by Lou Kuenzler
“Well, she ought to have a name,” said Greta. “Everybody has a name.”
“Quite right,” agreed Uncle Peter.
“I know!” cried Edie excitedly. “How about Mr Hitler?” It seemed like a very funny name for a goat. But there was a terrible silence and everybody stared at her. “I mean, if the elephant is called Mr Churchill… ” she said weakly. “And Greta did think the goat was a boy.”
“A boy llama!” said Perky, his eyes twinkling again.
“In that case,” said Uncle Peter with a grin, “Mr Hitler will do nicely!”
“Oh, Peter,” sighed Aunt Roberta. “We can’t call our nanny goat ‘Mr Hitler’! Whatever will people say?”
“They’ll say that our Mr Hitler is the finest nanny-goat-llama for miles around,” answered Uncle Peter with a bow.
“Yes, they will!” cried Greta. “She’s a darling! Aren’t you, Mr Hitler?” She ran and kissed the goat on top of her head.
Mr Hitler bleated and even Gus laughed.
Aunt Roberta turned her back on them all. Edie wondered if she was smiling again too.
“Welcome to Three Chimneys, children,” she said, and she pushed open the blue front door.
Greta dashed inside and Gus followed after Uncle Peter. Edie hesitated on the doorstep. She waved to Perky as he peddled away. Then she stood very still. She didn’t know why, but she felt she wanted to be alone, just for a moment. She listened to the babble of voices inside the house as she looked down across the green fields towards the railway below.
It could not have been more different from the flat on Glasshouse Street where Edie had lived alone with Fliss her whole life. Yet it all seemed so familiar. She felt a sense of belonging, as if she was coming home. Perhaps it was all those memories Fliss had shared. She felt as if she was stepping into the pages of an adventure story she had read a hundred times before. But it was more than that.
“This is a new story,” Edie whispered, hugging herself tightly. “This is a new adventure. And it’s mine.”
Chapter Five
The Railway Children Return
When Edie woke up the next morning, something felt very strange. At first she couldn’t think what it was, but, as she lay listening to the chatter of birds, she knew. For the first time in months, she had slept the whole night through. A deep, relaxing, burrowing sleep, uninterrupted by the drone of bombers overhead or the wail of the air-raid siren. Her body felt light. Even on nights when they hadn’t had to take shelter in the Underground station or the Café de Paris, Edie never slept through until morning in London. Something always woke her, and her body was always stiff with worry, waiting and listening. Now she stretched her arms, feeling like a hibernating bear waking up from a long, deep, lovely rest. The war seemed as if it was a thousand miles away from Three Chimneys.
She rolled over and looked at the little wooden bed beside hers. Greta was up and gone already. But Edie couldn’t bear to move. Not yet. She pulled the patchwork quilt up under her chin and felt the delicious warmness of where her body had lain. This had been Aunt Roberta and Fliss’s room when they were girls. Gus had an old maid’s room along the landing. Peter still had his own childhood room, and Aunt Roberta was now where Edie’s grandmother would have slept. The house hadn’t belonged to the family then, they had only rented it, but Aunt Roberta bought it after the Great War. She’d been a nurse in France and had come here to look after Uncle Peter when he came home from the fighting.
As quickly as she’d thought she wanted to lie still all morning, Edie was suddenly desperate to be up and exploring. She leapt out of bed, pulled on her clothes and thundered down the stairs, almost tripping on the uneven hobbly-bobbly old steps.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” laughed Uncle Peter, who was washing up at the kitchen sink.
“Morning.” Edie glanced at the clock. Nearly nine already. How could it be so late?
“Roberta’s gone to Maidbridge,” Uncle Peter explained. “To see what the Evacuation Board has to say – about the Smith children and whether they can stay.”
“Oh, I do hope they can,” said Edie.
“Me too. They’re nice kids,” said Uncle Peter. “Although there’s been a bit of a kerfuffle already this morning. Your aunt insisted on washing that grubby elephant.”
