Five Children on the Western Front

by Kate Saunders

‘Psammeads don’t cry.’

  ‘You mean, you’ve never cried?’

  ‘I don’t have any tears of my own.’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to put up with the teary atmosphere,’ Edie said, more sharply than usual; much as she loved the Psammead, she sometimes thought his hearts were as hard as two little walnuts. ‘Nobody can help crying when they’re by themselves. I know Anthea cries. And not just because she’s worried about Cyril.’

  ‘Really?’ The Psammead emerged again; he was nosey and fond of gossip, especially now that he’d got his strength back. ‘Why does Anthea cry?’

  ‘She’s worried about Ernie,’ Edie said. ‘I’m pretty worried about him too. Our professor hasn’t heard from him for weeks and weeks.’

  *

  ‘Oh!’ Anthea cried out. In a flash, the expression on her face turned from sadness to joy.

  ‘What it is, dear?’ Mother asked. ‘Who is that letter from?’

  ‘Nobody, I mean Jimmy – the Professor.’

  ‘Ah,’ Mother said, and went on spreading marmalade on her toast, though she didn’t look quite satisfied.

  The family were all sitting around the table having breakfast. Anthea raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her siblings. ‘He’s heard from Mr Haywood.’

  ‘Good stuff!’ the Lamb said. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘He was badly wounded at Ypres – he’s lost one of his legs.’ Her voice wobbled dangerously and she paused to swallow hard. ‘But he’s alive, and good old Jimmy says he’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Poor thing!’ Edie hated to think of the nimble Ernie hobbling on one foot.

  ‘He’s just been moved to the Endell Street Military Hospital in Covent Garden. He sent a postcard to Jimmy because he doesn’t have anyone else. He must be so lonely.’

  ‘That’s the hospital where all the doctors are women,’ Jane said. ‘So you see, women doctors absolutely do exist.’

  ‘Jane, must we start all this again?’ Mother sighed.

  ‘I’m simply pointing it out.’ Jane had said it to distract Mother from looking too closely at Anthea, who had tears on her eyelashes, and it had worked.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to hear any more about it, thank you – and nobody’s going to welcome a doctor with those inky fingers.’

  ‘Bobs pinched the pumice stone and I can’t rub it off with just soap.’

  Anthea had quickly wiped her eyes. ‘I think we ought to visit him.’

  ‘Rather,’ the Lamb said. ‘Losing a leg is one of the beastliest things I can think of, next to going blind. Or losing both legs. Or losing both arms.’

  ‘Darling, don’t be morbid,’ Mother murmured.

  ‘Jimmy wants us to take Mr Haywood some books,’ Anthea said. ‘We can drop in at Old Nurse’s on the way and pick them up, as it’s near the hospital.’

  ‘If Jimmy’s sending them, I bet they’re extremely boring books,’ Jane said, smiling. ‘And not what any normal wounded soldier would want to read when they’re ill. I vote we dig up a couple of nice, amusing ones, and we know Mr Haywood likes the New Citizen.’

  Father, hidden behind a wall of newspaper, heard the name of his magazine. ‘Good for him – he can have a copy of the latest edition, with my compliments.’

  ‘Anthea,’ Mother said, ‘do I know anything about this young man?’

  Nobody had said anything to Edie, but she knew perfectly well that Mother had noticed the blushy way Anthea behaved whenever anyone mentioned Ernie. She’d heard the big girls whispering about it, and knew that Jane was doing her best to damp down Mother’s suspicions.

  ‘We’ve told you about him,’ Jane said. ‘He’s a friend of the Professor’s, and a sort of assistant. He knows a lot about ancient history.’

  ‘He’s extremely nice,’ Edie said. ‘Old Nurse says he has a very taking way with him.’

  Mother looked at Anthea. ‘And he’s serving in the army?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anthea said.

  ‘He’s an officer, of course.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mother’s hand, holding toast, froze in mid-air.

  ‘He’s a private,’ the Lamb said. ‘But when he’s well enough, he’s going to work as the Professor’s secretary. I’m sure he can still do that with one leg.’

  ‘I see.’ Mother’s voice was faint with doubt.

  ‘Poor young chap.’ Father lowered his newspaper. ‘Of course you must visit him.’ He added, to Mother, ‘No harm in it if they all go. Errand of mercy, and all that.’

