Chapter 1- Trains
“Wha’s that down there?” Owen peered down at the dirty floor.
Gavin squinted through the stampede of shoes, “Don’t think it’s nothin’. Prob’ly just a milk bottle cap,” he muttered. The two boys were sitting on the old wooden fence. They had to talk louder than normal, because of the roar of the trains and the chattering visitors. The busy people hurried up and down the tunnel and lurked around, waiting for their train. “Is that somethin’?” asked Gavin.
“Where, Gav?”
“Down there. See- under that old lady on that bench,” Gavin pointed to a sleeping woman on a creaky wooden bench. Her floppy, wide-brimmed hat had almost fallen off totally. The shiny object was almost directly under the woman. “You wanna get it?” Owen said, glancing to the younger boy.
“...I dunno. What if I wake her up?” Gavin stared suspiciously at the old woman, longing to find out what the thing on the floor was.
“You’re smaller,”
“Oh...”
Owen laughed, “Only jokin’, mate. Look after this, would ya?” he handed his brother his gas mask box. Owen jumped down off the fence and crept towards the woman. He stopped beside the bench, looked around for passing policemen and dropped down on his hands and knees. The boy quietly and slowly reached out and took the object from under the bench. He looked at the thing in his hands. Owen stood up. The old woman snorted awake. She looked up at him with angry eyes. “Yes?” she glared at Owen. He smiled.
“Nothin’,” the woman caught sight of what was in his hand. He turned and scurried back to his brother.
“Oi!” screeched the woman, waving her wrinkly fist in the air.
Owen climbed back on the fence beside Gavin. “What is it?” the younger boy asked, handing the gas mask box to Owen. I don’t know myself... thought Owen. He opened his hand. “A farthing!” exclaimed Owen, “All that for a farthing!”
Gavin sighed.
“We’re not gonna buy much wi’ that,” Owen slipped the rusty coin into his trouser pocket.
“No. Not likely,” Gavin muttered, staring down at the floor.
“How much is that chewing gum, Gav?”
“Penny,”
The pair sat in silence for a minute, watching the people hurry by. There were a couple of children, being dragged around by busy parents, but no one the boys knew. They were bustling about with heavy suitcases and bags, waddling like the fat penguins at the zoo. Every now and again there would be a high-pitched whistle, and another noisy train would roll into the station, ready to whisk people away to new places. “Is that somethin’?” asked Gavin suddenly, making Owen jump.
“Where?”
“By that lamppost,”
“That one all the way over there? How can ya even see that far? You want it- you get it,” sighing, Gavin jumped down from the fence. Owen watched him negotiate his way around the bulky suitcases. The blond-haired boy stooped and picked up the tiny object. Owen could see him inspecting it through the constant stream of people. Gavin looked back at his brother and shrugged. “Get back here, boy!” squawked the old woman, wobbling towards him. “That’s my coin!” A group of older boys stopped to watch, sniggering. The woman waggled her shaky fist again, making her hat fall off. While she turned to pick it up, Owen jumped off the fence and hurried towards his brother.
“What was it?” asked Owen.
“Just a screw. It was all bent an’ useless,” Gavin kicked the worthless piece of metal across the station floor.
“Oi! Where’ve you gone?! I want me farthing back!” they heard the woman over the hubbub of voices. The boys laughed, and hid round the side of large flower pot. The sat down, their backs against the cool metal. A large red train was only metres away. Owen didn’t know where the train was going, and he didn’t really care. He didn’t want to leave. He and Gavin knew that it wasn’t entirely safe in the city. Most of their friends had been evacuated to the country. They could’ve gone if they’d wanted to. No, they’d chosen to fight it out in the city. Support their family and friends, and anyway, Owen thought he was safer in the city. They had the air-raid shelter in the garden. And the gas masks. No one knew who you’d end up with in the country. Yeah, you could get a really kind, generous elderly couple- but on the other hand you could get some aggressive old man, who made you work non-stop in the fields. It was purely based on luck. Not that Owen was superstitious.
“Ya know that kid?” asked Owen, pointing a boy standing towards the edge of the crowd.
“Which one?”
Owen stood up. “Him,”
Gavin stood up too and looked at the boy, “Nah...He looks a bit lost.” The unknown boy was still amongst the squirming river of people. He was holding a tattered teddy bear, dangling it by the leg. In his other hand he was holding a bulky suitcase. The knotted string of the gas mask box was draped across his shoulder. He looked scared and afraid. “Let’s go see ‘im,” suggested Gavin, already walking towards the child. Owen lingered back.
“I dunno...” Gavin couldn’t hear him over the roar of the station. Sighing, Owen followed his brother towards the child.
“’Ello,” Gavin stopped in front of the boy.