“Oh, dear!” Edie looked out of the kitchen window and saw Mr Churchill pegged to the washing line by his trunk.
“Young Greta wasn’t too happy about it, as you can imagine.” Uncle Peter dried his hands. “Now, what can I get you for breakfast? We’ve got plenty of eggs from our chickens.” Edie’s mouth fell open as he pointed to a bowl of speckled hen’s eggs beside the range. Since wartime food rationing had begun, a box of exotic Turkish delight wouldn’t have seemed half so rare and precious as those eggs in London. “And there’s some bread and goat’s milk, of course. And a good dollop of last year’s blackberry jam. ”
It was a feast. But Edie glanced at the clock again, desperate to be outside. There was somewhere she wanted to go.
“Itchy feet?” Uncle Peter smiled. “Why don’t you just take a slice of bread and run?”
“Can I?” Edie beamed. But before Uncle Peter could answer, the garden door was flung open and Greta hurtled through it.
“Mr Hitler’s eating Mr Churchill and she won’t let go,” she cried.
“Pardon?” It took Edie a moment to realize what was going on. But as she glanced out the window, she saw the nanny goat standing on her hind legs, chewing the elephant on the washing line. At that moment the pegs gave way and Mr Hitler charged off with Mr Churchill swinging from her mouth.
“Oh, dear!” cried Edie.
“Sounds like a job for the War Office,” said Uncle Peter, calmly taking Greta by the hand. “Come on. We better go and sort this out. Grab what you want and off you go,” he called over his shoulder to Edie. “We’ll see you later.”
“Thank you.” Edie picked up a slice of bread and ran out of the door. She was halfway across the meadow when she saw Gus sitting under a tree looking gloomy. For a moment she thought she might ignore him and pelt past without a word. Part of her wanted to go where she was off to alone. A secret mission! But he looked so lonely and sad that she changed her mind.
“Come on!” she called. “Follow me!”
“Where to?” he asked, not moving.
“Don’t ask questions, soldier. It’s an order!” she barked, in a bossy sergeant major voice. “You never know,” she added. “It might be fun.”
Then she ran on. She couldn’t wait any longer. It was up to him if he followed or not.
She heard his feet thumping behind her on the meadow grass and, a moment later, he caught up. They ran side by side in silence until Edie stumbled and he caught her by the elbow.
“So, where are we going?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” said Edie, and she skidded to a stop beside a long wooden fence which ran along the side of the railway line. “What’s the time?” She grabbed Gus’s arm without waiting for an answer and pulled up his sleeve to look at his wristwatch. It was very fancy, she noticed. A proper man’s watch, made of gold with a dark leather strap.
“It was my grandfather’s,” Gus mumbled.
“It’s beautiful,” said Edie. The word Kienzle was written across it. That sounded German. Or maybe Swiss. The Swiss were famous for making watches, Edie remembered.
“Ten past nine! Perfect!” she said. “If the timetable is still the same.”
“What timetable?” said Gus as she let go of his wrist and he scrambled up on to the fence beside her.
“The train timetable, of course,” said Edie. “We’re waiting for the 9.15 to London.”
“Why? You’re not running away, are you?” he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer: “If you want to catch a train, you’ll need to go to the station.”
“I know that, silly,” she sighed. “And we’re not waiting to catch a train – we’re waiting to wave to it.”
She explained
how Fliss, Aunt Roberta and Uncle Peter had always waved to the 9.15 to send love to their father.
“I’m going to do the same. I’m going to send my love to Fliss,” she said.
“But she’s not in London. She’s in the ATA. She could be anywhere… ”
“Up in the sky – flying. I know,” said Edie, beginning to regret that she had brought him with her after all. “Oh … just wait and see… ”
There was a rumbling sound which made them look along the track to their right. The dark mouth of the tunnel she had seen from the house opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff. A train burst out of it with a shriek.
“It’s the 9.15! The Green Dragon,” cried Edie, leaping up and down. She was so excited, she almost forgot to wave. Just in time, she looked up her sleeve and pulled out the clean handkerchief Aunt Roberta had left neatly folded on top of her clothes. Edie wished it had a squirt of her mother’s Chanel perfume on it.
