Once There Were Lions

by Roger Hurn

  ‘That’s right,’ said Thomas. ‘I had butterflies in my stomach and I felt sick. Not travel sick, mind you, but Dad had told me to be a man and look after his little Rosie. I wasn’t sure if I was up to the job. Mum didn’t say much and when she did her words sounded as if they were being squeezed past a lump in her throat.’

  ‘She was still talking as the train pulled away from the platform but we couldn’t hear what she was saying,’ added Rosie. ‘Mum vanished in a cloud of steam and, by the time it cleared, she was lost in the crowd. People were waving like mad but we couldn’t see which one was her.’

  Thomas and Rosie sat silently together. Then Rosie continued. ‘I could tell that Thomas was worried so I slipped my hand into his. Do you remember that, Thomas?’ He smiled at her.

  ‘Yes I do. And I remember you saying you weren’t scared. ‘At least we've got each other,’ you said. ‘The other Lions are on their own.’’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Rosie. Then she laughed. ‘I think everyone on the train thought we’d gone barmy because we put our heads together and growled. When they all stared Thomas looked at them straight and said,’ Growling is what we Lions do.’

  Thomas grinned sheepishly. ‘It sounds daft now but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.’

  ‘It was,’ said Rosie reassuringly. ‘Anyway, by the time our train pulled into Bournemouth Station we’d already eaten the sandwiches Mum had given us for lunch. We were starving and we hoped someone would give us a hot dinner but no such luck, eh Thomas.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘We stumbled out onto the platform and stood with a crowd of other children waiting for someone to collect us. We didn’t have to wait long before a lady clutching a clipboard marched up and told us to line up and follow her. She herded us onto a bus that took us to a church hall. The Women’s Voluntary Service was in charge, weren’t they Rosie? They dished out drinks, tinned meat, sweetened milk, a pound of biscuits and, best of all, half a pound of chocolate. We thought Christmas had come early. Then they made us write a postcard home. We couldn’t think what to say but we bet each other that Simon would have written plenty on his and would most probably have asked for another postcard. We said it was a shame he wasn’t with us because he could have had both of ours.’

  Thomas stopped speaking. His eyes were looking, not at me, but at a time years ago. He gave a long sigh and then continued. ‘Soon after that a big group of us were taken out of the hall and put on another bus.’

  ‘We hadn’t a clue where we were going,’ said Rosie. ‘And when we asked the driver he told us to stop being a nuisance and sit down or he’d turn all us cockney Londoners off the bus and leave us stranded.’

  ‘He sounds a nasty piece of work,’ I said.

  Rosie shook her head. ‘I think it was all a bit too much for him. It sounds daft to say it but I think he was a bit scared of us. Anyway, he drove for miles out into the country until we came to a place called Clampton Regis. The driver pulled up in the market square and we all tumbled out. We wanted to stretch our legs but no such luck. A crowd of people stood waiting for us. Some of the people were smiling whilst others looked stern. We stared at the sea of faces and Thomas gripped my hand and whispered to me not to be afraid.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Thomas, ‘it felt like we were goldfish in a bowl. All these strangers were eyeing us up and down when this plump woman in a floral pinny stepped forward and said to the billeting officer that she’d take me and Rosie. Suddenly everybody was calling out and squabbling over who they were going to take. It was complete madness. Some of the little kids were crying and grown ups were grabbing at us like we were slaves in a slave market. It was horrible.’ Thomas shuddered as he relived the memory.

  ‘It was all getting out of hand,’ said Rosie, ‘but at last the officer was able to calm everyone down and restore some sort of order. The plump woman who collared us was called Mrs. Crabtree. She took us firmly by the hand and marched us off to her house.’

  Thomas nodded. ‘I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that not all of the children had been picked. The billeting officer was pleading with some of the local people to take the children who were left. To those kids it must be like being the last one picked for football only a million times worse. I was desperately sorry for them but I was glad that me and Rosie had been chosen.’

  ‘I felt sick,’ said Rosie. ‘I could hear one girl calling out, ‘Please take me. I promise I’ll be good. You’ll like me. Don’t leave me on my own.’ She was still begging when we left the square. But there was nothing we could do to help her.’

