Put Out the Light

by Terry Deary

  ‘Never mind that. What did you see?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. I heard a noise – it was a rattle on her dustbin lid. I think it was rats trying to get into her dustbin. Then there was a scuffle and I think that was a cat trying to chase the rat.’

  I rubbed my eyes. ‘Sally, are you going to tell me what you saw or do I have to hit you over the head with the poker?’

  ‘Mum would be cross if you did that, you bully.’

  ‘Only if I bent the poker. Get on with the story.’

  ‘The back door opened – it creaked like the cry of a lonely ghost, begging to be set free from a dark dungeon.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Sally scowled and screwed up her small face. ‘I am telling you a story. Our teacher says you have to do lots of describing to get the reader in the mood.’

  ‘I’m in the mood to use that poker on you.’

  ‘I heard footsteps creeping silently down the path –’

  ‘How could you hear them if they were silent?’

  ‘I have the ears of a bat.’

  ‘Yeah, well the bat wants them back.’

  ‘I looked out and saw the back of a large man. He tried the door of Mrs Grimley’s kitchen. It was open. He looked inside. Then he closed it and walked back down the yard to the alley.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. It’s dark in that yard and he had a helmet on so I couldn’t see his face. There was only one thing to do – brave little Sally Thomas crept out of her safe toilet and followed the stranger into the dark alley. I looked out and couldn’t see which way he’d gone,’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t your bat’s ears tell you?’ I asked.

  ‘The all clear was sounding. I walked to the end of the alley, where it turns into Attercliffe Road, and bang! I walked straight into him! I screamed.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He screamed an’ all!’ she said. ‘“What are you doing out in an air raid?” he asked me. “What are you doing out in an air raid?” I asked him back. “It’s me job,” he says. And do you know who it was?’

  ‘Winston Churchill?’

  ‘Stop being daft.’

  ‘Adolf Hitler?’

  Sally looked at me sourly. ‘It was Sergeant Proctor from Dad’s Army.’

  ‘The Home Guard?’ I said. ‘Then he’s right. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be on the streets.’

  ‘He looked at me through those jam-jar glasses and, if you ask me, he looked very suspicious. As if I’d caught him doing something sneaky. Anyway, he says to me it was his job. And I says, “I thought I saw you going into Mrs Grimley’s yard.” And he says, “Yes. We need to know every house in every street in our area. That way, when the bombs fall, we know just where to look for survivors.”’

  ‘That’s the job of Mr Crane and the ARP wardens,’ I muttered. ‘The Home Guard have to guard the factories, canals and railways when the Germans drop men on parachutes.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Sally said. She took the paper from her gas-mask box and spread it on the table. At the top she wrote ‘Suspects’. She said, ‘I reckon Sergeant Proctor goes at the top of the list – we said the Home Guard could be the ones setting off the false alarms. How do you spell sergeant?’

  ‘S-a-r-j-e-n-t,’ I told her.

  ‘Vicar Treadwell at two, Mr Cutter your teacher at three and Mrs Haddock at the sweetshop at four.’

  I nodded. ‘They all knew it would be safe to stay out of the shelter. Even if they weren’t thieving tonight, they must know something the rest of us don’t.’

  ‘Should we tell the police?’ I said.

  ‘They’ll laugh,’ Sally said. ‘When Dad was in the police, he kept going on about getting stuff that showed the villains had done it.’

  ‘Evidence,’ I said.

  ‘Evidence. We’ll get evidence.’

  I was just going to ask Sherlock how she planned to do that when there was a heavy knocking at the front door. Mum hurried from the kitchen to answer it. We heard her say, ‘Oh! There’s nothing wrong, is there? It’s not my husband is it?’

  A deep voice said something to calm her down and finished, ‘your kids.’

  ‘You’d better come in, Constable Anderson,’ she said and led the way into the living room. We looked up to see a grey-haired old policeman taking off his helmet and looking down on us.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I’ve come about the Blackout Burglaries.’

  Sally jumped to her feet and waved her scrap of paper at him. ‘I have a list of four people we think could have done it,’ she said.

