Bomber Overhead

by Graveyard Greg

  Chapter 8

  The children drifted off towards the manor gate, Ginger carrying the kitten and Arthur's box. Arthur stopped when they were outside.

  "No point in my going further. I can't go near the farm. He'll shoot me."

  "And I have to get to the pub," Ginger said, "I'll be wanted in the kitchen to help with the lunches." She thrust the kitten at Jeffery. "You've got to do it."

  Arthur said, "See you later," and retreated back to the hostel through the manor gate.

  Jeffery took the kitten and it clambered up onto his shoulder. Ginger pushed the gas mask box at him and he took that too. "I can't be late home, either," he said to nobody in particular as he watched Ginger hurry away in the direction of the pub.

  The kitten wandered back and forth across Jeffery's shoulders, rubbing against his ears. With his step bolder than his resolve, he set out diagonally across The Green as that was the shortest route to Selkirk's Farm. A few minutes later he stood, hesitating, at the open farm gate. Now he'd arrived, the thought of approaching Mr. Selkirk became worrisome. What if Mr. Selkirk was in a bad mood and ran him off? Arthur didn't like the man and, right or wrong, if he'd burned down the haystack there must have been a reason. Arthur wasn't a nasty boy. Maybe the farmer had it in for evacuees, but that couldn't be true otherwise Peter would have complained. If the farmer ran him off, what would he do with the kitten? Gathering courage, knees a little wobbly, he marched up the dirt lane leading to the farm house.

  A golden retriever came bounding out from nowhere, barking. The kitten arched its back and Jeffery put a hand up and lifted it off his shoulder to hold it close to his chest. But the dog did not appear to be aggressive, only friendly and welcoming. The kitten struggled and obviously did not understand the situation as it clung desperately to Jeffery's coat. On a quick thought, Jeffery opened the top button on his coat and thrust the tiny animal inside. For some reason it felt secure hidden in there and snuggled, still and quiet, close to the armpit.

  Right then Farmer Selkirk marched out of the farm house carrying his gun, as usual. "Will you be wanting something?" he called in a loud voice as he strode briskly in Jeffery's direction. "You look like one of those evacuees from over the manor. Is that it?"

  "No, Sir. At least I mean I don't live at the hostel, but I am an evacuee. I'm billeted with the Burnetts." He thought his voice sounded weak compared to the farmer's booming voice.

  "Well! What are you wanting at Selkirk Farm? I don't care much for you evacuees. Given me a load of trouble. I had a haystack burned down by one of your lot. I was lucky all my stacks didn't go up."

  "That was Arthur, Sir." As soon as he'd said the name, he knew it was a mistake.

  Farmer Selkirk's face reddened some. "That's the one. You a friend of his?"

  "Sort of."

  Farmer Selkirk's face tightened and grew even redder. "Then be off with you. I want none of his friends here."

  "He's not a real good friend. Peter was my good friend and now he's dead."

  The man standing there holding the shotgun pulled his head back. "Peter? The boy who stayed here? Dead? When did that happen?"

  "A few days ago, up in London. Him and his whole family, mum, dad, and brother. All killed by a jerry bomb."

  "Bloody Germans. He was a good boy. Worked hard. Missed his mum. Tried to make him feel at home. Bloody Germans." He shook his head from side to side, then stopped. "You want a job? Saturday mornings, cleaning out the chicken coops. Pay you five shillings and a couple of eggs. Won't last forever. My man's gone off to war and the Land Army girl won't be here for at least a couple of weeks, or maybe more."

  "What I really want Sir, is to find a home for this kitten." He pulled it out from under his coat. "Can it stay at your farm? I'm sure it will be able to catch rats and mice when it gets bigger."

  The farmer leaned forward to stare at the kitten. "Skinny one. What do you feed it?"

  "We only got it yesterday. We give it scraps from our food."

  "Got plenty of cats already. Is it a tom?"

  Jeffery shrugged.

  "You haven't looked?"

  "Can't tell."

  Farmer Selkirk shook his head. "City children. Don't know anything. Give it here. He stretched out his hand and took the kitten, hand splayed with its legs drooping over the edge, and lifted its tail. "Female!" he declared.

  "How can you tell?" Jeffery blurted out.

  "See, it's simple, if it was a tom it would have two small bumps there." He stabbed his finger at the kitten and then pushed it back towards Jeffery. "Got enough females. They're trouble even when they've been fixed. Noisy."

  "Fixed?"

  "Fixed so they don't have kittens all the time. You keep this one the way she is and you'll have more kittens than anyone will want in a few months. You get it fixed before you have problems."

  "How do I do that?"

  "Vet!" And when Jeffery looked perplexed he added, "Animal doctor. You can't afford it there's free ones come around sometimes, but I think they only do toms free. Tell you what, you come work for me of a Saturday and I'll get my vet to do it. How's that? Pay you too."

  "I don't know anything about farm work."

  "Nothing to know for what I want. You scrape out the chicken droppings from the coops and put down fresh bran to cover the boards."

  "I'd like to earn some money. I don't have any. Still doesn't solve the problem of what to do with the kitten, and I have to get back to my billet or I'll be in trouble."

  The farmer pulled out a note pad and pencil from a rear pocket. "Let me have your name and address so I can get hold of you."

  Jeffery told him and the farmer wrote it down.

  "Got it. Now then, I'll look after the kitten for a couple of weeks. Get it fixed. Then you find a home for it. And I want you here next Saturday morning at eight o'clock sharp to start work. You don't turn up and I'll be talking to your headmaster, Mr. Perkins. Got that?"

  "Yes, Sir. I'll be here."

  "Be sure you are. Now give it to me." He reached out a burly hand and took the kitten, swung around and marched off. Jeffery watched him go and was rather surprised to see the farmer stroke the kitten's head with one large finger and murmur something.

  But it was late and he thought he may have already missed his Saturday midday meal and he was quite hungry, not that he wasn't hungry a lot these days.