“I’m lost. No one knows me here. Where do I go?” he stammered, glancing around the station nervously.
“Where’d ya come from kid?” asked Owen.
“I came off that big train.”
“Well I can see that. Ya didn’t get ‘ere by spaceship,” Owen said frostily.
“I was on the train with the other kids and loads of people got on. I thought I saw me friend Johnny getting so I followed-” The boy was cut off by an almighty whistle from the train. There was a booming rumble and the train began to move. It picked up speed and chugged out of the station.
“Oh no!” cried the boy, staring in horror at the disappearing train, “What do I do now?”
Owen shrugged, “I dunno. Go find a bobby or somethin’,”
The child looked at Owen for a few seconds, with sad green eyes. He turned disappointedly and started in the other direction, swinging the suitcase by his side. He was wearing a woollen jumper, brown trousers and shiny leather boots. The bottom of his white shirt was sticking out from his dark green jersey. The gas mask box bounced as he walked. “Nice kid, I guess,” Owen said, kicking a pebble across the floor. Gavin glared at him. “What?” asked Owen.
“We should ‘elp ‘im really.”
“Yeah... I s’pose.”
“Come on then,” Gavin said, hurrying down the platform. Muttering under his breath, Owen followed his enthusiastic brother.
Chapter 2- Welcome to Cardiff
The boy was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands, and the teddy beside him. Owen and Gavin stood in front of them. An old man with a walking stick walked into Owen. He glared at the twelve year old as he shuffled past. “Same to you!” called Owen, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. This alerted the boy, and he slowly looked up at them. “Where am I?” he questioned sadly, all liveliness drained.
“You’re in Cardiff, mate,” Owen said, as another train arrived.
“Where!?” shouted the boy, trying to be heard over the roar of the station.
“Y’know, Wales,” Gavin swung a conker on a piece of string around in circles.
“Them animals that live in the sea?”
“What?” called Owen as the ear-splitting whistle echoed around the tunnel.
“I think we should go outside,” suggested Gavin.
“Good idea, Gav,” Tim stood still for a moment as the two chattering boys walked away, trying to gather his thoughts. He bit his lip and frowned, should he go with these boys? Could he trust them? He could hear his mum’s anxious, pleading voice in his head: “If you ever get lost, find a policeman; an adult, please, promise me that, Tim” He looked again at boys striding confidently ahead, through the busy main hall of the station. He looked up at the light shimmering through the high glass roof, the sunlight dulled by the smoke tinged glass. The constant noise of raised voices, with their strange sing-song accents, seemed muffled as if his ears were blocked; like that time he had the flu. Tim started suddenly as the clatter of wings made him jump when a pigeon flew over his head so close the moving air ruffled his hair. He realised that the two boys had stopped and had turned to look at him. The older boy looked bored, folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. The younger lad smiled and beckoned Tim towards him. Tim hesitated, but after one final, quick look around, made his mind up. Clutching his teddy to his chest tightly, he ran to the two boys, his gas mask bouncing up and down on his hip and his suitcase banging into his shin.
The three boys wandered out onto the street. “So who are ya?” asked Owen.
“Fish. Tim Fish.”
Owen laughed, “Is ya name really Tim Fish?”
“Sorry, what? I can’t really understand your accent,” Tim said, swinging his teddy back and forth.
“Well I can’t understand you that well. Where ya from, London?” Owen stamped in a small puddle.
“Yep,” replied Tim, “Where are you two from again?”
“Cardiff,” answered Gavin.
“Is that why you talk funny?”
“I don’t. You’re the one who’s out o’ place. Us round ‘ere all sound like this,” said Owen. The three boys chatted for a while, and soon it started to drizzle. The rain slowly got heavier. Owen’s pale blue jumper was getting darker by the second, and his dark brown hair was spiky like the fur of a drowned city rat. “Right then. What we gonna do with you?”
“The police won’t do nothin’; they’ve got enough to do with all the raids. You can have tea over ours, maybe Mum’ll know what to do. Hey, perhaps she’ll let you stay!” Gavin suggested hopefully. He liked the look of Tim and although he loved his brother dearly, since the start of the war Owen had suddenly become much older and somehow distant from him. There didn’t seem to be much fun in their lives any more, it was as if they were all waiting for something to happen and that thing, he knew, wasn’t good.
“Mum’ll go cuckoo. We ain’t got that much food as it is,” Owen stamped in a deeper puddle, the water spraying up Gavin’s trouser leg.
“Don’t worry, I got me ration book,” Tim added. He pulled a flimsy booklet out of his trouser pocket and flicked through the pages .Owen looked doubtfully at the ration book – he knew that sometimes his Mum couldn’t even get the rationed amounts ,despite queuing for hours and hours .Some nights he lay awake in bed listening to his Mum and Dad talking. His Mum’s often tearful voice and the quiet reassuring voice of his Dad.