  The grey eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘And I have a list of two people the police suspect,’ he said. ‘Shall we see how our lists compare?’

  Sally reeled off the four names. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What are the two names you have?’

  He opened his notebook. Mum stood with her back to the fire, chewing at her nails. Sherlock didn’t see it coming, but I did, just a moment before he looked up at us. ‘The names I have here are … Billy and Sally Thomas.’

  November

  Chapter 24

  Dachau, Germany 10 November 1940

  When the first snows came to the hills around Dachau, the boys at the school were happy. They threw snowballs until the school bell rang, and built a snowman in the shape of Herr Gruber, their teacher, and turned the pavements into deadly slides.

  Manfred and Hansl didn’t join in.

  ‘Irena,’ Hansl said, blinking away the stinging snow as he looked across the fields towards the munitions factory.

  ‘I know,’ Manfred said. ‘She’ll be cold.’

  ‘I could take her an old coat,’ the smaller boy said.

  ‘The kapos would notice straightaway. They’d take it off her. Maybe even beat her. She said she sleeps among the old clothes, so she should be warm enough.’

  ‘The clothes of dead people.’

  ‘I know,’ Manfred said again as they walked into the classroom, stamping their feet on the mat at the door.

  ‘But we can take her extra food tonight,’ Hansl said. ‘I’ve been collecting some to bribe that kapo. Tonight’s the night for the Cambrai lorry.’

  ‘We can’t keep her alive for ever,’ Manfred muttered.

  ‘Just till the end of the war. It will be over by Christmas.’

  ‘No,’ Manfred sighed. ‘It won’t.’

  ‘What won’t?’ Herr Gruber said, walking in behind them.

  ‘The war won’t be over by Christmas, sir.’

  The teacher’s face turned red with rage and he began shouting. ‘Stand at the front of the class, Weiss. Now class 7, sit at your desks. Sit still and listen to this!’

  The boys hurried to their seats and in seconds were sitting silent and straight. The teacher breathed heavily and began to speak in a voice as sharp as vinegar. ‘This boy says the war will not be over soon. Herr Hitler says we are winning the war. The newspapers and the radio say we are winning the war. But this traitor here thinks he knows better, isn’t that right, Weiss?’

  ‘I just said it may go on longer than we thought. My grandpa was in the last war. He said it was just the same. They thought it would be short, but it lasted over four years.’

  ‘That was then, this is now,’ the teacher raged. ‘If Herr Hitler says we will win soon, we will win. First, you will be caned as a lesson to all the boys in the class – hold out your hands.’

  Manfred stretched out his hands in front of him while Herr Gruber brought his stick down savagely six times on each hand. Manfred didn’t cry out, but he bit his lip and couldn’t stop tears forming in his eyes.

  ‘Second, you will be reported to the police and a policeman will visit your house this evening to make sure your parents never repeat those lies again.’ The teacher sent a boy with a message to the police station and the class carried on with their lessons.

  After school, Manfred and Hansl trudged home through the slushy pavements. ‘The munitions factory tonight?’
Hansl asked when they reached the street corner where they parted.

  Manfred looked at the large, grey Mercedes parked outside his house. A soldier sat in the driver’s seat, stiff and hard-faced. ‘I don’t think so, Hansl. I don’t think so.’

  ‘But the girl?’

  ‘It can’t be helped. Not tonight. See you tomorrow … I hope.’

  Inside the house, his grandpa and mother stood by the window. In front of the fire was a man in a black leather coat with silver skull badges and two stripes on his arm band. His nose was as sharp and curved as an eagle’s beak.

  ‘This is Gauführer Linz,’ Mrs Weiss said.

  Manfred almost said, ‘I know,’ before he bit his tongue and stayed silent.

  The Gestapo chief stepped forward with a thin smile on his face. ‘You are Manfred.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Herr Gruber will have told you that we cannot have people going around spreading stories about Germany’s defeat. We want to hear of nothing but victory. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And what should we do with boys who tell tales of defeat?’

  ‘Shoot them, sir?’

