the countryside for safety during the air raids. His father stayed in London working as a postman during the day, and keeping fire watch at night during the raids. His night job was to put out fires from any incendiary bombs that dropped on the Post Office building roof. For a long time neither parent had been able to visit and he missed them badly. He never heard any news of his brothers. Right at that moment, though, he was worried about the approaching aircraft.

It sounded as if the bomber was almost overhead. Now the anti-aircraft guns mounted on flatbed rail cars that ran up and down the railway tracks behind the houses across the street opened fire. Bang! Bang! Bang!

He knew that searchlights must be sweeping the sky showing circles of light on the night sky as the beams swung, crossing each other like invisible scissors as they tried to catch a bomber between the unseen blades of light. He'd watched them one night as he'd hurried home from scouts. That was the night an aerial mine floated down by parachute, exploded and destroyed Gospel Hall. In the morning children rushed to the site looking for shrapnel. Any found was supposed to be turned over to the police, but nobody ever did that. Jeffery went, too. Poking around in the tall grass with a stick, he saw a nice piece of metal that was curly and twisted.

As he bent down and picked it up, a voice from behind said, "What'cha got there, Fraser?" He shuddered inwardly as he recognized the voice. It was Tommy Thorne's.

"Nothing," he said. He tried to palm the metal, but it was too large for his hand.

"Don't tell me, nothing." Thorne said shoving Jeffery so hard that he sat down. "Give it to me, I'll hand it over to the police."

"No you won't, you'll keep it or sell it."

"So what!" He put a foot on Jeffery's chest and pushed until Jeffery was lying on his back. Then he leaned over, grabbed Jeffery's wrist and twisted until the hand opened letting the piece of shrapnel drop. Thorne picked it up. "You're a liar, Fraser. I'm gonna let it pass -- this time. Don't try it again or you'll be sorry." Then he turned and strutted over to where other children were searching.

Now, again, a bomber was coming.

Suddenly the sound of the bomber's engines changed to a higher note as if it were lighter and flying faster. Jeffery knew what the different sound meant. Its bombs had been released. He clenched his fists and waited. Then four explosions, one after the other, rocked the house and Gordon woke.

"Stop making noise, Jeffery. I'm trying to sleep."

"Not making noise. That was bombs."

Gordon shook his head, and now he was wide awake could obviously hear the anti-aircraft guns. "Were you awake? Did you hear the bomber?"

"Couldn't sleep. You were snoring."

Gordon's leg came up and kicked him on the side of the head, but not hard because it was a difficult thing to do as Jeffery was now sitting up. "I don't snore and don't you say that I do or I'll give you a thumping in the morning. What do you think it was? A Heinkel, a Dornier, or a Junkers?"

"I don't know. They all sound the same to me."

"Of course they do, you're so stupid. I'm going back to sleep." Then he turned over on his side and soon snored as loud as ever.

The guns stopped firing and the aircraft's faint hum faded into the distance. Jeffery pulled the covers over his head, stuck a finger in his ear trying to block out Gordon's snores and fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Jeffery had no idea how long he'd been asleep when the doorbell ringing woke him. This was shortly followed by a loud banging on the front door. He heard noises from the back room where the Burnetts slept during air raids. Soft footsteps sounded in the corridor as someone wearing slippers shuffled past. Then the front door opened and he heard a man's voice followed by Mr. Burnett laughing and saying. "Do I need my broomstick?" The man at the door laughed too as he answered. "No."

The door closed and Mr. Burnett went back to his room. Shortly he came back again followed by Mrs. Burnett and he heard her say, "Here's your torch. Put your rain shoes on and wrap up warm. Be careful."

The door opened and closed again. He knew Mrs. Burnett had gone from the door into the kitchen because, although her slippers had made no sound, he heard her fiddling around in there. He must have dozed again because the next thing he heard was Mr. Burnett's voice saying, "We caught them."

Luckily, by then Gordon was no longer snoring. Jeffery leaned over and put his ear to the side of the cupboard. Mr. Burnett was telling his wife where he'd been and what had happened. The anti-aircraft guns on the railway tracks had damaged the bomber that dropped the bombs and searchlights had picked up two parachutes floating down. The Home Guard had been called out to help track the parachutists down. It hadn't taken them long to find the two cold and shivering German airmen hiding under trees in Marwell Woods. One of them was wounded and they'd surrendered without a struggle. Then he heard Mrs. Burnett tell Mr. Burnett to go into their room and she'd make a nice cup of tea and bring it to him. After that there was nothing more to hear so he lay down and went back to sleep.

The next thing he knew, Gordon was jabbing him with a foot and telling him to get up and not be lazy. He obeyed and by the time he'd pulled on his clothes and exited the cupboard he heard the sizzle of bacon frying. It smelled delicious, but he knew he wouldn't get any. Even Gordon didn't get bacon for breakfast. Mrs. Burnett always said she gave everybody's bacon ration to Mr. Burnett because he was the working man. Jeffery suspected that she had her share after he and Gordon had left for school and Mr. Burnett had left to catch his train up to London and the printing firm where he worked. He wouldn't have said no to bread fried in the bacon fat, but Mrs. Burnett saved that for other purposes. Both Mr. Burnett and Gordon were also given large packages of sandwiches. Jeffery was told he didn't need any because his school provided a mid-day meal.

****

A slanted, drizzly rain fell that Thursday collecting on Jeffery's face and running down his nose to drip off his chin as walked to school. He wore a ragged old raincoat that came from he didn't know where, but he was glad of it. His short trousers left his legs bare from the knees to the top of his wool stockings with the holes in the heels and nobody willing to mend them. The running shoes on his feet were worn out and the old cap on his head had once belonged to Gordon. Mrs. Burnett had decided he needed a cap because she didn't want him carrying a cold back to her house, "If you don't mind."

He'd lived at the Burnett's for six months now and he'd never once started one of the frequent colds in the house. All the colds since he'd lived there had arrived when Mr. Burnett brought them back from London.

He felt hungry, and that was normal. His breakfast of two slices of white toast thinly spread with margarine, all he ever got on a weekday, never satisfied his hunger. Sometimes, rarely, on a Sunday he might get an egg, or a scrape of marmalade or jam. Not that he hadn't been used to eating bread for breakfast before he'd been evacuated and often at other mealtimes too. But back home in London the bread slices had been thick and whole-wheat and often spread thickly with fat drippings from the family's Sunday roast -- when they'd been lucky enough to have one. At times meat juice jelly could be found at the bottom of the bowl holding the dripping. The lucky ones who reached the bottom first got to spread jelly on their bread and dripping. Otherwise salt and pepper got sprinkled on the dripping and that was good too. When there was no roast and no fat there'd be a thick layer of margarine also dusted with salt and pepper. Now with food rationing, eggs and jam were both rationed and scarce so all he was given was the bread and margarine without the salt and pepper as Mrs. Burnett didn't believe in that.

Of course, Mr. Burnett, as a working man, needed his food and couldn't be allowed to go without.

Over Jeffery's shoulder as he walked to school was slung the cord sling of the cardboard box holding his gas mask. In his right hand he carried a sack full of paper salvage he'd collected by going house to house and knocking on doors asking for any old paper. People were patriotic and passed over anything they had.

The last house he'd gone to the night before had been hidden behind a high fence. As he went through the gate, a large dog rushed up, barked once, and grabbed the arm that carried the sack in its mouth. A worried looking woman followed by a man had rushed out of the house and hustled the dog away. This disappointed Jeffery because the dog hadn't hurt him and didn't seem angry. He would have liked to have made friends with it. But all turned out well. The woman took him into the house and gave him lemonade plus some homemade biscuits. They'd had a lot of paper and cardboard too, so everything worked out fine.

He was just past the railway station; about half way to school he heard a shout from behind. "Jeffery! Wait!"

The voice belonged to Arthur, his second best friend. He stopped and waited. Huffing and puffing Arthur ran down the side street from The Green, the open piece of grassland that belonged to the village. Arthur was medium height and stocky. He often seemed rushed as he tried to keep up with everybody, which he always managed. When he reached Jeffery they walked side by side.

"Well 'allo Arthur. What's doin', then?"

"Nuthin' much."

"Hear the bombs last night?"

"No. I was asleep, as usual." He grinned weakly. It was a standing joke that Arthur could sleep almost anywhere, anytime. "Most of the others heard them, though. They talked about it all over breakfast. One bomb dropped behind the manor. About half a mile away, in a field."

Arthur was billeted at Marwell Manor, a large, walled-in house that had been turned into a hostel for difficult to billet evacuees These were those who, for one reason or another, had not fitted in at any of the other billets where they'd been placed. Arthur's first billet had been at a farm with Peter, but the billeting officer had moved him over some trouble. Then at his next billet he started wetting the bed, something he swore he'd never done at home. But in each house where he'd been placed it happened again and he got turned out. Funny thing was he'd never wet the bed since being billeted at Marwell Manor.

What the two boys really wanted to do that morning was to go where the bombs had fallen to search for shrapnel. They never even considered it, though, because Headmaster Perkins could be quite nasty to boys who skipped school; he never stinted the cane or ordering that pupils be 'kept in'.

All at once, Jeffery noticed something. "Arthur! Where's your gas mask?"

Arthur gave a little toss of his head. "I forgot it."

"No you didn't. You left it behind on purpose."

"So what if I did? Nobody says anything about them these days. I hide it at school. Teachers don't carry theirs, why should I carry mine? I hate carrying the damn thing. "

"Don't swear. Old Mrs. Burnett makes me carry mine She makes her Old Man and Gordon take theirs, too. She'd really give it to me if I went out and left it at home."

He felt a twinge inside as he said home. The Burnett place wasn't home. Home was in London with Mum, Dad and the others. It seemed such a long while since he'd left there and he wondered if he'd ever get back. Now with the Germans in France, Holland, Belgium, Denmark and Norway bombers came over most every night. Bombs were dropped on London and other cities and people were getting killed or wounded and homes were being destroyed.

"I wish I could be up at The Manor with you lot, Arthur. I hate living at the Burnett's and I hate Gordon. He's always hitting me and he tells his mother all sorts of lies."

"Lies! What sort of lies?"

"He says I steal food from the kitchen when he's the one who takes it. And he plays silly tricks and blames me."

"What sort of tricks?"

"All sorts of stupid things. Last week he put bacon grease on the kitchen door knob and Mr. Burnett got it all over his hand."

"Was he angry?"

"No. He wasn't but Missus was. When Gordon said I'd done it, she sent me to the cupboard and told me to go to bed. I missed ITMA on the wireless."

"Maybe they'll throw you out and you can come up to The Manor."

"Not likely. She gives her old man most of my meat ration and they don't want to give that up, or the rest of the stuff they pinch out of my rations."

The food problem was hard to take. Mrs. Burnett served him tiny portions of fatty meat and a few potatoes and sometimes a plop of watery cabbage. That's why he always looked forward to Sunday. For some reason she always gave him a large helping of Yorkshire Pudding.

Arthur slipped a small package of greasy newspaper from his pants pocket and passed it to Jeffery. "Here. I grabbed this for you."

Jeffery took it eagerly and tore the paper away. Inside was a folded piece of fried bread covering a slice of crisp streaky bacon. His eyes lit up and he took a large bite. "Thanks," he garbled as he chewed. I can make it to milk-time, now."

Milk-time was the mid-morning, small bottle of milk all the children were served courtesy of the government. A second milk break came in the afternoon.

As they got closer, more children hurried along on their way to school, girls as well as boys and most of them Marwell children. They saw nobody they knew particularly well. At the corner where they turned to get to the school, they stopped for a moment to watch for Peter. Near the same age as both Jeffery and Arthur, Peter was in a class one year ahead. But the three were good friends from London. Peter was billeted on a farm.

*****

For some reason, when they were evacuated from London, the train had not taken them to Marwell railway station, but to Rucksford, a larger town nearby. There double-decker buses like the London ones waited for the children. But to Jeffery's surprise, and probably to a lot of the other children also, the buses were painted green and not the familiar London red. Later he learned that all London Transport country buses were painted green.

They had marched onto the buses in a column of twos. An unknown teacher boarded first, directing the line on the left into the downstairs area, the one to the right upstairs. Jeffrey was on the right as was Peter. Arthur went downstairs. The busses traveled through the centre of town, then up a steep hill, and then along country roads. Finally they reached the village of Marwell and a school set in the middle of a large field. There the children marched off the buses and back into the column of twos. The column was guided into the school, down a long corridor and into the school hall. Inside the hall, gathered to one side, small groups of local citizens waited. At the far end of the hall, below a small stage, officials were seated at a large trestle table. The children were marshaled into lines opposite the table. The teachers who traveled with them went over and spoke to the officials. Then the selection process began. As names were called, local people stepped forward to select the children they wanted in their homes.

One of the first called, a farmer, quickly chose Peter and Arthur and hustled them away. By the time all the locals had made their choices, Jeffery and his sister still waited as a London a teacher had promised Jeffrey's mother that they would be kept together. People willing to take two wanted either two girls or two boys, not one of each. But they weren't the only ones, others also waited. Too few locals had turned up for the selection.

The leftover children were again lined up in pairs, this time Jeffery paired with his sister. Off they went again, this time on foot accompanied by a teacher and a billeting officer. They marched along the village streets seeking other billets. Jeffery began to feel a tiny bit of dread of the future, although in some ways everything still felt like a fantastic adventure. The billeting officer knocked on doors, offering the children up to the householders. Once again Jeffery and his sister failed to be chosen, at least until almost all were settled. Most householders wanted girls only and were reluctant to accept one of each or even two boys. But eventually they were settled.

As for the two chosen by the farmer, while Arthur hated the farm, Peter loved it. He always hurried from school back to the farm because there was work to do. Seven days a week the farmer got them up early in the mornings to clean out the horse stables or feed the chickens and sometimes gather the eggs. Arthur didn't care for the animals and feared the chickens most because there was one big cockerel that chased him all the time, pecking at his bare legs. They never seemed to bother Peter.

Peter's family had two children, both boys, but his older brother was fourteen and now worked in his parent's grocery store. Jeffery knew Peter badly missed his family, perhaps more so than other evacuees, even though it seemed as if they all felt sad, lost and troubled at times.

****

Soon Jeffery and Arthur reached the gate at the front of the school and waited there for their friend. But there was no sign of him. Peter hadn't been to school since Monday, and they worried he might be sick. They decided not to wait any longer and entered the school grounds and turned to the right. Girls went to the left.

They went all the way around the 'L' shaped, two storied, red brick, building that housed Marwell Senior Secondary School. At the back, a large playground was divided by a wide, white, painted line. The northern half sitting along the short arm of the 'L' was for the girls only; the other half was for the boys. Although most of the lessons had mixed classes, the girls had their own entrance, the boys theirs.

They joined the boys who were huddled up against the building as they tried to get as much shelter as possible. The girls were always allowed to go inside early, but unless the weather was very bad with heavy rain or snow, the boys had to stay outside until the bell rang. The light drizzle that fell this day wasn't considered bad weather, They watched enviously as the girls went in as soon as they arrived. A friend, Ginger swung around the corner, her red-gold hair safely tucked beneath a satin scarf. She saw them and waved. They waved back to the jeers of the others.

Shortly after that, the bell rang and they rushed to get inside. Still Peter hadn't shown up.

Chapter 3

Inside, Jeffrey and Arthur, along with the other boys, hung their outerwear in the boy's cloakroom. From there they went to the assembly hall, which ran for two thirds the length of the playground, taking their places near the centre of the assembly. In a Logical arrangement, the older children were at the back and the younger ones in front. Girls formed rows to the left, boys to the right. All faced the stage. A narrow space in the centre separated the two groups. The teachers stood to the sides or rear. On the stage at the far end of the hall, behind a lectern stood Headmaster Perkins, a short man with beady, red-rimmed eyes. Eyes that swept a stern gaze back and forth across the children.

Mr. Perkins started each school morning the same way. He waited until the bored students began to chatter before he acted. This morning was no different. When the murmuring began the short bamboo cane he always carried slammed down on the lectern. Crack!

"Silence!" The loud, bull-like bellow coming from a man his size often startled new students when they heard it. Most pupils obeyed instantly, but usually a few continued to speak. After a wait of about ten to fifteen seconds, the cane descended again making the same loud noise and the bull-like bellow came again. "Silence, I said." Almost all the chatter stopped then. One student here, and another there, carried on talking knowing that there would be a third and final order. Disobedience of that invited retribution later in the form of a sharp blow with the cane across the offender's fingers. Crack! "Silence!" The third command stilled every tongue.

Mr. Perkins' beady eyes scanned the rows of pupils, seeking to observe lip movement. He spotted none and sighed. A possible twinge of disappointment furrowed his brow before he spoke.

"To start today, I have a message for those of you who are evacuees." He paused to allow his eyes to rest on one evacuee after another. Then he continued. "Peter Ross ran away from his billet earlier this week. The silly boy ran away back to London because he said he missed his parents. Well, I want to warn the rest of you not to do anything so foolish. On Tuesday night a bomb fell on his parent's house where the family apparently preferred to stay rather than go to a shelter. They are now all dead, Peter, his father, his mother, and his brother George. The rescue workers pulled Peter out alive but very badly injured. He died later in St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Evacuees should take note; the government of this country went to a great deal of trouble and expense to move you out of the city to a place of greater safety. They did this to keep you safe from the threat of heavy bombing. Keep that fact in mind, and stay where you've been billeted. Your foster parents are working very hard to make you comfortable."