The boys walked slowly down the street. The sky was pure grey, covered in dismal cloud. The wind blew miniature waves on the surface of the abundant puddles. The boys walked past a row of boarded up houses – the roughly painted sign warning them to keep out. The empty, dark windows seemed to follow them down the street like many pairs of sad eyes. Tim looked up at the roof of the house he was passing, the charred timbers poked through the grey slates like the rib cage of a blackened skeleton. Tim shivered and walked a little faster.
“Oh, look! A penny!” cried Tim happily, as he bent down to pick up the slippery coin. He inspected it carefully and warmed it in his hands. “What can ya buy wi’ that round ‘ere? Have they not started rationing sweets?”
“Nah, you can still buy most of ‘em,” replied Owen, looking at his brother.
“Bit expensive though,” added Gavin. Tim suddenly pointed to a little shop, startling the two other boys. “Does that place sell sweets? I really want some liquorice!” Tim raced off, before Gavin or Owen could answer. The younger boy chased after him. Owen paused, sighing. “Not fair,” hesitantly, he walked slowly towards the little shop. He and Gavin used to go in there before the war. His mate Lee used to get loads of cheap sweets, because his dad owned the shop, and then he would sell them to other kids at a higher price. Lee thought he was one of the richest kids in Cardiff. Owen hadn’t seen him recently. He didn’t know what had happened to him. Lee used to live by the bay, but his home fell victim to the many bombs that landed on the docks. Maybe he’d escaped with his family; moved out to the countryside. Maybe he was dead. Owen knew it was possible. He and Gavin’s auntie had been killed on one of the first days, before people really knew what was going on. The family had been devastated. But then a week later his cousin Freddie had been crushed when his school had collapsed. And then the kindly old couple down the road. And Harry, the defenceless orphan who often came around to clean the windows in return for food... So many people had died. So many people were yet to die. Owen wondered who was next. The war was hard. That’s what you became. Hard. You had to- there was no choice. You had to fight it out, make do, help those who need help, do your best. Of course, you could always try to stop it. Complain to those who would listen. Stand around in the street and shout up at the sky. But there was no point. No one listened. No one could do anything. People were dying every day. Nothing was ever going to be the same again...
Chapter 3- Sweet Shop
“Hapenny for a sugar mouse!” exclaimed Tim. “Bit much, eh?”
“Times are ‘ard. It’s what me uncle said,” replied the floppy-fringed boy at the counter. Gavin recognized the aggressive kid, Mikey, from his class. Owen was always up for a fight, but at that time he didn’t really feel like it. Tim looked around the shop, at all the sweets on display. Gavin and Owen looked down at the single white sugar mouse laying pathetically on the scratched counter top, with it’s frayed string tail and tiny black eyes. There was silence for a minute. “Gis that, would ya?” asked Gavin, gesturing to the coin. Hesitantly, Tim passed the ten-year old the coin he had found. Gavin dropped it onto the counter. “There ya go. Keep the change.”
The other boy grinned. “Thanks.”
“Gav! What’d ya do that for?!” Owen exclaimed tetchily, “Could o’ got another one!” Tim quickly scooped up the mouse and slipped it into his pocket. “Can I have another one? Or perhaps some chocolate...” Tim wandered off into the shop, inspecting the brightly coloured boxes and packets. Owen and Gavin looked at each other in disbelief. He gathered a few up in his arms and waddled back to the boys. Tim dumped all the things on the counter. “Well then?” asked Tim. There must have been at least fifteen things scattered on the top. “I’m not payin’ for that lot,” Owen stood, his hands in his pockets, “I don’t ‘ave that much on me. Even if I did, I still wouldn’t pay. You want it; you get it.”
Tim looked up at Gavin instead, “Sorry, I hardly ever carry money about- I don’t wanna lose it.”
“Aw...” sighed Tim disappointedly, gathering up some of the things. He slowly ambled back and returned some of the things to their places. “Look at some of this stuff,” whispered Owen, pointing at a couple of the sweets. “That ‘Mr Mouse’ chocolate bar is 1d normally. Wha’s it gonna cost now?”
“I know- look, them new sucky sweets, they must be pretty pricey,” Gavin agreed, picking up a large bag of boiled sweets. Tim returned. “So?” said the boy at the desk, glaring at Tim, “That’s 7d,”
Tim glanced at the two Welsh boys, before fumbling about in his trouser pocket. He took out a small leather wallet. Tim opened it and took out a few coins. He dropped them on the counter, were they rattled to a stop. With all the speed of a trapdoor spider, Mikey brushed the coins off into his open hand.
