Looking for Africa Page 11

  “What’s the matter, old boy?” said Mr Pym, stroking him in long smooth strokes on his back. Paddy was shaking with apparent fear. “OK, little man, I will be very careful - anyway, Boxer and Matty are here to look after us.” Mr Pym took several steps and called again with no reply. As he approached the top of the staircase he stopped. “Is it in my mind, lads, or is that sound somebody crying? It appears to be coming from outside.”

  He had just started to come down when he stopped again, unsure of this chilling situation. It was then I spotted that the tip of Paddy’s tail had disappeared. We made for the outside.

  “The sounds are coming from the mist, look, as it goes round and round.”

  Paddy disappeared back into the kitchen and lay under the wooden table. He continued to whine and shook even more with terror. He was trying to lick the end of his tail, but it wasn’t there to lick.

  Mr Pym searched both upstairs bedrooms, but found nothing - no sign of Mrs Burton - but one small white feather lay on the sideboard downstairs. He picked up the feather with utmost curiosity.

  “This is all there is of Mrs Burton, lads.”

  Mr Pym locked Mrs Burton’s back door behind him and made for the road back home. Stopping just a short distance from his house, he looked toward the white mist, now a little closer.

  “Paddy, my boy, shall we all take a walk over to the mist to see where it’s coming from?”

  Paddy pulled and tugged. H didn’t want to go.

  “OK, little man, don’t fret so. We’ll go another day.”

  We stopped again, just to convince ourselves it wasn’t moving closer, but the seething mass was getting closer to us.

  “We must get some shopping tomorrow,” said Mr Pym, browsing through the food cabinet and putting on the kettle after we arrived back at the house. “For starters, your dog food is nearly out of stock.” He still hadn’t noticed Paddy’s tail. “Perhaps there’s two more days’ supply at the most.”

  Paddy looked up at Mr Pym, cocking his head from side to side. Giving a short whine, he lay down and dropped his head between his paws.

  Mr Pym hadn’t realized that Boxer and I were still here. He began talking to himself. Switching on the radio, he was surprised at just receiving short, sharp buzzing noises.

  “That’s funny,” he thought aloud. “I only had it fixed a week ago.”

  A man’s voice came through then faded away again. Spasms of orchestral music could be heard, varying in volume from high to low. A woman and baby were crying at the same time.

  “I had better switch off that racket, Paddy,” said Mr Pym as Paddy trotted through from the kitchen. “The radio is beginning to annoy me - fear, I think.”

  Paddy turned his head from side to side again. He hadn’t seen Mr Pym in an agitated state before. He was able to understand that his friend and master had now become very worried about recent events - especially the ever growing white mist at Mrs Burton’s house.

  Mr Pym sat down in his rocking chair. The log fire flickered, casting strange dancing shadows. After dozing for a few minutes, he finally dropped off.

  “Let’s get out, Boxer. I’m getting frightened here.”

  Boxer led the way towards the open door. I could feel the cool air creeping through my body. It felt like heaven, but I didn’t want it to stop as my nerves were shot. The coolness of the air helped me as I squeezed past Mr Pym’s sleeping head. Everything was making me feel bad. We had to creep along the green-papered wall of his front room - this was the worst bit. I breathed in deeply so I could inch my way past him. He stirred a couple of times. I froze solid for a minute or so, terrified he would wake.

  We made it as far as the back garden wall, where we both stopped in our tracks. Something or someone was on the other side of the wall.

  “Shh!” said Boxer with his forefinger over his lips. “Something’s climbing over the wall ... Bleedin’ hell, Rocks, we wondered who it was!”

  “You certainly scared us.”

  “Who else is with you, Rocks? I can hear noises.”

  “It’s the rest of the gang come to see if you’re OK.”

  He moved to one side to let everyone through.

  “It’s a Mr Pym that lives here,” said Boxer, turning as he whispered to all. “He’s odd. He’s sleeping at the moment. He thinks it’s night-time, and he walks past you as if he can’t see you. It gives me the creeps.”

  “And”, I said nervously, “what about the disappearing dog tail, Boxer? And the disappearing Mrs Burton? And also, what about the evil white mist? It might be where all lost souls end up.”