  Thomas and Rosie told me they were delighted to discover that Mrs. Crabtree lived in a rambling old house that had a large garden with fruit trees, a chicken coop and tumble down stable block. They said Mrs. Crabtree described herself to them as firm but fair. Though, in her own mind, Rosie had already christened her ‘The Old Crab’. She told them that her husband was dead and she had two grown up sons who were away with the army so she was glad of the opportunity to take in two evacuees.

  ‘This old house is just too quiet with only me living in it,’ she had told them. ‘But don’t you go making too much noise mind and don’t you go wetting the beds neither.’ She had fixed them with a steely stare. ‘You don’t wet the bed do you because you’ll be washing your own sheets if you do?’

  Rosie and Thomas assured her that they were not and never had been bed wetters.

  ‘Although, to tell the truth,’ said Rosie, ‘Thomas did still occasionally wet the bed, didn’t you Tom?’

  Thomas blushed and looked daggers at Rosie. I tried not to catch his eye. Rosie continued with her story unaware that she had really embarrassed her brother.

  ‘Anyway, Mrs. Crabtree seemed satisfied with what we said. She took us upstairs to show us our bedroom, which was right at the top of the house. ‘It’s a long way from my bedroom,’ she said, ‘which is good because that way you won’t disturb me if you have nightmares. I don’t take kindly to being woken up once I’ve gone off to sleep so just you remember that.’

  ‘We promised her we would and so she left us to unpack our cases.’

  Now Thomas took up the story. ‘When we had finished unpacking we went downstairs and explored the garden while Mrs. Crabtree prepared our tea. We were fascinated by the hens in the coop and we both tried to climb up the trees but the best thing of all was the stream that flowed past the end of the garden. We pulled off our boots and socks and paddled in the water. It was freezing.’

  ‘It was,’ agreed Rosie, ‘But it was also full of sticklebacks. We tried to catch them with our hands but they were too quick for us. It didn’t matter though. We were giggling and screaming with excitement.’

  ‘You were, Rosie,’ said Thomas. ‘I was trying to be quiet and careful.’

  ‘You were making as much noise as me,’ countered Rosie.

  ‘I wasn’t. No, you see Billy, in her mad efforts to scoop up the fish, Rosie splashed me.’

  ‘By an accident,’ said Rosie as if it mattered after all this time. ‘So, of course, he splashed me back – deliberately. Naturally, one splash led to another then, before we knew it, we were both soaking wet.’

  ‘Right,’ said Thomas. ‘Of course, Mrs. Crabtree had to choose that precise moment to come down the garden to call us in for tea. She went absolutely off her nut.

  ‘What on earth do you two think you’re playing at? Come out of that stream at once,’ she yelled at us. Her face was scarlet with anger, wasn’t it, Rosie?’

  ‘Yes, but that wasn’t the worst of it,’ added Rosie. ‘As I tried to climb out of the stream I slipped on the muddy bank and fell backwards.’

  ‘She did and she grabbed at my jumper to steady herself but only succeeded in pulling me down with her. We both sat down with a splash. That’s when Mrs. Crabtree’s scarlet face turned purple. I thought she was going to have a heart attack.’

  ‘She didn’t though.’ Rosie looked as if she wished Mrs. Crabtree had dro
pped dead on the spot. ‘She sent us to bed without any tea, the old misery.’

  ‘Ah, but she did run a hot bath for us.’

  ‘Oh Thomas, she didn’t do that out of kindness but because she was worried that otherwise we might catch pneumonia and she didn’t want the expense of sending for the doctor or buying us medicines.’

  So that was the end of your first day as evacuees, I said.

  ‘Not quite,’ Rosie replied. ‘Tell, Billy about the midnight feast, Tom.’

  ‘Oh right. Well we huddled down beneath the blankets and talked and talked to keep our spirits up. We wondered how you other Lions had fared and if mum and dad were missing us. Rosie asked me if I thought Mrs. Crabtree would like us better when she got to know us. I told her she would and said we’d just got off to a bad start. ‘Things will seem different tomorrow you wait and see,’ I said. ‘Now you be quiet and go to sleep.’