  Gauführer Linz laughed softly. ‘If we shot you, we would not have enough Hitler Youth to grow up and fight for the Fatherland. Well, not if we shot you without a little warning. But your brother is in the Luftwaffe and he knows we are winning the war in the air –’

  Manfred was about to open his mouth to tell Gauführer Linz that Ernst had said they were losing the battle in the skies over England. He caught sight of his mother’s eyes flashing a message of fear. ‘My brother says we are winning the war in the air.’

  ‘And your father is serving with the army, and he can tell you we are winning the war on land.’

  The last letter from his father had said that the invasion of Greece was going badly and the Greeks were putting up a brave fight in the mountains where German tanks couldn’t crush them. This time it was Grandpa’s turn to widen his eyes in panic.

  ‘My father says we are winning the war in Greece,’ Manfred lied.

  ‘Your grandfather is a hero from the last war, Manfred. You come from a true German family. It would be a shame to shoot you,’ Gauführer Linz said and stepped closer so the boy could smell the brandy on his breath. ‘I think you made a mistake. You said something foolish.’

  ‘I did, sir,’ Manfred said.

  ‘So we will mark it on your record. We will not punish you. Your teacher, Herr Gruber, has already done that.’

  Manfred’s hands were still sore. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Herr Hitler is a kind man. He would not want to see you punished again. But we must all work together to bring victory. Remember one of our favourite Hitler Youth songs?’

  Manfred’s mind went blank with fear and he struggled to recite the words:

  ‘You, Führer, are our commander!

  Make us one, form us into

  An iron chain, man beside man.

  Into a wall of loyalty around you.’

  The Gauführer nodded. ‘An iron chain, Manfred. You must be a link in the chain. If you turn out to be a weak link, then we will have to remove you. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Then we will leave it at that.’ Gauführer Linz reached inside his jacket and pulled out his pistol. ‘Make one more mistake and I will shoot you myself. Do not make me do it, Manfred. It would upset your mother, your father, your grandfather and your brother. Imagine the disgrace it would bring – they would not be able to walk down the streets of Dachau if the whole town knows the Weiss had a traitor in the family.’

  The man put his pistol back in his pocket and walked to the door. ‘I’ll see you out, sir,’ Mrs Weiss said.

  Manfred felt faint and chilly even in the glow of the fire. ‘Oh, Manfred,’ his grandpa muttered. ‘Learn your lesson. Never speak of defeat. Even if the Russians and the British are standing at the gates of Dachau, you must say that we are winning.’

  ‘I only said –’

  ‘I don’t want to hear, boy. Watch your step. Go to Hitler Youth meetings and sing the songs, do the exercises, and watch your tongue. Now, get to your room. There’ll be no supper for you tonight.’

  ‘Yes, Grandpa.’

  ‘Oh, and Manfred, I know about your escape route from your window. Do not try it or I will call Gauführer Linz to find out where you have gone and why.’

  Manfred swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Grandpa.’

  Chapter 25

  Manfred sat in his room and began to write a letter on a page from an old school book. It took him a long time, but at last he was satisfied with his work and made a neat copy on a plain sheet of drawing paper. He read it to himself:

  ‘Dear Ernst,

  I hope you are well and still dropping lots of bombs. It has been snowing hard here. Thank you for your letter which allowed Hansl and me to enter the munitions factory. We have missed this month’s delivery to you at Cambrai but hope to try again next month. It would be wonderful if we could travel with the bombs to your airfield. When you were home, you came to our school and met our teacher, Herr Gruber. He has asked if you would let us inspect a bomber and report back to the class. If you did this, he would give me top marks in the winter exams and our mother would be so proud. Please write and say we can visit you on 10 December. Stay safe.

  Your loving brother,

  Manfred.’

  The boy sealed the letter in an envelope. Next morning he would ask his mother to put it inside her own letter to Ernst.

  The guard at Gate C of the munitions factory huddled deep inside his hut at the gate. The girl asked him the time for the fifth time.

