School Days

by Ruskin Bond

  'Slips a bridle over your head?'

  'Yes. And a bit between my teeth. Jim, she's so strong I can't possibly stop her; and she gets on my back and kicks me on either side, just like you kick a horse. Then she makes me carry her round the end of your bed and out through the window; and though we're way up in the air, she seems to get me flying, turns me into a sort of flying horse. And out we go, her riding on my back—'

  Under Jim's insistent questioning the rest of the story came out. They rode great distances, but Charlie could not say exactly where. He had a vague idea it was north of the Helford River in the direction of St. Mawes.

  After about an hour's galloping flight they arrived at the witch's destination - her coven - for there were other witches there. It was a very bleak foreshore between two giant rocks. Here she tied him up to a rotting post, and then started to babble with the other witches. Something foul was always being cooked.

  'You never get any of it?'

  'Oh no! I should be sick.'

  'And then what happens?'

  'Then she unties me from the post, gets on my back, kicks me in the ribs and we head back here to Helston again. We sail down the high street, and straight in through the window. She gets off and very quietly leads me past the end of your bed, drags me into my own and takes off my bridle. And then—'

  'Yes?'

  'Then she kisses me. I think this is the worst part of all. She kisses me and she goes out - through the closed door. Oh, Jim, it's horrible, it really is.'

  And indeed it must be. Jim knew the ring of truth in his brother's voice and he could feel his own heart beat fast at the horror of it.

  There was only one thing to do. 'Charlie,' he announced quietly, 'we shall change beds tonight.'

  Charlie demurred, for he was fond of his elder brother, and hated the idea of his having the same ghastly experience. However, the rejoinder was firm.

  'Remember I'm two years older than you and everyone says I'm big and strong for my age. So I'd like to have a tussle with this witch of yours.'

  'But don't you think, now we both know about it, we ought to tell Mr and Mrs Carver?'

  'Maybe. But not until after tonight.'

  That day the brothers worked especially hard and Mr Carver noted that although the younger one was still pale and sickly looking, they both whistled from time to time as they worked. And their work was fine and accurate too. He felt constrained to congratulate them. 'You're doing a fine job, lads. I think you'll make good saddlers, the pair of you.'

  The boys mumbled their thanks and went on with the work of stitching two bridles. Jim found himself looking at all the bridles on the wall and wondering if any of these had been used by the witch. But no, they were all brand-new, beautiful bridles, and they could never have been taken down from their hooks.

  That evening, sharp at the usual time, they went up to their room. Charlie had been prevailed upon to have a large supper, thick soup with a large pasty, and also almost a quart of beer. Jim, unsmiling, partook of hardly anything, and the Carvers watched with interest as the two of them went up the narrow winding stairs from the kitchen.

  'They're a rum pair, those two,' said Mr Carver.

  'Oh, they're just boys,' said his wife. 'We mustn't worry about them. Did you see how much the little one tucked away tonight? I was proper delighted.'

  And the big one had hardly anything. Strange —'

  As arranged, the boys swopped beds, Charlie Williams tonight climbing into the one furthest from the door. And to his older brother's satisfaction he was soon fast asleep.

  He was unaware what time he himself dropped off, and never was really clear later on just how long he had slept.

  But he suddenly awoke with a feeling of great oppression upon him. He looked up and saw the old woman, bending over his bed - and there really was a bridle in her hand. Her grey face was lit by the moon streaming in through the bedroom window, and he could see that she was indeed rather fat, had her hair piled up in a ramshackle bun and was more or less entirely covered by a hideous, shapeless, black or brown dress of a coarse material, with a little black cloak about her shoulders. Her round face was not really malevolent, and she did, as Charlie had hinted, remind one of somebody, somebody one had seen, maybe in Helston.

  He let the bridle be slipped over his head and he even took the bit between his teeth. Obedient to the rider's signals, he lifted her towards the window, feeling her calloused heels dig deep into his ribs. Charlie had been right, and despite her shape and strength, she was weightless.

  Jim already had his plan. He would wait, though, until they had flitted out through the attic window: there'd be no point in waking up poor Charlie. Let him get a decent night's sleep tonight, and Jim would make sure he got one every night from now on.

