by Lou Kuenzler
She hugged the elephant tightly, breathing in a sweet mix of barley sugar, cod liver oil and Lifebuoy soap. It was exactly how Greta smelt when she climbed into Edie’s bed for a cuddle in the mornings.
Edie wanted to stay calm, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t escape from the terrible thought which was hammering inside her head: if Greta’s beloved toy was still here, did that mean someone had snatched her and taken her against her will? If someone had kidnapped the little girl, she might have dropped Mr Churchill as they bundled her away. Edie couldn’t imagine any other reason why Greta would ever leave him behind – not even for a moment.
She sank down on the bench behind her, her legs shaking so hard she could barely stand up. She took another deep breath and forced herself to think logically. Who else had she seen on the platform since she first arrived?
“Len Snigson,” she whispered. The last time she’d noticed him, he was unloading the big black pram from the 11.53. She couldn’t remember seeing him on the station at all since then. Surely he should have been there to help with the 12.04? Edie clutched her tummy. Could Len have taken Greta? It didn’t seem possible. He might be a bit of a crook, happy to sell black-market goods and profit from the war. But would he steal a child? Would he hurt her? Surely not.
Then Edie remembered how she’d goaded the porter this morning, saying she would get to the bottom of the Snigson’s secret activities. His warning rang in her ears: “Keep your nose out of our business, or I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? What if the Snigsons were up to something truly awful – something they would do anything to keep secret?
Edie struggled to her feet.
Had Greta paid a terrible price, all because Edie had been snooping?
She gathered Mr Churchill into her arms and ran. She had to find Greta before it was too late.
Chapter Eleven
The Pig Club
Edie grabbed Mr Churchill by the trunk and ran out on to the station forecourt. The row of little cottages above the railway line showed no sign of life. Edie’s legs were still shaking as she tried to think what to do next. The nearest police station was all the way in Maidbridge, so that was no good. But if she ran up hill towards the village shops there would surely be someone who could help her. She might even see PC Bevan on his bicycle.
Edie had only taken two steps when she changed her mind. Perky had told her once that PC Bevan was married to the Snigsons’ older sister, Enid. Perhaps he couldn’t be trusted to help.
“England’s Corner!” she gasped. She skidded round and pelted downhill, in the opposite direction. She should have thought of it at once. The pretty white house was just around the bend in the lane. Colonel Crowther was head of the Home Guard. He could probably have his troops out searching for Greta within minutes. He might even have the authority to radio the signal boxes further up the line and have the trains heading north stopped and searched.
“Colonel Crowther!” she bellowed, banging the brass lion’s head knocker as loudly as she could. “Colonel Crowther, are you home?” She thought she saw a flicker of movement behind the downstairs curtains and pressed her nose against the window to peer through the glass. She was surprised to see how drab and bare it looked inside. There were only a few sticks of battered-looking furniture and an old iron trunk for a table – not at all what she would have expected from the grand brass knocker outside and the pretty roses growing up the walls. “Hello?” she called. But there was still no answer. It must just have been a shadow from the sun she had seen moving. She pounded the knocker again and stood stock-still, listening with her head on one side, praying for the sound of footsteps coming to the door. But there was nothing.
Edie was furious with herself. She had wasted more time than ever now. “What an idiot!” She should just have gone straight to the village high street in the first place. There would have been plenty of people there.
As she thundered back up the hill, she saw the church straight ahead of her. For a wild moment Edie thought about running in and ringing the bells. That was only supposed to happen if there was an enemy invasion. The bells didn’t even ring on Sundays any more. They had been silenced until the war was over except in the case of dire emergency. But this was an emergency – a real one. If Edie rang them, everyone would know she needed help. She had no idea how to ring a bell, of course. But they’d surely make some sort of clanging noise if she pulled on the long dangly ropes at the bottom of the spire.
Then she remembered Reverend Greaves. Of course, she had spoken to him at the station earlier too. Perhaps he’d seen Greta. He might even have taken her back to the vicarage for some orange squash. Mrs Greaves, the vicar’s wife, ran the village playgroup. Greta had gone with Maisie Gills last week.
