Donkey Boy

by Henry Williamson

  Phillip thought he would run after Father and tell him he had put the lantern back by climbing up through Grandpa’s bathroom trap door. He must say he was sorry before it was too late, and he was taken away to the Reformatory. He had seen the Reformatory boys playing football on the Hill, while a master ran among them, blowing a whistle and pointing. The boys never laughed. They wore black jerseys and black trousers to below the knee. All their heads were clipped short, so that they would be recognised as convicts, Cousin Ralph had said, if they ran away. They were thrashed a terrific lot, said Ralph, and had been sent to the East London Industrial School for stealing, setting fire to things, smashing windows, and acting like the roughs they were. They were awful-looking boys, like Flashman in Tom Brown’s Schooldays, and would torture a new boy, especially if he could not fight, Ralph had said. And he would never never see Mummy anymore.

  The tears running down his cheeks, he went on with his chores. After the knocker, the rim of the bell push, after the bell push the letter box, after the letter box the round handle. He would put his penny that week in the collection bag for Mr. Mundy. He cleaned and polished the handle of the garden door, which was unlocked only on Tuesdays, when the dustman came to empty the dustbin. After the brass-work, there were the fire-irons to rub with emery paper, and the steel shutter over the fire-place, which took a lot of doing as there were holes all over it, like acorn-cups, as well as lines, in the pattern.

  Down in the sitting-room he watched the parrot for a while, giving it a pencil to bite; but the parrot dropped the pencil and continued to climb about inside the cage and would not speak when spoken to. He grew tired of watching it, and thought to dig up the perch from where he had watched Father burying them, from the back bedroom window, and see it the parrot would eat them; but perhaps it would be better not to do so. Or he might go in and see Uncle Hugh, who was always a nice person to see and talk to. He wasn’t like an uncle at all. Mummy said he was very ill, with something that sounded like part of a train accident, words like “locomotive and tax here”. Uncle Hugh had to be careful how he walked, with his two walking sticks with rubber on the bottom, as his legs were sort of wobbly sometimes. Through the high-up open window, with the stained-glass, in the wall above the passage fence, Phillip listened and heard Uncle Hugh groaning in his bed. It was no good going to see him when he groaned, for then he would never play his violin.

  He washed his face to get rid of the tear-stains, and having brushed his hair, went out to look at the motor-car. He was careful to stand well away from it, looking at it from a distance only. He would keep always a long way away from it. While he was guarding it, the gate of the top house clicked, and people came out.

  They were Mr. and Mrs. Rolls of Turret House. They were very nice, always smiling at him when he said, “Good Morning”, as he passed. Phillip was afraid of them, because Mummy said that they did not want to know her children. They never invited him or Mavis or Doris to their parties. They did other people further down the road, called Wood, although the Woods were not so high up the road as the Maddisons.

  Phillip felt proud that his uncle had a motor-car. He thought it a wonderful fine thing. Uncle Hilary was richer than anyone else in Hillside Road.

  “Wait for me, Dads dear, wait for me!”

  Phillip looked up the road and saw Mr. and Mrs. Rolls waiting, and then their little girl ran out of the gate, and held their hands, and they were walking down the road. When they came nearer all his thoughts about the motor-car went from him, as he looked into the little girl’s face. She had wide blue eyes and fair curls falling down under a white sailor hat with a black bow. She wore a white sailor blouse and skirt. When she looked at him and smiled his heart beat wildly, he dared not look at her again.

  When the beautiful people were gone round the corner, he imagined himself driving the motor-car full speed down the road, and winning all the races with it like Jack Valiant in the Pluck Library, while the face looked at him, smiling because he was a hero. The fancy faded, leaving a deep ache.

  In a few moments there was something to think about, for from down Randiswell way he heard the rapid ringing of the fire-engine bell, and then the clashing hoofs and trundling of wheels as the four grey horses of the Fire Engine dashed at the gallop up Charlotte Road. Men in bright brass helmets stood on the red engine by the smoking funnel. A Fire! Fire! Boys were running out from the houses in Charlotte Road below, and also across the grass of the Hill. Could he be in time if he ran, and perhaps save a child’s life?