The door slamming startled all of the people in the shop. “What’s up, people!” shouted a voice from the doorway. Owen sighed. “Oh no...” whispered Gavin.
“What’d ya want, Seaweed?” asked Owen, glaring at the skinny boy in the bright green jumper.
“Who?” said Tim, his mouth full of sherbet.
“Seaweed. ‘Is real name’s Reesee. Everyone calls him Seaweed,” explained Owen.
“And because of ‘is favourite jumper,” added Gavin. Suddenly, there was a loud crash. One of the display racks had toppled over, spilling chocolate and other goodies all over the floor. Behind it was a small child, giggling away like mad. “Chocky!” he grinned, grabbing one of the bars, stripping it’s wrapper and stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. “’Ope ya gonna pay for that,” Mikey glared at the child.
“That’s Seaweed’s little cousin. He lives at their ‘ouse cause his own got bombed. He’s four, but he already acts like Seaweed. Dylan, ‘is name is,” Owen said. Dylan picked up a few more bars and shoved them in his pocket.
“Ya see that ‘ouse that got bombed last night? Flames and everything. Jus’ down me road,” Seaweed grinned.
“Dad said ‘bout it. ‘Ole family dead. Mum, Dad and the two girls,” answered Gavin miserably.
“And that old folks home?” added Seaweed.
“Yeah...” replied Gavin, staring down at the floor.
“Me gran used to live there. Oh, well. She was old anyway,” said Seaweed.
“Your gran died?! Don’t you care?” exclaimed a shocked Tim. Dylan was crawling along the floor, scooping up the sweets and shoving them in the pockets of his baggy shorts.
Seaweed peered round at Tim, “Who’s this then? Ya not from round ‘ere.”
“Me names Tim. I’m from London, me.”
“Well I can see that. Ya not a Cardiff kid like me, Owen, Gav and Dylan.”
“I used to live with me mum, me dad and me sister. She was sixteen so she ‘ad to stay behind...”
“This is so boring,” muttered Owen. “I’m goin’ down the bay.” Owen weaved his way past the other boys towards the door. The door made a slight tinkling sound as he pushed it open. “Hey, Owen!” called Gavin as the door swung shut. Gavin immediately followed after his brother. Tim, Dylan and Seaweed were left alone in the shop. “You gonna clean up what that kid did, then?” Tim looked at the two boys he had only just met. Dylan stood up, the pockets of his shorts bulging with sweets and chocolate. “Pick up the stuff then, Dylan,” said Seaweed, looking around at the mess on the floor.
“Why?” asked the young child, a puzzled look on his face.
“Well you knocked it down; you should pick it up again.”
The boy giggled, “No,” he laughed, kicking some of the chocolates across the floor.
“I’ll tell mum. You’ll get no food later,” Dylan’s obnoxious grin faded, and he started to whimper. Tim observed the argument curiously. He’d experienced nothing like it at home in the slightest. Tim had no younger brothers or sisters. His sister, Maria, was many years older than him, so didn’t cause him a problem. Tim’s dad was fighting in the war. The worst part was that Tim had no idea what had happened to him. His dad could be dead, and he would never know. A sudden wave of guilt washed over him at the thought of his family. His Mum had so much to worry about as it was, how would she feel when she found out he wasn’t with the other evacuees? He felt sick and a little dizzy. The whining voice of the younger child brought him back to the present. Tim edged gingerly to the shop door trying to slip through the gap without sounding the tinny bell. Once outside he took a deep breath and looked around for Gavin and Owen. It was still raining. He glanced back at the sweet shop. Through the smudged and misty glass, Tim thought the uncaring older kid actually looked like a wriggling piece of seaweed dancing in a murky rockpool. Tim turned away quickly. He didn’t really want to go back to them. Tim always found in hard to trust people he didn’t know. But at that minute he had to. Every second his chances of finding Owen and Gavin were decreasing. He shivered; he was alone, lost, cold and scared. Owen had mentioned that he was going down to the bay. “Right,” thought Tim, “I’m gonna find ‘em,” He shifted his heavy suitcase to his other frozen, numb hand. Tim gripped the teddy tightly with his white hand. He hurried away down the street without a backwards glance.
His scuffed leather shoes slapped the dusty road. People in the street watched him suspiciously. “Where is the bay?” he thought to himself. The road split in two. Tim paused, out of breath. There was no sign of Owen or Gavin. He was truly lost. Disappointedly, Tim wandered over the garden wall of a bombed out house. He placed the suitcase on the floor beneath him, the teddy on his lap. He took off his gas mask box and put it on the wall beside him. Tim sighed. Where was he going to go? Who could he talk to? He wondered what the police would do with him; probably shove him on a train and tell him to hope for the best. The drizzly rain made the autumn air feel bitter and unforgiving.
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