  Out of the window they floated. It was rather like swimming through the night air, and Jim found that his limbs took up the motion naturally as if he'd been carrying weightless witches all his life. In a way, until the fat old thing gave a vicious tweak to the reins, which hurt his mouth, it was quite pleasant, just swimming through that moon-bright autumn air with something weightless on his back. Weightless - and so fat!

  Then, when they were well away from the house, he did it.

  There was a terrible scream from the old hag as he dragged her down off his back with one hand and took the bit from between his teeth with the other. But she was so light, even though she had strength, that he had no difficulty in getting her off his back, changing places with her. The bit fitted well in her jaws.

  'Get moving,' he shouted in triumph. 'Tonight it's my turn to ride, and I want to go fast. We've got a long journey. First to Porthleven, then off to Mullion Cove. After that down the coast past Kynance to the Lizard Point. And we'll come back up the other side over Cadgwith and St Keverne. Across the Goonhillie Downs - they should be fine and misty and wonderful tonight - back here to Helston. And if you don't go fast enough, I'll just kick you till you do.'

  He did, and there was a grunt of pain.

  'Come on, now. I want to be back in my bed by dawn.'

  He could see where they were and after describing an aerial arc around Porthleven, to his surprise the old woman descended the few feet to ground level, was actually galloping, like a horse, down the Lizard road.

  And as they galloped on, she slowly began to take on the shape of a real horse. First her strange hair divided on the top of her head and became horse's ears. And the short cloak in front of him changed slowly into a long black mane. If he looked down he could see the short fat fingers, the shapeless shoes, becoming pairs of horse's hooves.

  Surely no racehorse in history had travelled so far. The sound of its hooves was like the rattle of a drum-roll, and it grew faster.

  They were already in mist, the strange fascinating sea mist of the Predannack downs, where a rider's head can be above it and the rest of him and his horse quite hidden. Occasionally the top of a tree, one of the very few trees in that barren land, or the roof of a house, appeared above it and shot by. At Ruan Minor they turned off to Mullion, had a fine view from the cove of the grey, slow-breaking sea across to Mounts Bay; then stormed on past Kynance to the Lizard itself. The moon gave an eerie polish to everything and he had the strange feeling of riding on the blanket of mist.

  He was singing with the exhilaration of the night air and the speed, when he suddenly noticed his steed was limping.

  The galloping eased to a limping canter, then a walk. Jim dismounted carefully, holding tight to the reins, to inspect.

  It was as he had thought. The shoes were worn almost through and one of them was hanging by only a pair of nails. He owed the witch no kindness, God knew, but common sense told him he must wake up some blacksmith and get a new set of shoes put on. Already there was a pale glow in the east, and if he didn't make haste, he and his horse-witch would not be back by dawn.

  As luck would have it, he found an early-risen smith working at his bellows in St. Keverne. He stopped his steed and
watched as the puffing and huffing blew life into the embers by the anvil. Then he dismounted, still holding the animal firmly by its reins.

  'Excuse me,' he said nervously, suddenly feeling a thirteen-year-old boy again, not a champion rider, a tamer of witches.

  'Yes?' said the smith.

  'Could you - would you - shoe my horse for me? We've come a long way and she's lame.'

  Jim had not had occasion to ascertain the sex of his steed, but presumably it would be a mare.

  'Aye, I'll do that for you,' said the smith.

  'Thank you very much. It's very kind of you, at this hour of the morning.'

  'Oh, that's all right. Money's money, whether the sun shines or the moon. You have got money, have you? To me, you look as if you'd just scrambled out of bed in your nightdress.'

  Jim had a moment of panic, then remembered. 'This is the way I like to ride at night, in these clothes. More freedom. They're not really nightclothes, of course. And I have money, in this leathern bag around my neck.'

  He took out some silver coins from the bag he always wore this way day and night, and they glistened in the red light from the glowing coals.

  The smith got to work. 'My, these shoes have worn a fair way. You'd not get much further with the likes of these. I've never seen such shoes, not even slippers, they aren't—' The man laughed at his little joke and Jim nervously laughed with him.

