Looking for Africa Page 7

  “He’s heard something,” said Boxer.

  Crouching down, I put my arms around Tonka’s neck and whispered in his ear: “What can you hear Tonka?”

  He began to growl. Fear held both of us rigid. We couldn’t move for fear of getting caught red-handed taking the basket. We bolted across the yard, over a gate, and made toward the rear of the wooden building.

  Boxer whispered to me, “The basket is stored inside.”

  I nodded in recognition. I held Tonka’s jaw together with my hand so that he wouldn’t start to bark as a lorry drew into the yard. Clouds of dust billowed into the sky. Two men climbed out from the cab and one of them, a short, dumpy man, started waving directions at the drivers of two other lorries as they pulled up behind the first.

  “Over there, Joe,” the man giving orders shouted. “Sid, you pull over there if you can, mate.”

  The crew removed heavy tarpaulins from the backs of the lorries and folded them up. Then they stashed them at the back of the lorry cabs.

  “I want these trucks empted, asap,” the man shouted, “and all the tarpaulin to be hidden from view.”

  With all of the shouting and commotion, Boxer and I began to fear for our lives. We both realised it would be instant death if we were caught spying. It was obvious we were witnessing black-market racketeering. What the gang were stealing, or had stolen was unimportant, it was the fact that we were witnessing a crime that put fear into us.

  We crept into the building through a hole between the wooden slats. Tonka started to squeeze through to follow, but jammed halfway. His fur was caught on a nail. He whimpered with pain.

  “Please, Boxer,” I said in anguish, “help me with him.”

  Boxer managed to free his fur and bend the nail down out of harm’s way. Tonka licked Boxer’s hand.

  “You silly old thing,” he said, stroking and hugging him.

  The whimpering had been noticed by one of the gang members.

  “What’s that noise?” shouted one of them. “Quiet!”

  You could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

  “OK, it’s nothing - get on with the unloading. We ain’t got all bleedin’ day.”

  All three of us managed to hide beneath old boxes and rags that were strewn about. We could see to the far end of the building, which had double doors. The sounds of someone unlocking the doors put terror into us. We knew we would be seen if both doors were opened together - the extra light would mean the end for our adventures.

  “No need to open both doors, you moron,” someone shouted. We thought he was the gang leader.

  “Gawd,” whispered Boxer, “that was close!”

  Men wearing dark-blue boiler suits and caps started to load copper piping on to racks near the wall. Boxer could make out lead piping being loaded too. As the men cleared the area of boxes and rubbish to make further space they were fast approaching us. One of the men was just an arm’s length away when they were called back to the lorries. The last man out locked up the double doors, bringing a sigh of relief to the three of us. Luckily, the gang hadn’t touched the wicker basket which we wanted for the balloon. Stealthily, we approached it with caution, looking toward the double doors in case the gang should return.

  The basket was huge, with ample space to carry loads of equipment. We both climbed inside.

  “How are we going to move it?”

  “Leave it to Boxer. Boxer can do anything.”

  I had to laugh.

  “The balloon is suspended on the other side of the river,” I said.

  “That’s the easy bit,” said Boxer, measuring the basket with his feet.

  “What are you doing that for?”

  I looked down at Boxer’s feet as he completed his measurement of the basket.

  “Just making sure it won’t get stuck underneath that little wooden bridge around the river bend.” Boxer stepped out of the basket. “I’m pretty sure that will go under the bridge with no problem. This used to be a basket for workmen’s overalls you know, Matty.” He looked around. “Yes, look - here is the lid.”

  Lifting up the lid was a challenge on its own. The weight was immense for such young lads as us.

  Boxer spotted a face close up to the window of the building.

  “Head down, Matty,” he said, crouching down as low as possible. “Make Tonka lie down as well.”

  “What’s up?” I whispered.

  “Face at the window,” he replied, whispering in return.