Edie was about to cut across the churchyard when she heard the sound of crunching gravel on the lane behind her. A bicycle! She spun round, thinking it might be PC Bevan on his rounds. But as the cyclist came into view, she saw that it wasn’t the policeman riding up the lane.
“Aunt Roberta!” She’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her whole life. The feeling of relief made her knees go weak. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she cried, leaping out into the middle of the lane so that Aunt Roberta nearly skidded into the ditch. Edie was so glad to see her, and so frightened about what might have happened, she didn’t even worry about getting in trouble for losing Greta in the first place.
“I was at the station with Belinda Barton-Withers. And when I went back to the waiting room, it was only Mr Churchill there,” she gabbled. Edie was still clutching the elephant and she waved him under Aunt Roberta’s nose. “I think Len Snigson’s kidnapped her!”
“Slow down, Edie,” said Aunt Roberta, laying a hand on her arm. “What are you talking about? I just passed the Snigson brothers in the lane.”
“Where?” cried Edie. She grabbed the handlebars of the bicycle as if she was ready to leap on and start pedalling.
“They were by the crossroads arguing loudly about something they’d mislaid. But Greta wasn’t with them, Edie. I don’t know what you mean, accusing them of kidnapping her.”
“Perhaps she’s escaped,” gasped Edie.
“Who? Greta?” Aunt Roberta raised an eyebrow.
“We were spying on the Snigsons this morning,” said Edie. “I know we shouldn’t have been but … well, Len vowed he’d get his revenge on us. And then I went to the railway station because there was a telegram. And I told Greta to stay in the waiting room. But she didn’t. And now she’s in terrible danger. Either Len Snigson has kidnapped her, or she’s on a train to Scotland all alone… ”
“How odd,” said Aunt Roberta. She didn’t sound in the least alarmed to hear that her young evacuee was in such awful peril. “Only, isn’t that Greta over there?”
She pointed towards the churchyard.
“Where?” Edie stood on tiptoes and looked over the wall. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Aunt Roberta was right. Greta was standing amongst the tombstones, clutching a bunch of wilted daffodils in her arms.
“Dear me,” said Aunt Roberta. “She’s taking flowers off old Bob Widdop’s grave. He’s only been buried a fortnight… Stop! Put those back, Greta! You mustn’t do that.”
Greta looked up, her eyes wide with innocent surprise. “Oh, hello.”
“Greta!” cried Edie, charging across the churchyard. “I thought you were lost. Or kidnapped. Or dead… ”
“All right, Edie,” Aunt Roberta warned, running to catch-up. “There’s no need to be quite so dramatic. As you can see, Greta seems perfectly all right. We don’t want to give her nightmares, do we?”
Greta didn’t seem in the least disturbed. In fact, she scooped another bunch of flowers from a grave and trotted away up the path.
“Where are you going, young lady?” said Aunt Roberta. “Put those flowers back, this minute.”
“I can’t,” Greta called over her shoulder. “I need
to feed my babies.” And she disappeared around the side of the church.
“Her babies?” Edie and Aunt Roberta looked at each other. “What is she talking about?”
They peered around the building and saw Greta posting daffodils one by one under the hood of an enormous black perambulator.
“I saw that pram,” cried Edie. “At the station. Len Snigson was unloading it from the 11.53.”
“Heavens,” said Aunt Roberta. “I think Greta might have done a little bit of kidnapping for herself… ”
“You mean… ” Edie glanced around the empty churchyard. There was certainly no sign of any mother or nanny in charge of the pram. “You don’t think there’s an actual baby in there, do you?” But even as she spoke, she saw the big black pram rocking from side to side. There was definitely something inside it.
“Eat up,” cooed Greta, feeding yet more daffodils under the hood.
“Greta,” said Aunt Roberta gently. “May I have a look at your lovely baby?”
“Of course.” Greta beamed with pride as Aunt Roberta and Edie both stepped forward. “But it’s not a baby, it’s—”
“—A piglet!” gasped Edie. A pair of beady black eyes looked up at her and a pink snout was poking out from amongst the daffodils in the pram.