“Send my love, Green Dragon!” she roared. “Send my love to Fliss – wherever she is!”
Then Gus was waving his hankie too. “Send my love to Papa,” he croaked.
“And from Greta,” said Edie, nudging him in the ribs.
“And from Greta!” he said.
Three young servicemen in blue RAF uniforms were hanging out the window of their carriage. They looked up and waved as they roared by.
“Send our love,” the children cried and one of the airmen saluted, although Edie knew he probably hadn’t heard what they were shouting. The roar of the train was far too loud.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the Green Dragon was gone – thundering on down the line. All that was left were a few last wisps of smoke melting into the clouds.
“See?” said Edie, leaning as far back on the fence as she dared and staring up at the sky above her. “That’s our love, floating away. It’s searching for Fliss and your papa up there in their planes.”
Then she blushed, feeling suddenly silly. Had she gone too far? Would Gus tease her now? He’d probably make some horrid comment about soppy girls.
But he didn’t.
“Thank you for bringing me,” he said. “This was a good idea.”
“Same time tomorrow?” said Edie with a smile. “We can bring Greta too.”
“As long as the Evacuee Board let us stay.” Gus sighed.
“They will! Aunt Roberta will see to it,” said Edie, swinging her legs. She was sure no one – not even the Pied Piper – would dare to argue with Aunt Roberta, she seemed so firm and sure of everything.
Edie dug in her pocket and pulled out the slice of thick white bread she had taken from the kitchen. It was a little squashed now, but still fresh and soft and delicious. “Wanf sum?” she asked, waving the bread at Gus with her mouth full.
He shook his head. “I already had two fried eggs. Do you know what I’d really like, though?”
“No.” Edie swallowed. “What?”
“An apple,” said Gus. “You know, picked fresh off a tree. I’ve never done that in my whole life – not in the city.”
“Me neither,” said Edie. “There aren’t many apple trees in Piccadilly Circus.”
“Well, we’re in the country now,” said Gus, jumping down from the fence. “Come on – Operation Apple! Let’s go and find ourselves a great big juicy one.”
“Isn’t that stealing?” asked Edie, even though her mouth was watering at the thought of delicious ripe fruit.
“It’s just scrumping,” said Gus as they began to wander along the side of the fence, following the railway line. “That’s what it’s called when you pick apples off a farmer’s tree. It’s different. Only sort-of half stealing. All boys in the countryside do it. Or at least, they do in every book I’ve ever read.”
“I know,” said Edie. It was exactly the sort of thing Just William would do. “And they always get chased by a furious farmer with a pitchfork. It never ends well.”
“That’s just for the story, silly,” said Gus. “You know, to make it more exciting.”
“All right then,” agreed Edie. “Operation Apple it is!” She couldn’t believe the change that had come over Gus. All his gloominess was gone. She didn’t know if it was waving to the train to send his love to his father that had done it, or just the country air. But she wasn’t going to complain. She liked this adventurous new Gus so much more than the grumpy one from yesterday, and she felt more wild and plucky herself out here in the country too.
“What we need is a farmhouse,” she said. “Then there’s bound to be an orchard close by.”
But, as they wandered along the edge of the track, there was no sign of any farmhouse, just a pretty patchwork of green fields edged with stone walls.
“Look,” said Edie as the railway cutting dropped away beneath them like the sides of a steep canyon. “There’s another tunnel.”
“A long one by the look of it,” said Gus. “Shall we peep in?” Without waiting for an answer, he climbed the fence, sat on his bottom and half-slid, half crab-walked down the steep bank.
Edie followed, wishing she wasn’t wearing a stupid skirt. No wonder it was boys in books who always had the best adventures. They didn’t need to worry about their knickers showing.
By the time she reached the bottom, Gus had already disappeared inside the mouth of the tunnel.
“Careful!” she shouted. “Don’t go on the track!”
“I won’t!” he called, his voice echoing back to her. “But, goodness me, it gets dark quickly.”