  The four new shoes were fitted, the nails hammered home, and Jim paid the obliging smith, who took rather less than the youth had imagined the job was worth. 'Good luck,' he said. 'Good luck, young fellow. And get safely home - before your folks see what you've been doing. I must say, though, I admire a lad with spirit—'

  Jim mounted his horse-witch and galloped away, as the genial smith waved farewell. The beast was running beautifully now,

  which was just as well, for the sky was becoming quite light.

  They reached the Carvers' house in the side street.

  'Right,' said Jim. 'I want you to change back into a witch - or I'll kick you real hard - and jump back into that attic window. And not a sound, understand?'

  Obediently, the ears became hair again - a bun - and the rest of the horse became the rest of an old woman. One bound and they were through the window, Jim clinging on for dear life.

  And now get out,' hissed Jim at the woman, 'Get out, and never come back.' The woman paused for a moment, then turned and slowly went out through the closed door.

  Charlie woke, stretched himself. Jim had already slithered into the next bed.

  'Oh Jim, I had a wonderful night's sleep. Not a nightmare, not even a dream, nothing. It was fine.'

  'Good. I had a pleasant night, too.' Jim had decided not to tell the younger boy what had happened, lest it upset him and he started having dreams of a different nature. 'No, I didn't dream either. But I think we'll stay in these beds from now on.'

  Helston was beginning to stir to a new day, and they could hear the Carvers busying themselves below, making breakfast, starting work. And then, in the distance, came a scream.

  It grew louder and louder and they heard Mr Carver put down something heavy in his workshop and go out at the double, up Helston's precipitous high street. The screaming went on.

  By the time he got back to the house the boys were up and dressed, and it was their master's turn to look haggard and distraught.

  'What is it? What is it, John Carver?' asked his wife. 'You look as if you'd seen a ghost—'

  'My God, perhaps worse. There's been a fat old woman hanging around at the top of the high street for some weeks now. Nobody seemed to know where she came from, even where she stays. Quite a friendly body, they say, but, well, there's something a bit uncanny, unpleasant about her.'

  'Oh, come to the point, John Carver.'

  'Well, believe me or believe me not, this old hag's sitting there on the ground, screaming her head off in agony. And small wonder. There's a brand-new horse-shoe nailed tight on to each hand and foot.'

  The Outlaws' Report

  Richmal Crompton

  The first 'William' stories appeared in 1921, and he continued to entertain children and adults well over thirty years. In this 1945 story he draws up a petition demanding shorter school hours - among other things. . .

  WILLIAM PLODDED ALONG THE ROAD, HIS SCHOOL SATCHEL OVER his shoulder, his hands in his pockets. He was collecting keys for metal salvage, and so far he had met with fairly good results. Large keys, little keys, rusty keys, bright keys, door keys, cupboard keys, attaché-case keys, jewel-case keys, ignition keys, jingled behind him as he walked. . . . But he wasn't thinking of keys. He was thinking of the conversations he had overheard at the houses where he had visited. They had nearly all been on the same topic. . . . 'Reconstruction'. . . 'better conditions'. . . 'shorter hours'. . . 'higher wages'. . . 'freedom from want and fear'. . . 'the Beveridge Report'. . . . His brow was deeply furrowed as he plodded along to the old barn, where he had arranged to meet the other Outlaws and compare results in key collecting.

  Ginger, Douglas and Henry were already there when he arrived, engaged in counting their spoils.

  'We've got over a hundred altogether so far,' said Ginger excitedly. 'How many have you got, William?'

  William dumped his satchel down in a corner, still frowning abstractedly.

  'Dunno,' he said. 'Look here! Everyone's talkin' about better conditions an' shorter hours an' things, an' what I want to know is what's goin' to happen to us?'

  'What about?' said Henry.

  'Well, everyone else is goin' to get a jolly good time after the war, but no one's thinkin' of us. Jus' 'cause we've not got a vote or anythin' we're not goin' to come in for any of it. What about shorter hours an' more money an' all the rest of it for us? I bet we could do with a bit of freedom from want an' fear, same as anyone else.'