  “Looks all neat and tidy in there, boss,” shouted the man with his face against the window.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  The lorries drew out of the yard. After the last one had gone through the gates, the driver got out, pulled the gates together, took one last look around and then locked them with chain and padlock. We waited until there were no sounds of the gang and the last lorry had gone from sight. Peering through a crack in the door, we decided to make plans to bring out the basket.

  Boxer tied two lengths of rope to the basket. As we both began to pull, Tonka decided to have a ride. He leapt into the basket. He thought it would be great fun. Boxer and I thought it was great fun too. The more we laughed, the more he barked. Through the large double doors and across the grass we made our way towards the river and the floating balloon.

  “We’ll hide the basket underneath those trees over there, Matty.”

  “How will we cross the river, Boxer?”

  “You know the other building next to where we were,” responded Boxer, puffing and panting, out of breath with pulling the basket.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Well, there’s loads of old timber which we can gather to make a raft. We can use the barrels you were going to use on the regatta raft,” he replied, speaking in short breaths.

  We covered over the basket with branches from one of the trees at the back of the kiln. Making our way back, we both had to stop to retrieve our breath, so we sat down on the log outside the kiln.

  “Bleedin’ ’ell!” said Boxer, now showing the strain of the pull. “I must be losing my grip - so tired and all that,” he said as he flopped down on to the log.

  “Best you go and lie down, Boxer,” I said, concerned by the way he was struggling for breath, I had noticed it several times before.

  “Good idea, Matty.”

  He fell down on top of the bundle of rags which served as his bed inside the kiln.

  “I need to go to the toilet, Boxer,” I said, nearly bursting for a wee. I had been waiting to ask for some time, but hadn’t plucked up the courage until now.

  “Go out of the kiln, turn left and you’ll see an old privy the brick makers used to use,” he said between gasping breaths. “Leave it clean when you’ve done. Boxer keeps everything clean. Whatever you may hear of me, you won’t hear of me being dirty - or my privy. Oh, and when you’re done, wash your hands under that tap in the corner.”

  As I returned I began to feel a bit down.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t look very happy all of a sudden, Matty,” said Boxer as he lit another candle.

  “I miss my mum. I had better go home now, Boxer.”

  “Leaving me on my own, then?” replied Boxer as he sat up straight. He began coughing quite badly, which worried me.

  “Yes, but I’m coming back tomorrow, Boxer, you’ll see if I don’t.”

  Boxer stood up. Although only twelve years old, he was very strong and streetwise.

  “Don’t worry about Tonka, Matty. He’s safe here,” he said as they reached the entrance to the kiln.

  “I am going to bring some of my mum’s cakes for you, Boxer, and some food to eat on the journey to Africa.”

  “You and your bleedin’ Africa!” responded Boxer as he waved goodbye. Boxer repeated in a low voic
e, “You and your bleedin’ Africa, Matty!”

  Chapter 18 - To School

  I began to worry about the questions Boxer had been asking me lately - silly things like why do we have a Christmas tree at Christmas time? And yesterday he asked our king’s name and what is a meadow? Perhaps he’s getting delirious or something. He does know a lot about the stars, though. He can tell you about any single star you can name. He also knows about light years or what ever you call them.

  “I’m off now, Boxer,” I shouted.

  ‘Funny!’ I thought. ‘I did not hear anything in the kiln.’

  “Take care of Tonka,” I called again.

  I hadn’t known that Mum was going to catch the bus to Peterborough to see Aunt Sybil - she thought I might have gone there. Aunt Sybil is some sort of a relation of my dad. Mum had slipped on the bus platform gashing her head, and she had been taken to the hospital. I didn’t know any of this.

  Sometimes I waited outside the school for Mum and we would go to the town to do the shopping. I liked to go to the shops - especially the Co-op. The main reason I liked to go was to watch the metal cups flying across the shop from one counter to another. The girl behind the counter would put the money into a round metal cup, then she would screw it up and pull a lever down. The cup would fly across the shop straight into the office upstairs, then back would come the cup with the receipt and change. I used to stand looking up, watching this going on. Backwards and forwards these cups would go, never bumping into each other.