Edie poked her head around the edge of the bricks and saw his black shadow silhouetted a few steps away.
“What’s it like?” she asked, edging forward.
“Damp.” His answer echoed back to her. “And cold.”
He was right. After only a few paces the warmth of the spring sunshine was gone. It was hard to walk in the pitch black, crunching across the rough stones at the edge of the track. “Ouch!” She tripped on a sleeper and banged her shin on the edge of the sharp metal rail.
She wanted to reach out for Gus’s hand, but she thought that might make them both feel stupid.
“Shall we go back?” Gus asked after a few more steps. The light from outside was growing dimmer. “It might go on for miles, for all we know.”
“Good idea,” agreed Edie, turning around to lead the retreat. “We could always come back with a torch some other time.”
“Definitely,” said Gus. He sounded just as relieved as her to escape for now, and they both stepped out, blinking, into the sunshine.
“Let’s cross over that bridge,” suggested Edie, pointing back down the tracks a little way. “We might be able to see a farm from the other side. And if not, we can just walk home that way and go over the level crossing by the station.”
“All right,” agreed Gus.
Sure enough, as they crossed the narrow footbridge, they saw a tangle of barns and a big white farmhouse in the valley below. Just to the left of it were six or seven stubby trees behind a wall.
“There!” said Edie. “That might be an orchard.”
“Are you sure you still want to help me?” said Gus.
“Of course,” said Edie with a determined nod. Part of her was already feeling like a coward for turning back in the tunnel. If she wanted a real adventure, she would have to go out and find it.
Chapter Six
Scrumping in Springtime
“Oar’s ead arm?” whispered Gus, reading the words off a lopsided sign nailed to the gate. “What sort of name is that?”
“I think it’s supposed to be Boar’s Head Farm,” hissed Edie, pointing to the rusty shadows where the extra letters must have once been before they dropped off.
Close up, the farm buildings and the house looked far scruffier than they had from the top of the hill. There were piles of old tin and crates and boxes everywhere. It smelt too – of something thick and wet and sour. The stench made the back of Edie’s throat sting.
“Is that manure?” she asked.
/> “Pigs!” said Gus, as if he was an expert. But Edie couldn’t see any animals anywhere, except a half-bald cockerel pecking in the mud.
“Let’s follow the wall,” she whispered, beginning to regret coming here at all. “We can get into the orchard that way. We don’t need to go anywhere near the farmyard.”
Gus nodded and they crept towards the ragged group of trees.
Edie scrambled over a section of wall where the stones had fallen down and beckoned to Gus to follow. They dodged past rusted farm machinery and stood beneath the nearest tree, staring up into the branches.
“Are you sure these are even apple trees?” asked Gus, peering into the crisscrossed tangle of twigs.
“I never said they were.” Edie shrugged. There was certainly no sign of any fruit. “Why don’t you get up there and investigate?” she said, goading him a little. “The daring heroes in those books you like always climb the trees, you know.”
“Fine!” Gus pulled himself up on to the lowest branch, hanging over it with his waist. He was stuck there like a swimmer at the edge of the public baths, paddling hopelessly with his legs in mid-air. “Give me a heave up, then,” he yelped.
Crack! Edie hadn’t even touched him when the branch snapped clean away from the tree and broke with a sound like a whip. A flurry of shrieking pigeons shot into the sky.
“Yow!” Gus landed on his bottom in a patch of weeds. “That hurt!” he yelped.
Somewhere in the tangle of sheds around the farmyard, a dog started to bark: a big dog, by the sound of it.
“Come on!” Edie grabbed Gus’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Run!” But it was too late.
A great black dog with a head as fat as a pumpkin was lumbering towards them, its tongue hanging out between razor-sharp teeth. A short plump woman barrelled after it, waving her arms and shrieking. “Get off my land!” she yelled, her red face as round and fierce-looking as the dog. “Get ’em, Rex!”
The dog snapped at their heels. It was so close, Edie could almost feel its hot breath on the back of her bare legs.
