Free A Horse Called Hero by Sam Angus Page A

Samuel’s voice.
    There was a pause, as the figure was noted down, then Father Lamb spoke again. ‘How many carts in the village?’
    ‘Five.’
    ‘Five carts. Good. Next item.’
    ‘Plans for burial of the dead?’ someone asked.
    Wolfie wriggled under Dodo’s arm like a puppy. As he did so, the small lead horse fell from his lap. It tumbled from step to step, clanked against the door at the bottom and came to
rest.
    A chair scraped, the door opened and the children were revealed in a pool of yellow light. Father Lamb paused, then stooped to pick up Captain. Tenderly he turned the figure over in his hands,
pulled the door to a little way, then climbed the stairs and sat beside them. Studying Captain thoughtfully, he was silent for a few minutes. Then he looked up and said, ‘Your father’s
as brave a man as ever walked this earth. It takes all kinds of courage, you see, to lead a good life. It takes great courage to lead a cavalry charge into firing guns but it takes courage, too, to
go against what other men do and say and think. It’s always easier to do what everyone else does. But it’s this second kind of bravery, the not thinking what others think, that it takes
to lead a good life.’
    Wolfie didn’t really see at all but he liked being talked to as if he weren’t a child and he loved to hear talk of Pa. Father Lamb led them upstairs. At their door, once Wolfie was
in bed, Father Lamb placed a hand on Dodo’s head.
    ‘Will you help guard Hettie’s herd? Two more were gone this morning, taken for God knows what . . . It’s taken twenty years to breed that herd and it’d break her heart if
. . .’
    Dodo nodded.
    ‘God bless you,’ he said. They listened to his tread on the stairs as he returned to his Invasion Committee.

Chapter Thirteen
    Wolfie tugged at the string on the parcel. He scrabbled through layers of brown paper. A letter fell out. He handed it to Dodo and continued unwrapping.
    Dodo read:
    Britannia Barracks
    Mousehold Heath
    Darling Wolfie, Darling Dodo,
    Spud found this in one of Ma’s cupboards and she sent it to me to send to you. She thinks and I think too that you might have fun with it. Take good care of it
     – it reminded Ma of the holidays she spent on the moor – it was her father’s – your grandpa’s – when he was Master of one of the packs where you
     are.
    Wolfie, tearing through sheets of newspaper, unearthed a bugle, shiny as the day it was made. He took it, put it to his lips and blew.
    Last night and the night before, immense numbers of enemy planes filled the sky over London, like storm clouds. Fire engines were everywhere. White smoke ballooned over the
     East End. I’m glad you’re both safe and far away.
    I’ve made my statement and now I have to wait for the Army’s decision. These things can take a long while in wartime and everything is more difficult in this case because there
     are no witnesses – because no one except me saw what happened. Things may get public and nasty. Please take no notice of newspapers, you must learn to look and think for yourselves, never
     to be affected by what other people say or write.
    Your loving
    Pa
    PS Wolfie: Does Hero have a dark muzzle? A grey horse always looks finer with a dark muzzle. Place your head against his and breathe with him. In with him and out with him.
     Be at one with him.
    ‘Of course he has a dark muzzle,’ said Wolfie indignantly, his mouth to the bugle. ‘Dodo, you must paint him for Pa, you must do his portrait so he can
see.’

Chapter Fourteen
    Father Lamb always made breakfast. In his dressing gown, he’d prepare Camp coffee and stand with a steaming bowl of it at the window that looked down towards the
churchyard. He turned and took Wolfie’s bugle down from the lintel and blew it to announce that breakfast was ready, then turned back to the window and his coffee.
    Wolfie rushed downstairs and raced across the kitchen to the yard window, whistling to Hero. The sun shone out