  Phillip had soon climbed over the railings in the gulley. He ran up the steep slope among the thorn bushes to the hurdle fence above, and was crossing the grass, fists clenched and elbows into sides to run the better, when he turned his head and saw Uncle Hilary walking up Hillside Road. He stopped, and returned.

  “Hullo, young fellow, where are you off to? There’s no fire, it’s a practice. They told me at the railway station. So I’ve saved you a run. Well, how about one in the Panhard? What, your Father has already mended my puncture? That was very civil of him!”

  *

  Phillip remembered the ride in the blue and red motor-car all his life, the chequered hammercloth round his knees like a real coachman. Uncle Hilary took him down through Randiswell, where he dared to wave as he passed Helena Rolls, feeling a wonderful happiness as she waved back, and on to the High Street. Turning south, they were soon out of the area of streets and houses, and on the grey road to Cutler’s Pond. It was like a story. On they went past the Pond, round the bend by the water-cress beds, where a big cedar was growing by another pond, near an ivy-grown wooden mill called Perry’s. After that everything was strange and new.

  They went up a hill and to Phillip’s surprise came to a town. He had imagined that all beyond Perry’s Mill was fields and country. They went down a lane beyond a railway station and along by other fields, coming at last to what a finger-post said was Reynard’s Common. Trees and bushes grew here, with gorse and broom, and lots of pebbles, where were only blackened stems of burnt trees.

  “Work of naughty boys, I’ll be bound,” said Uncle Hilary.

  Beyond the burnt places were silver birch trees, and two deep ponds with firs and pines on their banks held together by brown roots on top of the pine-needle slippery ground.

  Here Uncle Hilary stopped the motor-car by tripping the switch, he said. They got down by the ponds. The sun shone slantingly on the bigger pond and many fish were to be seen lying just under the surface of the water. They had red fins.

  “I expect they are either rudd or roach, Uncle Hilary.”

  “And those very big brown fellows, see them in the middle? They’re carp.”

  The carp, said Uncle Hilary, was the fox of the waters, it was so cunning and hard to catch. Phillip thought it was as wonderful a place as Brickhill. Uncle was a very nice man, not a bit like the White Uncle who had squeezed him between his legs and not let him go until Aunty Bee came, when he had been only a little boy.

  “Well, Phillip, we must think of getting back.”

  Back in the town, Uncle stopped before a shop and said: “What would you like for a birthday present, eh, Phillip? Your Mother tells me you will be nine next week. Is that right?”

  “Yes, Uncle Hilary.”

  “Well, let’s see what they have got here, shall we? How about this, eh? An electric torch. Ever had one?”

  “Oh, no, Uncle Hilary!”

  “Well, we’ll have that one. Only don’t waste the battery flashing it on in the daytime. How about a football? Oh, I gave you one, did I? A magic lantern, how about that?”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle Hilary!” Phillip clasped his hands as hard as he could in his excitement, in case Uncle might change his mind. But no, Uncle was going to buy it!

  They went into a tea-shop. Phillip ate three cream buns, a doughnut, and a macaroon, followed by an ice-cream.

  “We’ll take some back for your sisters, shall we? How do you get on with them. Do you like your sisters?”
>
  “Oh, yes. I get on very well with them, thank you, Uncle Hilary.”

  “That’s right. I remember how we, in our family, that is, your Uncle John, your Father, and the Aunts—my sisters—were all thick as thieves. Yes, we were a jolly family. You’ve never met your cousin Willie, Uncle John’s boy? I suppose you’ve not been to Rookhurst?”

  “No, Uncle.”

  “Well, I’m going to pay them a visit shortly. Shall I give Willie your love. He’s rather like you. You two ought to get on. What do you want to be when you grow up? An open-air life, I hope. How about being a farmer?”

  “Yes, please, Uncle Hilary.”

  “Good. Now your mother tells me you’re in trouble with your father, Phillip. Is that right?”

  The boy stared with frightened look at the man. The remaining part of the doughnut, oozing strawberry jam, remained in his paw.

  “Tell me, Phillip. I’ve been a naughty boy myself, you know.”

