Part 14 (2/2)

GENERAL Moult, wearing his Home Guard uniform, surveyed the small group of children whom he had summoned from the village and who were sitting on the floor and window-seat of his study.

General Moult had first seen service in the South African war, and his study was a South African museum in miniature. Native weapons, interspersed with mounted horns of various types of antelope, covered the walls. A small chair was upholstered with a lion skin. An elephant's foot formed a waste-paper basket. A hoof of the General's favourite charger had been converted into an ink pot. A highly polished sh.e.l.l of ancient pattern did service as a letter weight. An enlarged photograph of a group of officers showing the General, youthful, gallant-looking and generously moustached was ingeniously framed in elephants' tusks. An enormous ostrich egg in a leather case with open doors stood on a book-case filled with books that dealt exclusively with the history, politics, flora and fauna of South Africa.

For the first two years of the present war the General, despite his Home Guard duties, had continued to regard it as an insignificant skirmish, but the forthcoming 'mock invasion' seemed to have jerked him out of his rut. He had become so active and energetic and enthusiastic as to be almost an embarra.s.sment to his fellow officers.

'We must leave nothing to chance,' he said, twirling his white moustache belligerently. 'I remember in the battle of Spion Kop . . .'

And now, on the eve of the 'invasion', he had gathered together the junior inhabitants of the village between the ages of ten and thirteen and was giving them what he called their 'orders for the day'.

Their eyes roamed round the trophies, growing wider and wider, resting finally, at their widest, on the ostrich egg.

'You children,' the General was saying, 'are, of course, too young to join the Home Guard cadets, but that does not mean that you can do nothing to help in this invasion exercise. No child is too young to help his country. You must all try to do something to hara.s.s the enemy and a.s.sist the defending forces. Now I can't tell you what to do. Only circ.u.mstances can do that. But you must all try to take some active part in it, as far as you can. The enemy will be represented by regular soldiers, and the Home Guard, of course, will be the defenders. We'll have another meeting when it's all over, and I will ask each of you what you have done to help the defending force or hinder the enemy. I have decided to give the ostrich egg you see on the book-case as a prize to the child who has done most.'

Again their gaze turned to the ostrich egg, and they stared at it, open mouthed, hardly able to believe that they had heard aright. The ostrich egg! The ostrich egg! It seemed impossible that one of them should actually possess the treasure.

'Bet I get it,' muttered Hubert Lane.

They were unusually silent as they walked home. Each was living in a dream in which they captured paratroops, encircled whole divisions . . . won the ostrich egg . . .

'Bet I get it,' muttered Hubert Lane, again. 'Bet you anythin' I get it. I'm jolly good at tricks.'

'Bet you don't,' said William. 'I can do a few tricks myself.'

'Huh!' snorted Hubert.

'Huh!' retorted William.

The next day, Sunday, was the day of the 'mock invasion'. Members of the Home Guard manned machine-guns in the ditches, and soldiers crept behind hedges with rifles in their hands . . . William, filled with enthusiasm, tried to trip up a soldier and was soundly cuffed for his pains. He took part of his own dinner to a Home Guard manning a machine-gun near his home, only to have it thrown into the ditch with a 'I know that trick. Read about it in the papers. You'll say I've been poisoned . . .'

The day wore on and William became more and more depressed. No one seemed to want his help. He even tried to 'immobilise' a soldier's bicycle by means of a pin but was caught, pin in hand, by the owner, from whose vengeance he narrowly escaped, as it seemed to him, with his life. He offered to help a Home Guard with his machine-gun but was told to go to blazes. To make things worse he met Hubert Lane, smiling smugly, at the corner of the road.

WILLIAM RAN INTO HUBERT LANE AT THE CORNER OF THE ROAD.

'Gen'ral Moult sent round to ask me for some maps of the district,' said Hubert. 'My father's got ten and I sent 'em all. I bet I get that egg.'

William walked gloomily homeward . . . but at his gate he ran into a young man, who said breathlessly: 'General Moult's sent me to get any maps of the district you have. Hurry up. He wants them at once.'

William brightened. Robert was an enthusiastic motorcyclist and had a large collection of maps . . . He ran upstairs to Robert's bedroom and opened the top drawer of his bureau . . . Yes, there it was a long flat cardboard box with 'Motoring Maps' written on the outside. He had often seen Robert taking maps from it or putting them back. William had been forbidden to touch it, but even Robert surely would want General Moult to have it in this crisis. He put it under his arm and ran down to the young man, who was still waiting by the gate.

'Here they are!' he panted. 'I don't know how many there are.'

'Thanks,' said the young man and cycled off with the box under his arm.

