Free Shrapnel by Robert Swindells Page A

and watched my pride and joy land heavily on the strip of turf between the pathway and the buildings.
    Nobody came so I risked a shout. Well, it’s what
anybody
would do who’d lost his plane, isn’t it? ’Course it is.
    â€˜Hello?’ Pause. ‘I say, is anybody there?’ I rattled the fence. ‘Hello?’
    There was a wooden lean-to shed. After about five minutes, a fellow emerged from it, muttering to himself. He didn’t look at me, but went straight towards the plane.
    â€˜Th . . . thanks,’ I called. ‘Sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.’ He ignored me, perhaps he was deaf. He picked up the Skymaster, turned, and went back towards the shed.
    â€˜I say,
hello
? It’s
my
plane, it was an accident, I’m sorry. D’you think you could . . .?’ He disappeared inside the shed, closing the door.
    â€˜It’ll be all right,’ said a voice behind me. I spunround. It was the chap I’d seen arrive. He grinned. ‘He’s scaring you, that’s all. Done it to me a couple of times. Makes you think your kite’s gone for good, then comes out, swears a bit, chucks it over. You’ll see.’ He sauntered off, his plane tucked under his arm.
    He was right. A minute later the fellow came out with the Skymaster. He glared at me from the path. ‘Bleat’n kids,’ he growled, ‘forever chucking their bleat’n toys over my bleat’n fence. Do it on purpose, I’m bleat’n sick of it.’ He lifted the plane high over his head. ‘Next time I’ll bleat’n stamp on it, see if I don’t.’ He launched it and it soared over my head.
    â€˜Th . . . thanks. I’ll fly it over there –
right
over there, you won’t be troubled again,’ I burbled, but he’d already turned away. I retrieved the Skymaster and trudged towards my bike.

THIRTY-FOUR
Like a Bird
    DO
NOT
CONTINUE
flying
,
do
not
examine plane
. So I didn’t. Had to take the wings off, of course, but I did it practically without looking. Strange instruction though,
do
not
examine plane
. Why not? It looked exactly the same as before, but still . . .
    I fantasized all the way home.
Here’s the fearless agent, risking life and liberty to carry vital messages past unsuspecting foes. He will not fail, the message must get through. He will not crack under torture: the future of his country is at stake
.
    Well, it might be true for all I know.
    I stowed bike and plane in Gran’s shed and went in to lunch. Dad had just got back.
    â€˜Does it fly, son?’ he asked as I washed my hands at the sink.
    I grinned, nodded. ‘Like a bird, Dad – a golden eagle.’
    He smiled. ‘Splendid. Be sure and tell your brother that, if you ever run across him.’
    â€˜Of
course
he’ll run across him,’ snapped Mum. ‘It’s not as if Raymond’s gone abroad. He’s somewhere in the city, not somewhere in North Africa.’
    â€˜More’s the pity,’ growled Dad.
    Mum looked at him. ‘You don’t
mean
that, Frank.’
    Dad nodded. ‘Certainly I do. At least in Africa he’d be serving his country – lord
knows
what he’s up to in the city. No job, money to burn. Upsets me.’
    â€˜Well,
I
’d be far more upset if he was away – looking out of the window every verse end, dreading to see a telegram boy coming up the path. I hope he stays in the city till the war’s over, no matter
what
he’s doing.’
    I wanted to tell them. Was dying to say:
Raymond’s a secret agent, raising an army to resist the Nazis when they occupy this country. You ought to be proud of him
.
    But I couldn’t, could I?
    That night there was a raid, and a tragedy. It was our tragedy as well as other people’s, but we didn’t find that out for some days.

THIRTY-FIVE
Lucky Girl
    THE SIRENS WENT just after