  The boy remained silent.

  “Don’t want to say anything against your father, is that it?”

  Phillip thought he was expected to say yes, and with hope in his voice, he replied, “Yes, Uncle Hilary.”

  “H’m. Eat your doughnut up, boy. We must be getting back. I’ve got to go all the way down to the coast, right through the New Forest. Ever been there?”

  “No, Uncle Hilary.”

  “Lovely place. You must come down one day, and see Aunt Bee. She’s a particular friend of yours, you know. Remember her?”

  “Yes, Uncle Hilary,” he smiled.

  “Well now, tell me what went wrong between you and your father. Took his dark lantern, didn’t you, without asking? Come on, you can tell me: I shan’t split on you.”

  “Yes, I did, Uncle Hilary. But I didn’t break it.”

  “Why did you take it in the first place?”

  “Because I wanted it so much, to get a bat with, because I like bats better’n butterflies.”

  “Do you, b’jabers. Well then, why didn’t you ask your father?”

  “He would have said ‘No’, Uncle Hilary.”

  “How d’you know, if you didn’t ask him?”

  “Father always says ‘No’, Uncle Hilary. He doesn’t like anyone touching any of his things, Uncle Hilary.”

  “H’m! I don’t blame him. Why should his things be taken specially when they get spoiled. I shouldn’t like you if you took my motor-car without permission, and smashed it up.”

  “I wouldn’t ever take it, Uncle Hilary.”

  “Well, thanks for the reassurance! Why wouldn’t you take it, tell me that?”

  “My legs aren’t long enough to touch the pedals, Uncle Hilary.”

  Hilary roared with laughter. Then he looked seriously at his nephew.

  “You’re a funny fellow, you know, Phil. You’ve got plenty of intelligence, really. And it’s the kind of mind that sees clearly. Every answer you’ve given me is logical, and factual. In other words, you have in every instance spoken the truth. Then why in heaven’s name, does your father firmly believe that you are incapable of telling the truth? Can you answer me that one, now? If you can, you’re more clever than I am. Well, what do you say?”

  Phillip said nothing. He did not understand what Uncle meant. He thought of Uncle going away for ever, like Uncle Sidney, and never coming back. And Father was going to thrash him if he told him he had taken the lantern, and send him away to the Reformatory if he didn’t say he had taken it. Terror in both directions closed upon his mind, obliterating the cakes, the birthday presents, the motor-car ride home.

  “Why, what’s the matter now? Come, come, you mustn’t cry! You’re a big boy now. Think of when you went to the Derby with the old dog, d’you remember? That was a pretty plucky thing to do, the spirit of your Viking ancestors coming out, if you like. Don’t cry, Phillip. Here, take my handkerchief to dry your tears with.”

  Phillip’s mind had broken down under the dilemma. In the motor-car, on the way home, he was sick. Hilary stopped, helping the boy to clean himself up. Afterwards Phillip sat beside the driver, “very white about the gills”, his uncle remarked. Phillip thought of the time coming nearer and nearer when Father would come home. Turning up Hillside Road, they passed Mr. and Mrs. Rolls and Helena Rolls on the pavement. Mrs. Rolls waved to him, and he waved back, but with face turned away, as tears were falling again. He hurried into his house before Mr. and Mrs. Rolls and Helena Rolls could catch up with him and see his face. He ran to the downstairs lavatory, and bolted himself in.

  Hilary explained to Hetty that it was, perhaps, the motion of the vehicle, or the fumes of the engine. It took some people like that at first, he said.

  “Do you mind,” said Hetty, nervously, “if I say something to you in confidence, Hilary? You don’t mind me calling you Hilary, do you?”

  “My dear Hetty! I am honoured. Please believe that anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence.”

  Hetty did not know precisely how to express what was weighing on her. She could not say anything against her husband for she could not even think anything against him, such was the loyalty of her nature.

  “It’s about Dickie and your son, isn’t it, Hetty?”

