by Helen Peters
Everyone else at school was being extra chatty and friendly. My friends all apologised for taking any notice of Billy. Nancy even wrote a letter begging my forgiveness, and Margaret baked me a cake.
It wasn’t too hard to forgive them. They’d been friendly to me from the beginning, and they had resisted all Billy’s nasty comments until the whole country became obsessed with spies and parachutists.
But I could never, ever forgive Molly.
Normally, Aunty Rose and Uncle Bert might have noticed something was wrong. But they had just been told that Lord and Lady Hurstwood were moving to Canada for the duration of the war, and their butler, Mr Robins, who was a friend of Uncle Bert’s, had asked Uncle Bert and Aunty Rose to help the few remaining servants pack up the valuables and put the best furniture into storage. (It was Mr Robins, I discovered, whom I’d mistaken for Lord Hurstwood, when Molly and I had gone to Ashcombe House to ask for jobs for my parents.)
So the days passed, and outwardly things seemed much the same as before.
And then, one morning in the middle of June, everything changed again.
We had just finished breakfast when we heard a vehicle rumbling up the lane. Frank ran into the front room and looked out of the window.
He turned to us, grinning, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “An army truck! Coming into the yard!”
The truck drove across the yard and stopped right outside the cottage. The vehicle’s doors opened and shut. Boots thudded on the ground. My stomach knotted. There was a sharp knock at the door. I felt sick. Every sight of a soldier, every knock on the door still had that effect on me.
Aunty Rose opened the door. Filling the little doorway stood an officer and a soldier, both in khaki battledress.
“Good morning, madam,” said the officer. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to see what spare accommodation you have.”
Aunty Rose laughed. “Chance would be a fine thing. We have two small bedrooms and five of us living here.”
“All the same, we have to look, if you don’t mind,” said the officer.
“You’d better come in then.”
She stepped aside to let them enter.
“My son sleeps in here,” she said, showing them the little front room, with Frank’s bedding folded up on the sofa. The officer glanced inside and nodded.
She led him up the steep staircase. “The girls sleep here,” she said, and I heard the creak of our bedroom door, followed by the rattle of the latch on the other side of the tiny landing. “And this is our room,” she said. “My husband and I.”
“I see,” said the officer. “Well, you’re right, there’s no space to billet any soldiers. Thank you for your time, madam.”
Nobody said anything until the truck started up again and left the yard. Then Aunty Rose said, “I wonder what that was about.”
On the walk to school, everyone was talking about the soldiers. It seemed they were visiting every house in the village, looking for spare bedrooms. They didn’t have much luck. Everybody with a spare room had already taken in evacuees or land girls.
Rumours buzzed around school as to why the army was looking for accommodation. Two days later, Molly and I were getting dressed when we heard the rumbling of engines. Molly ran to the window and gasped.
“Army lorries. And motorbikes. Oh, my goodness, there’s dozens of them!”
I stood frozen in terror. The Germans had come!
Molly rushed downstairs. I looked out of the window, my heart pounding.
A convoy of lorries, with motorcycle outriders, was making its way up the chestnut avenue towards Ashcombe House. It wasn’t the German army. It was the British army.
What were they doing? Had the Germans invaded in the night?
I pulled the suitcase out from under my bed and packed the box of letters in it. Then I put my socks and shoes on as quickly as I could.
The back door opened. Had they come for me?
I picked up my case and was about to sprint down the stairs when Uncle Bert’s voice stopped me in my tracks. So it wasn’t the Nazis. Not yet. Just Uncle Bert, returning from his night shift with the Local Defence Volunteers.
I shoved the case back under the bed and walked downstairs, trying to look normal.
“Did you know about this?” Aunty Rose was asking, as I walked into the kitchen.
Uncle Bert laid his shotgun, tin hat and gas mask on the table. He looked tired, but his blue eyes were sparkling.
“I just heard, and then I almost got crushed by their blooming great convoy. The army’s taking over the whole Park. Everyone with a spare room’s having troops billeted on them, and the rest will be living in the big house.”
Frank gasped with excitement. “Soldiers everywhere! Do you think they’ll let me ride in their tanks?”
“They haven’t got tanks,” said Uncle Bert. “Not yet, at least. Trucks everywhere though, and lorries and motorbikes.”
When we walked home from school that day, it was as though we were living in a different place. The entire Park had been transformed into an army camp. Everywhere there were soldiers, some being drilled, some exercising in vests and shorts, some servicing the vehicles that were parked all along the chestnut avenue and on the gravel in front of the main entrance. They said hello to us as we passed. Molly and Frank replied cheerily, Frank practically bouncing with excitement.
I tried to control my choking panic so I could say hello too. But my throat was too tight to speak.
The next day, Miss Marshall wasn’t at her desk when we came in for afternoon lessons. She arrived five minutes late, which she had never done before. She was very pale and her expression was strained. It was clear that she had something to say. We waited in silence.