  “Yes, they’re people, they are,” said Boxer shaking, “and they are going round and round in that misty cloud.” He looked back towards where they had heard Mrs Burton crying out. “Yes,” he blurted out, “I’m sure that poor lady is dead now.”

  Mr Pym woke to find Paddy nudging against his leg. Between his teeth he carried a newspaper.

  “Oh, bless you! You didn’t know, but this is yesterday’s paper, Paddy my boy. Never mind, though - I’ll read it again. We always get the paper from Mrs Burton, but she isn’t there,” he said, bending down to ruffle Paddy’s hair and stroke him warmly.

  At that point he noticed the very tip of Paddy’s tail had gone. He brushed him with the doggy brush to bring it back, but the tip had definitely disappeared.

  “Tomorrow I’ll fix your tail, Paddy.”

  Mr Pym decided to go to bed. After locking the back door, he made his way up the spiral staircase with Paddy close behind. Mr Pym stopped to look back at Paddy again to see if his tail tip had reappeared. Mr Pym placed his cup of cocoa on a mat on the oak chest of drawers beside the bed.

  “OK, Paddy, up you jump.”

  Paddy loved to get on to the bed. He always curled up at the end, sometimes snoring very loudly.

  “I think I will take one more look at the mist, Paddy,” he said, making his way to the window. “I am very worried now, little man.” He called over to Paddy, but he was already curled up fast asleep and didn’t reply.

  Mr Pym opened the small casement window as far as it would go.

  “I’m sure I can hear voices coming from the mist.” He called over again to Paddy, who was still fast asleep.

  Mr Pym climbed into bed. He consoled himself with the thought that his inner fear was just his imagination.”

  Mr Pym was dreaming that someone was kissing him. When he woke to find Paddy licking his face he thought it was very funny. The thoughts of the previous night had left him. He made his way to the window to take a breath of fresh air. Paddy followed him downstairs and jumped up on to his chair at the table.

  “You will have to wait for your breakfast, Paddy,” said Mr Pym, “I’m just going outside for a minute to see if I can spot anyone about.”

  Paddy was still sitting at the table with his ears pricked. He was looking towards the open door, but the doorway was empty as Mr Pym was already making his way down the front garden towards Mrs Burton’s to borrow milk. He looked towards the ever revolving mist. It circled round and round like a giant hay roll. As he looked deeper into the belly of the mist he thought he could hear the voices again.

  “Mis-s-ster-r-r. Py-y-y-ym.” It was the voice of Mrs Burton.

  He looked around sharply in the direction the voice had come from. He couldn’t see her.

  “Hello, Mrs Burton. Where are you?” He called out, now beginning to feel very nervous. “Hello-o-o,” he called.

  He made his way towards the house of Mrs Burton. Perhaps she had been shouting from a window.

  Other voices joined in with Mrs Burton: “He-e-elp u-u-us-s, Mi-i-iste-e-er Py-y-ym. Ple-e-ea-a-ase, ple-e-ea-a-ase, he-e-elp u-u-us-s,” they called.

  He realised where the voices were coming from, they were coming from - the centre of the ever circling wh
ite mist, which was rolling over and over, getting bigger and bigger. The black shapes he could see were people crying out for him to help. They were lost souls. Mrs Burton had now become one of them. All she and the other souls had left behind was a white feather in their place.

  “Hello, lads,” said Mr Pym to us. “Come in and sit down.” He made his way to the cupboard. “What’s your names, then?” He spoke as if nothing had happened the day before.

  “We’re the Big Five,” said Little Joe, with his chest out full of pride - “Rocks, Matty, Nifty, Nat and me, Little Joe. You know Matty and Boxer, and of course Tonka.”

  “My name is Mr Pym and this is my little dog, Paddy.”

  “One of his legs and his tail have gone,” whispered Nifty, sipping the orange Mr Pym had poured out, “and one of his eyes has disappeared too.”

  Little Joe became nervous and inched back a little. He felt frightened.