Nobody spoke. Later that day Jeffery decided that all the teachers must have already heard the awful news. But right at that moment he felt sick. The bacon and fried bread that Arthur had given him churned in his stomach. His legs became weak and wobbly and his head seemed to swim. Peter and his brother George were both dead. It was hard to believe. George had not come to Marwell because he'd been just over the age of fourteen when the war started, too old for the evacuation. Jeffery remembered him well from a time before the war when a group of boys had been packed into a classroom waiting for a nature film to be shown. He had been seated next to George. George had pulled out a pocket watch and asked. "Do you know how to tell the time?" When Jeffery said, "no," George had explained how the hour was divided into sixty minutes and that into five minute segments, which were further divided into half and quarter hours. It was so simple that Jeffery had wondered why he'd not understood how to tell the time before.

But it was Peter who'd been his real friend. Many times they'd gone to the swimming pool together, or caterpillar collecting in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and sometimes sneaking onto the Underground to ride the Inner Circle. The last summer before the war they'd had a glorious time.

Then the evacuation order had come, and the bus that met the evacuation train had dropped them off at the strange school where Farmer Selkirk had picked Peter and Arthur from the crowd and hurried them away. Peter never complained about the hard work at the farm, but Arthur often did. Not, as far Jeffrey knew, to anybody other than himself and Peter. There was really no one else to complain to. It wasn't long before Arthur started wetting his bed, and then he got blamed when a haystack caught fire and burned to the ground. Peter, however, was never unhappy about the work. Everybody on a farm worked hard he said. But he missed his family, and when the blitz started he worried they'd get hurt in the air raids. What, he kept asking, would he do if they all got killed by the bombing and left him alone in the world.

And now theyd all been killed. Knowing that made Jeffery's head feel funny and he thought he was going to fall over, so he sat down on the floor. Arthur looked down and then knelt beside him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Jeffery said. "My head feels funny, like it's spinning around and I want to be sick and maybe I'm going to cry."

"Oh! Don't do that," Arthur said, meaning both the sick and the cry.

Then a tall figure loomed over them. "You two boys! Why are you hiding down there talking?" Miss Peskett, a slim, older teacher had spied them over the heads of the girls and rushed over. "Mr. Perkins," she called. "I have two boys hiding on the floor and talking."

"Please, Miss. He doesn't feel well," Arthur said.

"Nonsense! If he were unwell his foster mother wouldn't have sent him to school." Miss Peskett looked upon all evacuees as a lower breed and made them do what she called 'toe the line' or else.

"Send them down to me," boomed the voice of Mr. Perkins. "They will stand up here on the stage and I'll deal with them later."

"Get up, Jeffery Fraser." Miss Peskett demanded. "Get up and go down to the stage."

"Please, Miss," Arthur started again, but she cut him off.

"You too, Arthur, go down to the stage. You know very well that you are not to speak during assembly."

The harsh voice and behaviour of Miss Peskett settled Jeffery's dizziness but not his desire to cry. He climbed to his feet.

"Are you feeling better?" Arthur asked.

"Will you please stop talking Arthur, and go down to the stage as you've been told. Go!" Miss Peskett's voice became shrill and her arm shot out, straight and stiff, a bony index finger pointing towards the stage.

Heads bowed slightly in shame, the two boys, Arthur in front, walked down the narrow gap between the boys and the girls as the glaring eyes of Miss Peskett followed their progress. The equally glaring eyes of Mr. Perkins watched as they approached the stage. When they reached the front Mr. Perkins pointed with his cane to the left hand side of the stage.

"Come up and stand over there facing the back of the stage. Don't talk."

They climbed the steps up to the stage and walked to the rear as they'd been told. Mr. Perkins watched them until they came to a stop. He then carried on with the rest of the normal assembly procedure. He made a few minor announcements dealing with slight matters of general misbehaviour on the part of students. They were to stop it. Then everybody bowed heads as he said a short prayer for the fighting men. After that everybody was required to recite The Lord's Prayer. They'd all had to do it, even the Jewish brother and sister who'd ended up evacuated to the village where nobody apparently knew who they were and which school they'd come from. Until that had been sorted out, they'd been treated like everybody else.

The prayer over, Mr. Perkins walked over to right side of the stage. There an old gramophone sat on a small table. He started the turntable whirling, lifted the arm and put the needle onto the record. A scratchy version of the national anthem rang out. Then, more or less in time with the recording, students and teachers sang "God Save the King". The anthem over, Mr. Perkins cracked his cane down again. The booming voice called out "dismissed," and the assembly broke up. The students traipsed off to their various classes. All, that is, except Jeffery and Arthur.

Once more Mr. Perkins rapped his cane down onto the lectern, and then he turned to the boys. "The two of you will follow me." With that he went down the stairs to his office. He pointed to the wall next to the office door. "Wait there," he said and entered his office. Ten minutes later the office door opened wide and he came out again. He stood to one side, and with a brusque backward sweep of his hand, waved them in.

He still held his cane, bending and flexing it as, with his head tilted back, he looked down his nose at them. Jeffery felt a tiny shiver of fear, and thought it possible that Arthur felt something similar.

"Now tell me, what was so important to talk about that you defied my order to be silent?"

Arthur spoke up at once. "It was Peter Ross's death, sir. Peter was Jeffery's best friend. When you said that him, his brother and his mum and dad had all been killed, he got dizzy."

Mr. Perkins switched his gaze to Jeffery. "Is that true?"

Jeffery swallowed hard. "Yes, sir! I thought I was going to be sick."

The headmaster's gaze softened just a tiny bit. He looked at Jeffery for what seemed to be a long time, and then he looked at Arthur. Saying nothing he turned and softly placed his cane on his desk. When he turned back to them he looked as stern as ever. "Very well," he said, "You may go."

Chapter 4

The two boys hurried from Mr. Perkins office, rushed up the stairs and halted outside the closed door of Miss Peskett's classroom. They knew the class had started. Neither smiled when they saw the closed door. Jeffery looked at Arthur, who shrugged and nodded. Jeffery knocked timidly on the door and opened it. Miss Peskett stood on the platform behind the large table that served as a desk. She glared at them.

"You're late. You know I don't allow late comers into my classroom. Wait outside."

"But Miss...." Arthur began. Miss Peskett did not allow him to continue.

"Don't argue! Wait outside! And don't talk out there."

They backed up closed the door and stood against the wall in silence. One escape from Mr. Perkins' cane in a day was enough. A couple of minutes of not speaking passed like an hour. Jeffery mouthed slow, silent words at Arthur. "Old Peskett will want us to know what she's teaching today."

"Ginger takes good notes," Arthur mouthed back. "She'll tell us if Old Peskett tells or sez anything new. Not likely she'll do that, though, she's already told us all she knows, and that ain't much."

Another five minutes passed. Arthur faced the wall in Miss Peskett's direction, put his thumb to his nose and waggled his fingers. Jeffery clamped a hand across his mouth to suppress his laughter. Then, getting control, he joined in the game. Right at that moment, Mr. Jones, the geography teacher, walked around the corner and the broad smile that first crossed his face changed quickly to a frown. The boys stopped. Mr. Jones walked past and said not a word. As he disappeared around the far corner, they sighed in relief. Thereafter, for the remainder of their banishment, they stood silent and moved only to shuffle their feet.

The rest of the morning passed without further trouble. The morning milk break came and went. The next class was Mr. Jones' geography class. Mr. Jones, as a young teacher, had travelled to many parts of the Empire setting up schools for indigenous populations in various countries. He'd he spoke of these places in class about the places he'd visited, and his geography lessons always held the students interest. He was a pensioner who'd come out of retirement to replace one of the many teachers who'd left and joined the armed forces.

Lunch followed the end of Mr. Jones' class. In the usual way, the girls split from the boys, each group going to a separate classroom where lunch would be served. None of the boys had any idea of what went on in the girls' dining room.

A large trestle table was stored in a small storage room behind the blackboard. Jeffery and Arthur helped to carry this into the classroom and set it up on one side near to the teacher's desk. The teachers ate their lunch at the desk. When the trestle table was ready, they took their seats and waited.

Shortly, three volunteer serving women pushed two trolleys carts into the room. One trolley held food in large metal pots, and the other was loaded with plates and dishes. They placed the pots on the trestle table and piled plates and dessert dishes at the near end. First one of the women served lunch to Mr. Jones and another male teacher. Before starting to eat, Mr Jones gave a slight nod. That was the signal for the boys to politely line up for their lunch. Each took a plate and a dessert dish from the pile and paraded past the food with plate and dish held out. The women ladled stew onto the plate and prunes and custard into the dish. Jeffery hated the custard served at the school because of the ground coconut in it. Daydreaming, as he often did, he failed to notice the custard ladle nearing his dish of prunes until the last moment. He snatched his dish away. Plop! The custard splattered down onto the table. The woman serving jumped in surprise and glared at him. "Oh! I'm sorry. I don't like custard," Jeffery said. The woman stared up toward the teachers, but if they noticed they said nothing. The woman ignored the spill and Jeffery went over and sat beside Arthur who'd already half-finished his lunch.

"Rough luck on Peter," Arthur said. Are you going to miss him a lot? I think I will."

"I suppose." Jeffery's hunger disappeared and he wished Arthur had not reminded him of Peter's death. Then, remembering the sparse fare awaiting him at the Burnett's, he forced himself to eat all his stew and prunes.

After lunch, with the trestles put away and the rain stopped, they went down to the playground. Students were not permitted to stay inside during lunch hour unless the weather was bad.

Ginger waited there just inside white line that marked off the girl's playground and stood with her back to the school.

"Jeffery," she called softly.

Jeffery looked around to make sure that no teacher watched and went over. "What is it?" he whispered back.

"I've got something to show you. Quick! Over behind the gardening shed."

Jeffery gulped. "Can Arthur come?"

"Of course he can. Hurry! There's not much time left. Go up into the playing field and across that way so no one will suspect." Then she scooted away in a diagonal direction over to the garden shed.

The outskirts of the two sunniest sides of the playing field had been dug up to make victory gardens. All the boys took gardening lessons because of the war. Digging for Victory it was called and the garden shed held the necessary tools and clogs. It was their misfortune that Miss Peskett looked out the window after leaving the girl's lunchroom seconds before the trio split up, and by craning her head had managed to see enough to guess roughly where they intended to meet.

The grass on the playing field was wet but short, so that little of the morning's rain dampened their feet. Soon they joined Ginger behind the garden shed.

"Quick," she said as she bent over to grope in the gap beneath the shed. The two boys watched and wondered as she reached in and pulled out her floral decorated, velveteen handbag. There was a piece of wood sticking from the corner at the top by the twist clasp stopping it from closing properly. It surprised the boys that she would have put her prized possession under the shed. Few of the girls had bags, and none had one quite so ornate and fancy. Ginger might not have had one either, but her grandmother had given it to her the day before the evacuation.

"To keep your bits and pieces in," Grandmother said as she pushed the bag toward Ginger. At first she'd refused to take it, but Grandma said, "Take it, girl. Who knows where the Germans will drop their bombs? They might get it, or me, for that matter." So Ginger took the bag and cried for two reasons; one because she knew how much her grandmother loved it, and two at the thought that her grandmother might get killed.

She hadn't seen her grandmother since then, but she sometimes sent Ginger letters to let her know she hadn't been killed. Bombed out, she wrote, but not hurt.

A weak, plaintive, "Meow!" came from the bag. The two boys stiffened in surprise.

"What have you got there?" Jeffery asked.

"Look," Ginger said as she opened the clasp, put her hand into the velveteen bag and pulled out a tabby kitten. Both boys gasped.

"Where did it come from," Arthur asked.

"I don't know. It came up to me last night, crying, and I didn't know what to do. I know they won't let me keep it down at the pub. They have a dog, and they and the dog hate cats, so I put it in my bag and sneaked it into the house overnight. I brought it to school this morning and shoved it under the shed. Here! Take it for a minute." She pushed the kitten towards Jeffery.

Jeffery took it and stroked its head and scratched under its ears. It liked this treatment and wriggled around until it managed to get to its feet on Jeffery's arm whereupon it climbed up to his shoulder and rubbed against his head.

Ginger turned and picked up a small cough lozenge tin that she'd placed beside the shed. Normally she kept needles and thread in the tin, but she'd wrapped these in a handkerchief for now. "I saved a few meat scraps from the stew. I hope it will eat. I tried it with a bit of toast and jam this morning but it didn't seem to like that." She picked out a piece of meat with her fingers and held it to the kitten's mouth. The kitten licked hungrily at the meat, but seemed unable to get its mouth around it to chew.

"Wait," Jeffery said. "I'll cut it up with my penknife." There was much shuffling around. Jeffery handed the kitten to Arthur before pulling out his penknife. Then he took the piece of meat from Ginger who took the kitten from Arthur. Jeffery chopped up the meat on top of a stone. Then he gave Ginger a small bit. She held this out on the tip of her finger and the kitten began to eat.

"Arthur," said Jeffery, "Go see if you can find a tin can to get some water for it. It must be thirsty. They sometimes throw tins out from the kitchen." Arthur, though reluctant to leave show of the kitten being fed, hurried off to see what he could find.

Involved with the kitten, which now ate heartily, they failed to hear Miss Peskett come up with the tiny dog she always brought to school. Not until the dog yapped and the kitten shrank up against Ginger did they realise she stood watching them.

"What are you doing? And where did you get that animal?"

Startled, the two children were speechless.

"What are you doing with that cat?"

Ginger hesitated.

"Answer me! Now!" the teacher snapped.

Ginger hesitated for a moment longer, and then said, "I found it last night, Miss. It was lost and seemed hungry. I took it home but they wouldn't let it in the house, so I put it in my purse and brought it to school."

"The animal would have found its way home, I'm sure. Now you seem to be feeding it meat from the stew. That meat is supplied for you to eat and is not pet food. Take that thing up into the farmer's field and release it. There are always mice around on a farm, let it eat them. Go!"

The last word was snapped out again and Ginger picked up her handbag and started to make her way up the small slope that led to the sparse hedge at the edge of the farm field. Miss Peskett turned to Jeffery. "You, Jeffery Fraser, will go to Mr. Perkins office. You know the rules about secret meetings with girls during school hours." Holding her dog's leash with one hand, she pointed in the direction Jeffery was to take with the other. The dog yapped again as, head drooping, Jeffery headed in the indicated direction. As he did this, he saw Arthur dodge back behind the far corner of the school building.

When Jeffery and Miss Peskett went into the building, Arthur popped out from his hiding place and followed Ginger into the field. He'd not only found a flat tin that he'd filled with water, he'd also brought the small cardboard box that normally held his gasmask. Between the two of them, he and Ginger settled the kitten into the box with the water and managed to seal the box by placing a large stone on top of the lid so that the kitten could not lift it and escape. There was a coppice in the corner of the field where they put the box under a bush. Before they parted, they agreed that it would be best if Arthur took the kitten to the Manor House after school. There were a lot of out buildings on the manor grounds where it could be hidden.

Chapter 5

The woodworking class had started when Jeffery arrived. Mr. Bradshaw, the shop teacher, didn't much care what time his students turned up and took no notice, but continued to demonstrate and instruct shoe repair to those who were already there. Mrs. Burnett had told Jeffery she had no shoes to let him have for repair. This left him with nothing to do except carry on building an egg rack. He'd just pulled the tools out and taken the partly finished rack from the drawer allotted to him when Arthur sidled over.

"Did you get it?" asked Arthur, referring to the cane.

"Yeah! Three across the finger tips. It hurt."

Arthur spotted Mr. Bradshaw eyeing them, picked up a piece of Jeffery's unfinished egg rack, pointed to it and said, "Peskett's an old bitch. See you later." Then he put the piece down and walked back to his own work.

Later, after school was over for the day, Jeffery and Arthur hurried up to the playing field and crossed into the farmer's field. Ginger was already there in the copse holding the kitten upside down in both hands rocking it like a baby.

"That's not the way to hold a kitten," Jeffery said. They like to be held right side up."

Ginger sniffed "Doesn't seem to bother it," She said. She was right. The kitten slept peacefully. "Thing is -- well -- where are we going to keep it? They won't have it at the pub." Ginger was billeted at the Fox and Hounds Inn, a pub at the lower end of the village green opposite the church.

"No point in asking the Burnett's." Jeffery shrugged, spreading his hands. "They don't like feeding me much, let alone feeding a kitten."

"I told you I'd take it to the manor," Arthur said. "There's lots of old sheds and buildings there. Should be some place."

"They've also got a lot of dogs up there." Ginger said and pulled the kitten closer. "What about them? They'll kill a kitten."

"They're not dogs," Arthur countered," they're hounds. Foxhunting hounds."

"Foxhunting hounds. That's even worse. They'll hunt the poor thing down and kill it for certain. I hate foxhunting."

Arthur shook his head. "No they won't. The hounds are kept in kennels behind a high wire fence. They can't get out, so they won't be able to hurt it, will they?"

Ginger came up with another objection. "They'll smell it. They'll start howling and scare it to death."

"You got a better suggestion?" Arthur asked. "You can't keep it and Jeffery can't. Leave it here and the farm dog's going to make short work of it. That dog doesn't like stray cats. Only farm ones." He stared at the other two. "The kennel is on the opposite side of the house from where I'll put it. There's a big old barn there. They don't use it these days because Colonel Bartelby only keeps a couple of horses now and they're in a smaller barn near the hounds."

Neither Jeffery nor Ginger really liked Arthur's plan, each wanting to keep the kitten close by, but they couldn't think of a better one.

"Let's go, then," Ginger said as she put the kitten back into the box. "We can go down past the farm and out the farm gate. That's the quickest way."

"Not me," Arthur said with a vigorous head shake. "We might run into old Selkirk. He told me never to come back on his land again."

Jeffery started to laugh.

"It's not funny," Arthur cried out. "He got his shotgun with him all the time."

"You can't blame him being angry," Jeffery said. "You burned his haystack down, and you won't tell us why you did it. Maybe I should set fire to the Burnett's house and end up at the manor." Grinning broadly he wagged a finger at Arthur. "What do they call it? The Hostel for Problem Evacuees?"