“I am very sorry to have to tell you, children,” she said, taking a deep breath, “that France has surrendered to Germany.”
My body turned to ice.
There was nothing left. Nothing but the English Channel between us and Hitler.
The troops at Ashcombe Park, we learned, were stationed there as part of Britain’s defences. The Germans were expected to invade the south coast at any moment. Everywhere, tank traps and pillboxes started to appear. All the beaches were mined and covered with barbed wire to repel invading troops. The government sent a leaflet to every household, called If the Invader Comes, with lots of instructions about staying in your home and not panicking. Aunty Rose was not impressed.
“Honestly!” she said, flinging the leaflet on the kitchen table. “Men! It’s all very well telling everyone to refuse to give food or water to German troops, but what do they imagine a Nazi soldier’s going to do if I try to stop him coming into my kitchen? And how is it going to help the war effort if my children end up motherless?”
Uncle Bert jerked his thumb towards the cupboard by the kitchen stove where his shotgun was locked up.
“If you see or hear anything suspicious when I’m not around, Rosie, you get that gun out, all right? I’ll be keeping it loaded and ready, and you know where the key is.”
I knew where the key was too. But I had no idea how soon I would need that knowledge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“The Germans Threaten to Invade Great Britain”
If the Invader Comes
On the last day of term, as Molly, Frank and I were walking home from school, Frank’s chatter was drowned out by the wail of the air raid siren.
We stopped and looked at each other. We were on the long stretch of lane that led from the village centre to Ashcombe Park. There was nothing but fields on either side of us.
Terror forced me to speak to Molly.
“What should we do?”
“Wait and see.”
The siren had sounded several times over the last few days, as German planes had started bombing British ports and shipping centres. Usually the air raid siren was followed almost immediately by the all-clear when the planes flew straight on towards their targets. But this noise was louder than usual.
Two planes came into view, looming lower and larger.
“Get down!” yelled Molly, as a massive explosion almost deafened me. We dived into the ditch as another explosion shook the ground and the planes roared away.
We lay in the ditch, silent, trembling. My ears were ringing. Would there be more planes? Where had the explosions been? They sounded very close. Please, please let Aunty Rose and Uncle Bert be safe, I prayed over and over again.
After what seemed a very long time, Molly said, “Shall we get out?”
When we stood up, I saw I had scratches and nettle stings all over me. They hadn’t hurt at all when we were in the ditch, but now they really stung.
“Let’s get home,” said Molly in a wobbly voice. I shot her a sideways glance. She was completely white. So was Frank.
“I think the bombs fell in the wood,” I said. “They were probably aiming for the searchlight.”
I was only guessing. I just wanted to reassure Frank. But the searchlight did seem a likely target. It was at the other end of the wood, about two miles away. I liked watching its beams as they roamed the night skies, looking for enemy planes. It made me feel safer to know the lights were searching the sky as we slept.
Molly broke into a run.
“Wait for me!” called Frank.
“Hurry up then.” She reached for his hand and pulled him along. I ran a little way behind them.
“Mum?” Molly shouted, bursting through the back door. “Dad?”
Aunty Rose came running out of the kitchen. She threw her arms around all three of us.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re safe!” she said, squeezing us together.
“Where’s Dad?” asked Molly.
“He’s gone with the warden to see where the bombs fell. They reckon they were aiming for the searchlight.”
When Uncle Bert came home, we learned that the bombs had missed the searchlight and exploded in the wood, creating a massive crater. The village was very lucky. Nobody was hurt and no houses were damaged.
Clover didn’t appear for her supper that evening. I looked all over the house – under the beds, in the cupboards, behind the furniture – but there was no sign of her. I went into all the farm buildings to call her, but there was no response.
“Don’t worry,” said Aunty Rose. “You know she doesn’t like loud noises. She’ll be hiding somewhere quiet until she feels safe again. She’ll come out when she’s hungry.”
But Clover still hadn’t touched her food at breakfast time. I wanted to search for her, but Aunty Rose kept us busy all morning, and then Frank wanted me to work in the garden with him after lunch. By three o’clock, though, I couldn’t stand the worry any more. What if Clover was injured, or stuck somewhere? I couldn’t just do nothing. I had to search, and I wouldn’t stop until I found her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Make Certain That No Suspicious Strangers Enter Your Premises”
If the Invader Comes
There was no sign of Clover in the stables, or the granary, or the pigsties, all places where she sometimes hunted for mice. I headed for the barn on the other side of the yard.
The huge door creaked as I pushed it open. A shaft of light streamed into the dark interior. Somebody gasped.
Molly and Frank were sitting on a hay bale by the wall, staring at the door. They looked terrified. Frank was gripping Molly’s arm. When he saw me, he let out his breath in a sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Frank shot Molly a guilty glance.
“We thought we’d help look for Clover,” said Molly. “Didn’t we, Frank?”
Anger flared inside me. Molly was so obviously lying.
“And you thought you’d look for her by sitting on a bale?” I said.
They sprang to their feet.
