Charlie's Gang

by Scilla James

  Five minutes later Mr Trundle, Charlie and Snip parked in the lane outside Mrs Nockerty’s cottage, and Charlie signalled to Herbie and Spud that he needed to talk.

  It was understandable that Mrs Nockerty believed herself to have healing hands, because within five minutes of her careful massaging of Charlie’s leg, he always recovered completely.

  ‘You’re a marvel Mabel,’ Mr Trundle said today, and, with an unusual burst of energy, he danced his friend across the room, singing, ‘Mabel you’re a marvel,’ in his croaky voice, until she laughed and told him to sit down while she fetched him some cake.

  ‘Go to Scooby’s Hollow, ‘Charlie whispered quickly to Spud, ‘and bring me news of this gang of terriers.’ He knew Spud could easily do this, as Mrs Nockerty never worried about the whereabouts of her dogs.

  ‘Och, OK.’ said Spud. ‘I’ll go and find out what’s what.’

  After their cake Mr Trundle and Mrs Nockerty decided to pop down to the pub for a beer each, and they left the dogs behind. Spud raced away, and the others hoped he might get back whilst they were still there so they could hear the news.

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Charlie crossly, after only fifteen minutes had passed. He was an impatient dog.

  ‘He’ll be here soon,’ said Snip calmly, and indeed in another ten minutes Spud came slipping through the open window and jumped down onto the carpet.

  ‘Well?’ they all stared at him.

  ‘Och,’ said Spud, ‘they are indeed a girl gang, but there are only three of them. They look to be a mother and two daughters.’

  Charlie made a funny noise in his throat - it sounded like laughter.

  ‘Nothing to worry about then,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ said Spud, ‘not quite so simple.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ growled Charlie.

  ‘I mean they look fit,’ said Spud, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the mother was a member of the SSJRT. She’s small with the right kind of legs. A neat shape for a ratter.’

  ‘Small? Small? A neat shape for a ratter?’ Charlie was shocked. ‘What’s neat got to do with rats?’

  Spud was about to say that small neat ratters were more agile and faster than taller ones, when he remembered Charlie’s height. Luckily for him, at that moment the front door flew open and Mrs Nockerty, red faced and cheery, came back from the pub, followed by a similarly colourful Mr Trundle.

  ‘Come on dogs!’ he shouted, ‘let’s get home. Goodbye Mabel,’ he said, giving Mrs Nockerty a peck on the cheek.

  Spud sighed. He could tell that Charlie wasn’t going to take the news about the new terriers seriously. But he’d watched Dora and her daughters through a gap in the hedge for at least four minutes, and had immediately wanted to introduce himself. One of the girls, rough haired like him and pale coloured but with a fetching patch of brown over one eye, had specially caught his attention. He thought he’d heard her called Allie. Spud knew a fine shapely ratter when he saw one, and she’d looked near to perfection. He’d been struck, and he longed to see her again.

  Spud was only half Scottish. His father had come from Birmingham and Spud loved to tell the story of how his parents had met.

  ‘My mother had noble Scottish blood you know, and a smooth coat that looked uncannily like the Mactavish family tartan. She was admired all over Scotland for her skill and strength, and my father, handsome too and an expert ratter in his own right, fell for her at once.’

  By this point in Spud’s story, Charlie, Herbie and Snip usually dropped to sleep with boredom.

  Even the soppy bit at the end where the two terriers fell in love across the frozen heather, couldn’t keep them awake.

  Herbie was the youngest gang member. He’d been brought up well by a breeder from the Midlands and was polite and well turned out. Happy enough with Mrs Nockerty, he had been even happier with her son Stanley, the bank robber. Herbie had been Stanley’s look out dog, and very good he’d been at it too. Indeed he took most of the credit for Stanley’s final getaway, and was only sorry that he hadn’t been allowed to go to the hot uncomfortable place with him, where he was sure the two of them could have had a great life together.

  Herbie was adored by Snip. Brainy Snip. Snip tried hard to educate Herbie, who had picked up some funny ideas from having spent so much time with bank robbers, and he certainly didn’t care whether the earth was round or flat, or about telephone masts or Ipads. He liked to hear about local crimes, how many banks had been robbed and so on, but Snip didn’t say much about interesting things like that.