  ‘Ten-thirty,’ he told her. ‘You had better get back – the kapo will be wanting his tea. This cold spell has killed quite a few of you under-humans in the gravel pits. There’ll be a lot of clothes for you to sort.’

  ‘If the boys come –’ she said.

  ‘I will send them up to the side door. But they won’t be coming now. Not at this time. Not in this weather.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me down,’ Irena said.

  ‘Everybody lets you down in the end,’ the man replied.

  The girl turned and ran up the snow-covered road. Slaves had been sent to clear the path a dozen times that day, but each time the winds from the mountains swept it back again. The bomb-delivery lorries slithered out and struggled along the roads with their endless cargo of destruction.

  When Irena reached the factory, it was quiet. The machines had been turned off. Some crackled and creaked as they cooled. The workers were heading for the large loading room. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked one of them.

  ‘We have been called to a meeting,’ the man muttered.

  When they arrived inside the crowded room, Irena saw her kapo and Gauführer Linz standing on a crate so they could look over the heads of the silent, shuffling workers.

  The kapo cried, ‘Workers, we are honoured to have Gauführer Linz with us here tonight. The Gauführer has come from a meeting with Herr Hitler himself and has some wonderful news for us.’

  Gauführer Linz tilted back his head as if the smell of the workers disgusted him. ‘Herr Hitler says we are close to winning this war. The air raids on England must increase. Their bombers have dared to attack our cities and we shall have revenge by wiping their cities from the face of the Earth!’

  He waited as if he expected the workers to cheer, but hundreds of empty eyes gazed back at him. Waiting.

  ‘Herr Hitler has looked at the records from his factories,’ the Gauführer went on. His mouth turned down and a red spot appeared on each cheek. ‘Some factories are not producing the munitions fast enough.’ He took a deep breath as if the next words were hard to say. ‘Dachau is not producing enough.’

  At last a worker spoke. ‘What more can we do?’

  The Gauführer glared at the workers. ‘A factory in my district. Failing. Remember what it says on the gates of the camp: “Work and you
shall be set free”. At this rate, you shall never be set free.’

  ‘We work till we drop dead!’ someone muttered. ‘Maybe he wants the corpses to start making bombs?’

  ‘Hush, he’ll hear you,’ a friend said, ‘and you’ll be joining the corpses.’

  But the Gestapo chief was too angry to hear anything but his own fury. ‘I do not like to fail. So I have a plan. We will fill this factory with the fittest and the strongest. Your kapo here has drawn up a list of the feeble and sick workers who are letting me down. These weaklings will be sent to another camp.’

  ‘To die,’ someone near Irena murmured.

  But the Gauführer was saying, ‘They will be given easier work – sewing uniforms for our magnificent armies, growing food for the great German people, caring for the sick under-humans and burying the ones who don’t survive.’

  ‘Death camps,’ a voice whispered. ‘I have heard the Nazis are creating death camps. The enemies of Germany go there and never come out alive.’

  Gauführer Linz said, ‘Your kapo here has a list of the names of the workers who will go to an easier life in another camp. We are arranging the transport. You will leave here on December tenth. Kapo?’

  The work master stepped forward with a list. He began to read each name slowly, looking up to check that the worker had heard. One by one, slaves heard their name and closed their eyes, defeated.

  ‘And finally,’ the kapo said, ‘Irena Karski.’ His eyes met the girl’s and he gave a cruel smile.

  Gauführer Linz looked at him. ‘A girl? Her name wasn’t on the list.’

  ‘I just added it,’ the kapo explained. ‘I was expecting my tea tonight and it didn’t arrive. She needs to go to … an easier life.’

  The Gauführer shrugged. ‘Fine. I will sign the list.’ He took a pen from his leather coat and, in just a moment, signed away a hundred lives.

  ‘Be ready to leave a month from now. And remember – “Work and you shall be set free”.’

  The Gestapo chief marched out and the kapo said, ‘What are you waiting for? Get back to your machines. You are idle. A disgrace to Germany. In your last month at Dachau you will work harder than you ever thought possible, or I will beat you till my arm aches. Now move.’