Winston and the Marmalade Cat

by Megan Rix

  Harry didn’t really like tea, but he was hungry and he didn’t want to be rude. Old Ned put three sugars in his cup and it didn’t taste too bad.

  Little Houdini darted around the kitchen exploring every nook and cranny. He put his nose to the bottom of Old Ned’s stove. There was something interesting scuttling around under there that wouldn’t come out. Little Houdini lay down to watch it.

  ‘Crumpets. Do you like crumpets, Harry?’ Old Ned asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said eagerly. He didn’t just like crumpets, he loved them! Although they very rarely had them at home.

  ‘Good,’ said Old Ned as he gave Harry some crumpets to toast on the fire with a toasting fork while he chopped up some cooked chicken for Little Houdini.

  ‘Most marmalade cats are very friendly,’ Old Ned said, as he put the saucer down close to the kitten. ‘Mellow’s the word people often use to describe them.’

  Little Houdini stopped watching the mouse to eat the chicken, but he looked over at the bottom of the stove every now and again just in case it came out.

  ‘I had my first marmalade kitten when I was younger than you,’ Old Ned said. ‘It was about the same time as I met Sir Winston, or Winny, as he used to call himself then. When he was a boy his hair was a marmalade colour just like your kitten. Doesn’t have much hair now though,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Bald, like me.’ Old Ned settled himself down in his cosy armchair by the fire, remembering the very first time he had met Winston Churchill. He had no idea then that he would be the future prime minister.

  Chapter 14

  The year was 1882 and seven-year-old Ned was helping his father to dig up the potatoes in the school’s vegetable patch.

  Ned loved the feel of the earth beneath his fingers and seeing the potato plants bloom. They’d planted the seed potatoes a few months ago and now they were ready to harvest.

  ‘We need to get up as many potatoes as we can before the heavy frosts come,’ Ned’s dad said, and he headed off with the heavy wheelbarrow full of freshly dug potatoes to the school kitchen. ‘Back in a minute.’

  Ned carried on digging but stopped when he thought he heard a sniff. He looked round but couldn’t see anyone and turned back to his digging thinking he must have imagined it. But only a couple of minutes later, there was the sniff again, louder than before. This time when Ned looked around, he spotted a small ginger-haired boy half hidden in the bushes.

  ‘Hey – you there!’ he called out.

  The small ginger-haired boy was wearing the uniform of St George’s School at Ascot where Ned’s dad worked. Pupils weren’t allowed over this way. Ned didn’t go to the private boarding school; he went to a day school in the village and spent most of his free time helping his dad.

  The boy didn’t reply and so Ned headed over and grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said roughly, and then stopped when he saw his face.

  The boy, who looked about the same age as him, had grey streaks across his cheeks from the tears that had run down and been quickly wiped away by grubby fingers.

  ‘How old are you?’ Ned asked in a softer voice.

  ‘Seven years, eleven months and one day,’ the boy told him. He couldn’t pronounce his s’s properly. ‘I never wanted to come to this stupid school and now I’d very much like to go home.’

  ‘How long have you been at the school for?’ Ned asked him.

  ‘One whole day but that’s quite long enough for me to have formed my opinion of it.’

  Ned grinned. He didn’t much like going to school either.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Winny. What’s yours?’

  ‘Ned.’

  ‘I’ve got a kitty at home,’ Winny lisped, pointing at Ned’s ginger-and-white-striped kitten. ‘I’ve got lots of pets who’ll be missing me and wondering where I’ve gone.’

  ‘His name’s Sergeant Tommy,’ Ned said, as he picked the kitten up and gave him to Winny to hold.

  ‘Why did you name him Sergeant?’ Winny asked as he rubbed his dirty face in the kitten’s soft fur. Sergeant Tommy purred.

  ‘Because one day, when he’s grown a little more, he’ll be as brave as a soldier and catch lots of rats,’ Ned said, because that was what his dad had told him.

  ‘Are there lots of rats here then?’ Winny asked, looking around worriedly.

  ‘Loads! But not for much longer with Sergeant Tommy around!’ Ned told him. ‘Do you want a sandwich? My mum made them and she always puts lots of homemade strawberry jam in them.’