  ‘As if I could,’ said Rosie. ‘I was hungry. Thomas tried to ignore me but when he heard me crying quietly to myself he clambered out of bed and took his suitcase out of the cupboard.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, ‘I was saving these for an emergency but I suppose now is as good a time as any to eat them.’ So saying he pulled out a bag of sticky gob stoppers from the bottom of his case. I sat up in bed straight away. I couldn’t wait to have a midnight feast. And it was doubly naughty because we’d already cleaned our teeth.’

  ‘It was hardly that,’ said Thomas, ‘though I must admit I was relieved to see you smiling again.’

  ‘And we finished our feast with a loud Lions’ roar, didn’t we.’

  ‘We did,’ agreed Thomas, ‘but not so loud as to wake Mrs. Crabtree.’

  ‘So, did Mrs Crabtree get to like you better when she got to know you?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really, but she tolerated us and we did what we were told and kept out of her way as much as we could,’ said Thomas. ‘We made friends with the other kids who’d been evacuated to the village so it wasn’t too bad.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rosie, ‘and I made a point of finding out what had happened to the girl from the market square. I finally tracked her down …’

  ‘Oh come off it, Rosie,’ interrupted Thomas. ‘You make it sound like you were Sherlock Holmes. The girl was in the same class as you in the village school.’

  Rosie ignored Thomas and carried on as if he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘… and she he told me her name was Anna. Apparently, the Billeting Officer had been going frantic because it was getting dark and Anna was the last child left. Then, suddenly, this old woman appeared out of nowhere and said she’d take her. Now this old woman lived down a lonely lane in a cottage with loads of cats. Anna, told me she thought the old lady was probably a witch, but she didn’t mind because she loved cats too.’

  ‘Do you think she was a witch?’ I asked. ‘I mean, did Anna ever catch her casting spells or anything?’

  Rosie fixed me with a sharp look. ‘Oh Billy, do act your age,’ she said. I bet if you’d been there you’d have had her ducked in the village pond. Really!’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ It was a feeble response but Rosie always did have a way of making you feel she was about ten years older than you. It was a talent she hadn’t lost.

  ‘Now,’ she said briskly, ‘it’s your turn to tell us what happened to you.’

  Chapter Four

  Billy

  I thought for a moment or two before I started on my story. I’d been sent away to a small village called Arlesham. It was about ten miles from Norwich in Norfolk. I hadn’t thought much of it when I arrived. It seemed to me to be a few houses sitting in the middle of flat fields that stretched on forever. I ended up with a Mr and Mrs Bryant. He was a farm labourer and he treated words as if each one cost him a shilling to say. She made up for him though and talked the ears off anybody who came near her. But they were kindly enough and treated me no differently to the way they treated their own kids.

  I had to share a bed with their son, Luke who was five years old. He used to fidget and kick me in his sleep but it was his bed so I didn’t complain about it. They also had twin girls called Annie and Beattie who followed their mum everywhere like ducklings after the mother duck. This suited me down to the ground as I didn’t want to be bothered with little kids hanging around me. I had more important things to do like show the locals I was top dog when it came to football.

  I fancied myself as a centre forward and modelled myself on Billy Smith, Millwall’s number nine. I could dribble and head the ball just like him but, best of all, I had a cannonball of a right foot shot. Even when it rained and the ball got waterlogged and heavy with mud I could still blast it past any keeper. The trouble was the boys at Arlesham didn’t want me to play with them.

  Well, truth to tell, it wasn’t just me. The kids from Arlesham wouldn’t play with any of us evacuees. We played skipping, hop scotch, tag, marbles and football in one half of the school playground while the locals played their games in the other half. We were like two tribes who lived on the same island but who knew better than to attempt to cross the invisible line that divided us. At first the teachers tried to make us mix. They made a lot of fuss and kept on talking about team spirit and all pulling together but it didn’t cut much ice with us. As soon as their backs were turned a fight would break out so, after awhile, I think they thought it was easier to let us stay as we were. Anyway, lots of the parents didn’t want their children having much to do with us. They thought we were rude and rough with big city ways. So they didn’t complain when the teachers gave up trying to make us one big happy family.