William went slowly in to tea. He wished he'd opened the box and counted the maps. He'd like to know whether he'd given more than Hubert Lane. Anyway, he'd given them, and that was a weight off his mind. Ole Hubert Lane had nothing on him now. But, as he munched his way through the thick slices of bread and margarine that formed his war-time tea, a vague and ominous memory began to haunt his mind. Had Robert, in those days of tension following Dunkirk when a real invasion was hourly expected, said something about having hidden his maps? The vague memory grew clearer. Robert had said something about having hidden his maps . . . Cramming the last piece of bread and margarine hastily into his mouth, he went upstairs to Robert's bedroom. If Robert's maps were hidden, they must be hidden somewhere in his bedroom. An exhaustive search whose effects nearly gave his mother a heart attack when she entered the room the next morning at first revealed nothing, and William began to hope that they were, after all, in the box that he had given to General Moult's messenger. Then, idly and no longer really expecting to find them, he took up the paper that covered the bottom of Robert's wardrobe.

There they were laid neatly out beneath it! His mouth dropped open in dismay. Gos.h.!.+ He'd sent an empty box to General Moult and no maps at all. And Hubert Lane had sent ten. Gos.h.!.+ He must find the young man at once and give him the maps. There was not a moment to be lost. Bundling them into his pocket, he ran downstairs and out into the road. There he looked anxiously up and down but saw no sign of the young man. He scoured the village and countryside, falling over stiles and scrambling through hedges in his haste, but still found no trace of the young man. His heart was now a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't so much the loss of the ostrich egg he minded, though he did mind that. It was the thought that he had failed his country in its hour of need, for William's vivid imagination had by now transformed the 'mock' invasion into a real one. His search for the young man brought him to the old barn. Pa.s.sing it, he heard the sound of voices inside and peeped cautiously round the half-open door. General Moult and several other officers were sitting on packing-cases. It was evidently the headquarters of the Home Guard. At least, thought William, he could explain what had happened.

WILLIAM'S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN IN DISMAY.

He entered the barn and approached the group of officers. 'I say!' he began.

General Moult looked up and glared ferociously. All the others looked up and glared ferociously.

Someone said 'Get out!' William, stumbling over a packing-case, got out . . .

He went home, to find the maps no longer in his pocket. Somewhere in his scrambling over stiles and through hedges he must have lost them. Practically given them to the enemy for it would be just his luck if a soldier and not a Home Guard found them. Gos.h.!.+ Fate just seemed to have a down on him . . . Well, he couldn't leave things in the mess they were in. He must do something to retrieve the position. Then quite suddenly the idea came to him. Commandos. Why shouldn't there be Commandos in the invasion? Probably just because no one had thought of it. The Home Guard surely ought to have a few Commandos to help it. He'd be a Commando . . . It only needed a tin of blacking and a pair of bedroom slippers. He could easily get both. He proceeded to do so. It was the work of a few moments to abstract a tin of boot blacking from the kitchen, plaster his face with it, and put on his bedroom slippers . . . Then he crept in conspiratorial fas.h.i.+on from the house . . . It was unfortunate that he met Violet Elizabeth Bott at the gate. She gave a cry of delight when she saw him.

'Oh, William, you do look funny! What are you playing at?'

'I'm not playing at anythin',' said William sternly. 'I'm a Commando in the invasion. Go away. I don't want you messing round.'

'Can't I play, too, William?' pleaded Violet Elizabeth. 'I like funny gameth.'

'It's not a game,' repeated William.

'OH, WILLIAM, YOU DO LOOK FUNNY!' CRIED VIOLET ELIZABETH.

'Have you any more black thtuff?' said Violet Elizabeth.

It turned out that William had. He had put the tin into his pocket in case he had to renew his make-up during the course of the evening. Reluctantly he brought it out. Morosely he watched Violet Elizabeth plaster her small face with it.

'Now I'm all black, too,' she said happily. 'What thall we play at?'

'I keep tellin' you, I'm not playin' at anythin',' said William impatiently. 'I'm helpin' conquer the Germans.'

'I'm thick of the Germanth,' pouted Violet Elizabeth. 'Leth pretend we're explorerth.'

'I tell you I'm a Commando,' said William, 'an' girls can't be them. They're too soppy.'

'Girlth aren't thoppy, William,' said Violet Elizabeth, stung by this insult to her s.e.x. 'I don't thee why they thouldn't be Commandoth thame ath the Atth and Waacth and Wrenth. I'm going to be one, anyway, and you can't thtop me. I'm going to be a Waac. That meanth Women Auxiliary Commando. Girlth aren't thoppy, William. I'm going to be a Waac an' help you, thame ath the otherth do.'

'It means goin' into danger p'raps death,' said William darkly.

'I don't mind,' said Violet Elizabeth, dismissing death and danger with an airy gesture. 'It'th a nithe game.'

'I keep tellin' you it's not a game,' snapped William. 'I'm in earnest.'

'All right,' said Violet Elizabeth serenely, 'I don't mind. I'll be in earnetht, too.'

William sighed and yielded to the inevitable. He had tried to shake off Violet Elizabeth before and knew that it could not be done. After all, she would afford him a spectator for his exploits, and William liked to have a spectator for his exploits . . .

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