  All three dogs admired and respected Charlie, and never dreamt that he was frightened of rats.

  4

  Mrs Featherstone’s Rats

  After a week settling in at the Featherstone house, Dora and her girls found themselves shut firmly in the barn which was also a garage for the family car, and told to ‘do your stuff,’ by Mrs Featherstone. She gestured vaguely in the direction of the loft.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Dora, ‘let’s have a look round first, but be very quiet!’

  Meg and Allie had been looking forward to this. Had they remained with Mr Gibbons on the farm, they would by now have been catching rats almost daily. Instead they had only been able to curl up in their pen at the Rescue Centre, listening to their mother telling tales of rats caught and rats lost, and of the skills they would one day need to practice.

  Dora would tell them that in the bad old days Jack Russell terriers had their tails cut short so they wouldn’t damage them down rabbit holes. ‘That rarely happens now,’ she said, ‘but you must still learn your trade. A rat might look ugly and cross, but in fact he is a shy sort of creature, who would run away if we weren’t so fast. We owe it to them to catch them quickly and without fuss. It’s a point of honour in the rules of the SSJRT. We are NOT like those horrid cats, who will surround and tease small animals just for fun. We go for the neck, and we are quick about it.’

  Allie and Meg also learnt how not to get stuck down rabbit holes, and how to sneak up on a mouse. So Dora had trained them as far as she could, and had always insisted that if she and they were taken out of their pen for exercise, they walked with their heads held high and their tails up. ‘Another point of honour,’ she would say, ‘we don’t wriggle around the place and lick children’s faces like some silly dogs.’

  So here were Allie and Meg ready to start on their first ratting job.

  ‘What is the first rule of rat catching Meg?’ Dora spoke quietly.

  ‘Silence!’ whispered Meg.

  ‘Good. So shush!’

  But it wasn’t easy to find the rats here in the barn. So much stuff was laying around that any rat with a bit of brain could be well hidden. Bikes, boxes of tools, an old fridge with the door missing, and an enormous barbecue as big as a kitchen stove. Dust was everywhere, and rats can keep very still and quiet if they want to, and being dust coloured, can easily get away with it.

  Silence. It went on and on. Meg started to fidget and was frowned at by Dora. But at last a tiny scrabbling sound. Then a scratching. The sounds came from the loft above. Lowering her body and flattening her ears, Dora moved towards the stairs. And up the three of them went, one step at a time, Meg and Allie close behind Dora, ears flat, hackles raised.

  Across the dusty floor of the loft, two rats were chuntering around, foraging in the corners, scrabbling through bits of left over hay and straw that had probably been around since the last century. At a signal from Dora, the dogs were on to them, and it was all over in seconds. A flash of colour as the dogs pounced, and a squeak or two as the rats were caught.

  ‘Well done girls,’ Dora said. ‘We’ll need to come back later though, and especially tomorrow, as the relatives of those two will be back. But a good start both of you.’

  On a beautiful summer evening in the middle of August, Dora was lying under the willow tree listening to and watching the Featherstone family. Mr and Mrs Featherstone had invited some of their London friends to supper in the garden. Ice cubes and bits of
lemon clinked around in glasses of gin and tonic, and slices of the thinnest brown bread with smoked salmon were laid out on the smart patio table. Inside the house were quiches and salads, with summer puddings to follow.

  Mrs Featherstone’s daughter Emily was sitting sulkily on a low garden wall, waiting for the grown ups to stop noticing her. She was wearing a terrible frilly dress her mother had bought without consulting her, and she wanted her shorts and tee shirt back on. ‘I’ll get this off as soon as she forgets about me,’ she whispered to Dora. ‘It shouldn’t take long as I’ve put extra gin in her glass.’

  As a way of getting to know some of her new neighbours, Mrs Featherstone had also invited Andrew Mulligan, the local doctor, and Mr Rupert Barnsley, who just happened to be the Mayor of nearby Uffington, to her little party. Dr Mulligan lived a short distance away and was rather lonely. He was glad to be asked out this evening. Mayor Barnsley on the other hand knew himself to be a very important person. He loved being called His Worship The Mayor, and would have come out this evening wearing his Mayor’s gold chain round his neck if his wife had let him. Both he and Mrs Barnsley held strong views on all sorts of things but rarely agreed with each other.