  Winny nodded and Ned shared his sandwiches with him until his dad came back with the wheelbarrow and saw the two of them together.

  ‘You’d best be heading back to the school building now,’ he told Winny and Winny scurried off looking much happier than when Ned had first met him.

  The next time Ned went with his dad to the school garden it wasn’t long before Winny turned up too, and the time after that he was waiting for Ned with a smile and a wave.

  ‘Climbed out of the window,’ he told Ned.

  ‘He’ll be in real trouble if he gets caught,’ Ned’s dad said when they got home. ‘The headmaster of the school’s a cruel man and he’ll think nothing of using a cane on your friend if he finds out he’s broken the school rules.’

  Ned didn’t want Winny to be in trouble and he took a woolly hat and his old coat with him as a disguise for Winny the next time he went to the school garden.

  ‘No one will look twice at you if you’re not wearing your uniform,’ he said.

  Winny loved the idea and kept the coat and cap in the gardener’s shed for whenever he needed it.

  He was wearing the cap and coat, even though it was getting a bit too warm to be wearing them, when the piglets arrived from the farm up the road one Saturday in the spring.

  ‘Six!’ Winny said happily when he’d counted them.

  ‘They’re called Middle Whites,’ Ned told him.

  One of the piglets was a lot smaller and thinner than all the others.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Winny asked Ned’s dad.

  ‘Nothing. He’s just the runt,’ Ned’s dad told him. ‘That’s what they call the last piglet to be born. Often they don’t survive because they’re not as strong as the others and sometimes the sow, that’s the …’

  ‘Mother,’ Winny interrupted. ‘A lady pig is called a sow,’ he said, eager to share his animal knowledge.

  ‘Well, sometimes she hasn’t got enough to feed all the piglets and she has to make a hard decision, and the runt gets left out.’

  ‘You mean it doesn’t get fed?’ Winny said, his eyes wide. ‘Just because it’s the smallest?’

  ‘It’s just nature. Just what happens sometimes,’ Ned’s dad told him kindly.

  But Winny’s head was shaking fast and so was Ned’s.

  ‘I’ll never EVER let that happen to this one,’ Winny said, and he threw his arms round the squealing and surprised runt of a piglet, not caring that he was getting his disguise coat covered in mud and manure.

  ‘I brought Piggly some sugar from the breakfast table,’ Winny told Ned the next morning, pulling sugar lumps from his pocket. ‘I bet he’ll eat these. Come on, little Piggly, come on.’

  And the little piglet did manage to eat the first sugar lump and then the second and the third, fourth and fifth.

  Winny laughed and laughed when the little piglet nuzzled his pocket to see if there were any more.

  He gave the piglet a kiss on the snout and promised to bring him some more the very next day.

  Over the next few weeks Piggly spent very little time in the field with the other piglets because Winny and Ned were too busy playing with him every chance they got.

  ‘Sit, Piggly, sit,’ Winny said, holding up his arm and as Piggly looked up at the piece of apple, he automatically sat down. ‘Good Piggly!’

  ‘He’s as easy to teach as a puppy!’ Ned laughed. ‘Maybe even easier.’

  Fortunately Piggly liked
all sorts of vegetables and fruits and even the odd flower or two from the flower garden, which he really wasn’t supposed to have, so they had lots of treats to tempt him.

  ‘Can you fetch my ball, Piggly?’ Winny asked him, and he threw his ball across the grass. But Piggly was too busy eating some daisies to pay any attention to a ball.

  When the other piglets were sent away, Piggly had grown so much that he was sent too.

  ‘Where’s he gone?’ Winny asked Ned’s dad.

  ‘Gone to market,’ Ned’s dad said.

  ‘Get him back,’ Winny begged. ‘I’ll give you my pocket money to buy him.’

  But Ned’s dad shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that.’

  ‘But what will happen to him?’

  Ned’s dad shook his head. ‘The pigs are reared to be eaten, you know that,’ he said. ‘Don’t you?’

  Ned began to cry, but Winny looked fierce.