“Not just one piglet, silly,” said Greta. “It’s twiglets… ” She pushed the flowers aside and there was a squeal as a second little piggy popped its head up above the blue crocheted baby blanket. “Sorry. Not twiglets… ” Greta giggled. “I mean twin piglets! See?”
“Yes,” Aunt Roberta sighed. “I do see.”
“They’re adorable.” Edie couldn’t help smiling as the piglets snuffled and snorted. In all the excitement she’d almost forgotten to be cross with Greta, although her heart had only just stopped pounding.
“Did you find them like this at the station?” she asked. No wonder poor Mr Churchill had been forgotten. Greta did always say she wanted a piglet of her own. Now she had stumbled upon two … in their very own baby carriage.
“I pushed them here all by myself,” said Greta proudly, cooing as she rocked the pram. “They were hungry. That’s why I’m feeding them daffodils. Piglets like daffodils.”
“How extraordinary. Who would leave piglets in a pram?” said Aunt Roberta.
“Len Snigson, that’s who!” said Edie triumphantly. “I told you I saw him unloading it from the train. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I thought he was helping a mother and there must be a baby inside.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Roberta looked thoughtful. “The only reason to hide piglets in a pram is if they’re not supposed to be there,” she said. “The ministry certainly won’t be aware of these little fellows, that’s for sure.”
“Black-market pigs! Maybe that’s why the brothers were arguing,” said Edie excitedly. “I expect they were planning to smuggle the piglets up to the farm. I bet Len was meant to sneak them off the train and meet Donny at the crossroads. Only he turned his back for a minute. Then Greta came along and… ”
“And it turned into the case of the vanishing piglets!” said Aunt Roberta with a little smile.
“Can we keep them?” said Greta. “Please… ”
But before anyone could answer, Edie put her finger to her lips. “Shh!” she hissed. “Look!” She pointed towards the wall.
Len Snigson’s head had popped up over the top. But it disappeared again just as quickly.
Aunt Roberta cleared her throat. “Why don’t you come out and show yourself?” she said firmly. “It appears we may have something you are looking for.”
“Oh, er … that’s our old pram, that is.” Len’s head appeared again. His face was as flushed and pink as the piglets he was trying to hide. “It’s – er – got sentimental value, that’s all… ”
“Oh,” said Aunt Roberta. “I assumed it was what was inside the pram that was of interest to you.”
“What’s that you say? There’s summat inside?” Len had climbed over the wall. “Piglets? Well I never,” he said, peering into the pram as if he had never seen them in his life before. “How the dickens did they get there?”
“How indeed,” said Aunt Roberta. “Are they your piglets, Mr Snigson?”
Edie could see a little muscle in the side of Len’s cheek pumping away as he tried to think of a good answer.
“Yes, Nurse Roberta, ma’am,” he said at last. “They’re our piglets.”
“Then what are they doing in a pram?” said Edie.
Len scowled at her. His cheek was pumping again.
“Donny was playing a trick on me,” he said at last. Edie could imagine the cogs inside his brain whirring. “Yes, that’s it!” He smiled now as if he had finally settled on a good story. “It tickled our Donny no end. Leaving the piglets in the pram like that. He knew I’d go and peep. I’m right soft when it comes to babies, you know.”
Edie found that very hard to believe. This story was getting more and more unlikely by the minute. Even she knew that wartime food rationing meant every farm animal was supposed to be accounted for to the ministry. But the Snigsons were clearly breaking the law. These piglets were smuggled, Edie was sure of it.
“Imagine my surprise,” said Len, “when it wasn’t a bairn sleeping in there, but a pair of porkers… ”
“And the piglets are definitely yours?” repeated Aunt Roberta. “From the farm, I mean. They haven’t just arrived by train or anything?”
“No. They’re definitely our piglets,” said Len boldly. “In fact I – er – I ought to be getting them back to Donny right away. They’ll – er – need food and that.”