Arthur laughed. "You know that's not the proper name. Nobody saw me put a light that haystack. I was smoking, but there was another man there. He was smoking, too. Could have been him. But I would have burnt old Selkirk's haystack if I'd known I'd get thrown off the farm and end up at the manor. Best place I've ever lived."

Ginger held the kitten's box tight to her chest. "Come on then," she said. "I've got jobs to do down at the pub. They're not a bad lot, but if I'm late they get upset. Then they stay grumpy all evening."

So the three of them marched off to the corner of the field and pushed through a gap in the hedge. Then they scooted across a cart track and through a gap in the hedge on the far side. Through that, they turned left, clambered over a stile and came out on the road leading to the school. Ginger had put the kitten back into the box and she shoved the box into Jeffery's hands.

"Take this, then. I've got to go. I really, really don't want them to be cross." Then without saying more, she rushed away towards what the locals called the bottom of The Green. Jeffery and Arthur went the other way to the top. Five minutes later they arrived at the high brick wall that surrounded the manor. A road ran up to a big, wooden double gate that closed off the driveway. Alongside the main gate there was a smaller gate which they entered. The manor, a large, two story, gabled house covered in Ivy lay straight ahead.

"This way," Arthur said as he swung right away from the road, and moved off down a narrow dirt footpath that ran close to the inside of the tall brick wall. "Nobody comes along here that I know of. We can get around the back without cutting across the garden. George, the old gardener doesn't like us near his garden. Thinks we'll steal his stuff. There's nothing there this time of year worth stealing, anyway. Not as if there'd be strawberries or stuff like that."

The footpath was partially overgrown. As they pushed through the thick growth they were brushed by rain soaked shrubbery and low tree branches. The rain soaked undergrowth wetted them and Jeffery started to worry about what Mrs. Burnett might say when he got home. As the going got rougher the kitten jumped around in the box and started to meow plaintively.

"How much further?" Jeffery wanted to know.

"Not much." Arthur cut away from the footpath and turned toward the house.

Off to the right the wall surrounding the manor had collapsed and Jeffery saw a wooded area beyond. "Why don't they have that repaired?" he asked.

"I don't think the Colonel can afford it. He's got this big house, but the servants say he's almost broke. He gets paid to have us evacuees here. That helps. They say he'll have to sell after the war. At one time he owned the woods on the other side of the wall. They got sold."

"Well what about his wife and children?"

"Lady Bartelby died a few years before the war. From new-monia. That's what Betsy said. She's the kitchen maid. We watch out for Betsy, she's not very nice and she don't like the evacuees."

"Why not?"

Arthur stopped and shrugged. "Search me."

They were walking over short grass in full view of the house. Jeffery glanced over and saw a young female face at the window. "Somebody's watching us."

"That'll be Betsy. She spies on everybody. I told you, not nice. She won't tell, though, not unless there's something in it for her. I bet right now she's wondering what we've got in the box. We've got to fool her and find a place for the kitten to sleep so we can take the box out with us."

Soon they came to dilapidated out-buildings. The old barn Arthur had mentioned loomed over them and beside that was a small wooden house.

"This should do," Arthur said. "I think it's a chicken coop, but they don't have chickens no more. The door isn't locked, but I think it can be shut tight so the kitten can't get out. Then it can run around inside. I'll sneak food and water out later. See if I can pinch some milk, too." The door had a latch and he pushed the lever down and opened the door, climbed in, turned and took the box from Jeffery. Then Jeffery climbed in after him.

"Quick. Shut the door."

Jeffery pulled the door closed and they were left in complete darkness. Then Arthur reached up and pushed a ceiling plank aside. Enough of the failing daylight came through the opening to allow them to see. A shelf ran along one wall. Arthur placed the box on this. The kitten could be heard scratching and scrabbling at the box trying to get out. Jeffery opened the lid and lifted the frightened animal onto his shoulder. It rubbed up against his cheek and he started to stroke it.

"It's so scared and frightened," he said. I hate to leave it here all alone."

"What else can we do? It'll be safe here for now."

"I suppose you're right," Jeffery said. "I have to go. Mrs. Burnett's going to be angry at me with my wet clothes. I don't know what I'm going to tell her."

"Ah! Tell her you came here to see the hounds. She won't like it but the village people love the foxhunt. Put the kitten down and let's go."

"Wait a minute," Jeffery said. "If the Colonel's so poor, how can he afford to keep the hounds?"

"They're not his anymore. He sold them, too. Now the local hunt club pays him to keep them here. He can't afford to belong to the club either, but they let him belong anyway."

"How do you know all this?"

"Betsy."

"But you said she wasn't very nice."

"She's not. But she likes to gossip, and she likes talking to me."

"How come?"

"Nobody else will listen to her. Besides, someone told her I burned a haystack down. She thinks that's funny. She used to have a job at the farm, but the missus sacked her."

"Arthur!" Jeffery said. "Did you burn that haystack? That wasn't a kind thing to do."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. He was working me too hard. Got me up early to clean out his chicken houses. Then in the evenings I had to clean out the horse barn and once a week polish the harness stuff. I said I wanted sixpence a week for me trouble. He clouted me round the ear. Said I was lucky to have a roof over my head. So if his haystack burned down, maybe it served the silly old bugger right."

"It still wasn't kind."

Arthur shrugged, "Haven't said I did it, have I? Can't undo what's done, anyway. And whether it was me or not it got me here. Here's a lot better than being worked to death on that farm. It's almost dark. Hadn't you best go? "

"Yeah. But I'm in trouble anyway. How do I get out?"

"I'll take you through the house. Then you go down the drive to the front gate."

They went out and closed the door. As they left, the kitten could be heard meowing. Arthur led Jeffery in through the back door of the house and down a passageway until they came to the front door. Other children wandered around inside the house, but the two boys spoke to no one. Neither one of them noticed Betsy eyeing them from the kitchen door.

Chapter 6

It was dark and raining heavily by the time Jeffery got home. As he opened the back door that let him into the kitchen, Mrs. Burnett called out, "Don't forget to wipe your feet."

Jeffery always wiped his feet when he entered, rain or not. He'd not brought this habit from London; the foster parent at his second billet had slapped it into him. That was a place he'd never forget, worst luck.

Mrs. Burnett had never hit him, but she often beat Gordon with a bamboo cane while she screamed abuse. Whenever this happened, Jeffery felt sympathy for Gordon; he didn't think Mr. Burnett knew about the beatings.

Now she bustled into the kitchen from the sitting room. She wore a rare smile on a face freshly made up with lipstick and rouge. The smile disappeared when she saw the wet Jeffery. Strangely, she blamed the weather.

"Oh, Jeffery, you're soaked. I didn't know it was raining so hard. And you're late. Where have you been?" She said none of this in anger, which puzzled Jeffery. He stood motionless inside the door.

"I went up to the mansion with Arthur to see the foxhounds," he lied.

"That Arthur will get you into trouble one of these days. He's an arsonist." She shook her head as though Jeffery failed to understand. "Well, don't just stand there. Hang your coat over the drip tray on the hallstand and go put on dry socks. Then come down and meet Mr. Burnett's brother. The poor man's been bombed out."

Jeffery went out to the hall and hung his coat on the stand, and started upstairs. Mrs. Burnett went back into the sitting room, but poked her head out again. "Rinse those wet socks out and hang them to dry. You only have the two pairs. I don't have the time to do it."

Jeffery took his time upstairs. He hated meeting new adults. He'd never known Mr. Burnett had a brother, although he didn't find his having a brother strange. Most people had a brother or a sister, or both. Many of them had more than one of each. At last he could no longer put off going downstairs. The sitting room door stood slightly open and he pushed it gently. A fire had been lighted in the grate. In an armchair, one of two positioned either side of the fire place, sat a man who looked like a younger Mr. Burnett. He saw Jeffery and stared straight into his eyes without speaking. A plump, friendly appearing woman occupied the other armchair. Off to one side, closer to the window, a young girl of around six sat on the floor playing with a simple jigsaw puzzle. Facing the fire, Mrs. Burnett sat between the two adults on a dining chair. When she saw the man staring she turned her head.

"There you are, Jeffery!" she said. "Come in and meet my guests."

Jeffery entered the room and Mrs. Burnett, without standing waved a hand at the man. "This is Mr. Wilfred Burnett, my husband's younger brother," She flapped the hand more casually to the woman, "and this is his wife. She's Mrs. Burnett, the same as me." Her hand fell to her lap as she nodded her head to the girl. "That's their daughter, Nancy." Then she turned to her guests. "Wilfred, Astrid. This is our evacuee, Jeffery."

"Hallo!" Jeffery said.

Wilfred Burnett nodded, and his wife said. "Pleased to meet you, Jeffery." Then the three adults resumed their chatting and Jeffery picked up a book he'd been reading the previous night and retired to a chair in the corner. Soon Mr. Burnett, the householder, came home. He didn't seem too pleased to find his brother there, nor did he enjoy sitting on the dining chair his wife had vacated in order to make dinner.

"There's not much meat," she said as she left for the kitchen, but there's lots of potatoes and there's bread. We'll make do until I can take your emergency ration cards to the butcher tomorrow." And while she made the meal, Mr. Burnett chatted with his brother and sister-in-law.

At dinner Jeffery was served with an even smaller piece of fatty meat than usual. He couldn't help noticing that both Mr. Burnetts had nice sized portions of lean, and the visitor got the better piece.

After dinner, Mr. Burnett, the householder, whose first name was Donald took one of the armchairs next to the fire and his brother sat on the couch. The two women went to the kitchen to clean-up the dinner dishes. Mr. Donald Burnett opened his newspaper, which consisted of one double sheet of paper, while his brother listened to Gang Busters on the BBC.

"I miss a big newspaper," Donald Burnett said. "But we all suffer little deprivations during wartime. We're lucky here that we're not in a target area the way you were."

Then Jeffery got wrapped up listening to the radio drama. Gordon did the same when he arrived home from visiting a friend. Gang Busters was a popular show from America and they both tried never to miss an episode.

A few minutes before the program was to end, Mrs. Burnett came in from the kitchen. "All right, Jeffery, time for bed."

He opened his mouth to plead to be allowed to hear the the end of the show, but he wasn't permitted to speak. "No arguments. You can manage to change under the stairs."

"I don't think they'll be over tonight," Donald Burnett said. "Too much cloud cover."

As he spoke the sirens wailed. As always, Jeffery shivered as he heard the shrill sound as it undulated up and down eerily. He remembered the first time he'd heard a siren. It had been a test in London. For some reason he'd been alone in the playground late one afternoon after school when sound screamed from the siren mounted on a nearby police station. It shattered the relative quiet. Scared, he'd jumped and rushed home believing the war had started. The reason he thought that was that just two weeks previous an army lorry had driven down his home street and soldiers had given everybody a gas mask. After they had their masks, the adults acted in a hushed and strange manner as though they were afraid.

Both of the Mr. Burnetts exclaimed surprise at the sirens. Soon the women joined in and the room became noisy. By the time it all quietened down the play had ended, and he'd missed the outcome. He couldn't do anything about that, so he went under the stairs and changed into the hand-me-down pyjamas the ladies from the Woman's Institute had given him. They were kind local women who helped clothe evacuees from the poverty stricken parts of London.

The Burnetts and their guests and Gordon made a lot of noise and chatter outside the cupboard as they moved furniture around. Wilfred Burnett and family were to sleep in the dining room, so the fold out couch was moved in there. The dining table went into the sitting room. He heard Wilfred Burnett say, "I hope we can rent a place of our own soon."

Yes, Jeffery said to himself. And if I can somehow get sent to the hostel up at the manor you can rent this hole under the stairs. He got nicely settled in and prepared for Gordon to come to bed. Then the long single note of the All-clear siren went and he heard Mrs. Burnett tell Gordon he could sleep upstairs. Then she poked her head in the cupboard door. "You stay here," she said to Jeffery.

Suits me, he thought. I'm comfortable. Maybe I'll be able to get a good night's sleep without all that snoring.

But for some reason he couldn't sleep. The kitten locked-up alone in the chicken house bothered him. We're a pair, he thought, you and me, both lost and lonely strays.

Then his mind strayed to Felix, the cat his family had kept in London. He couldn't remember a time when they didn't have it. He had no idea what might have happened to Felix. His Mum and new sister no longer lived in London. The last he'd heard the flat they'd all lived in had been bombed out and his Mum and new sister were somewhere in the eastern part of the country. Letters were few and far between and Felix was never mentioned. And as he wondered about Felix, his memory wandered to the last morning in London.

They'd all risen early and Jeffery and his sister had eaten some bread and dripping, and then they'd put the few bits and pieces they were to take with them into brown paper carrier bags. This done they slipped the string of their gas mask boxes over their heads and onto their shoulders. His two older brothers had left earlier as their schools were further away. Then he and his sister walked down to the corner with Mum where they boarded the red Double-Decker bus that took them to school. Many children had already arrived at the school with their mums.

They left the parents outside as they went into their classrooms. Some children were missing, but that didn't seem to bother the teacher when she called the roll from a special list.

After roll call they waited until it was time to go to the Underground Railway Station. There they boarded an already crowded train and the journey began. Jeffrey was surprised as the train passed slowly through an eerie, grimy abandoned station where a few bare light bulbs showed everything covered in dirt. Then the deserted platforms and tunnels slipped away into darkness. At last the train rushed up from underground to pass rapidly though another station before travelling through the countryside. Jeffery was thrilled because the train rushed through areas he'd never seen before.

Indeed probably few, if any, of the evacuees had ever been this far from home before. They crowded to the windows and stared in wonder at the scenery. There were large fields golden with ripening wheat, and lush green meadows spotted with cows. All flashed by. Soon the clouds disappeared and a bright sun shone. Along the way, in towns and villages, people stood in back gardens or small groups on street corners watching the trains full of children go by on their journey to what were thought to be places of safety. All this Jeffrey remembered as he lay in the cupboard under the stairs, and then he fell asleep.

Chapter 7

On Friday nothing much happened. At School, Arthur told Jeffery that the kitten was all right. He couldn't go with Arthur to the hostel because Mrs. Burnett had told him to be sure to come straight home as they were eating early. This was to allow the visiting Burnett's time to go out and look at the outsides of the local houses that were for rent. Even though his family had been bombed out, Wilfred Burnett still had to catch the train up to London each morning to get to his job. Today he'd left work early and everybody, including Jeffery, after they'd eaten supper, went out to look at nearby available houses.

Around eight-thirty or nine O'clock that night the sirens sounded as usual. Later, under the stairs, when Gordon came to bed, the usual snorts and grumps kept Jeffery awake but no German aircraft flew overhead. Finally, overcome by tiredness, he fell asleep.

Saturday morning he rose at six-thirty, his normal time and by seven-thirty, after the ever skimpy breakfast, he left the house telling Mrs. Burnett he was going to visit Arthur at the hostel. She grumped but didn't stop him. The one advantage for Jeffery in living at the Burnett's was that he never had to do any work other than to straighten the cupboard bed. He hurried up the road to the main bypass and crossed over by the railway station and headed for Marwell Manor. As he came out onto The Green, he met Ginger who'd rushed through her early work so that she, too, could get to the hostel and the kitten.

"Hallo, Ginger," He welcomed. "You're out early."

"Well, it's my kitten isn't it?"

Jeffery didn't answer this and they fell in side by side, hurrying, both of them eager to get to the hostel.

"Have you thought of a name?" Jeffery asked.

"Not yet, I don't know if it's a boy or a girl."

"Didn't you look?

Ginger blushed slightly. "No! I didn't think to. You or Arthur can look when we get there. He will know we're coming, won't he?"

"Of course he will. He knows we wouldn't stay away today. And you know I always go over to the hostel on Saturday morning." He looked down at the ground. "Peter always came, too, when he could get away." Then he added, "But you know that."

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Ginger said, "If it's a boy cat, should we name it Peter? Would you like that?"

"I don't know," he answered. "It would be strange, but it might be nice, sort of in memory. I'm not sure. I liked Peter a lot and I'm not used to him having been killed."

On reaching the gate, they went in through the pedestrian side entrance because, as usual, the main gate was closed. Stately Elm trees lined each side of the driveway and on the right a footpath under the trees ran up to the Manor. They went straight to the front door and Ginger, who was closest, pushed down on the little handle that rang the bell. This was what they'd been told to do when visiting.

Shortly the door opened. Betsy stood there. She stood looking at them for a moment, nodding her head as if she knew a secret. Then she said, "You two," and opened the door a little wider. "I suppose you'd best come in. You want Arthur, do you?"

Ginger went first squeezing past Betsy and Jeffery followed.

"He's in the recreation room down at the end of the corridor, but it's not raining, so you won't be allowed to stay in there."

The recreation room was a large room to one side of the mansion that had been fitted out for the children to relax and entertain any visitors.

"We don't want to stay in," Jeffery said. "We have things to do outside."

"Going to play with the kitten are you?"

The two children stopped short in surprise.

"If they find out, they won't be letting you keep it. I haven't told them yet. What will you give me if I keep quiet?"

The pair turned to stare at Betsy who stood feet astride, hands on hips and her nose pointed up.

"We don't have anything," Jeffery said.

Betsy pointed to Ginger's velveteen bag. "There's that. I'll keep my mouth shut for that. It's a bit shabby, but its better'n what any of my friends have."

Ginger swung the purse up, clasping it to her chest. "No!"

Jeffery saved the day, and later, when Ginger asked how Jeffery how he'd got the idea, he'd confessed that he didn't know where it came from. "You can't make her give you that," he snapped. "Her Grand-mum gave it her before we was evacuated. Now she'd dead. Killed by a bloody Jerry bomb. It's all she's got left to remind her of Grand-mum."