  ‘When I grow up,’ Winny said, ‘I’m going to have Middle White pigs that will never be sent to market, I promise.’

  ‘And so am I,’ Ned told him, sniffing back his tears.

  Chapter 15

  Harry looked over at Old Ned sitting in the worn armchair. He wasn’t sure if the elderly man had fallen asleep or not. Old Ned’s bald head was lowered to his chest and Harry couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed.

  But then Old Ned muttered to himself, clearly half-asleep. ‘Winston’s school report said he would never amount to much. How wrong could they be!’

  Little Houdini went over to the old man, hopped up on to his lap and pushed his head against his hand for a stroke.

  ‘Oh, hello there,’ Old Ned said sleepily. ‘Must have dozed off a bit.’ He gave the kitten a stroke. ‘You remind me of a kitten I used to have called Sergeant Tommy.’

  ‘Crumpets are done,’ Harry told him.

  ‘Good. Put lots of butter on them,’ Old Ned said. ‘They’re best with lots of butter.’

  Harry spread them with lots of butter and smiled as he bit into his crumpet. Old Ned was right. Lots of butter was best.

  ‘I’d better be getting back up to the main house,’ Harry said when they’d finished eating. He didn’t want to keep Sir Winston waiting.

  ‘People will be arriving with presents for Winny all day,’ Old Ned said. ‘One year he was given a lion that he called Rota and another year an albino kangaroo was sent all the way from Australia. Winny wanted to keep the kangaroo in the orchard here but it just wasn’t practical.

  ‘When he turned eighty though, now that was a big birthday year. Present after present. Everyone wanted to say thank you for his part in the Second World War. But Winny wouldn’t take all the credit. He said the whole nation had the lion’s heart but he had the luck to be given the roar. He meant that the whole country had been very brave.’

  Harry thought about his dad. He’d been brave, very brave. He’d fought in the war and said he’d fight again even if he knew he’d be blinded by it. His dad had a lion’s heart and Harry was proud of him.

  ‘Winston’s presents over the years would fill all the rooms in Chartwell ten times over,’ Old Ned continued.

  Harry thought that Sir Winston got given so many presents that he really didn’t need to have Little Houdini as well.

  Little Houdini tried to push his paw under the stove to catch the mouse.

  ‘I’ll come with you to the main house,’ Old Ned said, standing up and putting his cap on.

  Little Houdini looked back at the stove and miaowed as Harry picked him up.

  ‘Winny bought the farm next to here, you know, so he could keep pigs, and other animals. But the pigs were his favourites. “Dogs look up to you. Cats look down on you. But a pig looks you in the eye,” he used to say.

  ‘The pigs we kept here were more like pets than farm animals. They’d follow me around when I was doing my work. Curious about what I was doing. I’d talk to them all the time and they’d make little grunting sounds as if they could understand every word. Perhaps they could.’

  Chapter 16

  Harry held Little Houdini as he followed Old Ned across the closely cropped grass of the terrace lawn.

  Before them on the hill loomed the huge red-brick mansion of Chartwell. It had lead latticed windows and magnolia growing up the walls.

  Harry wondered if Sir Winston was in one of the upstairs rooms, looking out, wondering what Harry and Little Houdini were doing on his lawn.

  He tried to hold Little Houdini more tightly in his arms, hiding him from view in case he spoiled the surprise.

  They were almost at the house when a horse and cart piled high with baskets of apples, wrapped in newspaper, came clipping through the gates driven by a wrinkled man wearing a checked scarf.

  Little Houdini wriggled in Harry’s arms but Harry didn’t let him go.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  ‘Hey, Ned,’ the man driving the horse cart called out. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ Old Ned said. ‘And yourself, Jim?’

  ‘Can’t complain. Got a load of apples here for Sir Winston’s birthday. The animals love them. My Dorrie here will be having a few to say thank you for bringing me here.’

  He took a newspaper-wrapped apple from one of the baskets, unwrapped it, and gave it to Harry.

  ‘You can feed her one now if you like.’

  ‘Why’s it wrapped in newspaper?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Best way of storing them after they’ve been picked. Last for months in newspaper,’ Jim told him.