  Dora sat yawning with Emily until unexpectedly, the conversation became interesting. Mrs Featherstone was boasting about her new terrier family.

  ‘They’ve cleared the rats from the loft already!’ she told everyone. ‘In a couple of days you know!’

  ‘Ah! Rats,’ said the Mayor, knowingly. ‘They’ll be back.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Mrs Barnsley.

  ‘There’s Rat Hall, of course,’ said the Mayor.

  ‘Now don’t talk about that!’ said his wife.

  ‘Rat Hall?’ Mrs Featherstone was alarmed. ‘Is that near here?’ Mr Featherstone, who rarely spoke unless he was on his Smartphone, appeared not to have heard.

  ‘Oh yes, Rat Hall!’ repeated the Mayor, pleased with the effect his announcement had had on his hostess. ‘Nobody’s ever been able to clear the rats out of that place. They call it Rat Hall but it was once a farm and group of working barn buildings. Snares Farm is its real name. It’s been empty for years and it’s crawling with who-knows-what. The old lady who owns it was carted off into a Home. Lost her marbles they said, but they can’t sell the place till she pops off altogether.’

  At this Mrs Barnsley became very cross.

  ‘Rupert!’ she said. ‘You’re not down at the Town Hall now. Mind your manners and the way you speak! Popped off? Carted off? Lost her marbles! Please excuse my husband everyone.’

  She glared at him.

  But Mr Featherstone appeared to have perked. ‘Has the place got any land?’ he asked the Mayor.

  ‘Two to three acres I’d guess,’ replied His Worship.

  ‘Four,’ said his wife, ‘but I think we should change the subject.’

  ‘Do you think they might sell it?’ asked Mr Featherstone, not changing the subject, ‘if they got a good offer before the old lady pops off? Er, sorry, before she passes away?’

  ‘They might,’ said the Mayor.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said his wife.

  Dora was all ears. She whispered to Allie and Meg who had just come back from a wander down the garden, ‘Rat Hall eh? That sounds better than the garage loft. I’d begun to think life was going to be boring. But Rat Hall eh?’

  As the conversation turned to other matters, Dora got up, stretched, and wandered off into the kitchen, in case any bits of smoked salmon or quiche had sailed onto the floor, or needed help in doing so.

  She was just about to organise this when Mrs Featherstone came into the kitchen followed by Dr Andrew Mulligan, who had been very quiet during the last conversation.

  ‘Do you mind if I speak to you in confidence?’ Dora heard the doctor ask. A thin man, he was hopping about from one foot to the other, plainly embarrassed.

  ‘Of course!’ Mrs Featherstone put on her most charming smile.

  ‘May I borrow your dogs, do you think? I have a problem they might be able to help me with.’

  Dora was all alert again. Things were getting better by the minute.

  ‘But of course!’ said Mrs Featherstone. ‘Whenever you like.’

  It was quickly arranged that Dr Mulligan would call the following weekend to pick up the three terriers, together with 10 year old Emily, who was the only person in the Featherstone household that Dora and her girls would listen to. Indeed Dora was becoming rather fond of Emily, who had shown a healthy interest in the art of ratting, and often asked Dora questions about it. Unfortunately she never understood Dora’s replies.

  5

  Dr Mulligan’s House

  Walking round to the Doctor’s house the following Saturday with Emily, Dora was muttering to Allie and Meg,

  ‘I wonder if it’s the garage, the shed, the woodpile or the compost heap. Bound to be one of those places. Now you girls, remember we’re a professional set-up. Think what you’re doing and do it well.’

  Dora had hardly spoken these words when an old van came up the village street and slowed to a crawl. As it passed, Dora glimpsed the face of a rather handsome Jack Russell staring out of the rear window. He was either tall or perhaps he was standing on something, but he didn’t look friendly and she could have sworn that he bared his teeth at her.

  Charming! She thought.

