The Sky is Falling (4 page)

They sat in a row without speaking, watching the sky as usual. But there had been no battles today and the air was ominously still, as if the war had stopped to hold its breath.

Norah already felt like a stranger. “Can I pick some shrapnel to take?” she asked finally.

Tom nodded and she chose some jagged pieces from their collection. She yearned for the Boot, but it was much too big to pack, and it belonged in the Lookout.

“You can have the plane book if you like,” said Tom.

“What for?” said Norah. “There won't be any enemy planes flying over Canada—there's no war there.” A country without a war seemed a very dull prospect.

T
HEN THE GOODBYES BEGAN.
Dad sent a telegram to Muriel and Tibby and they returned one immediately. HAVE WONDERFUL TIME KEEP CHEERFUL it said, as if Norah and Gavin were going on a holiday. It was so long since the older girls had left Ringden that receiving a farewell message seemed unnecessary; Norah had
said
goodbye to them.

That afternoon the friends and neighbours Norah had known all her life began dropping in with advice.

“I've given your mother some of my camomile tea,” said Mrs. Curteis. “If you sip some every morning until you board the ship, you won't be seasick.”

“Aren't you a lucky girl, to see the world!” said Norah's headmaster. “You must observe everything carefully.”

“You'll have to be a little mother to Gavin now,” Joey's mum clucked at her.

Norah was told to dress warmly, not to pick up Canadian slang and to remember she was English. And again and again she heard the words, “Take care of Gavin.”

Gavin told everyone that Creature was excited about going on a train and a ship. That was as much as he seemed to grasp. “They're sending us away!” Norah wanted to shout. But there was no point in upsetting him.

Grandad glowered at the visitors from a corner of the kitchen, where he sat with his pipe and newspaper. He was allowed to sulk; Norah had to be polite and submit to all the kissing, patting and advice.

Not all the neighbours approved. “I couldn't send my children so far away,” whispered Mrs. Baker to Mrs. Maybourne. “What about German torpedoes—have they considered that?”

“Shhhh!” her husband warned, with a glance at Norah, who was getting used to pretending she didn't hear things.

Why couldn't Mrs. Baker tell that to Mum and Dad? But Grandad had mentioned it too, and Dad said that staying in England was a greater risk than U-boats.

I
N CHURCH THE NEXT DAY
the Smith girls waved at Norah importantly, as if their shared fate made them allies.

“The last hymn is for our five young travellers who are about to start on a great adventure,” announced Reverend Smith. “Number 301”. His eyes glistened as he gazed at his three children in the front pew.

“O hear us when we cry to thee / For those in peril on the sea,” droned the congregation.

“How could he!” hissed Norah's mother. She refused to sing and glared at the vicar, whom she had never liked.

Norah could sense the whole churchful of sympathetic eyes fastened on her back. She gripped her hymn book and sang without thinking of the words.

After church, more people milled around the door to say goodbye. Dulcie and Lucy, dressed alike as usual, skipped over. Dulcie, who often acted afraid of Norah, was unusually forward. “Oh, Norah, isn't it exciting! I'm so glad we're going where it's safe. I wish Mummy and Daddy could come too, but they have to stay and help win the war.”

“
We
should be staying to help win the war,” said Norah coldly.

“But we're not old enough! Daddy says children are better out of the way.”

“Not old enough”: that's what Norah's sisters had said to her all her life. Even after Gavin had arrived, she had had to spend a lot of time proving she was old enough. She scowled at Dulcie, who had always reminded her of a calf, with her mild, bulging eyes and dull expression. Just because they were stuck together on this journey, it would never do to let Dulcie think they were going to be friends.

“Are you bringing all your dolls with you, Goosey?” Norah taunted.

Dulcie wilted at the familiar nickname, the way she did at school. Norah felt as guilty as she always did when she teased her. The guilt made her even more irritated.

“Thank you, we would appreciate a ride into town,” Mum was saying to Mrs. Smith. “Are you sure you can spare the petrol? Come along, Norah, we still have a lot of packing to do.”

E
VERYONE AT CHURCH
had commented on the unusually calm sky. But the air-raid siren sounded right in the middle of Sunday dinner. Dad rushed off and Mum made them all go into the shelter in the garden.