  Things would probably have gone on this way until the end of the war and we went back home but then, one day, something happened to change the situation. I was standing in the playground waiting for the rest of the lads to come along so we could pick up sides for a game when I saw one of the Arlesham boys stroll through the school gate. His name was Raymond and he fancied himself as a goalkeeper. His hero was Wally Stevens who played goalie for Norwich City. I shouted at him. ‘Oi, Canary boy, you want to watch out, there’s a lion about.’

  Raymond looked over at me and pulled a face. ‘Lions? More like a toothless bunch of moggies. You should support a proper team like Norwich.’

  ‘Oh yes? Well, no wonder your team play in yellow shirts. They’re too scared to have a match with a real team, like Millwall.’

  By now plenty of other children had arrived in the playground. The locals were standing with Raymond while the Londoners were backing me up.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he yelled. ‘Norwich could beat Millwall ten nil.’

  ‘Norwich couldn’t beat an egg,’ I yelled back. The kids around me whooped and cheered.

  ‘You take that back.’ I could see Raymond was really upset but I didn’t care.

  ‘Not on your Nellie. And what’s more, me and the rest of the London lads could beat you and your mates hollow at football and you know it only you’re too scared to give us a game.’

  A chant of ‘Scaredy cats, scaredy cats,’ went up from the twenty or so kids behind me.

  ‘You shut your cake-holes,’ shouted Raymond. ‘Or I’ll knock your

  block off.’ This last shout was aimed at me.

  ‘Come on then.’ I pulled my jacket off and raised my fists. Raymond was in the act of tearing off his coat when Mr Atkinson,

  the Headmaster came striding out into the playground.

  ‘What’s the cause of this unholy racket?’

  ‘It’s him, Sir,’ said Raymond. ‘He says his crowd are better at football than us. And I was going to make him eat his words.’

  Mr Atkinson pursed his lips. ‘The only way to do that is on the football pitch, not by brawling like two prize fighters.’ He paused and stroked his chin. ‘Actually, that gives me an idea. I think it’s about time we put a stop to this not playing with each other. So, I’ll referee a game between the London children and the children from Arlesham after school tomorrow. It will be a fair and s
porting contest and, when it’s over, you will all shake hands and have orange squash and biscuits together in the school hall. What do you say?’

  We glared at the Arlesham kids and they glared back. Then Raymond nodded and said, ‘That’s a masterous idea, Sir. Can I pick the Arlesham team?’

  Mr Atkinson said he could and told me I could pick the team representing London. I couldn’t wait for the chance to show off my skills and I knew that we’d knock spots off the country bumpkins.

  I had never been so popular in my life as I was for the rest of that day. The boys all wanted to be in the team and so I was their best chum. Even the girls kept smiling and telling me they knew I’d score a hat trick. To top it all, Sally Parkin, the prettiest girl in the whole school, told her friend Wendy, who told me, that she’d let me kiss her if we won. I said I wasn’t bothered, but she could probably tell by the way my voice wobbled that I was. I could hardly sleep that night. It seemed to me as if anything was possible and I only had to wish for something to make it so. I tried wishing Luke would stop kicking me but it didn’t work. I wasn’t worried. I was planning on doing plenty of kicking myself tomorrow. I fell asleep grinning at the thought of Raymond scowling as he picked the ball out from the back of his net after I smashed the ball past him. It didn’t quite work out like that though.

  The next day was overcast and cloudy. By lunchtime it was drizzling with rain. We were all terrified that Mr Atkinson would call the match off. However, by the end of school the rain had stopped and we all trooped over to the football pitch at the edge of the village. Wendy Brayshaw and Sally Parkin held up a large piece of cardboard on which they’d written “Come on you Lions” in blue crayon. I gave them the thumbs up and all the London girls cheered.

  Raymond led his team out onto the pitch. He was wearing a green jersey, gloves and a flat cap just like a proper goalie. He touched his toes and then did a couple star jumps. The Arlesham kids clapped him but a couple of our lads called him a show off. Mr Atkinson gave them a wigging and said if there were any more outbreaks of name-calling he would send the culprits off. I began to have doubts about whose side he was on. Then it dawned on me that he was the Headmaster of the Arlesham village school. He wouldn’t be fair, he was a local. He’d want his own boys to win. We were up against it. We even lost the toss.