The Return of the Railway Children

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Petticoats!” Edie cried aloud. “That reminds me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gus looked at her as if she was mad.

  “You’ll see!” said Edie, and she ran out of the door after Aunt Roberta. “I was just wondering,” she called, “you don’t have any old trousers I could have, do you? Small ones, that is?”

  “Trousers?” Aunt Roberta looked confused.

  “Yes. Like the Land Girls wear, when they work on the farms,” said Edie. “It’s just that now I’m going to live in the countryside, I can’t run around wearing skirts all the time. It’s not practical.”

  Aunt Roberta smiled. “I’ll ask around and see what I can do.”

  Two days later, Aunt Roberta gave Edie her first lesson. It wasn’t on the poems of Wordsworth or the sonnets of Shakespeare. It was on how to milk a goat.

  Edie found she was quite good at it. It was all about rhythm … and talking gently to the goat. It was certainly easier than when she’d tried to learn the cello. Aunt Roberta had left her to carry on alone, and she had already got an inch or two of milk in the bottom of the pail, when she saw Perky riding up the path on the big post office bicycle.

  “I’ve summat for you,” he called, and Edie’s heart leapt.

  “Is it a letter?” she cried, almost knocking over the precious milk. Fliss had promised to write as soon as she reached the airbase, but there’d been no word yet.

  “Gosh. No. Sorry!” Perky looked crestfallen. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. It’s… Well, actually it’s a parcel from my aunty Patsy in the post office.”

  “A parcel? For me? From your aunt Patsy?” Edie didn’t want to sound rude, but… “Why?”

  “You’ll see!” Perky grinned as he handed over a loosely tied package done up with old newspaper and string. His eyes were sparkling with mischievous delight – a look Edie was beginning to recognize all too well.

  “Thank you,” she said calmly. She laid the package on the grass and carried on milking the goat. “Good girl, Mr Hitler,” she whispered.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” said Perky, almost hopping from foot to foot in his excitement.

  “Not just now,” said Edie vaguely. She had no idea what she was going to find inside, but one thing was sure, she wasn’t going to give Perky the satisfaction of opening it in front of him. Not when he was grinning from ear to ear and giggling to himself like that.

  Unfortunately, Mr Hitler must have caught sight of the newspaper out of the corner of her eye. As the nanny goat lunged for the parcel, Edie grabbed the pail of milk and saved it just in time. But it was too late to rescue the package. Mr Hitler was tossing it up and down in the air. As the goat munched on the newspaper, two pairs of boys’ grey flannel shorts fell out on to the grass below.

  “Kegs! I’ve never seen a girl wear aught like those before!” tittered Perky. “They used to belong to my cousin, Stan. But he’s outgrown ’em.”

  “They’re just perfect!” cried Edie. She couldn’t have been more pleased if it had been a velvet dress with new shiny patent-leather shoes like the ones Fliss always bought her for the Christmas pantomime. She didn’t care how much Perky was laughing. “These are just what I need,” she said, picking up a pair of the shorts and holding them against her waist for size.

  Gus was cutting across the grass with a saucepan of kitchen scraps for the chickens. Soon he was laughing just as loud as Perky at the sight of Edie holding up the grey boys’ shorts and whirling around in delight.

  “They’re not for a girl,” he teased.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Edie, but she suddenly stopped mid-whirl to stare at Mr Hitler who was still munching contentedly.

  “Oh, boys,” she cried. “It’s not funny. I think Mr Hitler has eaten all the newspaper … and the string as well.”

  She watched in horror as the goat swallowed the last dangling strand of twine and belched loudly.

  Edie was very worried about goaty Mr Hitler for the next few days. Poor Greta was even more anxious. She asked Uncle Peter (as she and Gus now called him) if they ought to sleep in her stall at night to check she was all right.

  “Don’t worry. Goats are tough. They can eat anything,” said Uncle Peter. “You’ll see.”

  Sure enough, the nanny goat seemed to show no ill effects whatsoever. The following week, she ate an important-looking form from the Ministry Of Food all about milking quotas and rationing.