  To get to school I had to pass the tanks and Jeeps in the small field next to the bus station. I think they were all broken down.

  “Got any gum, chum?” I would say to the American soldiers working on the tanks.

  This made them laugh ever so loud.

  “OK, jump aboard, man,” one soldier said as Pete and I made for school one day.

  Inside the tank, we were allowed to take command. We could turn a handle and make the big barrel of the tank turn from side to side, It was absolutely great. Once they let me climb a ladder to the cockpit of one of the big aeroplanes. I wasn’t allowed to touch anything inside the cockpit, though. If it was a nice sunny day, one of the soldiers might bring out a mouth organ. I kid you not, it was fabulous. As he played we danced about and sang along. I hope they didn’t get told off by their captain.

  Talking of strange happenings, something weird happened one day, after the whistle had blown for morning break. The sun was hot and, as usual, the din that had followed with all the school kids making for the common was horrendous. Out of the classroom, where Miss Maddox was teaching us arithmetic, up the flight of flagstone steps, through the square playground and on to the hospital meadow we ran. To the left, inside the back gate on the bench, sat a lady holding a baby, feeding it. We all stopped in our tracks - just like the game of statues, you know. The lady turned and smiled at us, then carried on feeding her little child. I watched a bit longer, then tiptoed over as I was curious. I was shocked. The baby had no face - it was gone completely! The baby’s body moved around as the lady rocked it back and forth, but the baby’s face had gone. We all must have stood and watched for at least one minute without a single one of us moving - not even one inch. Then, all of a sudden, we carried on screaming as we ran on to the meadow. Now I had just started to climb over the three-bar fence to the meadow to tell the others what I had seen when I stopped and looked back at the lady on the seat. I tell you this, that lady had gone - and I mean gone, vanished into nowhere. That’s true, I can tell you.

  I found out next day from Jolly-Jolly, my classmate, as we sat under my school desk hiding from Miss Smith, my class teacher, that the lady feeding her baby appeared once every year in the same spot. The lady was murdered and her remains lie in the graveyard of Godmanchester Church. Her little child was taken by someone unknown to look after. This is what Jolly-Jolly told me, and he doesn’t lie.

  Chapter 19 - The Workhouse

  I stood at the school gate waiting for Mum to come. I didn’t know she had called at Mrs Kilby’s to ask her to go to the school just in case I was there. Mum had gone to catch the bus to Peterborough. Mrs Kilby, however, had been taken to hospital with a bad attack of asthma on her way to the school. Soon the road was empty except for me waiting and two nurses coming towards me on sit-up-and-beg bikes. Both nurses got off their bikes at the same time, right in front of me.

  “Matty, you have to come with us,” the taller nurse said, taking hold of my hand.

  I tried to pull away, but the other nurse grabbed hold of my free hand.

  “Where are you taking me?” I cried out now in desperation. “I’m waiting for my mum.”

  “Never mind all that,” the taller nurse said.

  “Your mother isn’t coming today. You have to come with us,” the other nurse insisted.

  Just then I saw Mexi Saunders coming towards us with his pony and trap. He was sitting as he always did on the right-hand side of the trap with the reigns in hand, his cap to one side and an everlasting brown-stained cigarette hanging out of his mouth. In the school holidays I always took the trap myself up to his little farm on top of the common. When I say myself, I should say here that he was there also to keep a sharp eye on me. There was absolutely nothing more exciting than to take his little brown-and-white pony, Elsie, on this daily jaunt. The casual jogging up and down, the hot sun on my face, the quiet dirt-covered street with the odd passing of an Austin Seven - I loved it.

  Mexi stopped. “Woa, Elsie,” he called out, pulling on both reigns.