  As Jim spoke, Dorrie sniffed at Little Houdini and Little Houdini miaowed and sniffed back. As Harry fed the rosy apple to the horse, Little Houdini sniffed at that too and Harry laughed.

  ‘Kitten don’t eat apples,’ he told him.

  ‘Not unless they’re very hungry,’ Jim said. ‘And even then I don’t know if they would. But then I’d never have thought I’d see a horse eating its own blanket if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes during the First World War. All the ponies and horses I’ve had since then have been on the plump side because I feed them up. I can’t get the image of those skinny beasts out of my head. They worked so hard for us and we couldn’t even feed them properly.’

  Old Ned shook his head. ‘Terrible time for everyone,’ he said. ‘And unthinkable what those animals went through. Thank goodness Sir Winston was able to get the Ministry of Shipping to bring more of them back.’

  Harry stroked Dorrie’s neck and she shook her mane.

  ‘The government was only getting a few thousand horses back a week until Winny weighed in and made a big fuss. Then it went up to 9,000.’

  ‘Far too many of them suffered,’ Jim told Harry. ‘War’s no place for animals. I’m glad we didn’t use them so much in the Second World War.’

  ‘My grandad was a soldier in the First World War,’ Harry said. He’d seen a photo of him sitting on a horse but he’d never met him because his grandad had been killed at the Front.

  ‘Sir Winston fought in that one too, but not on a horse. He was an infantry officer for the Royal Scots Fusiliers for two years,’ Jim said.

  ‘Winston’s always been fond of horses. Used to say there’s something about the outside of a horse that makes the inside of a man happy,’ Old Ned added.

  Dorrie whinnied and Jim laughed and unwrapped another apple and gave it to Harry to give to her. ‘Dorrie’s grandad was one of the horses that went to war and came home again thanks to Sir Winston,’ he said.

  When Dorrie had finished her apple she clipped on down the driveway with Little Houdini watching her as she went.

  Chapter 17

  Harry had never been in a house as majestic as Chartwell and he was feeling nervous as well as excited. William would never believe him when he told him about it on Monday.

  He, Harry Jones, was actually at Sir Winston Churchill’s house, about to go inside.

  ‘We’ll go in through the side door,’ Old Ned said, looking at Harry’s awestru
ck face staring at the imposing front door with ornate wooden pillars around it.

  Harry gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘Grace,’ Old Ned called as he opened the smaller door, which had a cat flap in it, at the side of the building. ‘Grace, you about?’

  But no one came.

  ‘I expect she’s busy sorting out all Winny’s presents,’ Old Ned said. ‘I don’t know what he’d do without her. She’s worked for him for over thirty years. You wait here and I’ll be back in a minute.’ He pointed to a chair and Harry sat down on it with Little Houdini.

  The kitten purred softly as Harry stroked him and soon fell fast asleep. Harry carried on stroking him.

  Old Ned had said he wouldn’t be long, but when Harry looked up at the clock he saw he’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes. He bit his bottom lip. Could Old Ned have forgotten about them? He wasn’t sure what to do for the best but he decided to wait and hope Ned came back soon.

  Little Houdini made soft sounds, stirred and stretched, deep in kitten dreams.

  A moment later the outside door opened and in walked an old lady with a lively miniature black poodle puppy.

  ‘This way, Buttons,’ the lady said and the puppy looked up at her and wagged its tail.

  Little Houdini opened his blue eyes, saw the poodle puppy, gave a yeowl and quick as a flash jumped off Harry’s lap on to the tiled floor and ran off down the passage.

  ‘No, Little Houdini! Come back!’ Harry shouted.

  But the kitten didn’t listen to him. He ran through an open door, across the carpet and leapt on to the floral brocade curtains and within no time at all was at the very top of them and looking down.

  ‘Oh dear,’ the lady said to Harry back in the passageway. ‘I didn’t mean to startle your kitten. I’ve only just been given Buttons today and he’s very young and excitable. I’ll shut him in this lean-to and help you catch your kitten. My name’s Miss Hamblin. Grace Hamblin.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harry said. ‘I’m Harry and the kitten’s called Little Houdini.’