  Edie was delighted there was no harm done, and she was thrilled with her new shorts too. They were especially useful when the children went on adventures, exploring the countryside around Three Chimneys, criss-crossing back and forwards on the bridges over the railway tracks.

  Lessons turned out to be few and far between – in fact, there were hardly any at all. Aunt Roberta was only supposed to be a volunteer at the little hospital over in Stacklepoole, but she was such a good nurse she was always in demand. She often set off on her bicycle at the crack of dawn and wasn’t seen again until nightfall.

  “You must be very busy there,” said Edie once.

  “Not with anything too serious,” answered Aunt Roberta. “It’s mostly old ladies with sore feet and bad bunions. But with so many doctors away at the front, I suppose that’s all part of the war effort too.”

  “I suppose so,” said Edie. At first, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Aunt Roberta was away so much because she was trying to avoid her, still resentful of the fact that Fliss’s illegitimate daughter had come to stay at Three Chimneys at all. But as time passed, she began to feel this couldn’t be true. No matter how late Aunt Roberta got back, she always crept upstairs to kiss Edie goodnight. If it was very late, and Greta was asleep, they’d creep back down to the kitchen where Aunt Roberta would make them both a cup of tea and they’d chat about their day. Or, if it was early enough, there’d be a story for her and Greta all tucked up in bed.

  Edie soon found herself listening out for the sound of Aunt Roberta’s bicycle on the gravel outside whenever she was working late. Those evening chats were often one of the best parts of her day.

  Meanwhile, an older girl called Maisie Gills came from the village to help with chores and look after Greta when Aunt Roberta was working. But that still didn’t leave Uncle Peter time to teach them lessons either. He was always busy cooking and gardening.

  “Digging for victory,” as he liked to say, waving his spade in the air. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was “tinkering” in the old stable he’d set up as a workshop behind the house. He had made a bit of money as an antique restorer before the war, but what he liked most was collecting old bits and pieces related to the railway and returning them to their former glory. Edie loved watching him shine the brass on an old lamp or wind the cogs to restore life to a dusty station clock. He had boxes and baskets filled with a rusty tangle of springs and wheels and screws – and some things which seemed to have no name at all. It mostly looked like old junk to Edie, but Uncle Peter would hum under his breath, plunge his hand into a particular basket and come out with the perfect penny-sized cogwheel he was searching for.

  Every once in a while his hands would shake and he would have to sit, trembling uncontrollably for a moment before he could begin again.

  “I wanted to be an engineer when I was a boy,” he told her. “But then the Great War came along and … well, I never got the training.”

  It was one of the bad days and his hands were shaking a lot. He kept digging them into his pockets and Edie tried not to stare.

  “Go on. Run along outside and play,” he said, smiling at her gently. “Otherwise I might just have to set you a test on algebra after all.”

  Even if there wasn’t much schoolwork, the children did have chores: feeding the chickens, milking the goat, collecting eggs, helping to dig and plant in the vegetable garden – anything which could bring in extra food. But once those jobs were done they were free to run and explore and play. Edie had never known such freedom, and the skirts she’d broug
ht from London stayed hanging in the wardrobe as she wore the baggy knee-length shorts every single day.

  “Do you know what we should do?” she said excitedly, when they were sitting on the fence above the railway line one afternoon. “We should find a camp, or a clubhouse, or something. That would make it official. We really would be the Railway Children then.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Gus. “Every club needs a meeting place.”

  “Aye,” said Perky, who had finished school for the day and come to join them. “Count me in.”

  “Can I be in the club too?” asked Greta.

  “Of course you can,” said Edie.

  But Gus raised his eyebrows. “You’d be better off staying at home with Maisie,” he said. “Real Railway Children adventures might be too daring for a little girl like you. And you always complain you don’t want to walk too far, anyway.”

  “No I don’t,” said Greta. “Do I, Edie?” Her lip began to tremble.

  “Of course not.” Edie could see she needed to act fast before there were tears. “Railway Children for ever!” she said, jumping down from the fence and solemnly shaking hands with each of them in turn.

  “Railway children for ever!” the four children agreed.