  ‘I suppose not – if they’re simply going to cheer him up.’

  And it was settled. Anthea, blazing with energy, fired off postcards to Jimmy and Old Nurse to say they would be there for lunch on Saturday.

  ‘And I’ve had a wonderful idea,’ she told the others when they were upstairs without the parents. ‘Let’s take the Psammead.’

  ‘Hmm,’ the Lamb said. ‘He was a bit of a nuisance last time. I’d rather leave him out of it.’

  ‘No, let’s take him,’ Jane said. Mr Haywood likes him, and it’ll be a good chance to try out his new carrier.’ Jane had a flair for engineering – she was the best in the family at mending bicycles – and she had made a new Psammead-carrier out of a string shopping bag and a leather belt, which was far sturdier than the old one. It was decided that she should carry him this time – under her coat, which had a cape over the shoulders to hide the strange lump under her left arm.

  ‘Most comfortable,’ the Psammead said approvingly. ‘Quite a miracle of construction. I may even get a wink of sleep, if you don’t bounce me about too much.’

  *

  On Saturday morning they packed the big basket with gifts for Ernie – books, magazines and a box of very good shortbread made by Anthea. The Lamb put in one of his favourite adventure stories, and Edie had spent two weeks’ pocket money on a bag of barley-sugar twists (Mrs Trent, who ran at the village shop and post office, had put in extra when she heard they were for a wounded soldier).

  At Old Nurse’s house, Jimmy had been waiting for them impatiently. ‘Now, how much can you carry? I’d like Haywood to see all three volumes of this – and these photographs from the museum at Stuttgart—’

  ‘Steady on,’ the Lamb said, ‘we haven’t got a wheelbarrow.’

  Jimmy wanted them to take Ernie an enormous pile of heavy books, but Anthea talked him down to three.

  ‘But these are vital for the research into my next paper – the paper that will make my reputation! And those female dragons at the hospital won’t let me see him, though I explained that I was bringing him important work. They think I’m some kind of slave-driver.’ He smiled dreamily at the Psammead, perched on his desk. ‘Like you.’

  ‘I know I’m a fascinating subject,’ the Psammead said, ‘but I’m not sure I like you raking up the past. Frankly, there are certain incidents I’d rather forget.’

  ‘Certain crimes, you mean,’ the Lamb said, grinning.

  The Psammead’s whiskers bristled irritably. ‘It’s a respectable history paper – not a police report. This scholar and his warrior will only tell of my GLORY.’

  ‘You’re a key to the hidden history of the ancient world,’ the Professor said. ‘Now that I know about you, all kind of texts suddenly become clear. I’ve been taking a new look at the sad story of the young lovers Osman and Tulap.’

  ‘It’s all a pack of LIES!’ the Psammead snapped. ‘Young lovers PHOOEY! They were nothing but a pair of troublemakers!’ He pulled in his eyes as far as they would go and folded up his long arms and legs until he was a compact furry ball of deep sulking.

  ‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to annoy him.’ Jimmy looked at them all properly, as if waking from a trance. ‘Please send poor Haywood my best wishes. Tell him he must get well as fast as possible – he’s the only person who can be trusted to help me with my work.’

  *

  ‘But I can’t think why Ernie would want to read books like these,’ the Lamb said when they wer
e walking along Bloomsbury Street towards Covent Garden. ‘Even the footnotes have got footnotes.’

  The Military Hospital took up one side of the narrow street; it was a grim, sooty building that had once been a workhouse. The four children and the hidden sand fairy walked into a large, tiled hallway that smelled of disinfectant and boiled cabbage. Through an open door they could see a sitting room with armchairs and small tables, where soldiers in blue uniforms smoked and read newspapers. The man nearest to them had an empty sleeve pinned across his chest.

  ‘Hospital blue,’ Anthea said, ‘the uniform of the wounded.’ Her voice wobbled and she was very nervous.

  A nurse with grey hair came briskly across the hall. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘We’d like to see Private Haywood, please,’ Anthea said. ‘I understand this is visiting hour.’

  The nurse looked at them doubtfully. ‘Just a moment,’ she said and hurried away.

  ‘Crikey, wouldn’t I love a guided tour of this place!’ Jane muttered.

