The TV Time Travellers (7 page)

‘Night, Harriet,’ I said firmly
.

Of course it took me ages to get back to sleep – and then I’d just got off when this bell was rung right down my ear
.

Miss Weed glared down at me. ‘Out of
bed
at once, girls,’ she said, ‘and just put on your ordinary clothes for now. You have tasks to perform before school starts. Remember to make your beds before you leave this room, and don’t forget your gas masks and that you are fully miked up.’

She scuttled off while Harriet said cheerily, ‘You are noisy.’

‘Did you hear me snoring again?’ I asked anxiously
.

‘No,’ she said, ‘but you were calling out for your mum, sounding so desperate. “Mum, Mum,” you went. I felt really sorry for you.’ She gave her awful, patronizing smile. ‘Poor old you,’ she said – and her head spun slightly as she said this, like a little wind-up doll
.

And then – give three massive cheers – she left. I just enjoyed the glorious silence for a few seconds before going downstairs
.

On my way I passed Barney’s room and heard Solly laughing. I put my head round the door. ‘What’s going on here?’ I asked
.

‘I’ve just told Solly a joke,’ said Barney,
‘and
he really liked it.’ Solly was sitting on Barney’s arm, his head still rocking with laughter
.

I said, ‘So even when you’re on your own, you two chat together.’

‘Of course we do,’ said Barney to me in a real what-a-silly-question voice
.

‘We’re mates, aren’t we?’ added Solly
.

The three of us went downstairs to where Miss Weed was waiting. The moment she saw us her head just dropped down, as if her batteries had run out. Then she started chanting this prayer about how we (meaning us, not her) had to be perfect at all times and obey every command we were given by the vastly superior beings known as grown-ups
.

Next she began issuing orders for the day. ‘The boys will go outside with Farmer Benson. The girls will sweep the floors and stairs and dust downstairs.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I said. ‘And it’s sexist.’

‘Actually,’ said Zac, ‘I don’t think sexism has been invented yet.’

‘But why can’t I go and milk a cow or something,’ I continued, ‘and one of the boys do the cleaning duties?’

‘Because you can’t,’ said Miss Weed. ‘And stop playing to the cameras.’

‘I’m not,’ I said. And it was true. I had practically forgotten all about them
.

‘How dare you answer me back,’ snapped Miss Weed. ‘In wartime Britain, children never answered back. They did everything they were told.’

‘They weren’t children, they were zombies,’ I said
.

‘For that piece of insolence,’ said Miss Weed, ‘you will continue working for the first fifteen minutes of breakfast, and another word from you and you will miss breakfast altogether.’

‘If breakfast is anything like last night’s meal, I’ll be happy to miss it and—’

‘No, Isobel,’ said Miss Weed warningly. ‘I really wouldn’t say another word if I were you.’

I opened my mouth
.

‘Not even one,’ she said
.

I closed my mouth again. But while I was sweeping the floors, I thought longingly of the farm. I love animals and wouldn’t even have cared if I’d had to collect manure or something. But this
was
so dull. So was breakfast. Then we were sent upstairs to get ready for school
.

Our uniforms had mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe. There was a little tag attached to them too. It said these had first been worn by the real evacuees. I suppose that should have excited me. But it didn’t. The uniforms were so shabby and repaired now that they seemed about as interesting as a used-up tea bag. They stank too: a heavy musty smell. Worst of all though, I just knew the girl who’d worn this last had been really miserable. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to leave her parents or hated her new family. But somehow I could still pick up her sadness all these years later. It was as if her misery had somehow leaked into her clothes. Even today it still hung over them like a really horrible scent
.

And maybe if I wore this uniform long enough I’d start turning into the poor, gloom-ridden girl who’d worn it before. All at once I was homesick again – not for my friends or even my mum this time, but for my old clothes
.

‘Oh, Isobel,’ said Harriet, ‘I’m loving this dressing up, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘And I told you before, my name is Izzy.’

‘Now come on, Isobel is your wartime name and we are supposed to be in the war. And we’ve got to do it properly, haven’t we?’ She said all this with such a sweet smile that I wanted to slap her. ‘You do make me laugh,’ she went on. ‘You want to be in the war, and yet you keep on acting like a twenty-first-century child. But don’t worry; you’ll get the hang of it eventually – just copy me.’

‘I’d rather die,’ I said
.

‘What was that?’ she cried, a bit sharply for her
.

‘I said I’ll give it a try,’ I replied hastily. I really didn’t want to be up for eviction. So I just had to get on with this gruesome girl
.

CHAPTER TEN

The Taste of Fear

Izzy

THEN WE SET
off to our new school. We didn’t have to go very far. It was in a barn, where children often came for lessons about farm life. But today it had been transformed into a 1940s classroom
.

Oh, it was dismal: a gloomy little huddle of wooden desks with lift-up lids and inkwells. There was a massive blackboard, a yellow map of the world, curling up with age, and a shelf full of dingy books. Just one flickering electric light too, and Miss Weed saying in her vinegary voice: ‘Class will stand while they have their hand inspection.’