  He watched as I went past with the two nurses. I could see he didn’t understand what was happening to me. The two nurses both looked straight ahead as if they didn’t notice him. They pulled me along quickly, but I managed to look back at him as he stood with hands on hips. I wanted to call out for help, but was afraid.

  Up to the end of Walden Road we walked, passing the red-bricked courthouse and the old George Hotel. At the old iron railway bridge we turned right, and there it was - the most evil place you could ever imagine - the workhouse.

  “Mum!” I called out in desperation. I just didn’t know why I was there.

  A long flight of grey stone steps led the way up to the old solid-oak double doors of this awful place. The nurses each gripped my arms, and the taller nurse banged on the doors. The rain had started to fall heavily. As the door slightly opened I could hear the cries of old people. They were sobbing and calling out at the same time. I tried to pull away.

  I sat on a wooden stool in the workhouse foyer, gazing forward, not daring to move. I did, however, move my eyes a couple of times to see what was happening. I didn’t want to seem inquisitive as this would affect my position, I thought. Further to that, I thought they might be watching me through a crack in a door somewhere. I started to tremble at that thought. What were they saying about me? Where were they taking me?

  ‘Dungeons!’ I thought. ‘The rack to stretch me to confess something!’ My mind started to twist and turn. I wanted to shout out loud.

  I only relaxed when the two nurses had left me on my own. The front doors were bolted so there was no chance of escape. Besides, the wooden doors were too heavy for a small boy to open. My hands clenched the wooden stool and my legs dangled off the floor.

  I was about to move and see if I could find out where the sobbing was coming from when one of the nurses came back.

  “Follow me, boy,” she called, beckoning with her forefinger.

  At that moment I thought of Boxer and Tonka and Mum. They would never know what had happened to me once I went through that door. How was Boxer going to feed Tonka when the food was gone? My mind was shattered.

  The nurse grabbed hold of me and took me through the doors, pulling even harder than before.

  We went along a corridor until we reached a green door on the left-hand side. The nurse sat me down on a wooden form and pu
lled open a green curtain. I was horrified! The sight gave me a sickly chill. Revealed was an old cast-iron bath.

  ‘She’s going to drown me!’ I thought.

  I tried in vain to pull away from her, but she had a tight grip on my arm. In another desperate move to pull away I fell to the ground. I was free. I ran out of the bathroom into the corridor. On the other side of the corridor was an opening. I gasped at the sight as I ran through, although the light was dim. From the ceiling hung the smallest bulb I had ever seen. Although we had electric lights at school, at home we had gas lights, which were quite bright. The dimness of the light in this room made me frightened, I can say. There were rows of beds and old people lay on top of them looking up towards the ceiling, sobbing and calling out. I dived under the nearest bed. All the people went quiet.

  Nurses came in and began looking for me under the beds and down the aisles between the beds. Then the main door slammed shut and I heard heavy bolts being drawn. The last of the staff had left the ward.

  As I moved out from under the bed my foot caught on something. It was a chamber pot. I felt sick when something splashed out over me. It was smelly pee. I lifted myself off the floor and was just about to get up when an arm fell down from the bed and swayed gently backwards and forwards before it went ghostly still.

  ‘It must be an arm from a dead person!’ That was my immediate thought.

  The tears were running down my cheeks as I looked at the arm just hanging there. For some unknown reason I had to put my hand out and squeeze the hand gently. The arm moved and the hand gently squeezed mine. I was not frightened now. It was so strange that the fear had gone from my body. I slowly stood up and tried to look over the edge of the bed but found it hard because the bed was so high off the ground. The ward was still ghostly quiet.

  All of the elderly people suddenly started to get out of their beds and come towards me. I was still not afraid. A couple of very, very old ladies stroked my hair. I felt so sorry for all of these people. They were lonely, I could see. I didn’t speak and they didn’t either. We just shook each other’s hands with a smile.