“Can't I watch?” begged Norah. “It might be the last fight I see.”

“Not after that German plane,” said Mum grimly.

Norah and Grandad peeked out of the low entrance of the corrugated steel structure while Mum read to Gavin on one of the narrow bunks. Grandad had hardly spoken since Saturday morning, but he squeezed Norah's shoulder as they watched the planes soar over.

There was fighting on and off for the rest of the day. Norah was made to stay either inside the shelter or in the house, helping to pack. They were only allowed to take one piece of luggage each.

“I can't fit in any more,” sighed Mum that night. She sat on the end of Norah's bed, folding the last of the freshly washed and ironed clothes into the small brown suitcase. “I hope I've packed enough woollies. We'll send more clothes to you later.”

She glanced around Norah's room. It had belonged to Muriel and Tibby, but Norah had claimed it after they left. Three neglected dolls sat demurely under the window. The ceiling was hung with balsa-wood aeroplanes, twisting slightly in the warm night air. Mum looked back at Norah, already in bed and escaping into a
Hotspur
comic.

“Is there anything else you want to take? One of your planes, perhaps?”

“No thank you,” said Norah stiffly. She had already packed her shrapnel and a few comics. Mum was in disguise again, as bright and cheerful as if this weren't Norah's last night at home.

“I wish I knew more about Canada to tell you. I imagine it will be beautiful, though—like
Anne of Green Gables
. And the Dionne Quintuplets live in Canada. Just imagine, five little girls exactly alike! Perhaps you'll see them!”

She looked desperate when Norah didn't answer. “Wait …” Mum left the room and returned in a few seconds with the family photograph that always stood on the mantelpiece. “I want you to have this, Norah. I'll wrap it in your blue jersey.”

Norah just grunted. Mum sat down again, patted her hand and sighed. “I know you're angry with us. I don't blame you, but wait until you get on the ship and start having a good time! It won't be as bad as you think, I promise. I wish I knew who will be taking care of you, but Dad's right—they're sure to be kind. Just don't judge them too soon. You know how stubborn you can be.” She smiled. “And try not to lose your temper. You've inherited that from me, I'm afraid. But you've always been so sure of yourself, I'm not really worried about you, Norah.
You're
tough, but Gavin isn't. He's so sensitive, and he's very young to be going so far away. You'll have to take especially good care of him.” Her voice broke.

Norah yawned deliberately. “I'm going to sleep now.” She flopped over and buried her face in her pillow. What about
her
? She, too, was young to be going so far away,
wasn't she? Gavin had always been Mum's favourite, though, just as Norah was Dad's.

Mum kissed the back of Norah's neck. “Good-night, sweetheart. Go right to sleep—you have a big day tomorrow.”

T
HE SMITHS
were supposed to pick them up after dinner. Norah spent the morning hanging about outside the house. She looked for the hedgehog they left bowls of milk for, but he had disappeared—perhaps the air-raid sirens had frightened him away. She filled the stirrup-pump with water from the red fire bucket by the back door and sprinkled the carrots with it. Finally she sat glumly on the step and watched the silly chickens scratching in the dirt.

Mum made her and Gavin have a bath before dinner. She washed their hair, cut their nails and dressed them in clean clothes from the skin out. Dad had polished their shoes until they were as glossy as chestnuts. When he arrived home for dinner, they sat down to an extra-special meal. But Norah could only push her fishcakes around her plate.

“The Smiths' car is going to be awfully crowded,” said Dad. “Why don't you cycle into town with me, Norah? If we leave now, we'll have plenty of time before the train.”

“Oh, yes, please!” she said. In the holidays she often went into Gilden with her father.

“But you'll get your dress dirty,” protested her mother. “I want you to look nice. You know how tidy Dulcie and Lucy always are.”

“She'll get grubby on the train anyhow,” said Dad. “Say goodbye to Grandad and we'll leave now.”

But Grandad was nowhere to be found. “We already said goodbye,” mumbled Norah. Last night he had hugged her fiercely and pressed a sixpence into her hand. “You keep fighting, young one,” he whispered. Norah couldn't answer. It seemed so unfair that Grandad had come to live with them just as she had to leave.