  The Doctor’s house was a delight to the dogs. It was a complete tip. Books, papers, screwdrivers, empty mugs and a dusty laptop adorned the kitchen table, and the crumbs around the electric toaster had tiny paw marks cutting through them. Everything had been nibbled. Dora was thrilled and her spirits rose. This was more like it!

  Emily approved too, and patted Dora gleefully.

  ‘I expect he’s so busy looking after his patients that he doesn’t have time to clean,’ she whispered to Dora. ‘It’s great don’t you think? I wish my mum would stop cleaning. And tidying up. It drives me nuts.’

  Dora was just about to talk tactics to her daughters when there was a rap on the front door. She followed the doctor and Emily as they went to open it. She heard a man’s voice, rather croaky and high pitched.

  ‘Good morning Sir! I hope you don’t mind me calling in. I just happened to notice you coming along with three terriers. Is there anything I can do for you? I’m the local pest control man, and my rates are very reasonable. No pest is too small, as it says on my van indeed.’

  ‘Oh no, thank you!’ The doctor replied at once. ‘A friend in the village, do you know Mrs Featherstone? This is her daughter Emily. She’s kindly lent me her dogs. I do have a bit of a rat problem.’

  Archibald Trundle glanced indoors. ‘So you have,’ he said, ‘but your friend’s terriers are bitches aren’t they?’ Mr Trundle glared at Dora, Allie and Meg. ‘You might prefer a team of dogs? Mine are very experienced indeed!’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ growled Dora, ‘some of the best ratters in the country are female. In fact it’s beginning to be recognised that we’re better by far at the psychology of the business. We can think like rats if we want to, and therefore outsmart them.’

  She turned her growl in Mr Trundle’s direction, then pushed Allie and Meg out of hearing of such nonsense. Seeing that the back door of the doctor’s house was ajar she led them outside and the three of them trotted round to the front of the house where the pest control van was parked.

  Staring out of the rear window was the handsome terrier she had already seen, together with three other dogs. The handsome one was snarling and barking horribly, and scratching the glass as if he’d like to break through it and tear her to pieces.

  ‘Dora turned to her daughters. ‘Show them your teeth!’ she instructed her young family, and the three of them snarled back in unison.

  Then Meg nudged Allie.

  ‘See that one with the black ears?’ she asked her sister. ‘He just gave you a lovely look.’

  ‘Poo,’ said Allie. But she’d seen it too, of course.

  The old ma
n came back then, and Dora heard him shout at his dogs.

  ‘Behave! We could be in trouble lads. You want to eat? You gotta think what to do about this lot of nambies. They’re taking our trade.’

  Dora, Allie and Meg had a great time in the doctor’s house, as did Emily. Dora was glad that Emily had done her homework, and knew to look for rodent tracks around the house.

  ‘I’ve read ‘The Rat Catcher’s Manual (amateur edition)’,’ Emily explained to Andrew Mulligan, ‘and you need to put the food away, because that’s why they’re coming in.’

  The Doctor looked surprised. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said.

  Emily opened the kitchen cupboards and Dora squeezed inside the lower shelf. Two rats made a break for it and were caught by Allie and Meg. Next Dora took her girls outside and sniffed around the drainpipe. Rat droppings were everywhere and it was easy to see that a hole at the back of the drain was the place where the rats were coming through. Emily pointed it out to the doctor who promised to block it off as soon as he could. Finally they found a nest out in the shed and they tackled that too. Dr Mulligan said he was delighted although he looked a little pale after all the crashing china and flying flower pots. He invited Emily and her dogs back into his house for a drink and biscuits.

  While Emily and Dr Mulligan were chatting and eating biscuits, Allie trotted off into the garden to look at the fence. She was sniffing around and wondering why there was such a clear rat path appearing under the weeds, when she caught sight of a pair of black ears on the other side of the wooden panels. Two eyes blinked, and Allie stared. She forgot the rats as she realised with a rush of heat, that it was him again.

  ‘Och, you’ll never clear them out,’ said Spud, who had dashed over to try and get another glimpse of Allie while Herbie was watching Crimewatch on telly. (This was Mrs Nockerty’s favourite too and she recorded and re-played all the episodes lots of times).

  ‘Who asked you?’ asked Allie, ‘and we’ve nearly finished as a matter of fact.’