“Clover!” called Molly, walking towards the tangle of farm machinery in the far corner. “Clover, are you there?”
Frank hurried to a stack of empty grain sacks.
“Clover!” he called, lifting the top sack from the pile. “Clover, where are you?”
“Maybe she’s in the loft,” said Molly. “I’ll go and look.”
The hayloft was a wooden platform that ran along the width of the barn at the far end. Molly had her hand on the ladder when a voice said, “Excuse me?”
We froze. Frank stared at Molly, wide-eyed. It was a man’s voice, and it seemed to have come from the loft.
“Excuse me,” said the voice again. It definitely came from the loft. “I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you, but are you looking for a cat?”
We glanced at each other fearfully.
“Who are you?” called Molly. “Come down from there.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I took shelter up here, but I’ve sprained my ankle and I can’t walk. There’s a black-and-white cat here. She’s very friendly. Is she yours?”
“Clover!” I called. “Clover, come down!”
Clover mewed, but she didn’t appear.
“Clover, go down,” said the man coaxingly. “Go on.”
Clover mewed again.
“I’m sorry,” said the man. “She won’t move and I can’t move. You might have to come up and get her. I promise I won’t bite.”
He sounded friendly enough. But what was a strange man doing in the hayloft?
“Let’s all go,” Molly mouthed to me silently.
I nodded. However much I despised her, I couldn’t let her face the man alone.
“We’re coming up,” she called.
My heart thumped against my ribs as I climbed up behind her.
The loft had a small window at one side, which gave it a little more light than the rest of the barn. As I reached the top of the ladder, my throat tightened and my heart started racing as I saw a man in battledress, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the end wall. Curled up next to him in a heap of straw was Clover.
I scooped her up and held her close to my chest, hoping her warmth would calm me.
“Clover,” I murmured. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
The soldier smiled at us. “So this is the cat you were looking for.”
There were scratches and bloodstains on his face. He just had socks on his feet. His boots were beside him, next to his army haversack.
“I’m sorry if I shocked you,” he said. “I was asleep, and then I was woken by your calling, and I guessed you must be looking for the cat. She’s beautiful. And so friendly.”
“Who are you?” asked Frank. “Are you one of the soldiers from the Park?”
“I am.”
“But why are you in our barn? Why aren’t you with your regiment?”
“It’s difficult to explain,” said the man. “I am not sure you would understand.”
“Of course we’d understand,” said Molly indignantly. “We’re not stupid.”
The man looked at us for a moment. Then he said, “If I tell you, can I trust you not to tell anybody?”
Molly gave an outraged exclamation. “You’ve got a cheek. You’re the one who’s skulking around in our barn.”
“Your barn?”
“Pretty much. My dad works on the estate and we live just over there.”
“Even so,” said the man, “it is difficult to tell you why I am here.”
“Tell us,” said Frank, who was clearly bursting with curiosity. “We can keep a secret. We won’t tell anyone, will we, Molly?”
Molly screwed up her mouth and gave the man a hard look.
“All right. We won’t tell anyone.”
The man took a deep breath and paused for a few seconds, as if he didn’t know how to begin. Then he said, “I have left my regiment, you see, and they might be looking for me.”
Frank gasped. “You’re a deserter?”
“No, no. I shall go back. But I need to visit my mother. I received a letter from her telling me that she is very ill. My father is dead and she
has nobody to care for her. She lives in a remote cottage with no neighbours. I must go and see her and make arrangements for her to be cared for. I’m worried that if I do not do so, she may die.”
“But wouldn’t the army allow you to visit her, if she’s really ill?” said Molly.
“It is a time of war. Things are not normal. I shall return as soon as I have made arrangements for my mother. But you can see that it is important for me to remain hidden.”
Frank frowned. “But if you need to go and see your mother, why are you hiding in our barn?”
“That is the problem. I have injured myself. Look. I was running in the dark and I fell into a ditch.”
He leaned forward and slowly pulled up his trouser leg. Then he rolled down his sock, wincing as he did so. I sucked in my breath. His ankle was swollen to twice the normal size, and covered in a huge purple bruise.
Frank looked stricken. “That must really hurt.”
“So you see I cannot move at the moment,” said the soldier.
Molly crouched down to get a better look. “That looks really nasty. We should call the doctor.”
“No!” The words came out as a bark. Clover jumped out of my arms in shock. We stared at the man. He gave a forced smile.
“I apologise. But you will understand that I cannot see a doctor. He would be bound to report me to my commanding officer. I must just rest here until my ankle improves. I think it is sprained, not broken. In a few days, perhaps, I shall be able to walk on it.”
“How did you get up to the loft?” asked Frank.
“I pulled myself up the ladder on one leg. I fell into the ditch just outside the farmyard. I lay in the ditch until it grew light, and then I saw this barn and crawled here. The pain was bad then, but it is worse now.”
“You must be so hungry,” said Molly, for whom lack of food was the most terrible calamity imaginable.