  “So,” said Edie, “does anyone have any idea where our clubhouse could be?”

  “In a flowerpot?” suggested Greta.

  “A flowerpot?” The boys spluttered with laughter.

  “I think we’d have trouble finding one big enough to fit us all in,” said Edie kindly. She bit her lip trying not to laugh too.

  But Greta was deadly serious. “Not me,” she said. “I’m a teeny-tiny fairy with silver wings.”

  “Well, I’m not!” snorted Perky. “But I reckon I know a place which might just do the job. Come on!”

  He led them along a path at the side of the railway line.

  The boys spread out their arms and pretended to be Spitfires.

  “Is that what your dad flies, then?” asked Perky.

  “Yep.” Gus nodded and dipped away to the left to machine-gun a patch of stinging nettles.

  “Which squadron?” asked Perky. “I’ve got a couple of cousins who work in ground crew – they might know him.”

  Perky seemed to have cousins everywhere.

  “I shouldn’t think so.” Gus swooped back to give the stinging nettles a second blast. “He’s not stationed anywhere near here.”

  “Nor’s my oldest cousin, Johnny,” said Perky. “He’s down Kent way, somewhere. Maybe he’s with your dad!”

  “Maybe.” Gus circled back for the stinging nettles a third time but seemed to lose heart. His wings dropped and turned back into arms, which swung by his side as he kicked a stone across the tracks. “Actually, I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. It’s all a bit hush-hush.”

  “You mean he’s in the secret service or summat?” Perky’s mouth fell open in surprise.

  “A spy?” cried Edie. “You never told me that!”

  “Shh!” Gus glanced up and down the empty track. “That’s sort of the point of being a spy,” he whispered. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Mum’s the word.” Perky put his finger to his lips, clearly impressed.

  “He flies top-secret missions and stuff, that’s all,” said Gus. He shrugged and lifted his arms again ready for takeoff.

  “My mum flies Spitfires too sometimes,” said Edie, seeing as no one had bothered to ask.

  “Rubbish!” The boys laughed.

  “They don’t let women fly Spits,” said Perky.

  “Of course they do,” said Edie, and she stuck out her arms and dive-bombed a patch of brambles.

  Greta followed. “Wheeeeeeee! Boom!”

  “I thought you were a fairy?” scoffed Gus.

  “I am,” said Greta. “I’m a splitfire fairy!”

  “Spitfire!” groaned Gus.

  “Whoa! Wait till the Luftwaffe hear that!” laughed Perky.

  “The Luffy-what?” said Greta.

  “They’re the German air force,” said Edie, although the way Perky had said it in his broad Yorkshire accent, you would never have guessed. “Come on! Let’s loop-the-loop. We’ll show these boys how it’s done.”

  All four children flew off, noisily making the sound of whirring propellers.

  “Here it is,” said Perky as they reached a short stretch of straight track, just before the bend and the long, dark tunnel. He scrambled up a high bank with some scruffy-looking trees. From the top, Edie could see a little siding running parallel with the main track. It was all overgrown with weeds and brambles and looked like it hadn’t been used for years.

  They slithered down and walked along the siding. Half hidden beneath creeping ivy and the branches of a fallen tree was an old train carriage. It towered above them, much taller than any train Edie had ever seen before, as there was no platform running beside the rusty old rails, of course. The bottom of the carriage door was level with the top of Edie’s head, so she couldn’t see in. It made her a little dizzy to think that trains were always like that – so that you’d actually be stepping out in mid-air if there wasn’t a raised platform to catch you.

  The old carriage must have been rather grand once, perhaps for first-class passengers. It had rich, chestnut-coloured sides and the remains of what looked like white lace curtains in the windows, though they were ragged and grey now. The glass was mottled with grime and moss was growing in the cracks of the wood. But Edie thought it was just perfect.

  “It’s like a little house,” she cried. “Or a caravan!” She ran around the back of the carriage to the other side. “Look! We can get in from here.” A small tree had fallen from the bank opposite, making a sort of drawbridge between the side of the bank and the carriage.