"Why should I care?" Betsy gave a sniff. "Not my Grand-mum. I kind of fancy that bag more now that I know how valuable it is to you. It makes it more attractive."

"Well you're not having it, so there." And Jeffery put a protective arm around Ginger and swept her along the corridor towards the big hall.

"I'll just have to go and see the Colonel, then, won't I?"

Jeffery stopped and swung around to face Betsy. "You do and I'll tell some of what Arthur's told us. Got a sharp eye, Arthur has. You tell. I'll tell." Then he swivelled and hustled Ginger along the way they'd been going.

"What has Arthur told you about her?" Ginger whispered.

"Nothing. I told a lie."

"Ooo!" was all that Ginger could think of to say.

They found Arthur where Betsy had said he was. Ginger broke the news.

"Betsy knows about the kitten. How do you think she found out?"

"She saw me. I saw her see me."

"Saw you when?" asked Jeffery. "Did she follow you out this morning?"

Arthur pursed his lips and then ran his tongue along his teeth. "Last night when I brought the kitten inside," he said. "Then I saw her watching when I took it back out this morning. Cook knows too. But she's all right. She gave me a little jar with milk for it."

"How did Mrs. O'Brien find out?" Ginger demanded. Mrs. O'Brien was the cook's name. Ginger's grandmother had been a cook for a big family at one time and had hated being referred to as 'Cook' by everybody.

"I think Betsy must have said something. Or maybe Cook...Er!..." He put his hand up to his mouth. " Sorry. Mrs. O'Brien saw Betsy watching me. I'm not sure she likes Betsy." He turned around and headed for the back door. "Come on. We'll see how it's getting on."

Ginger followed him as he went out and Jeffery brought up the rear. Not wanting to upset the gardener, they took the roundabout route and soon reached the old chicken house and clambered inside. The kitten was pleased to see them, and shortly it was up on Jeffery's shoulder while the other two stroked it and tickled behind its ears.

"Have you checked to see if it's a boy or a girl yet?" Ginger asked.

"Didn't think to," Arthur said. "Turn your back and I'll have a look."

Ginger did as she was told and faced the inside of the coop while the two boys moved over to the door. Arthur lifted its tail, turned his head to one side, and then the other.

"What is it?" Jeffery asked in a near whisper.

"Don't know. You take a look, Geoff."

Jeffery lifted the kitten off of his shoulder, checked, and then shook his head.

"Come on," Ginger said, a snap in her voice. "What's the hold up?"

"Hard to tell," Arthur said.

"Oh don't be silly!" Ginger swung around, reached out and took the kitten. "It's got to be easy to tell. It's a girl," she declared after looking.

"How can you tell?" Arthur asked.

"If it were a boy it would have," she blushed, "well, you know."

"Ain't that easy" Arthur said. "My dad showed me how to tell, one time, but I've forgot. That thing don't show on a kitten."

Ginger blushed even more not wanting to go into further detail when she realized she wasn't absolutely sure. Arthur and Ginger had stepped out of the chicken house and all three stood by the door talking about the problem. Ginger held the kitten, petting it.

So involved were they that all three jumped when a voice said, "What are you lot up to? What are you doing in my chicken coop? What's that you have there?"

None of them had given a thought that Colonel Bartleby, owner of Marwell Manor might come that way, at that time. The spot was so neglected that it seemed that nobody ever came there. Now they stood frozen in place, speechless. Arthur looked at the ground, scraping a foot on the grass. Ginger stared off to one side petting the kitten furiously and biting her lip. Jeffery looked the Colonel right in the eye.

"Well, speak up. Cat got your tongues?"

"Kitten, Sir." Jeffery said

"Don't be cheeky, to me. What's your name?"

"Jeffery, Sir. I'm not being cheeky, Sir. That's a kitten we have there." He pointed. "Ginger found it day before yesterday and it seemed hungry so we thought we'd look after it." Now he became fidgety and shuffled his feet.

"Kitten, you say? Well, you can't keep it at the manor. We have one house cat. It looks after all the mice. We don't need another."

Ginger spoke up. "Oh please, Colonel. Can't we keep it in this old place? We promise to look after it. Please."

"Afraid not. Wartime you know. Going to be putting some chickens in here soon. Just came out to check it. Not that that's any of your business."

"Isn't there somewhere we can keep it," Arthur pleaded.

"Not at the Manor, and I don't know anyone wants a kitten. Take it over to Selkirk's farm. He might be willing to take it."

Arthur hung his head. "I can't go over there. He doesn't like me."

The Colonel harrumphed. "Oh, yes. You're the haystack boy, aren't you? I'm glad you've got over that burning business." Then his head jerked back and he looked at Arthur through narrowed eyes. "You won't try to burn the manor down, will you, just because I won't let you keep that kitten here?"

"'Course I wouldn't. I get treated well here. But the kitten is a lot like us, sort of lost and without a real home."

The Colonel's face softened. "There's a war on, boy. Bad things happen in wars. Cheer up; we'll win in the end. One of those two," he waved a hand at Ginger and Jeffery, "can take it over to the farm. Now be off with all of you. I have work to do."

Chapter 8

The children drifted off towards the manor gate, Ginger carrying the kitten and Arthur's box. Arthur stopped when they were outside.

"No point in my going further. I can't go near the farm. He'll shoot me."

"And I have to get to the pub," Ginger said, "I'll be wanted in the kitchen to help with the lunches." She thrust the kitten at Jeffery. "You've got to do it."

Arthur said, "See you later," and retreated back to the hostel through the manor gate.

Jeffery took the kitten and it clambered up onto his shoulder. Ginger pushed the gas mask box at him and he took that too. "I can't be late home, either," he said to nobody in particular as he watched Ginger hurry away in the direction of the pub.

The kitten wandered back and forth across Jeffery's shoulders, rubbing against his ears. With his step bolder than his resolve, he set out diagonally across The Green as that was the shortest route to Selkirk's Farm. A few minutes later he stood, hesitating, at the open farm gate. Now he'd arrived, the thought of approaching Mr. Selkirk became worrisome. What if Mr. Selkirk was in a bad mood and ran him off? Arthur didn't like the man and, right or wrong, if he'd burned down the haystack there must have been a reason. Arthur wasn't a nasty boy. Maybe the farmer had it in for evacuees, but that couldn't be true otherwise Peter would have complained. If the farmer ran him off, what would he do with the kitten? Gathering courage, knees a little wobbly, he marched up the dirt lane leading to the farm house.

A golden retriever came bounding out from nowhere, barking. The kitten arched its back and Jeffery put a hand up and lifted it off his shoulder to hold it close to his chest. But the dog did not appear to be aggressive, only friendly and welcoming. The kitten struggled and obviously did not understand the situation as it clung desperately to Jeffery's coat. On a quick thought, Jeffery opened the top button on his coat and thrust the tiny animal inside. For some reason it felt secure hidden in there and snuggled, still and quiet, close to the armpit.

Right then Farmer Selkirk marched out of the farm house carrying his gun, as usual. "Will you be wanting something?" he called in a loud voice as he strode briskly in Jeffery's direction. "You look like one of those evacuees from over the manor. Is that it?"

"No, Sir. At least I mean I don't live at the hostel, but I am an evacuee. I'm billeted with the Burnetts." He thought his voice sounded weak compared to the farmer's booming voice.

"Well! What are you wanting at Selkirk Farm? I don't care much for you evacuees. Given me a load of trouble. I had a haystack burned down by one of your lot. I was lucky all my stacks didn't go up."

"That was Arthur, Sir." As soon as he'd said the name, he knew it was a mistake.

Farmer Selkirk's face reddened some. "That's the one. You a friend of his?"

"Sort of."

Farmer Selkirk's face tightened and grew even redder. "Then be off with you. I want none of his friends here."

"He's not a real good friend. Peter was my good friend and now he's dead."

The man standing there holding the shotgun pulled his head back. "Peter? The boy who stayed here? Dead? When did that happen?"

"A few days ago, up in London. Him and his whole family, mum, dad, and brother. All killed by a jerry bomb."

"Bloody Germans. He was a good boy. Worked hard. Missed his mum. Tried to make him feel at home. Bloody Germans." He shook his head from side to side, then stopped. "You want a job? Saturday mornings, cleaning out the chicken coops. Pay you five shillings and a couple of eggs. Won't last forever. My man's gone off to war and the Land Army girl won't be here for at least a couple of weeks, or maybe more."

"What I really want Sir, is to find a home for this kitten." He pulled it out from under his coat. "Can it stay at your farm? I'm sure it will be able to catch rats and mice when it gets bigger."

The farmer leaned forward to stare at the kitten. "Skinny one. What do you feed it?"

"We only got it yesterday. We give it scraps from our food."

"Got plenty of cats already. Is it a tom?"

Jeffery shrugged.

"You haven't looked?"

"Can't tell."

Farmer Selkirk shook his head. "City children. Don't know anything. Give it here. He stretched out his hand and took the kitten, hand splayed with its legs drooping over the edge, and lifted its tail. "Female!" he declared.

"How can you tell?" Jeffery blurted out.

"See, it's simple, if it was a tom it would have two small bumps there." He stabbed his finger at the kitten and then pushed it back towards Jeffery. "Got enough females. They're trouble even when they've been fixed. Noisy."

"Fixed?"

"Fixed so they don't have kittens all the time. You keep this one the way she is and you'll have more kittens than anyone will want in a few months. You get it fixed before you have problems."

"How do I do that?"

"Vet!" And when Jeffery looked perplexed he added, "Animal doctor. You can't afford it there's free ones come around sometimes, but I think they only do toms free. Tell you what, you come work for me of a Saturday and I'll get my vet to do it. How's that? Pay you too."

"I don't know anything about farm work."

"Nothing to know for what I want. You scrape out the chicken droppings from the coops and put down fresh bran to cover the boards."

"I'd like to earn some money. I don't have any. Still doesn't solve the problem of what to do with the kitten, and I have to get back to my billet or I'll be in trouble."

The farmer pulled out a note pad and pencil from a rear pocket. "Let me have your name and address so I can get hold of you."

Jeffery told him and the farmer wrote it down.

"Got it. Now then, I'll look after the kitten for a couple of weeks. Get it fixed. Then you find a home for it. And I want you here next Saturday morning at eight o'clock sharp to start work. You don't turn up and I'll be talking to your headmaster, Mr. Perkins. Got that?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll be here."

"Be sure you are. Now give it to me." He reached out a burly hand and took the kitten, swung around and marched off. Jeffery watched him go and was rather surprised to see the farmer stroke the kitten's head with one large finger and murmur something.

But it was late and he thought he may have already missed his Saturday midday meal and he was quite hungry, not that he wasn't hungry a lot these days.

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."

Chapter 10

The woman led him through a gate in the fence and round the side of the house. Then she took him through a side door and into a warm kitchen where she seated him at a table. Soon a steaming mug of cocoa sat in front of him, along with a slice of rich fruitcake. He wondered where the fruit for the cake had come from as most people had little or none. But he knew there were black market dealings in such things, so he didn't ask. It wouldn't have been polite. Anyway, and he knew that some people were lucky enough to have friends or relatives overseas who could sometimes send dried fruit and other things. The man, who had taken the dog off to somewhere else in the house, came back in carrying Jeffery's gas mask. He sat at the other side of the table while the woman fussed with a wash cloth cleaning Jeffery's face. When she'd finished he handed the Jeffery the gas mask.

"It was a bit squashed and battered." the man said. "I've straightened it the best I can. You're lucky, boy, my wife, Mrs. Lewis here, is quite a battleaxe. Swings a great mop, she does." The woman shushed him, but he only laughed. "Those bandits hadn't a hope against her -- not a chance. Her and Toby make a great team. I've been thinking about setting her on to old Hitler."

"Well I suppose it was lucky I heard all the commotion and went out and looked over the gate," Mrs. Lewis said. "He looked as if he was trying to kill you." She raised her hand, gently waved a finger. Her head bent slightly forward. "Was he?"

"I don't know," Jeffery lied. He was afraid to say much for fear, that if he told, Tommy Thorne might wriggle out of severe punishment and take revenge. And even then, if he was punished, he'd still be around.

"Do you know them?"

Oh, yes, he thought, I know two of them. I know Tommy Thorne, and I really wish the Germans would drop a bomb on him. He'd known Tommy Thorne as a bully from back in London before the evacuation. Luckily, Jeffery's older brother, Philip was in the same class as Thorne. Like many bullies Thorne wouldn't challenge someone of his own size. While Jeffery had the protection of his brother, he wasn't bothered. But after the summer holidays, shortly before the evacuation, his brother, who'd won a scholarship, changed schools. Thorne stayed on.

On evacuation day the students, leaving parents outside, assembled in their usual classrooms, each with its teacher, awaiting the order to march off to the Underground station. Mrs. Kelly, Jeffery's teacher, sat up front as normal and called the special roll. Following this she went around and handed out coloured baggage labels. The children were instructed to write their name, age and school name on the labels. When the labels were ready they were to tie them to a button hole. The older children were to help the younger ones with the labels.

After that was over, with nothing much else to do, Mrs. Kelly checked that all the children had gas masks. This task completed, she decided to hold a gas mask drill while they waited.

"All right now," she said. "Put your gas mask boxes on your desks and take out the masks."

There was much fumbling and noise as the boxes were lifted to the desks and opened and the face-fitting masks made of smelly rubber taken out. The masks had two round glass covered holes at eye level and a heavy metal canister below. The canister had many small holes in the bottom to allow breathing. Inside the canister was something to absorb the gas. Mrs. Kelly had just opened her mouth to give the command to put the gas masks on when Mr. Walker, the headmaster, walked in and went over to her. He said a few words too soft for the students to hear before he walked out again.

Jeffery thought Mrs. Kelly appeared to be nervous and worried after this. As she walked around to the front of her desk she was biting her lip. "Right children," she said. "Put your gas masks away. It's time to leave. Go out that way." She pointed to the door on the right. "And please don't worry. Everything will be all right; absolutely all right. It will all be over in a few weeks."

Orderly and subdued they filed out. Outside, as normal, the girls separated from the boys and gathered in the lower playground. Everybody, or at least all the older ones, knew the date: Friday, September 1st 1939. Overhead light clouds covered the sky with only the odd small spot of blue showing through. It wasn't hot; it wasn't cold. Out by the gate parents waited. Most of them were mums because the dads had to be at work. In the whole group only three were men.

Jeffery took it all in. He saw that some of the mums cried, and noticed one of the dads put a hand to his eye as he turned away.

At last everything got underway. The children were formed up into twos and tramped out through the gate. There they turned left and hiked up the road to the nearby railway station. Although it all started out orderly, once the station was reached organization fell apart. Other school groups arrived at the same station and yet others had already arrived. As the children milled around, Teacher control of the children virtually ceased to exist. The only reason for any order at all came from the children's fear of getting lost.

The original organization had paired younger children with older ones who looked out for them. This worked out well for the girls, with some of the older ones having two charges, but there were not enough younger boys to go around to be looked after. The problem was solved by pairing boys who didn't need looking after with older ones anyway. Jeffery's bad luck was to be paired with Tommy Thorne.

Thorne, having been put in charge of him, decided to turn his attention elsewhere. Annoying the girls became his activity of choice. His eye fell on Ginger, a girl from another school.

When Jeffery first saw Ginger he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Long, attractive orange/red hair glistened as it hung down her back. She was bent over trying to comfort a crying, shabby little girl of about six years old. A warm feeling flowed through him as he watched. He hadn't a clue as to why the little one was crying. Ginger held a slightly grubby handkerchief and dabbed at the tears rolling down tiny cheeks, which didn't stop the six year old from rubbing her eyes and pulling the sleeve from her jumper across her nose.

The small girl's gas mask was slung across her shoulders, and in one hand she held a carrier bag. But what made her stand out was the brand new, shiny-white, enamel chamber pot held in the other hand. Every time she wiped arm across her nose the potty came up too. For a moment the purpose of the object failed to register on Jeffery. He started to snicker when it dawned on him. Ginger glanced up and he quickly turned away. That was when he saw the evil, glassy gleam in Tommy Thorne's eyes as he, too, spotted the chamber pot. Jeffrey had seen that look before and well knew it boded no good. He also knew that, to Thorne, the chamber pot would be an object for fun and irritation.

Jeffery saw his hand slip into his pants pocket and come out holding a heavy clasp knife. He didn't open it, but stepped forward and brought the blunt end down onto the side of the shiny enamel pot. There was a clang as it hit, and a large piece of enamel flew off from the inside. The little girl stopped crying for about ten seconds and looked in dismay at the damaged receptacle. Then she let loose with a great wail of anguish and the tears flowed faster than ever.

Ginger straightened and took a step toward Thorne who stood two inches taller than she did. "You horrid monster," she said, eyes flashing anger. "Look what you've done."

Thorne gave his head an arrogant toss. "What's wrong? It won't leak if that's what's worrying you."

Ginger took another step forward, coming almost nose to nose with the offender. "You're a terrible person. You've damaged someone else's property."

"So what?" Thorne said. "Get away from me." He raised a hand and shoved the palm against Ginger's shoulder. Jeffery grabbed him and pulled him back before he could take further action. Thorne swung around and raised a clenched fist. Jeffery braced for the blow which didn't come.

A man's voice boomed out. "What's the problem here? Why are you two fighting? Why is that little girl crying? What is going on?"

Jeffery found out later that the newly arrived person was a teacher from Ginger's school. Ginger started to pour out an angry and not very coherent version of events. While she did this, Thorne slipped away, but not before growling at Jeffery, "I'll fix you for that."

The little girl, fascinated by the action and argument, soon stopped crying and watched the goings on. When Ginger's tale was finished, the teacher looked around, saw Jeffery and asked. "Is this the one?"

