大象传媒

This is Gwenda's story:

"I bet they've forgotten aout us now. I can't remember what they look like", whimpered my litte sister Barbara as we lay together in the brass railed bedstead. it was wartime and we had been evacuated to a northern mining village.

We had been here for ages. It might have been years, but we had't had a birthday, so i suppose it wasn't that long. If only mummy and daddy would come and take us home. they would if they knew how horrilble it was.

"I'll have those two girls", Auntie Cope said, pointing to us as we stood with the other evacuees in the bedraggled huddle. Taking Barbara's hand, she marched us off to, leaving me to trail behind, carrying our bags and gas masks. I hated her.

So this was a country village. Where were the thatched cottages and pretty gardens I had seen in my picture books? This place was just a street of drab terraced houses, and why on earth did they keep their coal in heaps on the pavement?

Miss Davies our teacher, determined that we send reassuring news to our parents, made us write letters to them every week, which she marked before they were posted. My had to be rewritten several times. she only wants to read what we've written, I thought. Would it be wicked to write secretly to mummy and daddy and tell them how awful it was here? Could I write about how Auntie Cope shouted at us and threatened us with the broom, and about the hole in the garden that they called the lav? How it stank, and the terrible spiders and wasps in there?
"You're not allowed to write your own words. You'll cop it if she sees you posting a letter" whispered my friend Faith as we sat together in an old iron- framed desk.

Faith had curly brown hair, a freckled face and grey eyes with long lashes. With her pretty face and captivating manners she was already expert at attracting attention to herself and getting her own way.

***
The bed was hard, and Barbara had begun to snore. I couldn't sleep. Tomorrow would be Saturday and that meant no school. Faith and I had vowed to tell no-one about the bird in the drain. It was our secret and I couldn't even tell Barbara about it.

We had been dawdling along the road on our way home when I had heard a whistling sound coming from a drain grille in the gutter. Fascinated, I stood listening, staring down at the muddy water swirling through the sodden leaves and grass.
"Hush! Listen!" I gasped. "There's a bird down there. In the drain!"
Faith stopped practising standing on her points in her well-worn lace-ups - she had dreams of becoming a ballerina - and sauntered across the road to me.
"What? A bird down there? Don't be daft".
"Yes there is," I urged. "It's whistling. Listen!"
We both stood still, ears straining for the chirruping of my little feathered prisoner. Water from a recent storm tinkled over the stones. Heavy rain drops plopped from the trees and began to bounce on the road.
Faith shuddered. "I can't hear anything. Come on, it's pouring".
"No, wait!" I urged. "There it is again! Hark!" A long high pitched whistle echoed through the sewer pipe. "See? I told you!"
With pale faces and eyes like saucers we stared at each other. Then, without another word we took to our heels and raced towards home, wet hair streaming in the wind. At the end of the village street we halted.
"Don't tell anybody else", I gasped. "It's our secret, just you and me".

"If you come in late again", shouted Auntie Cope, "You'll get no tea. There's some beans on the hob, and wash your hands".
"I'm knitting a dishcloth now", piped up Barbara. "Look! Twenty stitches and I've done five rows".
"Looks like a fishing net to me". I retorted. She could knit and I couldn't. Anyway, I had far more important things on my mind.
"Don't you want that food?" The sharp voice penetrated my thoughts.
"Oh, yes please", I jerked, gulping down the half cold chips and beans.
"It's your turn to do the dishes, and I've done the pans so it won't take you long", she continued. "Mr and Mrs Pearce are coming this evening for a little game or two. I don't want your rubbish about all over the table. We shall need it".
"What are you going to play at?" asked Barbara.
"It's called Whist, and you wouldn't understand it", came the reply. "And we
might read the cards as well".
There was silence for a moment while Barbara pondered this, then she said, "Fancy reading cards!"

I was glad to go to bed early that night because I needed to plan a rescue campaign. Muffled laughter and thumps rose from the room downstairs. They must be having a good game, I thought. I didn't know the Pearces very well. I'd seen Mrs Pearce hanging her washing on the line next door. She always wore a turban and an overall, and her petticoat hung down below her skirt at the back. She could talk with a spring peg in her mouth. I tried to do that once, but the peg got stuck on my lip and made it bleed. Mr Pearce was a policeman and didn鈥檛 work at the Pit. He looked very smart in his uniform when he went off on his bike. I was in love with him. "Hello my beauty", he had said to me one day, so I knew he loved me.

The voices downstairs grew louder. I sat up and listened.
Mrs Pearce's voice penetrated the general hubbub; "They've stopped bringing the gas now", she said. "Because of the war I expect.
I know the pipes are already laid. It's a shame. Now we'll have to wait, I suppose". There was silence, then suddenly, Auntie Cope was shouting. "Look at this!" It's a sign of danger I tell you! It's a warning!".
I crept downstairs and listened. Their overcoats hanging on the door smelled of stale tobacco.
"Rubbish woman! You take too much notice of them daft cards! Give them to me, I'll throw 'em at the back of the fire", came from Uncle Cope.
"Well, thanks for a nice evening, dear. We'd better get off now", soothed Mrs Pearce.
I heard their chairs scraping on the tiled floor, and with my heart racing, I scampered up the stairs and into bed.