  'Yes, I bet we could,' agreed the others.

  'I don't see why grown-ups should get everything an' us nothin'.

  'How do grown-ups get it?' asked Douglas.

  'They've got a thing called a Beveridge Report,' explained William.

  'Why can't we have one?'

  'This Beveridge man's grown-up,' said William bitterly. 'So he only cares about grown-ups. We've gotter do somethin' for ourselves if we want anythin' done at all.'

  'The Outlaws' Report,' suggested Henry.

  'Yes, that's it. The Outlaws' Report. . . . An' we'd better get it goin' pretty quick. . . . Let's go to your house, Ginger. It's the nearest.'

  In Ginger's bedroom they squatted down on the floor to compose the terms of the Outlaws' Report, and Ginger tore the two middle pages from his Latin exercise-book and handed them to William.

  'That'll do to write it down on,' he said. 'We've gotter have it same as theirs. . . .'

  'Well, first of all, they're goin' to have shorter hours,' said William. 'So we'll have 'em too.'

  'Longer holidays,' said Ginger.

  'Much longer holidays,' said Henry.

  'As much holidays as term,' said Douglas.

  'More holidays than term,' said Ginger.

  'We'd better not ask for too much,' said William, 'or we may not get it. We'll ask for as much holidays as term. That's only fair. Well, it stands to reason that, when we've wore out our brains, for say, three months, we oughter have three months for our brains to grow back to their right size again. Well, you've only gotter think of trees an' things vaguely. They've got all winter to rest in. Their leaves come off at the end of summer an' don't come on again till the nex' summer, an' I bet our brains oughter be as important as a lot of ole leaves.'

  The Outlaws, deeply impressed by the logic of this argument, assented vociferously.

  'Holidays as long as term,' wrote William slowly and laboriously.

  'An' no afternoon school,' suggested Ginger.

  'Yes, no afternoon school,' agreed William. 'Afternoon school's not nat'ral. Well, come to that, school's not nat'ral at all. Look at animals. They don't go to school an' they get on all right.
Still, I don't s'ppose they'd let us give up school altogether, 'cause of school masters havin' to have somethin' to do. Axshally, I don't see why schoolmasters shouldn't teach each other. It'd give 'em somethin' to do an' serve 'em right. Still, we'll be reas'nable. We'll jus' put down holidays as long as term an' no afternoon school. '. . . Then there's "Higher Wages."'

  'Yes,' said Ginger, 'that's jolly important. I could do with a bit of higher wages, all right.'

  'Let's say, sixpence a week pocket money,' suggested Henry.

  'An' not to be took off for anythin',' said Ginger. 'They're always takin' mine off me for nothin' at all. Jus' meanness. I bet they've made pounds out of me, takin' my pocket money off for nothin' at all.'

  'Yes, we'll put that in,' said William, and wrote: 'Sixpence a week pocket munny, and not to be took off.' 'Now, what comes next? What other better conditions do we want?'

  'No Latin,' said Ginger firmly.

  'No French,' said Douglas.

  'No Arithmetic,' said Henry.

  'No, none of them,' agreed William firmly, adding this fresh demand to the list. 'I bet we can get on without them, all right.'

  'What about no hist'ry?' suggested Ginger.

  'Well, we've gotter keep somethin' for school masters to teach,' said William indulgently. 'Hist'ry isn't bad, an' English isn't bad, 'cause ole Sarky can't see what you're doin' at the back, an' Stinks isn't bad, 'cause you can get some jolly good bangs if you mix the wrong things together. We'll jus' keep it at, "No Latin or French or Arithmetic."'

  'What else is there?' said Henry.

  'Well, they're very particular about "Freedom from Want an' Fear, "' said William. 'We've gotter be particular about that, too.'

  'That means no punishments,' said Douglas.

  'Yes, that's only fair,' said William. 'They can break things an' be late for meals an' get cross and forget things an' answer each other back an' do what they like an' nothin' ever happens to them, so I don't see why it should to us. It's about time we had a bit of this equality what people are always talkin' about.'