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  “Oh, thanks, Matty, you’ve cheered me up no end,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You’ll have to have the treatment.”

  “What’s the treatment?”

  “They took Robert to the dungheap. He had to sit by the dungheap every day for a week and inhale the stinking fumes to get rid of the dreaded pneumonia.”

  Back at the pillbox we started our meeting.

  “This meeting today”, said Rocks in a sort of slow, commanding way, “is to get Boxer better.” He stopped talking and looked slowly at all of the Big Five’s faces. “He shall be taken to the old dungheap out of town at Cemetery Way and made to sit and inhale the ponging fumes until he is better.”

  Everyone cheered.

  “And”, said Rocks again, “someone has to sit with him and keep him company.”

  All faces dropped. Who would it be? The thought of the stinking dungheap could drive a boy insane. The seething mass of pong could be smelt from miles away. Any boy stinking of the pong would drive any girl to run away.

  “I say, here and now,” he looked slowly around all faces, “a match is declared to find that person.”

  We all made our way towards Mogg’s Field and on towards Cemetery Way. Everyone was nattering away, taking little notice of the buzzing noises which appeared every so often. Eventually we did stop as the buzzing got uncomfortably louder. Sure enough, it was the evil wasp. We all could see two boys we hadn’t seen in our area before prodding a wasp’s nest with a long stick. We shouted and shouted at them to stop, but it was too late - the wasps were upon us. The whole swarm was upon us! Poor Tonka was covered with the wasps. He was trying to bite them off as he sat there. He cried bitterly with the pain of the stings. We all tried desperately to get them out of his fur.

  “To the river!” someone shouted.

  We ran as fast as our legs could carry us. Even Rocks shouted and bellowed, and I thought I heard him swear a few times.

  “Jump in! Jump in!” everyone shouted when we reached the riverbank.

  I was covered in wasps as I leapt in. I could see above the water swarms of wasps hovering. It was impossible to surface. To surface would mean instant death by wasp sting. The river water cooled the pain over my arms and body, which were covered with painful stings. I was red and blotchy. All of us had to surface at times. The further down the river we went, the fewer wasps were about.

  Eventually we all regrouped, including poor Tonka. We had to take all our clothes off to remove the drowned wasps which still clung to our painful bodies. We ran around the field starkers to get dry. Tonka seemed to be OK. As we ran around he was barking and joining in.

  Out of breath, we sat near the fire and roasted some spuds from the field. Boxer thought he had avoided the dungheap to cure his pneumonia, but he was wrong.

  “OK, Boxer,” said Rocks with an evil smile, “off we go again.”

  Everyone giggled.

  Nifty stood up: “We have all the conkers ready. Each person who draws a short straw shall fight whoever draws the next short straw.”

  The sun was beating down. Some of us could hardly see the conkers because the sun was in our eyes. Bits of conker flew everywhere. All the matches had finished except one - the last match was between me and Rocks. The silence was astounding. Nothing, as far as could be remembered, had made the Big Five as quiet as this conker match did. We squared up to each other. I looked up at him; he looked down at me. Both of us tried to stare the other out. I slowly, carefully, wound the string holding my champion conker, still staring into the eyes of Rocks. I raised the conker and brought it down with a mighty smack. Rocks was beaten. As he watched, his champion conker smashed into 1,000 pieces. His face fell in disbelief. He swore and cursed.

  “Matty is the winner, which leaves Rocks to sit next to Boxer all night and all day long until he is better.”

  A big cheer rose.

  “On our way to the dungheap we can go to the Roman grave and return the bones,” said Rocks, still trying to come to terms with the destruction of his conker.