I thought I’d misheard her. Surely she wasn’t going to stomp about examining our hands – but yes, she was. And she stared long and hard at mine. ‘These hands are disgusting,’ she pronounced at last
.

‘No, they’re not,’ I began
.

‘When will you learn, children never answered back,’ she cried. ‘Run to the farm now and wash them. You can’t have lessons with your hands in such a dreadful state. And hurry up, because Mr Wallack will be starting lessons very shortly and he hates people being late.’

I made as if to leave
.

‘What have you forgotten?’

‘Well, not my hands,’ I began
.

‘Your gas mask!’ she shrieked
.

‘Oh, what?’ I muttered
.

‘What did you say?’ she demanded
.

‘Nothing,’ I replied, grabbing my gas mask and tearing off to the farm
.

I burst into the kitchen: ‘I’ve got to wash my hands as they’re disgusting, apparently. May I use the sink here?’

‘Go on then,’ said Mrs Benson, and she smiled at me in such a kindly way I
wanted
to stay in that kitchen for the rest of the day
.

I returned to the classroom seconds before Wally made his entrance
.

‘Class will stand,’ he croaked. ‘You shouldn’t need me to say that.’

We all got to our feet as he flapped in, wearing this moth-eaten old cloak which looked a couple of sizes too big for him. It stretched down past his ankles. But it was what he was holding in his hand that caused my blood to freeze: a cane
.

It was very long and thin, with a curled handle at one end. He placed it carefully, almost lovingly, at the end of his desk. Surely he would never use that – not with the hidden cameras on us. It was just a little prop
.

But then I remembered that huge form Mum had to sign before I appeared on the show. And I told Mum not to bother reading it all. Did one of those paragraphs give him permission to use the cane on me – just to add to the authentic atmosphere?

No, surely not. Canes have been totally
abolished
now. But I wasn’t exactly in ‘now’ at the moment. I was in some other ‘bonkers universe’ – or that’s what it felt like right then
.

‘I want silence, complete silence,’ said Wally. ‘And there’s still someone making a noise.’ I couldn’t hear a thing, but Wally went on glaring around at us. And as he did this he seemed to grow
.

No, honestly, he really did. He was like some huge inflatable man looming over us. He didn’t speak either, just went on eyeballing us all, while we waited tensely, expectantly, until there was a very deep hush, which was kind of eerie and uncomfortable
.

Finally, just to lighten the atmosphere, Leo whispered to me, ‘I didn’t know Dracula had a twin brother.’

But Wally heard him. He must have supersonic hearing. And he half shouted, half screeched at poor Leo, ‘I asked for silence, so why are you talking?’ Then he advanced forward, like some massive avenging bird. ‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’ he hissed at Leo
.

‘No, not everything . . .’ began Leo
.

‘How dare you answer me back!’ barked Wally. He picked up his cane and pointed it at Leo. ‘There are teachers here, young man, who have been on this earth a lot longer than you’ – no argument there, I thought – ‘and might just have something to teach you, if you’re prepared to listen and not make stupid, immature comments all the time. Do you understand?’

And even Leo didn’t try and be funny. He just nodded gravely
.

‘I will just remind you all,’ said Wally, ‘that while you are in my classroom you will conduct yourselves exactly as wartime pupils did. This means you do not ever talk or look around. You always give me your full attention and you never answer me back. Is that clear?’

We all murmured, ‘Yes, sir,’ in a half-hearted way
.

‘No, I want a proper response. Is that clear?’

Everyone – even Solly – called out, ‘Yes, sir,’ really loudly
.

‘Class may now sit,’ Wally announced. (Oh yes, we’d still been standing during
all
this carry-on.) ‘And all the time you are sitting you will keep your arms folded. Start now.’

And then the fun really began. Oh no, it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Fun with Wally, who just has to appear somewhere to turn the air grey?

What actually happened was that Wally blathered questions about times tables for about two years, and then it was time for history with Miss Weed, who was a slightly better teacher than Wally. But the lesson was just about learning dates from
Our Island Story.

And then . . . then I must have slipped into a small coma because I can’t remember anything else about that first school day, except that I hated every grim, grimy second of it
.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

More About the First Evacuees

Zac

AT THE START
of the day a mist hung over the farm, making it seem like an enchanted place. But outside I could hear the chickens and hens clucking and squawking about. It seemed such a friendly sound. And I felt enveloped suddenly with a deep, warm happiness.

‘We’ve landed in a wizard place,’ I said to Leo.

He muttered, ‘We’re on a teeny, little farm, not the Land of Oz.’ But even he came and stood at the window with me and peered out at our new home.

Then later, after our tasks and
breakfast
we all strolled into a real wartime classroom. They’d taken such care over everything I tingled with joy. It was so still and calm too, and nothing like my old school where the teachers are yelling at people to be quiet all day long.

The meals were great as well and made a change from all the takeaways Aunt Sara buys. So that night we had nettle soup (surprisingly delicious – no, honestly) followed by Spam, carrots, potatoes and cauliflower.

Then, after tea, the big table in the kitchen was cleared and we all sat down to do our homework. It was dead cosy actually and great not to have a television blaring away (there are five in Aunt Sara’s house).