  Edie teetered along the fallen trunk and yanked the handle, almost toppling backwards as she pulled the door towards her. “It’s open!” she cried, stepping into the carriage. She saw at once that it must have been some sort of dining car or smoking saloon. Faded, greenish-blue seats like armchairs lined each side beneath the windows and little wooden tables were scattered about. One lay like a turtle on its back in the middle of the carriage with only three legs. There was a big brass pot that looked as if it might have once contained a plant, but now had the remains of a bird’s nest in the bottom. The little smoked-glass lampshades were thick with cobwebs and dust. It was clear that nobody had been inside for years.

  “Oh, Perky,” cried Edie, grabbing him by both hands as he stepped inside. “It’s wonderful!” She waltzed him round and round, almost tripping over the three-legged table.

  “Steady on!” He laughed.

  Greta grabbed Gus and made him waltz around the carriage too.

  “Wunerful!” she agreed.

  “I don’t know,” said Perky. “There’s always the disused signal box on the way to Stacklepoole Junction. That might suit us better!”

  “Certainly not!” said Edie, and she flopped down on to one of the huge chairs, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air. “This is the Railway Children HQ, and that’s decided.”

  “What’s HQ?” asked Greta.

  “Head-Quarters,” shouted all three older children at once.

  “Everyone needs a headquarters in wartime,” Edie explained. “And this is ours.”

  “I love it!” said Greta, leaping on to the seat beside her and sending more dust billowing into the air.

  “I’d be careful if I were you. Reckon there might be rats nesting in that upholstery,” warned Perky.

  “Rats!” Greta leapt on to Edie’s knee.

  “Nonsense. He’s only teasing,” said Edie, glaring at Perky over the top of Greta’s head.

  “Of course I am,” he agreed. And Edie hoped that was true.

  “So, what’ll we do here anyhow?” said Perky, sitting down too and stretching out his long legs.

  “That’s easy,” said Gus. He was standing down the other end of the carriage, peering out of the win
dow. “We can find out what’s really going on at the Snigsons’ farm. Look.”

  Edie went and stood beside him. The bank at the side of the track was lower here and he pointed through a gap in the trees. She saw that they had a perfect view of the field and Boar’s Head Farm in the valley below.

  “How exciting. We’ll be like real spies,” said Edie. She had always wanted to be involved in an undercover operation.

  “If the Snigsons really are dealing in black-market goods then they ought to be stopped,” said Perky. “It’s a terrible crime, especially when brave men like my dad are away fighting.”

  “Exactly!” agreed Edie. “And wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were the ones to catch them at it?” She thought how proud Uncle Peter and Aunt Roberta would be.

  “I can find us some old notebooks from the post office, if you like,” said Perky excitedly. “We can jot down anything suspicious we see.”

  “Good idea.” Edie could tell this was going to be fun. “What we really need is some binoculars,” she said. “Then we’ll find out what those terrible Snigson brothers are up to for sure.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Dark Demon

  Aunt Roberta came home early from the hospital that night. They had a delicious supper of potato pancakes with raisins and a spoonful of sweet heather honey on the top.

  “Even the Café de Paris couldn’t serve something so scrumptious,” laughed Edie. But, as soon as she’d said it, she felt a sudden stab of sadness, remembering the cafe was gone now. Suddenly, she missed Fliss dreadfully. It had been so long since she’d heard from her – why didn’t she write and send news?

  If Fliss was here now, she’d turn the wireless on and we’d all have a bit of a dance while we did the washing-up, thought Edie.

  But no one seemed in the mood to listen to music at Three Chimneys tonight. Edie glanced around the table. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one feeling a little glum. Everyone seemed strangely silent for once.

  Gus was quiet and thoughtful, but there was nothing unusual about that. Poor little Greta was practically falling asleep in her plate. She must be exhausted from their expedition to HQ. The disused dining carriage was quite a hike for her short legs. But the biggest change was in the grown-ups. Edie realized Uncle Peter had barely said a word since they’d sat down. Aunt Roberta kept glancing at him anxiously, offering tight little smiles of encouragement which Edie couldn’t understand.