  It wasn’t far to the Roman grave - down Cow Lane along Blackberry Walk, up a small hill and we were there. The grave lay in a small gully, which could be seen from the top of the hill. The woods were very thick on the side of the hill. It was not a place to be on your own. There were no birds singing, and there had never been a sighting of any animal - not even a sly fox. It was very easy to get lost there in those woods. There were rumours of very strange goings-on which nobody could put a name to. One day, as I was foraging on the floor behind the old bench seat in the corner of the park, looking for anything that might come in handy, two elderly gentlemen approached the bench and sat down.

  “There have been reports of very strange-looking creatures about the place,” I heard the man wearing an old brown cap and smoking a clay pipe say. “The creatures don’t come out at night.” He paused and tapped his pipe on the heel of his shoe. “Nor do they come out in the daytime.” He paused again, this time for a longer period. “But an in-between time!” he said, scouring his pipe with a penknife.

  “Creatures of the Dusk, I’ve heard!” said the other man, taking off his chequered brown cap to flatten down his flowing grey hair. “I’ve heard that the Creatures of the Dusk have eaten all the hedgehogs - and the rabbits too. In fact, all the worms as well, poor things!” he said, replacing his cap on his head. “And”, he said, holding the briar pipe by the bowl and shaking the mouth piece, “dogs too! A small boy can disappear in that place like a flash.”

  They both stood up and walked away in the direction they had come, leaving me in a state of fear, puzzling over what they had said. If a boy was unable to get away, the Creatures of the Dusk would eat him alive. I was sure of that. I thought to myself, ‘It’s been said that the creatures spit on you from a long distance away, and the spit is like the venom of a snake. Very soon it goes around a boy’s body and he can’t move. That’s when they all crawl to him and start eating him alive.’

  “You must be very brave, Rocks, to come down here on your own,” I said, thinking it was not something I would do.

  He nodded his head, looking towards me as we made our way down the hill.

  “I was scared, Matty.” He stopped for a moment, looking both sides of the woodland hill. He held tightly his old brown satchel, in which he kept conkers, bits of string and an old penknife. “I’m scared now, Matty. After what you have just said about the two old chaps on the bench, I’m frightened to death. The creatures and all! Sh!” said Rocks, stopping to listen to something which caught his ear.

  Each one of us picked up something to fight with - stones, bricks, anything. If whatever it was wanted to have a fight with us, we would beat it to a pulp. We grouped together on the wooded slope, looking intently in every direction. A rustle in the bushes turned us all into jelly. Was it the creatures?

  “Let’s get out of here!” shouted Nat, gathering up his belongings and tucking them under his arm.

  My legs could hardly run. I didn’t look behind to see if the others were behind me or not; I just ran down the slope as fast as I could.

  In complete silence we worked together, cleaning the headstone by rubbing it with handfuls of grass. I dug a hole with a stick and we all laid out the dog bones together. In fact, I couldn’t help shedding a tear for the Roman soldier - after all, it wasn’t his fault he was here. He had had his orders to be here. When the cleaning was complete, we stood back and looked with pride at our achievement.

  “By jingo!” called out Little Joe as he knelt on the ground. “There’s more writing on the gravestone,” he said, peering at it closely. “There’s an A. Then - look, lads - there’s an N. The rest looks like - yes,” called out Little Joe excitedly: “Antonio!”

  The other boys spotted a tear running down my cheek, and they ended up with tears in their eyes too.

&
nbsp; “He’s so far away from his home,” Peter said as he brushed away a few last specks of dirt from the grave.

  “His mum probably never knew he was here,” said Little Joe.

  “I can look for his family once I can fly my balloon,” I said, trying to bring a cheerful note to the congregation.

  “His mum might come and fetch him and take him back home, you know,” said Boxer, just as tearful as the rest of us.

  We finished levelling the dirt on top of the grave with our hands. Then we all stood together and made the sign of the cross. As we all turned to make our way to the top of the hill, I noticed Tonka still sitting at the graveside, looking at the grave. I had to call him twice.

  “Come on, Tonka, little man - nothing we can do now.”