"No, Mr. Spicer," Ginger answered. "The one that did it's gone and I can't see him now. I'll know him again, though, I know I will."

"Well there's not much I can do right now. There's too much going on. I'll attend to it when we get wherever it is we're going -- if we all end up at the same place that is."

At that moment a woman rushed up and took hold of the little girl's arm. "Melanie. I'm taking you home. I can't let you go, I can't." She looked up at the teacher, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spicer. I know I'm a horrible person for doing this, but she's my only one. If I gets killed by a bomb, she'll miss me– well – it's best we go together. It's best, I know it is."

Mr. Spicer looked at her. "Mrs. Johnson. It would really be in Melanie's best interest for her to go, you know that." He spoke softly and gently.

"No, no." The woman shook her head. "They said we don't have to send them, so I'm keeping her with me. It's no good you saying anything." With that she pulled at little Melanie's arm, leading her away and leaving Jeffery, Ginger and the teacher to stare as they retreated.

Oh yes, thought Jeffery in answer to Mr. Lewis's question, I know Tommy Thorne.

Chapter 11

After Mrs. Lewis had made certain he was all right and that he'd be able to get home, she gave him a second piece of cake to eat as he walked. "You look a bit on the skinny side," she told him.

The road back to his billet and temporary home led past the bottom of the woods. He worried that Thorne would be waiting along the way, but there was no sign of him. He did, however, meet Gordon.

Gordon must have been hiding in the woods, because he came up behind Jeffery. "Wait, Jeffery," he called.

Knowing the voice and expecting the worst, Jeffery stopped and turned. Gordon was alone and looked worried.

"Are you OK, Jeffery?" He wanted to know.

"No," Jeffery snapped. "My neck hurts, my eye's black, and my clothes are torn and dirty. Is that OK?"

Gordon moved ahead and then walked backwards, a few steps ahead of him and beckoned. "Let's get home. What you going to tell Mum?"

With a shrug Jeffery kept walking, staring angrily at Gordon. "Don't know yet, do I?"

Gordon turned and dropped back alongside Jeffery. "She'll beat the daylight out of me if you tell. You've seen her when she gets angry."

Indeed he had, and at those times he'd actually felt sorry for Gordon. It never happened when her husband was around, but every so often, when she was in a bad mood, Mrs. Burnett grabbed the bamboo cane she kept handy for the purpose and whipped her son. The usual routine would be to corner him and start whacking with the cane and screaming at the top of her voice. Mrs. Burnett's voice at those times was always hoarse and quite difficult to understand and Jeffery was never able to fathom a reason for the beatings.

One time in her rage she'd turned to him and screamed, "Do you want some, too? There's lots here," before returning to the attack on her son who wouldn't try to run but just stand his ground and plead for her to stop.

"Serve you right if she did beat you. You should have stopped him."

Gordon shook his head. "I couldn't. You don't understand. He's crazy. I never know what he's going to do."

"So, you was going to let him go ahead and strangle me. You was with him. They'd have sent you away, too, if he'd killed me. And right it would be."

Gordon stuffed his hands in his pockets and, head down, shuffled along beside Jeffery until they reached home. They entered through the kitchen where Mrs. Burnett was preparing the evening meal. She stopped, speechless for a moment and then threw up her hands.

"What have you been up to, Jeffery Frazer? You're dirty and where did you get that black eye?"

Jeffery's eye had started to hurt worse; his throat felt sore and when he answered the words came out almost as a croak. "Three boys attacked me."

"What three boys? Where?"

Gordon had circled around and now stood behind his mother. Jeffery glanced at him before answering. "Never seen them before. I think they maybe came up from Rucksford."

"Well, what would Rucksford boys be doing up here?"

"Don't know. I went up to see Arthur, but Colonel Bartleby had taken some of them on an outing, so I went for a walk in the Bluebell Woods." He put a hand up to his eye. "Then, when I came out on the road at the bottom, they were there and they started pushing me around."

From there on he mostly told the truth, interrupted now and then by a question or remark from Mrs. Burnett until at the end of his story she said, "Well I suppose boys will be boys and you must have done something to annoy them. You evacuees have all sorts of irritating ways with you." She seemed suddenly to remember her son and swung to look at him. He lowered his eyes to look at the floor. She turned back to Jeffery. "And where was Gordon all this time?"

"Don't know. I met him on my way home."

"Oh, did you?" she said. "And where had he been?" She turned her attention back to her son.

"I went down to the river to see if the fish were jumping. Thought I might go fishing tomorrow, if the weather's nice." Gordon said.

"That's hardly likely, fish jumping at this time of year. Never mind. Jeffery, go and change and bring me those dirty clothes and that jacket. I'll have to mend it before church tomorrow."

Feeling themselves dismissed the two of them left the kitchen and went upstairs. At the top Gordon whispered, "Thanks."

Chapter 12

The following day all the Burnetts, brothers, wives and children trundled themselves off to church. Jeffery's clothes had been repaired and, as usual, he accompanied the Burnetts. Mrs. Burnett always insisted he go to church. He never really knew if her concern came from a desire for his religious instruction, or for fear of leaving him in the empty house. In any case, it didn't bother Jeffery. He enjoyed the hymn singing and the vicar often gave an interesting sermon by bringing up the subject of the war. This made Jeffery think deeply about the war.

And the war went on. Jeffery settled into his Saturday job at Selkirk's Farm, and always kept a careful lookout for Tommy Thorne. The work of cleaning out the chicken houses wasn't too hard. The chickens were kept at the side of a field in a row of coops similar to the one at the manor. Each coop had its own small area fenced off with chicken wire for the chickens to run in. He would trundle a wheel barrow up to the door and shovel the bran, dirty with chicken droppings, into it. Then he wheeled the barrow to a heap at the corner of the field where he emptied it before re-filling it with clean bran from a small barn next to the heap.

Farmer Selkirk seemed in no hurry to give the kitten back. He had a daughter about eighteen years old, and sometimes Jeffery saw her outside the house carrying the kitten. He wondered if they'd ever get it back. He wanted to get it back, and Ginger and Arthur kept asking about it. But they still had nowhere to keep it.

At the beginning of December the government announced an extra ration of tea and sugar for Christmas. In spite of the war, the school managed to organize a Christmas party. It was held in the assembly hall where chairs had been placed in rows and the students were seated rather than standing, as at assembly.

It wasn't really much of a party. One of the teachers played a few Christmas records on Mr. Perkins gramophone, and the women teachers urged them to sing along. Plates with a few fish paste sandwiches were handed round and each student received one cup cake. At the end came a surprise treat. All the children were given an apple, an orange, a big package of raisins and also, to their joy, a large bar of Cadbury's chocolate. From the stage where he'd stayed throughout the party, Mr. Perkins announced that the fruit, raisins and chocolate were a gift from the people of South Africa.

But true to form, even at the Christmas party, Mr. Perkins was unable to stop being headmaster. "There has been some petty thievery at a local farm," he announced. "Chickens and eggs have been stolen. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that theft is a crime, and anyone caught stealing will be severely punished by the law."

And Christmas at the Burnetts wasn't much for a young boy. They did buy him a present, an adventure book about an Ace Pilot in China who helped the Chinese government against rebels in the north. He quite enjoyed it, and it was a change to enjoy something given by the Burnetts. He began to think that they weren't such bad people after all.

Gordon belonged to the Boy Scouts and Mr. Burnett had earlier thought it a good idea for Jeffery to belong, and he was happy to do this. There was no money for a uniform, but many of the other scouts were also without uniforms. Of course, not having a uniform meant there was nowhere to sow any badges he'd earned. Eventually shirts were found somewhere for the boys, and some rather faded scarves.

Apart from the skills needed to earn the badges, such as tying knots, they also played lots of games. Some of these were rough and tumble like Jeffery's favourite: British Bulldog. In this game all the boys gathered to one end of the hall where the scout meeting was held, and then one of the bigger boys was chosen to stand in the middle of the hall. At a signal, the boys would rush from the one end to the other. The boy in the middle grabbed one of these and trted to wrestle him to the floor. If he succeeded, the second boy joined him in the middle so that there were two boys there. Then the signal was given again and the boys rushed again. This continued until only one boy remained uncaught. He was declared the winner. Bruises were a common result, but none of the scouts cared.

Before Christmas, all the scouts in Jeffery's patrol went around singing Christmas carols in aid of Mrs. Churchill's Red Cross aid to Russia campaign. They toured houses and pubs and sang at the tops of their voices. Then they knocked on doors, or shoved their heads inside a pub but nobody gave very much. Jeffery thought it might be because no one in the choir had a good voice and few nobody seemed to know all the words to the carols. At one pub the landlord, shouting, ran them off. At the end of an evenings singing, any money collected was turned over to Gordon who was the scout patrol leader. What happened to the money, Jeffery never found out.

After Christmas, but before the New Year, Wilfred Burnett and his family moved into a small, rented house not far away. The Wilfred Burnetts invited the Donald Burnetts over and they, of course, took Jeffery with them. For him the event was quite boring as the adults sat around talking. While they were doing this the undulating wail of the air raid sirens told them that the German bombers were busy again. Eventually the adults talked themselves out and the Donald Burnetts left for home. The Germans had been making a hard incendiary attack on London. As they walked home the huge fires burning in London made the sky glow a vivid red like a magnificent sunset. Although they were more than twenty miles from the city the glow extended over their heads as large areas of the city burned to the ground. The Guildhall, where children from Jeffrey's school went to sing patriotic songs on Victoria Day, burned that night.

That same night Mrs. Burnett's sister, was bombed out and came to live with them. This caused more turmoil because Mrs. Burnett and her sister did not get along very well.

There was nothing much for Jeffery to do during the Christmas and New Year holidays, so he and Arthur explored further afield than normal. Scrambling over fallen bricks, they went through the gap in the wall at the back of the Manor, and pushed through the undergrowth in the woods until they reached the far edge. As they broke out of the woods, to their delight, they saw a large, apparently abandoned tower. It had heavy stone block walls that sloped slightly inward a metal cap at the top. Clumps of green moss peppered the walls. At intervals small, now dirty, windows had been set into the sides. Circling it they gazed in wonder, puzzled as to what it was for. In front a heavy, double wooden door with flaking green paint was held closed by a large rusty padlock. Then Jeffery looked up and noticed a shaft sticking out from the metal cap.

"I know what this is," he declared. "It's a windmill, a ruined windmill. That's the shaft that turns when the wind blows, but the flaps are missing."

"They're called vanes," Arthur said. "But I think you're right. Must be very old."

There was no sign of the vanes that would have been mounted on the shaft to catch the wind. They moved on round the tower. On the far side, a large tree grew against the wall. Arthur pointed up.

"Up there," he exclaimed. "There's a broken window."

Jeffery looked up to where he was pointing and saw the window.

"I'm going to shin up this tree," Arthur said. See if I can get inside." And he dashed over to the base of the tree and started to climb.

For a moment Jeffery hesitated, then put his gas mask down on the ground and followed him up. Soon they were creeping around an upper floor in the derelict windmill's dim interior where the only light came through the broken window. There was not much to find. Odd pieces of wood and metal rubble covered the floor which was rotted through in places.

"Be careful," Jeffery said. "Don't trip and fall through."

In the centre they discovered a large hole and to one side a rickety staircase leading down. Everything was so dim the ground below could not be seen. They decided not to go down. Then they found more stairs leading up. These were also rickety, but they climbed them anyway. At the top they found a short passage that led to a small room dimly lit through one of the dirty windows. Arthur was delighted. "We can keep the kitten in here," he said.

"We can't keep it locked up, Arthur," Jeffery protested. "It's not right."

"It won't be locked up all the time. I'll come over nights and smuggle it into the house. And Ginger will want to keep it company, too, when she has the time. You got a better suggestion where to keep it?"

"Might not matter. I'm not sure Mr. Selkirk wants to give it up. I think his daughter Sylvia might want to keep it."

"Don't think so," Arthur said. Sylvia's joined the WAAF's. She'll be leaving home soon."

"I suppose Betsy told you that."

"Nope. Heard Mrs. O'Brien tell Betsy. She said it as a sort of suggestion. I think she was hoping that Betsy would join up, too." He poked further into the room. "If we scrounged some stuff it'd be comfortable here. What about it, Jeffery? You work tomorrow. Ask Old Selkirk to give us back our kitten."

At last, Jeffery agreed to ask about the kitten. But as it turned out, he didn't need to. Farmer Selkirk broached the subject.

"Morning, Jeffery." Farmer Selkirk said when Jeffery turned up for work. "You lot decided about where you're going to keep that kitten?" He stood feet astride, hands on hips. "Sylvia's joined up. Going into the WAAF's. I only kept it because she was attracted to it." He took his left hand off his hip and waved it in the direction of the farm house. "My old cat and your kitten don't get along too well. Mrs. Selkirk doesn't want the job of keeping them apart."

"We were thinking of keeping it in the old mill on the other side of the woods."

"The mill! That place belongs to the Colonel. It's been locked up for years." The farmer's head jutted forward slightly and his eyes narrowed. "Did you young rogues break the lock?"

"No, Mr. Selkirk." A vision of Mr. Perkins and his cane popped into Jeffery's head . "There's a tree growing alongside it. A window up top was already broken. We just climbed up the tree and got in that way."

"Likely story" the farmer said in disbelief.

"It's true." If there was one thing that Jeffery had learned since the evacuation it was to stand up for himself when he was in the right.

"No harm done, I suppose, if you're telling the truth. You won't be keeping the kitten there forever." Just then Sylvia came out of the house carrying the animal and walked away from them, toward the barn. "Your kitten's growing fast. Soon be a cat. If you don't have a good home for it by the time it's full grown you'll need to let it run free. Cruel to keep it locked up all the time."

Jeffery's whole body sagged and he became crestfallen for a moment as he thought of the kitten's future as a cat. No real home and nobody to care for it; bit like being an evacuee.

Chapter 13

After school on Monday, Jeffrey called at the farmhouse and asked Mr. Selkirk if it would be all right to pick up the kitten in a few days time. Mr. Selkirk agreed and the following day, after school, he and Arthur went to the old mill and climbed up the tree again and clambered in through the window. Arthur had been hard at work the day before and much of the rubbish had now been cleared away. Also, from somewhere, he'd scrounged a couple of candles. He now lit one and held it out in front as they both went close to the centre of the room being careful not to fall into the centre hole.

"What did you do with the rubbish?" Jeffrey asked.

"Tossed it down the hole," Arthur answered.

Jeffrey grunted as if in approval of a smart move.

They moved carefully across the room and upstairs to the room selected for the cat.

"We'll need a box of some sort for a bed," Jeffrey said, "and one for litter. We can use dirt for her to scratch in."

"Ginger says she can get a box and an old blanket for a bed," Arthur said.

"How about food for it? You know the way it is at my place. Not enough for me, let alone finding food for a cat."

"I can always get around Mrs. O'Brien for a few table scraps, and Ginger says there's stuff gets thrown away at the pub. She'll grab that."

Jeffrey lit the other candle and began to inspect the room. "There's holes in the walls. A lot of them. We'd better block them off. It'll prowl around. We don't want it to get stuck in one of them." He picked up a piece of wood scrap and placed it in front of a hole. It didn't do much good. "That's no good," he said. "I'll see if I can find something better."

He went back down the stairs followed by Arthur. "I'm going down these other stairs," he said. "I'm going to put my candle out. I don't want to burn myself." He grinned. "I don't want to drop it, either. Get a bad reputation for myself if I set a fire in the mill."

"Ha, ha," Arthur said. "Give it to me. I'll hold it over the edge. It'll give you a bit of light."

Jeffrey gave him the candle and started down the ladder. The wooden steps creaked and he worried, fearful in case one should break. The light from the candle wasn't much help once he reached the bottom. Luckily faint light came through two small, dirty windows and a few cracks in the wall. His eyes soon adjusted to the dimness and he moved around carefully. More rubbish and junk lay scattered around. He looked up and behind the candle saw Arthur's head silhouetted against the light from their entrance window.

"Found anything?" Arthur called in a soft shout.

"Not yet. A lot of junk on the floor. I'm going over to the wall and circle around."

He stepped cautiously through the debris, picking his way over to the wall. He felt his way, using his feet as much as his eyes. Whenever his foot struck a solid object, which was often, he bent over to gingerly touch the obstruction. Mostly he found things like a large cog wheel or huge squared timbers, and once an obstacle turned out to be a coil of rope. He began to despair of finding anything that would secure the small room chosen for the cat. Soon he approached a part of the room that was darker with little of the faint light that came through the dirty windows and cracked walls reaching the area. Not being able to see what might be lying there, he edged out from the wall.

It was then that all the stories he'd ever read or heard about nasty creatures hiding in dark places in abandoned buildings crowded his mind. He tried to push the ugly visions away, but they wouldn't go. Biting his lip he moved forward two small steps. It was no use, his feet refused to move further. He began to retreat, shuffling backwards. His left foot caught against an object and he fell sideways toward the middle of the room. His elbow struck something hard as he went down. He cried out.

"What's wrong?" Arthur called.

"Nothing much. I fell. But I think I've found what we need. Bricks."

"Bricks?"

"Yes. They likely came from the fallen wall at the manor. We can use them to wedge pieces of wood against the holes. Come down. But be careful of that candle."

Arthur said not to worry about the candle, there wouldn't be a fire today and he trod carefully downstairs holding the flickering candle at a tilt away from his body. He needn't have worried about fire. A draft blew the candle out when he was halfway down. But by then his eyes had grown used to the dim light and he could see vague shapes on the floor.

"Over here," Jeffrey called.

Arthur made his way to Jeffrey's side and relit the candle. All the bricks had mortar on the sides. Jeffrey explained what he thought would work.