  A thin lady in a white coat – with smooth dark hair and a face like a stern wooden doll – came into the hall.

  ‘I am Dr Garrett Anderson,’ she said. ‘I understand you’ve come to see Private Haywood.’

  ‘Yes,’ Edie said. ‘We’ve brought him some books and things.’

  ‘May I know who you are? We don’t generally allow children in, and I’m not sure he’s well enough for a host of visitors.’

  This was a terrible let-down.

  ‘Ernie – Private Haywood – doesn’t have a family,’ the Lamb said boldly. ‘We’re the nearest thing, and I promise he’ll be no end pleased to see us. We won’t stay too long and we won’t make a row.’

  The doctor was still stern, but there was a glint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’ll hold you to that, young man. The patients here are all recovering from serious wounds and mustn’t be disturbed or upset.’

  ‘We’ll be as quiet as mice,’ the Lamb assured her. ‘Honour bright!’

  ‘Hmmm, he could certainly do with a bit of cheering up – the poor boy hasn’t had a single visitor, unless you count one rather dotty gentleman who wanted him to do some sort of work.’ (They all recognised Jimmy from this description.) ‘Very well, I’ll allow you ten minutes. Follow me, please.’

  She led them through a door covered with green felt and along a short corridor into a bare, bright conservatory that had been converted into a hospital room. Beside the metal-framed bed was a wheelchair with a thin, sagging figure sitting in it. Edie was about to say this wasn’t Ernie, but the doctor said, ‘Here are some visitors for you, Private Haywood.’

  ‘Visitors?’ Ernie raised his head, and when he saw them Edie suddenly understood what the books meant when they said a person’s face ‘lit up’; it was like seeing the sun rise behind his eyes. ‘You!’

  ‘Don’t let him get too excited – this is only his first day out of bed.’ The doctor left the room.

  The moment the door shut behind her, Anthea let out a little cry and ran to Ernie. She dropped to her knees in front of him, and they clasped each other’s hands as if they would never let go.

  ‘You!’ Ernie said again. He smiled dazedly at the rest of them. ‘All of you – this is a bit of all right!’

  ‘I’m sorry about your leg,’ said a muffled voice under Jane’s coat. ‘If I still had my full powers I’d wish you a new one – at least till sunset.’

  Ernie burst out laughing. ‘I don’t believe it – you’ve brought his nibs!’

  Twelve

  YOUNG LOVERS

  JANE UNWRAPP ED THE PSAMMEAD from his new carrier, and the sight of his small, brown body sitting on the smooth white bed put an end to any awkwardness. Ernie was so pleased to see them that he looked younger and stronger by the minute, and more like his real self. He was delighted with the shortbread and Edie’s barley-sugar twists, and the Lamb’s adventure story, one of a popular sixpenny series about a hero named Captain Dick Doughty. ‘Good-oh – I like these, and I haven’t read this one yet.’

  ‘I knew you’d like it,’ the Lamb said. ‘Anthea thinks it’s lurid, but you can’t spend all your time reading the Professor’s dull old tomes.’

  ‘Not dull to me. I can’t wait to get a look at them. They have a decent enough library here, but I went through it all in about a week, and now I’m so bored I’m losing my mind.’ Ernie’s left leg had been cut off just below the knee; his blue trouser-leg was neatly pinned over the stump. They all tried not to stare at it. ‘How is the old Prof, anyway?’

  ‘Very well,’ the Psammead said. ‘I permitted him to worship me for a few minutes this morning – his new paper is all about me.’

  ‘That’s right, chum,’ Ernie said. ‘You’ve turned his head. Since he met you, he hasn’t thought about anything else.’

  ‘Very understandable.’ The vain sand fairy was plump with pride. ‘Now, do tell us how your leg got blown off.’

  ‘Psammead!’ the Lamb hissed.

  ‘Did you keep it and bring it home?’

  Ernie laughed. ‘It got left behind, somewhere along the Menin Road, in the Ypres Salient. I don’t think I’ll bother to go back for it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Anthea said, her whole heart in her voice. ‘You’ve had a dreadful time.’

  ‘It could’ve been worse.’

  ‘Indeed it could,’ the Psammead said. ‘It might have been your head.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Jane said. ‘We’re meant to be cheering him up!’