  “No, no, it’s OK,” said Mr Pym, patting Paddy’s head. “He’s a fine boy - aren’t you?” Mr Pym noticed the air-force jacket Nat was wearing. “Great Scott!” he said loudly. “How wonderful that you are wearing the uniform of the RAF! Please may I wear it for a while - just a while?”

  “Of course you can, Mr Pym,” said Nat, quite happy to hand it over. “You can wear it for as long as you want.”

  Mr Pym put on the tunic.

  “Oh-h-h-h,” he said aloud, “how wonderful! Thank you so much, young man. It feels superb just to have it around one’s shoulder.” He went over to the tall walnut-framed mirror, which stood in the corner of the room, to look at his appearance. “I have my air-force cap here, young man.” He turned to Nat. “Thank you so much. I am so happy. What do you think, Paddy?”

  Paddy gave a little yelp. By now Paddy had almost disappeared.

  “It does seem odd, Boxer,” I had to say to him: “the dog’s nearly disappeared. But I’m not afraid.”

  Little Joe, unnoticed, had clambered over the wall and run home.

  “Please, Dad,” he said, shaking, “come with me. Something terrible is going to happen.”

  He took his dad to Nat’s mum’s house and urged her to come as well, before running back to Mr Pym’s house.

  In the meantime, we had followed Mr Pym around to the other side of his house. We were standing some distance from the house as we watched him open two large trapdoors in the lawn. People started to come out of the ground. They stood in silence, looking up at the sky from the edge of the hole in the ground they had just come out of. We were stuck solid to the ground, but not afraid. All the people stood upright and Mr Pym stood to attention, stiff as a board, with his hand on his forehead in a salute. He held what little was left of little Paddy in his arms. Poor little Paddy - he didn’t deserve to disappear. We could see Paddy’s lead moving around, so we knew he was still thereabouts.

  Soon, drifting towards us, came the mist of poor souls. It engulfed Mr Pym with his beloved Paddy and his friends. They disappeared in front of us. I wanted to cry because little Paddy had gone too. The mist rose into the sky then disappeared.

  Next minute we were all standing at Castle Hill. How we got there, the Big Five didn’t have an answer. Mrs Arnold and Little Joe’s dad then turned up.

  They didn’t believe our story. We took them to see Mr Pym’s house, but it had gone.

  “That hole in the ground you all spoke of is this old air-raid shelter,” said Mrs Arnold, pointing towards a trapdoor in the ground. “Every house has a brand new Anderson shelter now instead.”

  Chapter 27 - Regatta Weekend

  I walked with Nifty over to the backwater. We were making our way there to rebuild the raft he had started.

  “Did you have enough barrels, Nifty?” I said.

  “Yeah, and a couple to spare.”

  “You’ve nearly finished it, mate.” I said gleefully as I climbed aboard the raft.

  “Great! Great!” the oncoming voices of the other members of the Big Five shouted together as they climbed down the riverbank to join us. With all of the Big Five now on board, someone realised Boxer wasn’t there.

  “I think he may have gone to lie down awhile.” Looking around, I made a last-minute check across the common, but could see nothing on the horizon.

  “When I was walking with him back from the houseboat,” said Little Joe, “I kept talking about the Big Five, never thinking it’s now the Big Six.” He stopped tying up the barrel he was working on. “Do you think I mucked it up?”

  The next day couldn’t come quickly enough, and we were ready for it.

  “Where is the soot?” someone called out.

  “Quick, quick - it’s under the railway bridge,” another voice spoke out.

  “Two people go and fetch it,” called out Rocks.

  Boxer was nearly upon us when I called out to him to stay put. Picking up two coal sacks lying in the corner of the raft, I waved again to tell him to follow us to the backwater bridge.

  “Where have you been, Boxer?”

  “I haven’t felt good,” he responded as we walked across the common.

  As we approached the old Norman bridge, each of us with a handmade paddle, we shouted out, “Oo! Ha! Oo! Ha!” in perfect rhythm. We were all dressed in handmade Roman outfits, and carried dustbin lids for shields. We all waved our willow tree spears and bows and arrows. The whole thing was whiz, I can tell you.

