Free Battle of Britain by Chris Priestley Page A

said. “It doesn’t. He’s wrong and we tell him he’s wrong. And maybe, just maybe, we can change his mind. I hope so.” She paused and adjusted some flowers in a vase on the table. “Or, of course, we could just strangle him and have done with it.”
    I smiled. “Point taken, Mum,” I said. “I’ll try not to throttle him again.”
    â€œYou’ll do better than that, young man. You can take him to the pictures.”
    â€œBut, Mum. . .”
    â€œNever mind ‘But, Mum’. Pinocchio is on at the Plaza. You know – the new Walt Disney film. Mrs Harris says it’s marvellous.”
    â€œBut, Mum . . .”
    â€œGo on,” she said, pushing me through the door towards the stairs. “It’ll do you good. If you hurry, you’ll make the next show.”
    I shrugged and began to climb the stairs, knowing full well that I was never going to get out of it. I stood in the doorway of the bedroom and Peter lay playing with a toy Spit and a toy Me109. He pretended that he hadn’t heard me.
    On the floor was a copy of Picture Post . The cover showed a mother hugging her young son, both looking terrified. The headline was “THE EAST END AT WAR: Two of Hitler’s enemies .”
    â€œPeter?” I said.
    â€œYeah?” he said without looking up.
    â€œLook, sport,” I said. “Sorry about before, you know. Uncalled for.”
    Peter carried on playing with his toy planes. I almost walked away. There seemed no way he was going to go anywhere with me. But I owed it to Mum to give it a shot.
    â€œWho’s winning?” I said, watching the pretend dogfight.
    â€œThe Spit of course,” he said without turning round. “Spits are the best.”
    â€œMe109s can fly higher.”
    â€œSpits can fly faster and turn quicker.”
    I smiled. “I say, fancy coming to the flicks with me to see Pinocchio ?”
    I’d hardly finished speaking when he was off his bed, barging past me and bounding down the stairs.
    â€œCome on!” he shouted. “Or we’ll miss the start!”
    We didn’t miss the start. When we were going to our seats, a couple of people shook me by the hand and a couple more patted me on the shoulder. Everyone loved the RAF now.
    There was a newsreel showing Londoners getting on with it in spite of the bombers. It was pretty corny stuff, but it went down well and there were plenty of cheers at the mention of the “boys of the RAF” and plenty of boos every time the Germans were mentioned. It was like being at a panto.
    Well, I have to say Mrs Harris was right for a change. It was pretty first rate, actually. Amazing to think that it was just a lot of drawings we were looking at, although I did think it was all a bit typical that while we were being blasted to Hell and back, the Yanks were making cartoons!
    There was this terrific bit where a huge whale called Monstro was chasing Pinocchio and his father. Well, when that whale was bearing down on them, Peter squeezed up against me and peeped over my coat sleeves, grabbing my arm and jumping every time the whale made a move. Mum was right – Peter wasn’t half as tough as he made out.
    And when Jiminy Cricket sang “When You Wish Upon A Star” I thought the whole cinema was going to burst into tears. I felt a little tearful myself. Embarrassing really. I suppose we all had a lot to wish for.
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    â€œHere,” I said, the next time I visited Lenny. “I brought you some books. I got them from that old secondhand place near the station. They looked dull so I thought you’d probably like them.”
    â€œThanks,” said Lenny. “You didn’t have to waste your money on me, you know.”
    â€œWhat else am I going to spend it on?”
    â€œThought by now you’d be dating one of those WAAFs you’re always talking about.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Not while