She and Dad rode down the main street side by side. Norah tried to fix the familiar landmarks in her mind. The village pond, where she and Tom fished for tench. The wide green that was now littered with old bedsprings, hayricks and kitchen ranges to stop enemy planes from landing. Tom's mother's shop, where she spent most of her pocket money on sweets and comics.

As they reached the edge of the village and Mrs. Chandler's house, she kept her head down in case the Skywatchers were in the Lookout, watching her go by. She hadn't seen them again; there were enough goodbyes to say as it was.

They rode through the peaceful countryside in silence. The early afternoon sky was overcast and grey. “Maybe it will rain at last,” said Dad. “There won't be any fighting today.” Norah looked up automatically, but there was only a flock of black and white lapwings overhead, veering like Spitfires and crying plaintively.

“Let's rest here a minute.” Dad pulled over to the stile leading to Stumble Wood. Norah leaned her bicycle against it and Dad lifted her up to sit on top. A
cloud of white butterflies hovered in the cool air.

“How will you get my bicycle back to Ringden?” she asked, gazing sadly at its worn leather seat. It was old, black and ugly, a hand-me-down from Tibby, but it was her favourite possession.

“Someone from work can ride it back. Don't worry, I'll keep it shipshape for your return. Now, Norah …”

Norah tried to avoid his eyes; not
another
pep talk.

“I want you to remember three things,” said Dad gravely. “Most important, of course, is to take care of Gavin. I don't think he really knows he's going away from us and perhaps that's for the best. But when he realizes, he may become very upset—you'll have to comfort him. The second is that you aren't just going to Canada as yourself. You're representing England. If you're impolite or ungrateful, the Canadians will think that's what English children are like. So remember your manners and whenever you're in doubt, think of how Mum and I would expect you to behave. And third …” He finally smiled, “Have a good time! I know you will. Just think, you're the first one in the family to go overseas! I wish
I'd
had the opportunity to travel more when I was young.”

He really was envious, Norah realized, not just jollying her along. Dad had worked for most of his life as a bookkeeper in the tannery in Gilden; the only time he'd been away was in the first war.

Norah swallowed hard. “Oh, Dad … do I
have
to go?”

Dad looked sympathetic, but said softly, “Yes, Norah—you have to go. I'm sorry, but you just have to
believe me when I tell you it's for the best. Come along now, we'd better carry on.”

They reached the Gilden railway station just as the Smiths' blue car drew up. Dulcie and Lucy jumped out, wearing smocked pink dresses and pink straw hats. Derek was in his grammar school uniform. Gavin rushed over to the engine.

“I wish I could come to London with you,” said Dad. He pulled Gavin back from the tracks and picked him up. “Goodbye, old man. You do exactly what Norah says.”

“Say goodbye to Creature,” ordered Gavin. Dad shook the elephant's trunk solemnly.

He handed Norah a twisted white bag. “Sweets for the train,” he winked. “Now remember what I told you. And have a safe and happy journey, my brave Norah.” He kissed her quickly and turned his head, but Norah had seen his tears.

She stomped after her mother onto the train. If Dad was so upset, then why was he doing this to her? She glared at the Smiths in the opposite seat, chattering to their father, who was able to spare the time to come to London.

Steam drifted by the window and Norah could hardly make out her father's waving arm. When the mist cleared, she waved back and forced herself to smile.

F
OR THE NEXT TWO HOURS
, Norah almost forgot why they were going to London. The only other time she had been was the Christmas before last, when Muriel and Tibby had taken her to see
Peter Pan
. This journey seemed
the same. The train still chuffed along sounding important, they still waited until after Ashford to eat their sandwiches and she couldn't shake off the familiar train feeling of having a treat.

But there were differences too: the large number of men and women in uniform, the whited-out station signs they passed and the fine netting on the windows in case of flying glass. There was only a small hole left in the middle to peek through.

And this time she didn't even see London. They went straight from one train station to another via the underground. Dozens of other children and parents waited for the train north. The children were all, like Norah, carrying luggage and coats and gas mask cases, and they all had large labels attached to them, as if they were going to be sent through the post. Some of the younger ones, like Gavin and Lucy, also clutched stuffed animals or dolls. Most of the crowd babbled in high, excited voices; others were quiet and wary. “Is Your Journey Really Necessary?” asked a poster on the wall.