"That might do it," Arthur said. "Now all we have to do is find some way of getting them up the ladder."

"There's rope over by the wall. It's a bit old, but I think it's OK. There's a few small planks, too. We can make a bundle of bricks and haul them up."

And that's what they did. They searched until they found four smallish planks of roughly the same size. They uncoiled the rope and Arthur carried one end up the stairs along with a couple of bricks that he placed on the rope's end to stop it from falling down again. Then he rejoined Jeffrey who'd laid a plank on the other end of the rope. After which they neatly piled bricks onto the plank, put a plank on each side and one on top and, using knots Jeffrey had learned at scouts, tied the rope around it. Then they climbed stairs and pulled on the rope. The bundle was too heavy even with both of them pulling. They made a smaller bundle but it fell apart as did a second bundle. At last, with perseverance, they succeeded in getting a bundle to hold together. It was hard work, though. By the time they'd pulled up three loads they were tired, and decided to quit for the day.

Chapter 14

That night the sky was clear and the bombers came over early. It was as if the sky was full of them, which was not normal. Mr. Burnett voiced the thought that for some reason they'd changed their approach strategy, or else they were heading for a new target. Whenever a new wave of bombers passed overhead, the anti-aircraft guns on the railway tracks opened up. But by now, everybody had become almost immune to the background noise.

At their normal time, Jeffrey and Gordon went to bed ignoring air raid, gunfire and the war, in order to get enough rest to face the next day's trials and frustrations.

Gordon fell asleep fast and, as usual, began to snore. Jeffery had adjusted to his nightly snores and lay with closed eyes pondering the problems of school, the kitten and how to get moved out of the Burnett household. Slowly he drifted into a half sleep.

He was snatched out of this dreamy state by a loud bang and the noise of shattering of glass followed by the sound of something falling outside the cupboard door. The house shook and rocked. He heard shouts and screams and smelled smoke. Dust filled the cupboard, getting in his throat, making him cough. Gordon sat up.

"Stop that, Jeffery." He snarled. Then he started to cough as well.

"It's not me. I think a bomb hit nearby. Could be in the garden. Maybe next door."

"Bomb!" Jeffery heard fear in Gordon's shaky voice. As he was at end of the under-stair cupboard next to the door, he immediately tried to open it. The door moved slightly then stuck. The screams had stopped and Mrs. Burnett came stumbling along the passage.

"Gordon," she called in a squeaky, terrified voice. "Gordon! Where are you, dear? Are you all right? Are you hurt Gordon?"

"Get me out of here, Mum. The door's stuck."

The door began to shake as Mrs. Burnett took hold of the door and pulled. "Donald!" Mrs. Burnett shouted for her husband. "Come and help me. Gordon's stuck in the cupboard."

Jeffery heard Mr. Burnett's answering shout as he, too, stumbled along the passage. He must have been holding the torch he kept by him at all times because a faint light seeped into the cupboard. Then he heard Mrs. Burnett's sister, Gertie calling out as she came from the front room where she'd been sleeping.

"The ceiling's down." Mr. Burnett said. "It's blocking the door."

Right then a banging started at the front door and Jeffery heard the shout of a man's voice. He couldn't make out what the man was saying.

"Oh, Gertie, " Mrs. Burnett said in a whiny voice, "Do answer the door. Poor Gordon's trapped. Gordon dear are you hurt?"

"No, Mum. I'm all right. Get me out of here."

Gordon knelt by the door frantically pushing. Jeffery was forgotten. There were scraping sounds that he guessed was Mr. Burnett trying to clear fallen debris away from the door. Then Gertie called out that the front door was stuck.

"Tell whoever it is to push it open from the outside," Mrs. Burnett shouted.

"I think that should do it," Mr. Burnett said. The cupboard door scratched and grated on the floor as it was pulled open a bit wider.

"Gordon, love," Mrs. Burnett said. "See if you can get out dear."

On his hands and knees, Gordon pushed out through the narrow opening. Jeffery crawled out after him, moving over crumbs of fallen plaster that dug painfully into his knees. He saw Gordon wrapped in his mother's arms as she hugged him. The front door was now open and the local Air Raid Warden had stepped inside.

"Come on, all of you. Get outside. Hurry!" He said. There's a bomb dropped in your garden. Your garage is on fire. Come on now. Get out before the fire spreads to the house."

"But we're not dressed for outside," Mrs. Burnett wailed.

"Better outside in your nightie love, than inside being toasted. Come on! Outside! All of you!"

Obeying the warden's command, they all shuffled and staggered outside dressed in their night clothes. Gertie was first out followed by Mrs. Burnett still hanging on to Gordon. Then Mr. Burnett stepped through the open door followed by Jeffery. As he stepped into the open, a fire engine pulled up. The firemen jumped off. Dragging hoses, they rushed to the side gate and around the back of the house to fight the fire. Soon a police car arrived with two policemen. Mr. Burnett told them that everyone except Jeffery could find a place to stay at his brother's house. It was only a small house, he said, and there would be no room for Jeffery.

"Are you sure they can't squeeze him in for the one night?" the warden asked.

"Quite sure," Mr. Burnett answered in a tight voice.

Jeffery wondered what had got into him. Normally he was quite tolerant of Jeffery's presence. Maybe the thought of sharing Jeffery's meat ration with both his brother Wilfred and Jeffery didn't appeal to him.

"Right, then," said the driver of the police car, a sergeant. "Bert can stay here. The rest of you pile in. I'll drive you to your brother's house."

Mrs. Burnett, Gordon and Gertie climbed into the back of the police car. Mr. Burnett sat in front next to the driver. As soon as they were in and the doors closed, the car drove off.

Jeffery shivered in the night air. The warden looked at him and walked over to the side gate and looked down along the side of the house to where the firemen were fighting the fire. When he came back he said, "It's safe for the moment, son. Slip in and grab a blanket. We don't want you catching pneumonia." As Jeffery started off he said, "Wait." Jeffery stopped. "Here," he extended his hand. "It's dark in there. Take my torch. But hurry, I don't like to be without it for long."

Jeffery took the torch, entered the house and went straight to the cupboard. On his way he shone the light onto the floor and saw that huge chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling. This was the rubble that had stopped the cupboard door from opening. He pushed back into the cupboard through the narrow opening, grabbed a blanket and, as an afterthought, the shoes and trousers he always kept at his side as he slept. Kept there for emergencies like this one.

"Come on," the warden shouted from the door. "What's keeping you? Make it snappy."

Jeffery hurried out. He brushed the dirt from his feet as best he could as he pulled on his trousers. When he put on his shoes, grit rubbed the soles of his feet but he decided nothing could be done at the moment to relieve the discomfort. The blanket he tossed over his shoulders.

"Don't know what we're going to do with you," the warden said. "I'd take you to my place, but there's no room there either. Got three kids of my own and two of you evacuees."

Hope suddenly gleamed in Jeffery's mind. "There's the hostel up at the Manor," he said. "It's a big place. Maybe they've got room."

The warden pondered a moment. "Well, the police car has to come back for the constable there." He waved a hand at the policeman called Bert by the driver. He was across the street talking to neighbours of the Burnetts who'd come out of their house to gawk. His hand was waving at them as if he wanted them to get back into their house and out of danger should another bomb drop. "I'll ask them to run you up there. See if they'll take you in."

Bert crossed back over. "Fools," he said "standing outside like that. Could be another Jerry over any time dropping more bombs."

"Lad here has nowhere to go," the warden said. "Thinks there might be room up at the hostel in the manor. Can you run him up?"

"Be up to the Sergeant, but I don't see why not."

And that's what was done. When the car came back, the warden, Bert and the sergeant huddled together for a few minutes. Then Bert called out, "Come on lad. We'll run you up to the hall." He held the back door of the police car open and Jeffery climbed in and sat on the comfortable leather seats. The ride was a great thrill for him as he'd never even been in a car before, let alone a police car.

The main gate for the Manor driveway was closed as usual, so Bert escorted Jeffery in through the side gate and up to the front door while the police car waited. "Hope I don't wake the whole house," Bert said in a gruff voice as he banged the door knocker because he hadn't seen the bell pull. After a short wait, he was about to knock again when they heard sounds inside. Then the door opened to reveal Betsy carrying a lighted torch. "What's all the banging?" she said. "You're supposed to ring the bell."

She looked at the policeman for a few seconds before shinning the torch in Jeffery's face.

"What's he done, then?" she said with a toss of her head in Jeffery's direction.

"Got his self bombed out, that's what," snapped Bert, who seemed irritated by Betsy's snippy manner. "He needs a place to stay."

"Well I can't let him in at this time of night."

"I'm sure you can't. But you can run yourself off and fetch somebody who can, can't you. Now away with you; I don't want to stand here the rest of the night."

Betsy hesitated a moment, before saying, "wait," as she closed the door.

Jeffery started to shiver again and Bert stamped his feet. It was about five minutes before the matron who oversaw the welfare of the hostel children opened the door. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked.

The constable sniffed. "Didn't she tell you? Not surprised. Lad here's been bombed out. Needs a place to stay."

The matron had a torch, perhaps the same one Betsy had used. She, too, shone it in Jeffery's face before waving the light up and down his body. "Oh, the poor thing" she exclaimed "Is he hurt?"

"No, but he's dirty, cold and tired."

"Then he'd better come in and I'll make a cup of cocoa to warm him up. Would you like a cup, constable?"

"Thank you Ma'am, I can't. The sergeant's waiting down at the gate in the car and we have to get to work. Problems all over tonight."

"Well, thank you for bringing him over. What's your name, boy?"

"Jeffery."

Matron looked a little closer. "Why so it is. Arthur's friend." She opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come on in, Jeffery." And as he stepped inside she said. "Goodnight, constable. Thank you again." Then she closed the door.

Chapter 15

When Jeffery woke in the morning, the first person he saw was Arthur. He blinked his eyes. Where was he? He looked above and saw the bottom of a mattress sitting on steel mesh held in place by being hooked to steel bars. He was on the lower tier of a steel double bunk bed in a room full of these.

A voice said, "Jeffery, you made it."

Jeffery gave his head a shake. "Arthur! What are you doing here?"

"I'm home. I'm in the hostel like you. What happened?"

Jeffery closed his eyes for a few seconds and thought about it. Hostel? When he opened them, he said. "I was bombed out."

"So matron said. Anybody hurt?"

"Not at the Burnett's. Don't know about any other place."

"Maybe the plane that dropped the bomb is the one that got shot down." Arthur said.

Jeffery sat up, narrowly missing scraping his head on the bunk above him. "Shot down!"

"It came down on a field near The Green over on the other side of the church. A boy here goes to Tech School. He was up in the night and heard the gardener getting called out on Home Guard duty. They're looking for two missing German aircrew. I got up early and slipped out to grab a look at it before breakfast. It's a Heinkel one eleven. You won't believe what I found."

He never got the chance to say what he'd found because right then Matron walked in carrying a small bundle.

"Well, Jeffery," she said. How are you feeling?"

He stood and said, "Ok," then blushed. "Sorry, Ma'am. I'm all right, thank you."

"That's good," Matron said, her face beaming a smile. "I let you sleep late. I hope these fresh clothes fit. We'll look after you better later on. Now get up and go for a wash-up. Arthur will show you where the bathroom is before he rushes off to school." And as if to say, "Now you behave yourself." she looked pointedly at Arthur and a little frown crossed her face.

Then she turned back to Jeffery. "I sure you'd like a bath to get all that grime off, but I'm sorry we don't have that much hot water. What with the fuel shortage and all you children we need to ration baths to one per child a week, so you can't have one right this moment, but I'll make sure you get one later on. I've spoken on the phone with Mr. Perkins and you won't need to go to school today. Now I'd better get out of here and let Arthur show you where to go. He does have to get to school." She looked at Arthur, head forward, eyes high up in her head with a slight smile gracing her lips. "I wouldn't want to be held responsible for his getting caned for being late."

And with that, she placed the bundle of clean clothes on the end of Jeffery's bunk and turned to leave, then stopped. "Arthur," she said. "Take him down to the kitchen, as well, when he's ready. Mrs. O'Brien will give him some breakfast." Then she left.

"Come on, Jeffery," Arthur said. "I'm going to have to hurry. I'll show you where everything is, and then take you to the kitchen."

Chapter 16

The clothes matron had given Jeffery were a bad fit. The shirt buttoned tight around his chest, the pullover and short trousers hung loose. But he didn't complain and when Mrs. O'Brian put a breakfast of baked beans and toast on the table he ate hungrily. After eating, with the hostel staff all busy, he went back to the dorm and found a book to read. Later, after lunch and before Arthur and the others returned, matron was as good as her word and drew him a hot bath and found him some better fitting clothes. As he washed off the dirt that had stuck when clambered out of the Burnett's cupboard he scrubbed really hard as if he were trying to get rid of everything Burnett. The bath was a real pleasure.

With that over, dried and dressed, he felt full of energy. He'd never been alone in the manor before, and as nobody around seemed to be paying attention to him, he decided to explore. Many parts were out of bounds, though. One such area was behind a door labelled with a sign in large letters, GIRLS ONLY. That needed no explanation. It was obviously the girls' dormitory.

Here and there in various odd spots and corners, suits of armour stood as if on guard. He touched a couple of these and his finger came away dusty. In some places, swords, shields, spears, battleaxes and sundry other weapons were mounted on the walls. Most of the shields were decorated with a coat of arms. He found it all interesting but gloomy.

He came to a dismal passage panelled in dark wood and decided to walk that way. Painted portraits, in ornate frames, of people from past times hung on the walls. These were hard to see in the gloom of the passage, but there was enough light for him to see the men wore very fancy clothes, and some wore wigs; others wore hats adorned with sweeping feather plumes, and still others had sweeping cloaks and gown-like clothing. There were a few women. For the most part all the facial expressions were stern and grim. Then he came to a door with a notice that said, PRIVATE. EVACUEES KEEP OUT. Arthur had told him about this door. It separated the private quarters of the Colonel and his family from the hostel. He'd said the door was always locked, which left Jeffery wondering how Arthur knew that. But there were many things about Arthur that left Jeffery wondering. Arthur had said that sometimes the Colonel invited a few evacuees in for tea. Then while they sat and listened, he talked about his service in India and East Africa with the British Army. But those invites had become rare. Arthur said he thought the Colonel was lonely but afraid the children might become bored by the same stories all the time.

He retraced his steps and passed through a high marbled archway that led to a huge room. Arthur had taken him through it when they went to the kitchen. It was the manor dining room; long, wide and so splendid it he had gasped when first saw it. Here lords and ladies had devoured banquets in better times so Arthur said. The dining room walls were lined with carved dark wood panels, and to one side a huge fireplace sat stoked with wood logs ready to be lit. On either side of the fireplace stood a strange statue of a heavily armed, bearded warrior dressed in coloured armour. They were posed as if on guard and each was slightly different. He stared at them, but couldn't imagine what they guarded. Above the fireplace hung a full length portrait of a beautiful woman in a long, sweeping, frilled blue gown. Her face wasn't grim but rather pleasant, having a slight, closed lipped smile.

He was staring at the portrait when a man's voice behind him said, "That's my great, great grandmother. Or maybe it's my great, great, great grandmother. I never could keep track. She's lovely, isn't she?"

Jeffery swung around to discover the Colonel standing behind him. Flustered, he blurted out, "Yes, sir."

"Oh please don't call me 'Sir'. Makes me feel like a school master. I found school masters rather horrid as a boy. You may call me Colonel."

"Thank you, Sir. Sorry! I mean Colonel."

"Ah! One of the polite ones," the Colonel said. "That's nice. We should get on well." "You don't look sick, so that's not the reason you're not in school. You must be the bombed out boy. Is that it? What's your name?"

"Jeffery," and just in time he stopped himself from saying sir, "Colonel."

"Jeffery. I have a cousin named Jeffery. Younger than me. Missing in France. We're still hoping to hear from him – or about him. Hoping he's a prisoner and not dead or anything terrible like that."

"I hope so, too, Colonel." Jeffery said. Then he pointed to one of the strange statues. "Please. What are those?"

The Colonel beamed a wide smile. "Ah! Curious by nature and intelligent, too. I see a bright future ahead for you, my boy." Then he turned his attention to the statues. "Very strange creatures, aren't they. They've been there as long as I can remember. I was always frightened of them as a child. The lady above is said to have had them made. Why, I don't know. Some sort of guardians I would imagine. I always meant to ask, but never got around to it. Then we all went off to fight in The Great War, and the ones who may have known never came back."

Jeffrey thought he looked rather sad. The colonel said no more on the subject, however, but waved to the door to the left of the fireplace that led to the kitchen. "Come on into the kitchen. Around this time of day, when you children are at school, I normally take tea with Mrs. O'Brien, who does our cooking, and usually Matron is there as well. I expect there will be some cake."

They passed through the door into a room with tables and counters and dishes displayed in glass-fronted cupboards before going through a second door into the kitchen proper. And there was cake. Madeira cake.

Mrs. O'Brien cut him a thick slab saying, "You're a bit on the skinny side, lad. Eat up." She pushed the plate with the cake towards him and poured him a glass of milk before serving tea and cake to Colonel Bartleby, Matron and herself.

The cake was scrumptious. So good in fact that he found it difficult to eat slowly and gobbled it down. The three adults ate at a more leisurely pace as they sipped tea and gossiped over village affairs. A local girl's name came up and matron swung her eyes to Jeffery. All three adults suddenly stopped talking.

Mrs. O'Brien said, "Jeffery, it is Jeffery, isn't it?" Jeffery nodded. "We must be boring you with all this village chatter. Why don't you finish your milk and go outside to have a look around. If you speak to the gardener, he'll tell you where you can and can't go."