  “Yes, Hilary. I wonder if you saw Dickie, you could say a word for Phillip? You see, he is a strange little boy, and intensely susceptible. Dickie tells him things, and shows him his butterflies, or he used to at any rate, and once he showed him the lantern, which I know means so much to Dickie because it was his grandfather’s, as was the deerstalker hat he treasures equally—well, I am afraid it will all sound rather peculiar, but you see, Phillip seems to have the same feelings for Dickie’s things, and I am sure he gets them from his father. I expect what I am trying to say sounds very silly.”

  “Not in the least, Hetty. But if I may say so, I can’t quite see the connection between what you say, and Phillip taking his father’s things behind his father’s back. Out in the world, you know, that sort of thing is called stealing. And you know what small boys are, they break things. It’s a mistake to let them have them too young. I had a telescope when I was only about ten. Of course I pulled it to bits, and lost one of the lenses. It was too good for me.”

  “Yes, Phillip soon picked to bits the watch Dickie gave him, too young, for a Christmas present.”

  “Exactly! Now tell me if I can help you in any way.”

  “I was wondering if it would not be bothering you too much, if, when you return to London, you might have a word with Dickie about Phillip being more adventurous than really bad, Hilary.”

  “Well, I shall have to leave it for a week or so as I’m due to return direct to Hampshire. In fact I ought to be on my way there now, by way of Mitcham and Hampton Court.”

  Hetty tried to conceal her despair. “Oh yes, well, please think no more of it. I expect things will come all right in the end.” She gave a little hopeful laugh.

  “I’ll write a line to my brother, if you like.”

  “Oh no, Hilary, please don’t! I think he would know I have been speaking to you about Phillip.”

  Feminine “logic”, thought Hilary: his brother would know whether he spoke of the matter direct or wrote about it, for how else could he, Hilary, have got his information?

  “School may make all the difference, I expect. Cricket, and football, sweat the vice out of ’em. Boys are inquisitive little brutes, anyway, by nature.” For a moment Hilary had an idea of offering to pay the fees of a decent school for Phillip, but he dismissed the idea. Let the boy find his own level. “Well, it has been so nice seeing you, Hetty, and don’t let these trifles worry you. Dick’s a bit of a worry-guts, you know, as we used to tell him. Your boy’s got plenty of ability, Hetty. He’s a cute little beggar in many ways. Well, I must be on my way. I’ve brought a few things for the nieces. Will you let them have ’em? Good bye, Hetty, and don’t worry—life’s too short, I find.”

  Phillip came out of his hide, farewells were said. The Panhard et Lavassor drove
away up Charlotte Road, turning south for the Crystal Palace and beyond into Surrey and the road to the West. Hilary arrived at his house at a quarter-past seven in the evening, happy and pleased with his day’s run.

  *

  At a quarter-past seven Richard returned from London. Phillip was waiting for him. Phillip, weeping, confessed. He was ordered upstairs to prepare himself to receive his punishment.

  Afterwards Phillip lay in bed, his head on a damp pillow, listening to a thrush singing on the chimney-pot of Grandpa’s house. The starling no longer sang there, since Phillip had shot it, for skinning and stuffing behind glass, with his father’s air-gun. The skin was hidden on top of the cupboard, where he had thrown his gollywog and forgotten it.

  When the thrush had gone, Phillip heard Uncle Hugh playing his violin. When that stopped, and Uncle Hugh had clumped away on two sticks to supper in the front room, Phillip sang his song to himself. It was in the usual minor key, but the notes did not run into one another as in ordinary songs. The notes were lonely notes, like the wind in a keyhole or telegraph wires. They rose and fell, and were his secret music of beyond the sunset, and among the stars. He sang them quietly to himself, for no one must hear.

  The music gave way to interest in the state of his behind. Creeping out of bed in his nightshirt, he took down the looking glass from the chest of drawers, and, baring his rump, examined in the light of his new flash-lamp the long blue-red weals across the torn skin. They stung like billy-o, and were sticky with a sort of water. He counted ten, and then went back to bed again, crying to himself. Later Mummie came up with a glass of water and slice of bread. He shook his head. “No thank you.” She put them beside his bed. They were untouched when later she came up to say good-night. He would not kiss her, though she came back three times to ask him.