  As we made our way towards the centre arch of the bridge, we could hear the deafening sound of the Saxons approaching the wooden railway bridge.

  “Look at their bags of flour. There’s tons of it.” shouted Nifty.

  “Keep paddling,” replied Rocks.

  “We’ll flatten them.”

  Loads and loads of people at Castle Hill and crowds of people in the Skipper Hall boatyard shouted and waved. It was all so super.

  The Saxons, all dressed in old sacks, were the first to throw their flour bombs. As we drew up alongside them, a flour bomb hit me square in the face. I aimed for the one who threw it, and returned the shot with soot. Within minutes I was covered in flour and soot. The Saxons started chanting weird sounds before leaping aboard our raft. I shall never forget that day - the people cheering, the homemade rafts and, above all, the Saxons jumping aboard our raft at the end and patting us all on the back as a friendly gesture. Everyone was a winner.

  I looked around for Tonka. He had been on the raft with me all of the time the battle was going on, but now I was panicking because he was missing. I shook Boxer by the shoulder.

  “Tonka’s disappeared,” he shouted out to everyone. “Help look for Tonka, everyone.”

  He hardly had the words out of his mouth when someone shouted, “There he is!” pointing to the direction of the weir. “If he falls in the weir, he’ll drown.”

  The tears were streaming down my face. The thought of losing him in the weir was unbearable. I had to save him.

  Someone shouted, “Make for Sandy Banks. He’ll go past there.”

  All of the Saxons and all of us Romans took off to save our little Tonka. We all held hands across the river. We took him in our arms as he came down and cheered and cheered. Tonka was saved.

  To get to Sandy Banks we had to go down Bromholme Lane to the bottom, where the old watermill stood, and turn left. Then we had to go over Kingfisher Bridge. From the bridge you could see the small weir which ran into a wide pool. If you were patient and hid behind a branch, one by one the kingfishers would come out to play. Some boys had seen a fairy riding on the back of a kingfisher. I don’t say it’s true, but I can’t help hoping I’ll see it for myself. You had to walk very slowly as you went under the ancient railway bridge. The bridge was full of large bats. If they heard you, you’d had it. The bats would come down in hundreds and start to feed off you. I know this is true because boys came to school all bitten. Someone said a boy
had his left ear chewed off.

  Climbing over the rickety fence brought you into Sandy Banks Field. It was muddy, stony and full of potholes, but we loved it. If we got hold of some money, we could buy ice creams from the ice-cream van. When I swam there sometimes with Mum and Dad, I had a chocolate cone. Sometimes we picnicked and I went swimming all day with my friends. Everyone came to Sandy Banks to swim. I hoped one day I would swim in the sea as well.

  Chapter 28 - Back to My House

  As we approached the five-bar gate going to my house, Boxer was already coughing loudly. He struggled to climb over.

  “Let’s stop a minute, Matty. I want to watch the steam-train tender roll towards the turntable.” Steam bellowed into the sky as the giant wheels spun around. The turntable started to move around, creaking with the weight of the iron horse, as the Indians would say.

  “What happens now it’s round the opposite way, Matty?”

  “It’s going to push the trucks instead of pulling,” I said, proud to be asked.

  We started to walk towards the main road, where I had run across earlier. I spotted Nifty.

  “Nifty,” I called out just before he went round the corner on his bicycle. “I’m going to call a meeting with Boxer and with the Big Five. Can you arrange it? Everyone can send a yodel message.”

  Nifty shot off, pedalling like mad.

  “What’s it about?” said Boxer, looking at me and still coughing. “And what’s the yodel message?”

  “Listen up a mo and you’ll hear.”

  Sure enough, the yodelling started.

  “Everyone in the Big Five has a yodelling spot, Boxer, up a tree somewhere. Each one makes a different yodel sound.”

  Off went the yodelling: “Aghwagh,” Nifty called; “Oowe-e-e,” I called back, then passed it on to Little Joe.

  “Sometime I’ll teach you the code we use, Boxer. My friend Robert, who lives near the war memorial, was very ill once and he nearly died,” I said, very concerned. “He sounded like you, Boxer - all coughing badly and that.”