Jeffery emptied his glass and went outside wondering why they'd stopped talking. He guessed there must be a juicy gossip about the girl. He had no topcoat as the shabby raincoat he usually wore remained back at the Burnett's ruined house. But it wasn't raining, or all that cold, so he didn't worry about it.

The gardener wasn't around, and anyway Arthur had shown him the places where he could and could not go. There was nothing much to do or see. He even went behind the manor house to the kennels hoping to see the hounds, but they were inside and the kennel door was closed. He decided to go through the collapsed wall and have a look at the windmill. That was boring, too. He tried the windmill's front door, giving it a good shake even though the padlock on the door showed it was locked. He stopped the shaking, though, when some of the screws holding the hasp became loose. Then the church clock chimed half past three and he knew Arthur would be along soon. He skirted the mansion grounds to the front gate and waited. Soon Arthur appeared and Ginger was with him.

"Ginger wants to see how we're getting along with the room in the windmill," Arthur said.

"After all, I found the kitten," she said. "I should have some say as to if the place is good enough."

"Don't know what we'll do if you don't like the place," Jeffery said. "Where else are we going to keep a kitten?" He spread his hands and shrugged.

"Well, I want to see the place first."

"All right, Jeffery said, "Arthur can show you the room. I'll go over to the farm to get it. I don't think Mr. Selkirk wants to keep her much longer."

Arthur led Ginger off to the Windmill as Jeffery made his way to the farm. Mr. Selkirk was out in his fields somewhere, but Mrs. Selkirk fetched the kitten and gave it to him. He was surprised to find how much it had grown.

"What are you going to feed it?" she asked.

"Scraps from the hostel kitchen. Mrs. O'Brien said she'd save them." The kitten had snuggled up under his chin and he was stroking it. It began to purr.

"Scraps are good," Mrs. Selkirk said. "If you don't get enough, come and see me and we'll work something out." With that she pulled back inside and began to close the door. "Goodbye now."

"Goodbye, ma'am," he replied to the now closed door.

On his way to the windmill, he decided he liked having the animal snuggled under his chin and it seemed to enjoy being there. He worried in case Ginger would be angry when she saw him with the kitten like that. Perhaps she'd think he was trying to keep it for himself. He decided he would hand it over as soon as they met. That didn't happen because Ginger and Arthur were outside the mill arguing when he got there.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Ginger tossed her head, swinging her hair over one shoulder." It can't stay in there. Horrible place."

"Why don't you like it?"

"It's dirty, and there's rats. It's a wonder you didn't notice."

"One ran over her foot," Arthur chimed in. "She screamed."

"Did not!" She stamped a foot. "I was surprised, that's all. I made a noise. It wasn't a scream."

"Sounded like a scream to me, but what do I know"

"Oh, don't fight," Jeffery said. "If it can't stay there, what will we do with it? I can't take it back to the farm."

"Well it can't stay in there." Ginger said in a stubborn manner. "The rats will kill and eat it."

Arthur spread his hands in a motion as if to say, "I give up."

"Rats don't eat cats," Jeffery said. "Cats eat rats."

"There's bound to be a lot of them." Ginger was unyielding. "They'll gang up on it." She stepped forward and stroked it under the chin. Jeffery tried to give it to her, but she stood back. "I can't take it. I have to be going in a minute. If I'm late, they'll be angry."

"We'll walk with you," Jeffery said. "Maybe we can think of what to do on the way."

Chapter 17

Ginger was hurrying, and as they walked down the east side of The Green, they ran into Mrs.Vaux. She was her normal cheery and inquisitive self. "What do you have there, children?" she asked.

"A homeless kitten," Ginger answered.

"Homeless. Wherever did it come from?"

"I found it a few weeks ago."

"And Farmer Selkirk has been looking after it." Jeffery chimed in. "But now that his daughter has joined the WAAF he doesn't want to anymore."

"And is one of you going to take it home?"

"Can't," Arthur said. "They won't let us. Ginger's place don't like cats, and me and Jeffery both live in the hostel up at the manor. Colonel says they don't need another cat."

Jeffery gave a hopeless shrug. "We meant to keep it up at the old windmill, but that's full of rats. We worried they'd attack a kitten," he said. "Now we can't think of what to do. We might have to turn it loose"

"Oh dear me," Mrs. Vaux pursed her lips and shook her head. "What would the poor thing find to eat?" She moved closer to Jeffery and put a tentative finger on the kittens head. "Pretty little thing, and friendly. Is it a boy or a girl?"

Before he could answer, Ginger said, "I've got to go. I'm late." And she rushed away.

Mrs. Vaux was surprised and a little shocked at her behaviour.

"She lives at the Fox and Hounds." Arthur explained. "She has to go help them with the pub meals. They get upset if she's not there on time."

Mrs. Vaux shook her head. "Well that's not right. Do they pay her?"

"I don't think so, "Jeffery said." She never has money."

"No, that's certainly not right; something should be done about that. Taking advantage of a bad situation is wrong." She shook her head in genuine disapproval. "But you didn't tell me about the kitten. Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

A frown crossed Mrs. Vaux's face. "Oh dear. I was going to offer to take it in, but I don't want to have a house full of kittens when she grows up."

Jeffery, seeing a possible way out of their dilemma, said. "Mr. Selkirk had her fixed when I promised to work for him Saturdays."

"Does he pay you?" Mrs. Vaux's voice was quite sharp.

"He gives me five shillings every Saturday after I've cleaned out all his chicken houses."

"Hmm. Not exactly a king's ransom for a dirty, hard job, but it's better than nothing. Would you boys like to come in for a piece of cake?"

The boys followed Mrs. Vaux through into her kitchen where she served them slices of cake and glasses of milk. The kitten got a saucer of milk and a few crumbs which quickly disappeared. As they ate, Mrs. Vaux asked questions about Ginger and wanted to know where she'd come from and what her parents were doing.

"Her mum's in the WRNS and her gran lives up in London," Jeffery told her.

"And her dad's a sailor on a destroyer," Arthur chimed in.

"Does she ever see them, or hear from them?"

"Her gran writes sometimes," Jeffery said, and she gets letters from her dad. She says they come in batches. He posts them when his ship's in port. There's a lot of bits cut out leaving big holes. Her dad says it's the censors do it. They're people who read the letters to make sure there's nothing in them that the Germans shouldn't know."

Their hostess smiled. "I do know what a censor does." Jeffery looked a little sheepish. "Oh, don't worry about it," she said. "You're young and everything's new to you and you pass it on. And that's a good thing. There's a chance I might not have known."

Both boys had now finished the generous pieces of cake, and were sipping their milk.

"What's that girl's name?"

"Ginger," said Arthur.

"No. I mean her real name."

For a moment this request stumped them. Ginger was Ginger. They'd never even considered calling her by another name. Then Arthur said, "It's Daisy, Daisy Chandler." Jeffrey nodded.

"I'll just write that down" Mrs. Vaux said, standing and getting a pencil and paper from a kitchen drawer. When she'd finished, she said,"

Do you think she'd like to come and stay with me? I could do with company, and she'd be able to help look after the kitten."

Jeffery finished his milk and put the glass on the kitchen table. "She'd like to get away from that pub, that's a fact. She never has time to herself."

"Will you ask her to come and see me, then? If she'd like to live here, I'm positive I can arrange it."

Arthur had finished his milk, too, and Mrs. Vaux stood up. "Well I don't suppose you want to stay around here all day. You'll be wanting to go and do whatever it is boys do with their time." And as she said this, she led the way to the door. The boys thanked her for the milk and cake and left.

Away from the cottage, Jeffery said. "She's a nice lady. I wish all the village people were like her."

"Most of them are nice enough," Arthur replied. "It's just a few that aren't. I hope she can help Ginger. She's worried about her mum, I think."

"What's wrong then?"

"She thinks her mum may have a boy friend."

Jeffery said nothing but shook his head. Other families were breaking up as well, and with the evacuation already making them feel somewhat abandoned, many of the children were worried.
Chapter 18

Mrs. Vaux was as good as her word, and a week later Ginger had moved out of the pub and in with her. When the boys told her about Mrs. Vaux's offer she'd gone to see her. The two of them got along very well. Mrs. Vaux had contacted a friend, who was a friend of the billeting officer. It didn't take long for arrangements to be made as the billeting officer was opposed the exploitation of evacuees, but often he couldn't do anything about it as billets were often hard to find. Some people thought evacuees from the slums were dirty and hard to handle. Indeed, being thrown into strange families with different customs had made some of them difficult to get along with. That was why the hostel had been opened to care for those having problems.

Now that the kitten had found a good home where Ginger could help to look after it, the three of them decided to keep using the old mill as a club house, even though their original reason for being there had vanished. The boys soon got used to the idea that Ginger could shin up the tree and scramble through the window every bit as easily as they could. Not that they spent a lot of time there, but it was a place to go when it was raining. Although it being winter meant it was often too cold.

The air raids continued and aircraft continued to be shot down. A land mine fell in the woods at the far end of The Green and flattened a block of houses near the road. People were killed. At times roads were closed as police, soldiers and Home Guards searched for airmen who'd parachuted from stricken aircraft.

One school morning, to Jeffrey's relief, Mr. Perkins announced the departure of Tommy Thorne. "Thomas Thorne," he told assembly, "is no longer a student at this school. He was caught stealing a chicken and some eggs from a local farm, and has been turned over to the authorities. I want to make it clear to you evacuees who have come from the city to our village for safety that farm produce belongs to the farmer. Once again let me say that stealing from farms will not be tolerated."

Jeffrey felt relief at what he though very good news, and because they were his friends, Ginger and Arthur felt the same way. Occasionally, the two boys worried about Ginger who often became very unhappy because she'd had no news about either her mother or father. Jeffrey would try to cheer her up. Sometimes this made her worse and she'd go home to Mrs. Vaux's. Other times she cheerfully went with the other two to search for souvenirs when a German aircraft had been downed.

In spite of being chased off by those guarding the wreckage they managed to amass a reasonable collection of twisted and bent pieces of metal either from bombs or anti-aircraft shells from the crash sites. At times they found bullets and cartridge cases from the cannons or machine guns that one side or the other had fired. They kept these in the room they'd prepared for the kitten. Now they had makeshift furniture of old planks of wood placed on brick bases. Each of them put their treasure in a separate spot in different areas of the room.

Often it wasn't possible for them all to go on these scavenger hunts together. Most often it was Jeffrey and Arthur, but not always. It could be Ginger and Jeffrey, or Ginger and Arthur, or any one of them might go out alone. But always they checked in at the mill before going home. There came a day when Ginger and Jeffrey met up at the tree entrance and, when they got inside, they found Arthur gloating over a long, slim cylinder about fourteen inches long tapered with vanes at one end, and the other end flat with two prongs sticking out.

Jeffrey's eyes went wide. "Arthur! Is that what I think it is?" he said, knowing full well it was.

"What is it?" Ginger asked.

"A German incendiary bomb. A live one."

"It's dangerous," Ginger said "You've got to give it to the police."

"Not likely," Arthur replied. "I've had it hidden for a long time. You're not to tell anyone."

"But you could get hurt."

"No I won't. I'm going to be careful."

Jeffrey grinned. "He needs it. He's got more haystacks to burn."

Arthur was a bit irritated. "Who says I burned a haystack? I want this in case the Germans invade."

Won't be much use, will it?" Ginger said, even though she was a bit more convinced that there might be a use for the weapon.

"When I see a German tank coming, I'm going to climb a tree and drop this on it." He stood up and carried the bomb to his collection. "Be careful around it. I'm sure it's live. It'll go off if it's dropped."

The other two still looked a bit doubtful, but said no more.

The weeks went by and the war went on. Little good news came over the radio. Still the bombing continued. Almost every day the reports came of people being killed or hurt, and houses or ancient buildings destroyed or damaged. Ginger's unhappy moods became more frequent.

"Cheer up," Jeffrey would say, often to be repulsed.

"It's all right for you; you know where your mum and dad are." Ginger would snap. "I haven't heard from mine in months. I never know if my dad's all right. He's out there on his destroyer guarding the merchant ships against Nazi submarines making sure there's food for your supper every night."

And Jeffrey knew that this was true and that all the convoys of merchant ships that sailed across the Atlantic, or up from Africa bringing food were in great peril from the U Boats Many merchant seamen were being killed or drowned when the ships were torpedoed and sunk.

Chapter 19

As Jeffrey left school with his friends a few days later, Roy, son of the family that managed the pub where Ginger had been billeted, stopped him. Ginger and Arthur stopped as well and Ginger glared angrily at the intruder.

"Can I talk to you," he said to Jeffrey. "Alone."

"I'll catch up," Jeffrey told the other two.

"Don't trust him," Ginger said as they walked away.

Jeffrey stared the boy in the eyes. "What do you want?"

"Here," the son said, holding out an envelope.

"What is it?"

"A letter for Ginger. I think it's from her mum. It came a couple of weeks ago. My mum and dad kept saying they were going to send it over to her, but they kept putting it off. I think they're still angry at her."

"Angry? Why?"

"They had to hire somebody to do her work."

"Why didn't you give it to her?"

"She doesn't like me. She'll be angry at its being kept back. She'll take it out on me. Please, you give it to her. She won't be able to blame you." He thrust the letter forward. "Take it. Please."

Jeffrey took the letter and turned it over in his hands. "There's no return address. How do you know it comes from her mum?"

"Got to be. Her dad's letters are those navy letter things without envelopes that get folded over and the sides stuck down, and her Gran puts a return address on the outside."

"Well it could be from somebody else."

The other boy shook his head. "She's never had no one else write to her, just her mum, dad and her Gran." He turned away. "Got to hurry." He threw the words over his shoulder. "They keep me busy, too. The devil makes work for idle hands. That's what they say. Fat chance the devil will get his hands on me 'cause they keep me too busy." And he was gone.

Jeffrey looked up from the letter he held. Ginger and Arthur were a long way ahead. Then Arthur broke off towards the mill and Ginger turned the other way to Mrs.Vaux's. He thought about running to catch her, but the next day was Saturday and Ginger would almost certainly turn up at the mill. He decided to wait, opting instead to run and catch up with Arthur.

"What did he want?" Arthur asked.

"Letter for Ginger from her mum. He was afraid to give it to her himself 'cause he knows she'll be angry."

"Why's that?"

"Letter's two weeks old. You know how Ginger's been worrying. She won't even be happy with me for not giving it to her tonight." He stopped. "Maybe I should go over later if the sirens don't go."

But the sirens did go and the hostel children were forbidden to go out. The next day, after he'd finished his work at Selkirk's farm, Jeffrey went to the mill. Arthur and Ginger were already there. Jeffrey gave her the letter. A big smile appeared on her face.

"Where did you get this?"

"Roy gave it to me yesterday."

The smile disappeared and she snapped, "Why did you keep it 'till now?"

"You were too far ahead. I was going to come over last night, but the sirens went and I wasn't allowed out."

"You should have run and caught up." But her smile returned and she tore the envelop open. The smile didn't last long. She gave a wail of anguish. The two boys looked worried.

"What's wrong?"

"It's from my mum. She says dad's destroyer was sunk. He's missing. Presumed dead."

Jeffrey didn't know what to say. He watched as she read more of the letter. Then she let out another wail. "She'd left him, anyway. She's going to have a baby and marry that other man. She says she don't know if we'll ever get back together." She crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it behind her. "What am I going to do?" she cried as tears streamed down her cheeks. "What am I going to do?"

Arthur bent over and picked up the letter, smoothing it out folding it and putting it back into the envelope.

"Don't worry, things will work out somehow," Jeffrey told her.

"It's all right for you," Ginger said, her voice high pitched and angry. "You'll have a mum and dad to go back to when this horrid war is over. I won't have nobody to go back to." Then she rushed over to the window, climbed down the tree and ran away.

Arthur gave Jeffrey the letter. "Here." he said. You keep it. She might want it later."

Events had left them both depressed.

"What would you do if your mum and dad was gone?" Arthur said.

"Don't know," Jeffrey answered. "Suppose the government would look after me. Then I might find myself living in a hostel until I grew up."

Not knowing what else to do, they began to sort through their souvenir and shrapnel collections. Arthur stroked his incendiary bomb. "Wonder if this would really work," he mused.

"Lots of haystacks," Jeffrey joked. "Find out."

This time Arthur smiled at the joke too. "Never going to let up on that, are you."

"Probably not," Jeffrey replied. "Let's go look for more souvenirs."

And that's what they did, although all crashed aircraft had been cleared away.
Chapter 20

For a whole week, Ginger avoided the two boys, but on the second Sunday she joined them as they made their way to the mill. The two boys asked her how she was feeling and she told them she was all right. Mrs. Vaux had promised that she'd find her a nice place after the war if her mother really didn't want her back. She still didn't sound happy, but was apparently content to go along with them.

For some reason there seemed to be a lot of policemen about. Then they came to a barricade across the road thrown up by a group of Home Guards.

"Can't go this way, youngsters. German plane got hit last night. Came down about three miles away. We found a couple of parachutes but no Germans. Then one got caught. That means there's another on the loose and not far away. "

"How do you know he's down this road?"

"We don't. He could be anywhere. Could be three miles the other side. Now off you go. I've to keep my eyes peeled."

They trudged back the way they'd come and swung around the Manor and made their way to the mill by a roundabout route that brought them to the opposite side of the mill from normal. As they walked past the door, Ginger said. "The padlock's broken."

"Padlock?" Jeffrey said. "What padlock?"

"The one from the door, silly."

They turned around. Ginger was right. The screws holding staple, hasp and padlock had become detached at the one side.

"Maybe the owner's inside. I wonder if he'll be angry we've been using the place." Arthur said.

"Well, we haven't damaged anything. Anyway, it belongs to the Colonel. We should go in and ask if it's all right for us to keep our souvenirs here." Jeffrey said.