“I’ve fed them,” said Greta crossly. “They like eating flowers.”
Len ignored her. He stretched out and took the handle of the pram.
“Stop! You can’t take them.” Greta tugged at his jacket and tried to pull him away.
“Now, Greta.” Aunt Roberta raised her eyebrow. “Mr Snigson is quite entitled to take his own pigs away. Stand back, please.”
Greta’s lip was shaking as Len barged her aside and began to push the enormous perambulator away. He was almost running with it down the path towards the church gate.
“Ta very much, Nurse Roberta. Sorry about all the confusion.” He looked back over his shoulder and smiled like an innocent choirboy.
Edie couldn’t stand it. He was getting away. “You’re not actually going to let him take them, are you?” she hissed. Surely Aunt Roberta knew the pigs weren’t really from his farm, no matter what he tried to say?
“Just one last thing, Mr Snigson… ” Aunt Roberta raised her voice. Edie wasn’t sure but she thought she saw her aunt wink. “You do have all the relevant papers for them, I presume?”
“Papers?” Len was squirming again. “I’m sure we do. I’ll – er – I’ll have to ask Donny. Now if you’ll excuse me, I ought to be getting back to the station.”
While he was talking, Aunt Roberta had walked round to the front of the pram and was blocking the path.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” she said brightly. “We’ll hold on to the piglets until you can find the papers. That way I won’t have to report it to the ministry. You know, of course, that smuggling black-market animals while there’s a war on is an offence you can go to prison for.” She paused and folded her arms as if to let this sink in. Len kicked at the ground with his boot.
“Of course, if you can’t find the piglets’ papers, we could always raise them for you at Three Chimneys,” said Edie with a cheeky grin.
“Exactly. We’ll start an official pig club for the whole village,” added Aunt Roberta.
“You can’t do that!” snarled Len.
“I think you’ll find we can,” said Aunt Roberta firmly. “Come along, girls. You can push the pram up the hill.”
“Hooray! We get to keep the twiglets… I mean piglets!” cheered Greta. But Len grabbed Edie’s arm as she squeezed past him with the pram.
“Now look what you’ve done! Meddling in my busines
s again!” He gripped her shoulder but Edie shrugged him off.
“Any time you’ve got the papers, we’ll gladly give the piglets back,” called Aunt Roberta, climbing on to her bicycle as Len slunk back to the station, like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Edie puffed as she pushed the pram up the hill. Greta was no help at all. She just kept dancing to the hedgerow and back again with Mr Churchill in one hand and bundles of grass to feed to the piglets in the other.
Aunt Roberta had taken the daffodils away. She said they might make the poor things feel sick.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” wheezed Edie, as they reached the stile by Three Chimneys at last. “What’s a pig club?”
“It’s something for the whole village,” Aunt Roberta explained. “We’ve no idea where these piglets really came from. It’s not fair that our family should profit from them any more than the Snigsons should. If we start a pig club then everyone can have a share. They can all send their kitchen scraps to feed them up nicely and then the whole village will get something when it’s time to… ”
“Oh, I see,” said Edie quickly. She put her finger to her lips as she glanced at Greta, skipping along beside the hedgerow, looking for the juiciest blades of grass to feed to the little piglets.
“You mean when it’s time to turn them into b-ac-o-n and s-a… ” Edie trailed off. She couldn’t quite remember how to spell sausages. And the thought was too horrible.
“There’s no point in being squeamish,” said Aunt Roberta firmly. “There’s a war on. You children will have to face the facts. As soon as these little piggies are nice and fat, they’ll be turned into juicy… ” Aunt Roberta trailed off too. She glanced at Greta, who was leaning into the pram, singing lullabies to the “darling Twiglets”, as she insisted on calling the little twin pigs.
“… Into juicy p-o-r-k?” asked Edie, with her eyebrow raised.
“Exactly,” Aunt Roberta sighed. “I don’t like to think about it either, really,” she admitted. “But don’t worry, we’ll have the whole summer to enjoy with them first. We won’t do anything until Christmas.”