  ‘My dear Jane, I’m looking on the bright side – this warrior’s wound is a splendid piece of luck. It means he won’t have to go back to the war, so he’ll be free to help the Professor with the great book he’s writing about ME.’

  ‘You call that LUCK?’ The Lamb was indignant. ‘That old skeleton-priestess woman was right – you’re heartless, and you only think about yourself. If this is your idea of repenting—’

  ‘Well, he’s right in a way,’ Ernie said, grinning. ‘When I get out of here I’ll be able to read and write as much as I like, and I can hardly wait to get started. Before I was wounded the Prof was sending me long letters about all the new discoveries he’s made.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ the Psammead said. ‘About me?’

  ‘You and your distinguished career.’

  ‘Yes, it was very distinguished. But he mentioned something this morning that you needn’t bother to look into. The old story of Osman and Tulap is just that – an old story.’ The Psammead looked incredibly shifty. ‘Tell him not to waste his time.’

  ‘He said they were young lovers,’ Edie remembered. ‘And you said they were troublemakers.’

  ‘Troublemakers, eh?’ Ernie gazed at the Psammead. ‘So they weren’t just a story.’

  The Psammead’s whiskers shivered. ‘All these ancient legends have some basis in fact.’

  ‘It’s a tragic tale – blimey, I can hardly believe I’m talking to the desert god himself! This isn’t a dream, is it?’

  ‘No, you’re not dreaming.’ Anthea squeezed Ernie’s hand. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Tulap was a beautiful maiden in the temple of the high priestess – the temple maidens were very posh girls, like princesses. And Osman was a runaway slave from the kingdom of a certain desert tyrant.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Jane said, ‘a sand fairy.’

  ‘If he hadn’t run away I would’ve thrown him out!’ snapped the Psammead. ‘He organised a rebellion and took two hundred of my best slaves with him!’

  ‘He escaped to Akkad,’ Ernie went on. ‘And he fell in love with Tulap. The high priestess gave her blessing and they got married. But just as they were running into each other’s arms, the angry desert god turned them both into pillars of stone. There they stand to this day, arms eternally outstretched, in the middle of the Akkadian desert. The legend says that when the stars are at their brightest, they can be heard singing love songs to each other.’

  ‘Oh, how gloriously romantic!’ Anthea sighed.

>   ‘Kindly don’t get SOPPY,’ the Psammead said.

  ‘Why did you have to turn those poor young lovers to stone?’ Jane asked. ‘It was beastly of you!’

  ‘I wanted them to be a warning to anyone else who felt like disobeying me,’ the Psammead mumbled furiously. ‘He ran away with all my keys! It was very inconvenient.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how the Prof’s going to put all this in a book,’ Ernie said. ‘Nobody will believe a word of it.’

  Edie stroked the Psammead’s guilty little head. ‘You were very mean in the past, but I’m sure you’re sorry now.’

  ‘He’s never sorry,’ the Lamb said darkly. ‘Stop making excuses for him.’

  ‘Of course I’m sorry!’ spat the Psammead. ‘There – satisfied? I had no idea it would all be raked up again thousands of years later!’

  ‘In other words,’ the Lamb said, ‘you’re just sorry you got found out!’

  ‘Pooh!’ The Psammead rolled himself into a tight ball of defiance, which made them all burst out laughing.

  And then the door handle rattled, and there was only just time to shove the angry sand fairy back in his carrier before the doctor swept into the room.

  ‘Private Haywood, what is going on in here? I could hear you all from the bottom of the corridor!’

  ‘Beg your pardon, Doctor,’ Ernie said. ‘We had a bit of catching up to do.’

  ‘I daresay – but visiting hour is over for today.’

  She stood, stern and stiff and staring narrowly at Jane’s coat while they said their goodbyes to Ernie, then she marched them back to the front door as if escorting criminals.

  On the doorstep, however, she suddenly softened. ‘I know exactly what you’re doing,’ she told Jane. ‘I saw you hiding it under your coat.’

  ‘Whh-what?’ Jane turned bright red.

  ‘Look here,’ the doctor said, lowering her voice, ‘you’re not the first to smuggle in someone’s pet dog, and you probably won’t be the last – but it’s completely against hospital rules, and you mustn’t do it again.’

  She had glimpsed the Psammead but thought he was a dog, which was a great relief.