  We all picked up Boxer on our shoulders and carried him to the manure pit. We found some old planks, which we laid across the top of the pit. Little Joe found some more planks, which we put the opposite way on the pit.

  “Do I have to, lads?” said Boxer, sitting down cross-legged.

  We placed an old chair we found on the other side of the pit and made Boxer sit and stay on it. The ponging manure gave off what looked like steam.

  “You’ll soon be cured of pneumonia now, Boxer,” I said as we went off, making for the pictures at the Hippodrome.

  “How are we gonna get into the cinema, Matty? I ain’t got any money for a start,” said Nifty.

  “We’re gonna nip in the back.”

  “We’ll get caught, ya know,” said Nifty, really concerned.

  “Follow Queen’s Head Passage to the back of the picture house,” I said as we all stood in a group together. “I’m going to go to the cinema entrance, where the steps are, and pretend I’m with one of the couples going in. Once I’m inside I’ll come and open this door and you can all sneak in. Roy Rogers and Trigger are on tonight.”

  I went across the High Street and stood opposite the Hippodrome entrance. I had to see where Joe Butler was before daring to join the queue. Joe works in the cinema and chucks people out if he catches them trying to get in without paying. I’ve heard he once beat to death some kids he caught. I couldn’t see him, so I went over and joined the queue. A couple in front of me were laughing and joking together, and I stood close behind them. They took little notice of me as we slowly moved to the front of the queue. I kept close to them as we passed through the large double doors and into the cinema. I stopped. I felt sick. Joe Butler was only inches away, just inside the doors. I thought I was done for. I’d heard that he’d found boys in the cinema and murdered them behind the curtain; some boys he’d cut up and thrown in the river. I moved quickly to the opposite side of the couple. He was looking the other way. I was safe.

  I walked gingerly toward the toilets, where the back door is. My body was tight against the wall. I stopped and looked at the screen as my favourite film star was playing: Roy Rogers. I quietly opened the double back doors. The boys were laughing and giggling as they filed in. Creeping downstairs, we saw there were some empty seats in the front row. We sat together, still giggling.

  Suddenly there was a smack across the back of my head. It was Joe Butler. We hadn’t been sitting there very long when Joe Butler spotted us. We shot out of the cinema and down the street.

  “Come back ’ere, you lot,” he shouted, but we were gone.

  Mrs Annie Jolly had spotted us coming out of the cinema. She was a very old lady and she always wore a pair of old black pointed shoes. All her clothes were black. Her feet stuck out at a funny angle. She reminded us of a witch, but really she was a lovely, kind lady. She opened her front door wider so we could all shoot inside her house and get away from the dreaded Joe Butler. She gave us all a glass of orange each and started to tell us not to be naughty, otherwise God would strike us down.

  By the time we got back to the ponging pit, Boxer was coughing and wheezing like billy-o.

  Mum had not returned and neither had Mrs Kilby, our next-door neighbour.

  “It’s very cold in your house, Matty.”

  “I know, Boxer,” I replied. “I feel it very much,” I said as I stood in the middle of the kitchen looking around, feeling the emptiness.

  “Your Mum must feel it on her own, Matty.” Boxer was looking at the old copper in the corner of the kitchen. “What’s this?”

  “That’s the copper Mum uses to heat our water. That’s why we collect fir cones from the forest.”

  I was beginning to wonder where Boxer had been brought up. I thought he must have lived in a very posh house - or come from somewhere else, like another planet. Boxer stood on tiptoe looking out of the kitchen window.

  “What’s that thing in the yard? It’s got two wooden rollers.”

  “That’s a mangle to squeeze out the clothes when we’ve washed them. Can we go upstairs now, Boxer?” I asked, wanting to get it over with.

  “Lead the way, Matty, and don’t be frightened.”

  I was scared. We reached the staircase. The door was wide open.

  “Mum,” I called out.

  “Look - out of the way, Matty.”

  Boxer came past me and walked right to the top.