It was raining again the next morning. I needed an excuse to be able to meet Faith by the drain. I was just pulling on my wellies when Auntie Cope's voice called from the bedroom. "You're not going out to play in this weather. You'll be soaked through".
"I want to come with you", whined Barbara. "Where are you going?"
"She's not going anywhere. She's shelling the peas for dinner", came the voice from upstairs. I kicked off my boots and thumped down on the floor. Just my luck again!
We were chasing the peas as they shot across the floor and filling our mouths with their sweetness, when there was a loud knock at the door. "I'll go", shouted Barbara.
It was Faith, her freckled face aglow. The raindrops sparkling on her eyelashes. "Can Mary come to my house to play?" she enquired sweetly, grinning knowingly at me. "Finish doing the peas, then she can go", called Auntie Cope.
"I'm coming as well", demanded Barbara. "It's not fair". Her lip trembled and I knew we'd have to tell her.
"Not a word to a soul", I warned, "Or else..."
"No, no I promise", she whispered.

Three small figures in gabardine macs and pixie hoods skipped happily through the puddles. We tiptoed to the drain grille and held our breath. The rain had ceased but water was rushing down the gulley.
"It will be drowned down there, won't it", Barbara said in a matter of fact voice. "Sh!" I ordered. "Listen!". We waited. Then we heard it again. An eerie high pitched whistle mingled with the music of the rainwater.
"It's still there!", I gasped. "We must get it out". But how could we do it?
"P'raps we'd better tell a grown-up", reasoned Faith. "But they'd only tell us not to be silly".
II thought of Mr Pearce, he was in love with me. I was sure that he would help us. "I'll ask Mr Pearce," I stuttered. "But he's a copper, you can't ask him!", said Faith.

My knees wobbled a bit when I peeped over the fence. Mr Pearce was weeding his garden. He had his back to me, and in his vest and trousers he didn't look quite so handsome. I clung onto the palings and called, "Mr Pearce". He turned round and grinned.
"Hello sweetheart", he said. My heart thumped.
"Could you please help with something important?", I gulped. "There's a little bird trapped in the drain down the road, and we've heard it whistling so we know it can't have drowned. Can you please help us to get it out?"
Mr Pearce laughed. "Oh dear, that's a shame ain't it. Just a tick, I'll get my jacket".
The others were waiting for us down the road. I was elated, Mr Pearce had come to help us.
The four of us stood reverently round the drain and listened.
"I can't hear anything like a bird whistling", he said. "Are you sure it wasn't the noise of the water?"
"No, it was a whistle - not the water". I was getting agitated. Why wouldn't my bird sing again? Then we heard it. A piercing note rang through the sewer. "Blimey!" That's a whistle all right!", exclaimed Mr Pearce, "But that's no bird, that's gas! Look you lot, run on home, I'm off to the phone. We'll have to get the Gas People out to this."

Feeling silly and disappointed, we dawdled up the road. Our dreams of rescuing a poor drowning bird had been dashed. It was just a boring gas leak after all.
"What shall we do now?", asked Faith. "Better come to my house, I suppose". Suddenly, there was a colossal BANG. We screamed. Was it a bomb? Had the Germans bombed our village?
The doors opened and frightened women spilled out onto the road.
"It's the Pit!", they shouted. "There's been an explosion at the Pit".
Calling to their children, they surged down the road towards the Mine.
Uncle Cope was a Miner. Was he dead? Would he be down in that terrible blackness, waiting to be rescued?
"Let's go home", I murmured.

It was almost 10 pm. No-one had told us to go to bed. We kept quietly in the background, forgotten in the excitement and relief felt by everyone in the village. It turned out that the poor Baker's boy - who was cycling happily along on his delivery round - had tossed aside the burning end of his Woodbine as he passed the whistling drain. He was found unconscious with his mangled machine, twenty yards away from a gaping hole in the road. "Lucky he wasn't toasted along with his loaves", chaffed Mr Pearce.

Have some more salmon, Jim", smiled Auntie Cope, as she handed the plate of tinned salmon to Mr Pearce. The carefully hoarded stores had been plundered - tinned salmon, peaches and cream and sherry had appeared from the depths of the larder. This was certainly an occasion for rejoicing.
Uncle Cope and the other Miners had emerged from the Pit, quite unscathed and oblivious to the commotion in the village.
"If they'd finished putting in the gas, this wouldn't have happened", said Mrs Pearce, sipping her third glass of sherry.
"What a waste of gas, too!", retorted the ever practical Auntie Cope. Then, realising her extravagance as she surveyed the feast before us, she added wryly, "And who's going to foot the bill for this lot?"

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.