"Might not be him. Could be he's sold it," Arthur said. "Suppose the new owner carries a shotgun like Farmer Selkirk."

"Well you can go in first, then," Ginger said and giggled.

"We'd best go find out, Arthur. What if he finds your incendiary bomb and there's an accident?"

"Arthur thought for a few seconds. You're right. Hadn't thought of that. That would get me trouble."

Cautiously they made their way to the door and gently pushed it open. Jeffrey entered first. "There's no light," he whispered.

Ginger followed next and whispered back, "His eyes have probably got used to the dimness like ours do."

All three went inside and made their way carefully across the floor. They could hear no noise of anybody moving about and stopped to listen.

"Nobody down here," Jeffrey said. "He could have gone upstairs. Do we go up?"

"What if we're going up and he's coming down?" Ginger said. "If we scare him the dark, we could cause an accident."

"We should go outside and up the tree," Arthur said. "That way nobody'll get hurt."

The other two agreed and that's what they'd decided to do. They turned and started back to the door. They'd taken only a couple of steps when a voice from near the door called, "Halt."

They stopped. Ginger gave a little squeal and threw her hand to her mouth. A shadowy figure of a man stood between them and the door.

"Please," Arthur cried out. "We haven't damaged the mill. We've only been keeping our things here."

Jeffrey felt his stomach muscles tighten as realized the shadowy man held a gun in his right hand and it was pointed straight at them. "It's not the owner, Arthur," he said. "It's the German,"

The German airman stepped forward to a position where the dim light from the small windows made his identity unmistakable. The left sleeve of his uniform was torn above the elbow and on it they saw a dark, wet looking stain. The pistol he held looked big and dangerous.

"He's got a Mauser," Arthur said in a loud whisper to no one in particular.

"Luger," the German said in a deep voice. He waved the weapon motioning them to go back further from the door.

They moved backwards slowly and nervously all the time watching the pistol. The airman came closer. He wasn't a big man, and as their eyes adjusted further they noticed that he didn't appear to be angry, but his eyes stared at them, almost unblinking. For a moment nobody spoke, the children because they were frightened, the airman because he was apparently thinking. Suddenly he pointed the pistol at Ginger and motioned forward with it.

"Come!"

Ginger remained rooted to the spot. He turned the gun to Arthur who stood closer to him than Ginger and waved him away.

"Go! Back, back!" Arthur did not move and the German leaned forward and snarled words none of the children understood, but what he wanted was quite clear.

Arthur moved away catching his foot on a piece of the rubble that littered the floor. He stumbled, but didn't fall. Now nobody stood between Ginger and the German who moved up to Ginger, grabbed her with his injured left arm and pulled her to him. Jeffrey noticed his grimace as he took hold of her and guessed the arm was wounded and that it hurt.

The airman moved off to the left, deeper into the mill, dragging Ginger along. Then he waved the Luger at Ginger and then the door. "Go! Food. Bring food."

Neither Jeffrey nor Arthur moved. Again a mouthful of angry words that they couldn't understand poured from the German's mouth and he put the muzzle of the Luger up to Ginger's head. She gave another little squeal and tried to pull away. Jeffrey was the first to react.

He took hold of Arthur's arm and pulled him towards the door. "Arthur! Come on. He wants us to get him something to eat. He'll hurt Ginger if we don't."

As they moved to the door the German shook the gun that was still pointed at Ginger. "Nein Politzei!" he shouted

Outside they stood for a minute wondering what to do. "Can we get food up at the manor?" Jeffrey asked.

"Don't think so" Arthur replied. "It's all kept in the kitchen. Unless we tell them why we need it?"

"If we tell them, they'll get the police. I think 'nein politzei' might mean 'no police'. We don't want him to get angry and shoot Ginger."

"Then what do we do?"

Jeffrey thought for a moment. "We could go to the farm and steal a chicken and some eggs."

"Old Selkirk will shoot us, or get us sent to Borstal like Thorne."

Jeffrey shuddered as he thought of being near his enemy again, nevertheless he shrugged. "If you're afraid, I'll go alone."

"Ain't afraid!"

"Right, then. Come on."

They went back across The Green and crossed the road. Jeffrey led the way as, keeping low, they moved up along the hedge on the far side of the farm house. They couldn't see the farm house. Jeffrey, at least, felt sure it hid them from being seen. When they were well past the house and its vegetable garden, they squeezed through the hedge and then crept alongside another hedge that separated the farm buildings from a row of chicken houses. These were the coops that Jeffrey cleaned out every Saturday morning.

"In here," Jeffrey said, as he unlatched the gate to one of the runs. "There's usually a chicken in the coop and almost always eggs. Hurry!" There was a chicken as Jeffrey had said. Arthur made a grab for it, but it slipped through his hands and strutted away, squawking. "Not that way," Jeffrey told him. "Get some of those eggs. Put them in your cap."

Arthur took his cap off and picked up eggs from the trough where eggs dropped from the chicken perch. Jeffrey cornered the chicken, grabbed it by its legs and held it upside down the way he'd seen the farmer do it. They left the coop and moved across the run to the gate. As they left, Jeffrey struggled to latch the gate while holding the chicken. It was their misfortune, that at that moment, Farmer Selkirk stepped around the far end of the row of chicken runs.

"Oi!" the farmer shouted. "You two. What you up to? You stealing my chickens?"

"Oh, no!" Arthur said. "What are we going to do?"

"Run for it," Jeffrey answered.

Arthur needed no second telling and took off running as fast as he could with both hands grasping the cap full of eggs. He pushed through the narrow gaps in the hedges; Jeffrey followed close behind, but he had a problem. The chicken was proving difficult to carry. Its hung head hung lower than his feet and dragged on the ground. He stopped for a second, leant over, grabbed the chicken by its neck and lifted. However, when he raised the head, the chicken started to struggle. Nevertheless, he pushed his arms forward and ran, but not very fast. As he squeezed through the gap in the last hedge, he risked a glance backward. Mr. Selkirk was gaining on him.

It was no use, he couldn't run any faster with the struggling chicken's head held up and it was even worse with the head dragging. He was going to drop it, but then remembered that Ginger was being held hostage by a hungry German airman. He pulled the chicken's neck closer, held the bird at a slant, and this way made better progress, but he still ran slower than the man chasing him. Arthur was now a long way ahead. At last Jeffrey reached the road and crossed onto The Green. Then his foot caught in a small hole in the turf and he fell flat on his face. The chicken flew from his hands, squawked and ran away back towards the farm.

Jeffrey started to get up, but it was too late. Farmer Selkirk stood over him.

"You!" the farmer roared, his face red and angry. "Is this the way you repay my kindness? Stealing my chickens and eggs." He leaned forward and grasped Jeffrey's arm at the shoulder and pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Please Mr. Selkirk. I'm not stealing."

"Not stealing, eh? What were you doing with my chicken then? Taking it for a walk?"

"Please! He's got Ginger and a pistol. He told us to get food."

"Who told you to get food?" The farmer demanded shaking Jeffrey as he spoke.

"The German airman. He's in the old mill."

The farmer pushed Jeffrey to arm's length and stared at him hard. "What's all this then?"

Breathlessly, Jeffrey quickly related all the events that led up to the raid on the chicken coops and Farmer Selkirk released him.

"I'd heard they caught him. Found him a mile away, wounded."

"I think this one is wounded as well. There's a tear on his sleeve and he winced when he took hold of Ginger."

"I'll go phone the police."

"No! Don't! "He'll hurt her. Maybe he'll let her go when Arthur gives him the eggs." He saw the farmer stiffen when he mentioned Arthur's name.

"So that's who was with you. Might have known he'd be in something like this."

Right then, Jeffrey had an idea. "You've got a shotgun. Maybe I can get his attention. Then you can shoot him or at least knock the pistol out of his hand."

"Don't know about that," the farmer said looking doubtful. "I'm not a fighting man. That's the sort of thing the army should tackle."

"If we get her away we can tell the army then."

He went on to rapidly outline his plan He would go ahead, climb the tree and get in through the window. Arthur would be in by then and maybe the German eating raw eggs. "Then I'll do something to get his attention you rush in and get him."

The farmer shook his head. "How would you get his attention?"

Jeffrey knew what he was going to do. "I'll throw things down from above."

"What things?"

"There's all sorts of things up there to throw. He'll wonder what's going on. Then you can go in and rescue Ginger."

Farmer Selkirk shook his head. "I don't know. Should get the police."

Jeffrey stepped backward away from Mr. Selkirk. "He might kill her if we wait. If you won't help I'll go alone."

And he took off running into the woods and out the other side. He didn't look back, but heard the Mr. Selkirk's boots pounding the ground behind him. Getting near to the mill he saw Arthur waiting and waved him to go in as he made his way around to the tree. He knew Arthur wouldn't be too happy about what he was going to throw.

Chapter 21

Out of breath though he was, Jeffery shinned up the tree fast. He could hear the German shouting; sounding angry. He went to the hole in the centre of the floor and peeked down to the ground. His eyes were not yet adjusted to the dim light, but it was brighter than usual because the door was open. The German was waving his Luger, first towards Arthur and then back to Ginger. He no longer gripped her arm, his tunic was half off. The shirt sleeve had been torn or cut off and bandaged around the arm where Jeffery suspected his wound was. He realized that Ginger must have made a bandage from the shirt sleeve. He saw Arthur standing nearby holding the cap full of raw eggs out to the German.

Quickly he went to the souvenirs room, picked up the incendiary bomb and carried it over to the edge. "I hope this thing works," he muttered. Swiftly, but with care he placed the bomb on the floor before going back to fetch a few bricks. The German was now shouting one word over and over. Jeffery had no idea where Mr. Selkirk was. It was now or never. He took a brick and threw it behind the German. It crashed onto debris on the dirt floor making sharp cracking sound. The German swung around, pointing his pistol in that direction. Jeffery threw another brick, this time in front of the man. Again the German swung. A third brick again went behind. The German swung around and fired in that direction. Jeffery picked up the incendiary bomb and held it over the edge, nose down. He waited for the briefest of seconds then dropped it. As soon as it had gone, he stepped back from the edge and closed his eyes.

There was a 'whumping' sound followed by a 'whoosh'. He opened his eyes. A brilliant white light glowed up through the opening in the floor and there was the smell of burning wood. He heard Farmer Selkirk shout, and then a cry from the German. Dropping forward he lay face down and peeked over the edge. Arthur had thrown the eggs in the German's face and he was trying to brush egg from his eyes. Mr. Selkirk rushed over, shotgun held high to his chest. He swung it and the butt hit the German on the back of the hand that held the Luger. It went flying. Ginger jumped for it and picked it up as the farmer stepped back and pointed the shotgun at the German. Still wiping egg from his eyes, the airman saw the shotgun and put his hands up. Now resigned to capture he let his body slump a bit.

The fire started in wood and rubble by the incendiary bomb crept across the junk on the floor and threatened to spread to the stairs. Jeffery swiftly moved across to them and hurried down as fast as he thought safe. Reaching the bottom, he went over to Ginger. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. Take this thing." She held the Luger out with two fingers on the barrel as if she held a dead mouse, or something equally awful, by the tail.

Jeffery took it. "Arthur," Jeffery ordered. "Run to the manor. Tell them to call the police. He's not going anywhere until they get here."

Whether it was being close to the fearsome farmer and his shotgun, or a desire to get away from the German Jeffery couldn't tell, but Arthur turned and ran from the mill. The fire had now spread to the stairs. The inside of the mill was filling with smoke. Ginger coughed. Jeffery felt they'd all be better outside and said so to Mr. Selkirk who agreed. Ginger and Jeffery went out first, and then the farmer moved to one side, his shotgun waving from the German to the door. The two adults marched out into the open and away from the smoke that poured from the windmill.

About fifteen minutes later there came the sound of boots pounding through the underbrush. Police, home guards and regular soldiers burst into the open, running toward the mill. With their arrival Jeffery slipped the Luger into the front of his pants and covered it with his pullover. Nobody other than Ginger saw him do it.

"For Arthur," he mouthed. "Make up for the incendiary."

Ginger shuddered, shook her head in disapproval, scrunched up her nose, but said nothing. Mr. Selkirk didn't seem to notice what Jeffery did, or perhaps in the excitement he'd forgotten about the pistol. Either way, the German was soon marched off in a column of police, home guards and soldiers. In the rear marched Mr. Selkirk, shotgun slung over his shoulder as usual. The officer in charge called over his shoulder, "Good work youngsters. I'll make sure your headmaster knows about your bravery."

Arthur had come out of the woods by then. When the men and the prisoner were out of sight, he turned to Jeffery. "That was my bomb," he said. "You should have asked."

"Wasn't time, was there," Jeffery said, "but this should help make up for it." He pulled up the front of his pullover to show the pistol. "That's if they don't remember it."

Unfortunately that wasn't to be. Ginger went home to Mrs. Vaux's and the two boys went off the hostel. They were in the dormitory when the Colonel came in.

"That was very brave of you both, but maybe a bit foolish," he said.

"Nothing else we could do once he had Ginger," Jeffery replied.

"I suppose not." The Colonel stood looking at them, waiting. When they said nothing, he said, "All right, give it to me, and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Arthur looked at Jeffery and shrugged. Jeffery shrugged back. Arthur went over to his bunk, fished underneath the mattress and pulled out the Luger. His face drooped as he handed it to the Colonel.

"Dangerous things, guns," said the Colonel as he took it gingerly. "What on earth were you going to do with it?"

Arthur sniffed. "Gonna keep it in case the invasion comes. It would have made a great souvenir, too."

"Souvenir was it. Like the incendiary bomb, I suppose. If it wasn't for the outcome of this affair and your plucky behaviour, you two would be in a lot of trouble over that. But they're going to let it go. There's not going to be trouble. They did tell me to warn you not to do anything like that again -- ever. If you find a bomb of any sort, you're to leave it where it is and tell the authorities. And everything you find is to be turned over to them, do you hear?"

"Yes, Colonel," both boys answered in unison.

"Good. Make sure you behave yourselves in future." Then the Colonel winked at them and left the room.

Arthur sat down on Jeffrey's lower bunk. "There'll be nothing we can do now, if the German's invade," he said.

"Maybe they won't come," Jeffrey said. "I heard Mrs. O'Brien talking to the gardener. Somebody had told him the German's were pulling some of their soldiers back from the ports they were going to sail from."

Jeffrey sat down beside Arthur, and the two boys were quiet for a while immersed in their own thoughts. Then Jeffrey said, "Arthur. If the Germans didn't come and you still had the incendiary, what would you have done with it?"

Arthur took a deep breath, and then puffed it out. "Don't really know. Maybe find myself a haystack."

The two boys looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Epilogue

On a warm May day with a blue sky wherein the odd fluffy white cloud floated peacefully, an old, gray-haired man got off the bus at the top of The Green. He stood there for a moment, as if to get his bearings. Yes, there was the church steeple, looking a bit fuzzy, at the far end of The Green. He fished in an inner pocket of his tweed sports jacket, found his glasses, and slipped them on. Ah, yes! It was nice and crisp now looking as if it, and the church below it, had recently been scrubbed clean. The whole building had probably been sand-blasted.

He turned slowly to his right. Yes, the Fox and Hounds where Ginger had been billeted was still there. Farther along, up The Green, was Mrs. Vaux's old cottage. It, too, had been brightened with a coat of white paint. He wondered who lived there now. Turning right around he faced the gate and brick wall of the Manor. He walked towards it and, as he neared, he saw a large sign on the main gate with a smaller one on the side gate. When he got close he read: Pegasus Research Ltd. Private. Absolutely No Admittance. Well, He really hadn't expected a tour of the manor. He swung right and walked round the wall. Selkirk's farm seemed to be still there. He contemplated going over to see if any of Selkirk's family still lived there, but rejected the idea.

He continued his journey. The gap in the high wall had been rebuilt, and beyond, where there had been woods, stood neat brick houses, each with an attached garage. Behind them, towering above, stood the stone tower of the old mill. That it was still standing surprised him a little. He made his way along the twisted roads that separated the houses until he came to a low wall that surrounded the tower. Behind the wall was a small, circular lawn bordering a neat garden. In the front of it ran a ring of earth where hundreds of Bluebells bloomed. A path led from the gate to white double doors where the old doors had been, and new windows had been let into the side of the tower. There was no sign of the old tree.

He stood at the gate trying to get the courage to go up and ring the bell, but he didn't want to intrude on the owner. He was about to move off when one of the doors opened and a neatly dressed a gray-haired woman stood there.

"May I help you?" she asked.

He just stared. It couldn't be, but there were still a few strands of reddish-gold in her hair. No! It couldn't be.

"Did you want something?"

"Ginger?"

Surprised, the woman's head jerked back slightly. "Good Heaven's. Nobody's called me that in donkey's years. Who are you?"

Bolder now, he opened the gate and started along the path. "Surely I haven't changed that much?" He grinned. "It's Jeffery, Jeffery Fraser."

"Jeffery Fraser?" Her brow furrowed for a second before she remembered. "Oh! Jeffery! What a wonderful surprise! How did you find me? How did you know I lived here?"

"I hadn't a clue you lived here. It's as much a surprise to me as it is to you."

He was closer now, and he stopped. "How's Arthur?"

A look of sadness crossed her face. "He died. Heart attack. Just over two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you still upset that I married him and not you?"

"Not really. It was bit of a shock though. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. In London. At the Underground Station."

"I'm sorry, Jeffery."

"You needn't be. I did some time in the navy and then moved to Canada. Met a nice girl and got married. She's gone, too, now."

"Well I shouldn't keep you out here. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? We can talk over old times."

"Thank you. I'd really enjoy a cup of tea."

"Come on in, then," she said and stood aside.

He walked through the door and she closed it.

The End