  “Nothing much here, mate,” he said in a confident manner. “There are two rooms.” I heard him walk somewhere else. “Yes, the smaller room looks out towards the old castle.”

  “Come down now, Boxer. I still don’t like it.”

  I made my way to the backyard.

  ‘I know what I saw and nothing will change my mind,’ I thought to myself.

  I fed the pigeons until Boxer came down

  “I’ve locked the staircase door, Matty.”

  I said no more. I didn’t mention that Tonka was frightened too.

  As I stood at the back door holding the basket of pigeons and food for the journey to Africa, I realised I hadn’t left a note for Mum. I needed to tell her where I was going, and not to worry. Also, I wanted to tell her I had found Tonka. I knew she would love him when she saw him, my new-found friend. Also, I thought she would like to meet Boxer as well.

  Chapter 29 - A Note to Mum

  Dear Mum,

  I am going to Africa to find Dad. I am going to bring him home as we all miss him badly.

  Matty.

  Rene read the note several times before accepting the contents. She sat down and burst into tears. She hadn’t noticed the note on the mantelpiece when she first came in. Her visit to Matty’s friends hadn’t borne any fruit.

  ‘Now this!’ she thought.

  Pulling herself together, she began to think it was one of Matty’s little jokes, like he often played.

  “What’s a PLP, Mum?”

  “Don’t know, Matty. What is a PLP?”

  “A public leaning post.”

  We would both laugh.

  Rene decided to look over the house from top to bottom - every little nook and cranny. The three-storey red-brick house was built in the early eighteenth century. There were many places a small boy could hide away in a house like ours. The loft had a very small trapdoor, just large enough for a small boy. An adult was only able to put their head inside up to their shoulders. Hidden from view in the far corner of our small kitchen was a small door which led to a staircase and into a coal cellar. The staircase was unlit. Few had been into the cellar. Rene decided she must go down to look for Matty.

  ‘In case he fell to the bottom while trying to hide from me,’ she thought.

  The key hung on the kitchen wall, just a short distance from the cellar entrance. The lock squeaked and groaned as she turned it. She stopped herself going any further than placing the key in the lock.

  ‘The door was locked, so how can he be down there?’ She took the key back out of the lock. ‘But I heard something down there, I’m sure I did.’

  She ret
urned to the dining room, put the kettle on the range and prepared herself a well-earned cup of tea. Apart from cleaning the very top of the house, she rarely went up there.

  Two of the seven dilapidated attic bedrooms were sometimes used for friends of mine. They enjoyed their stay in the attic. There was a view of the river, the old castle and the surrounding countryside. They found it very exiting. My friends and I would play with my toy fort and soldiers, and with my train set, and we would generally run around with nobody to hear us at the top of the house.

  The kettle was just about to boil when there was a knock on the front door. She ran, but paused for a few seconds before opening it. She was tensed up, expecting the worst from whoever stood on the other side.

  Rene gasped. It was Reggie’s brother Roger standing there in his RAF uniform.

  “Rene,” he said as she opened the door.

  “Roger,” she gasped. Her hands went to her face as she cried aloud, “Bless you, bless you,” and gave him a large hug. “Gawd,” Rene said, shaking her hands with excitement. She could hardly believe it was him.

  “I have just a few days on leave, Rene,” he said, taking out a packet of Woodbine cigarettes from his blue tunic and handing her one.

  Rene burst into tears.

  “Whatever has happened?” said Roger as he stubbed out his cigarette in a cut-glass ashtray.

  “It’s our little Matty - he’s gone and we can’t find him anywhere?”

  “Have you searched the whole house?”

  “I am terrified of the cellar, Roger. It’s so dark, and the steps are dangerous.”

  “Give me a candle, old gal,” he said.

  He took off his tunic and headed for the cellar. As he descended the stone steps he had the feeling that no one had been down there for a long time.

  “I’ve reached the cellar,” he called back to Rene.