The Evacuee Summer: Heart-warming historical fiction, perfect for summer reading. Katie King

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СКАЧАТЬ to the rear to peer under a slightly raised tail and then he hooted, ‘That’s a lass all right!’ to which Mabel muttered, ‘I’m not even goin’ t’ ask ’ow yers know that, Tommy …’

      So the pony was definitely female. Jessie, who hadn’t been quite sure he’d be able to tell the difference between a girl pony and a boy pony, fancied he saw a look of relief flit across the bright eyes now turned in his direction from beneath the golden forelock.

      ‘Well, that cuts out Brown Jack, and Winston then too,’ Connie pointed out quickly so that she could keep her advantage in the Great Naming Debate. ‘My two of Winnie or Sugar both work well for a girl horse though, don’t you think?’

      ‘You should describe her as a mare,’ said Jessie, ‘and technically she’s a pony as she is not tall enough to be a horse, given that she’d be measured in hands of four inches, although of course there is a saying that all ponies are horses but not all horses are ponies … ’ He shut up when he saw the bored expressions on his friends’ faces, with Tommy waving a hand in front of his mouth as if stifling a yawn. All faces other than Aiden’s, that was, as he looked quite interested in these technicalities that somehow Jessie seemed to know, despite only occasionally have patted the milkman’s horse and just the once having stroked the shoulder of a huge, gentle-giant Shire horse with hooves the size of plates and extravagant white feathers fluffing down to the ground, that had been pulling a huge dray to bring a delivery of kegs of beer to the Jolly, the public house nearest to Jubilee Street, where they had grown up in south-east London.

      ‘Well, let’s give her a chance to get used to her stable, and then we can think about it over lunch,’ said Roger in a voice that he tried to make as rallying as he could, but which everyone could recognise was distinctly dubious. ‘You boys, are you strong enough to push the trap over to that bit of the yard out of the way? I’m sure you are! We must remember to take the pony out of the trap when we have got her and it into a position where it won’t be in the way of the car, in case I need to drive off quickly in an emergency, as we don’t want to be pushing the trap around the yard every day and I especially don’t if it’s in the middle of the night.’

      His words were lost as Tommy had set about organising himself, Aiden, Jessie and Connie (Connie being right now, an honorary boy) into lugging several bales of hay (or was it straw?) from the trap to add to the others already in the spare stall, and then manhandling the now much lighter trap to where Roger wanted it to be.

      Mabel passed her husband the pony’s reins, and in Roger’s hands the determined creature promptly hauled him over to the small patch of grass at the edge of the back yard, where she determinedly stuck her nose down and grabbed several quick munches.

      ‘Milburn!’ Mabel said sternly, and both Roger and the pony jumped, Milburn raising her head with such a start that it caused her harness to jangle, and then she opened her mouth dramatically to show all of them her yellow teeth and a crud of partially chewed grass, before she dragged Roger in the direction of her open stable door. She seemed to know just where to go.

      ‘I, er, er – I’ll just put her inside, shall I? Inside her, er, er, stall. In here, that’s the ticket.’ His voice got quieter as Milburn towed him through the door. ‘Now, how again does this thing come off?’ Roger added as he gazed helplessly at the pony’s tack.

      ‘It’s called a bridle and what you are holding are the reins, Mrs Hobbs said,’ Jessie clarified. ‘Can I take it off her? You just undo that strap under that big bone at the top underneath her chin and pull the whole thing forward over the ears, holding it at the top of her head. You have to do it smoothly and gently so as not to damage her eyes and teeth. And Mrs Hobbs said, I think, that the pony is used to people standing on her left when they do this and so that might be why she is lifting her lip at you.’

      With relief Roger almost threw the long leather reins to Jessie and made a hasty exit from the stall, but not before a soft velvety forehead the colour of butterscotch gave Roger a firm push as he brushed past.

      The rector gave what could only be described as a squeak, a little later followed by, ‘I’m, er, sure I’ll get the hang of it by the end of today. I shouldn’t think it’s too difficult. Looking after one small pony, that is. Putting on and taking off her bridle, cleaning her teeth and so forth. Feet! Silly me. I mean cleaning her feet… hooves, I mean. No, no, not too tricky at all, I expect.’ He paused. ‘Does she need her teeth cleaning too, do you think? Goodness, her teeth are big, aren’t they, and so I very much hope not.’

      Milburn neighed loudly in reply, her belly quivering, making Roger jump visibly for the second time in only a minute or two.

      The children tried not to laugh too conspicuously, while Mabel allowed herself a broad grin.

      They all knew already who the boss was, and it certainly wasn’t Roger.

Chapter Three

      Several streets away, Peggy was making heavy weather of heaving the battered old perambulator she shared with Gracie back towards Tall Trees, despite it being such a lovely day and the sunlight showing the golden tones in Peggy’s shiny hair to best effect. Her green-sprigged cotton summer dress felt looser than it had even a few days before but Peggy barely noticed, although once upon a time she had been very proud of her trim figure, her tiny waist being the envy of sister, Barbara.

      While Peggy had slimmed right down since her pregnancy, baby Holly, now a lively five and a half months, had at last almost caught up with other babies of her age, despite being born two months early. Now, as Peggy pushed her through the sun-dappled shade of the tree-lined street, Holly was cheerfully kicking her crocheted blanket away from her now plumply dimpled legs.

      Peggy had been helping out at June Blenkinsop’s teashop, as she did most days. She and June had been talking only that morning about the rapid increase in customers now that the toasted teacakes and pots of tea that June had been serving in a colourful array of delicate china teapots had just about totally given way, due in no small part to Peggy’s staunch encouragement, to a menu of simple but filling hot meals of the meat-and-two-veg variety, and tea served in small metal utilitarian teapots to workers from six in the morning until gone ten at night. Such was the demand from people who were often juggling paid shift work alongside voluntary but nonetheless crucial war roles, that June’s business was thriving. As if to prove the saying that every cloud has a silver lining, the outbreak of war had turned June’s café into a rapidly expanding business, with a growing rota of cooks and Women’s Voluntary Service (WVS) helpers, that meant it was going from strength to strength.

      And now it looked as if the business could expand even further as Peggy was in midst of looking into setting up at least one, although ideally two, mobile canteens that could be driven from place to place. After nearly nine months of almost no bombs dropping over England since the war had begun, the newspapers were increasingly claiming the long-expected German aerial offensive must at last be drawing near, and so if the anticipated bombs were about to rain down on them all then mobile canteens would be a godsend in fortifying those who had to deal with the aftermath of such terrible events, and this had got Peggy pondering.

      ‘June, I’ve thought more about the mobile canteens as you wanted, and I think we could make it work. I’ve totted up some rough figures, we could use the café’s kitchen for the prep and we’d need to sort some metal mugs and plates, but I think we’d get these through the NAAFI suppliers. I think we’d get an old vehicle donated from somewhere like the railways. James…’ Peggy had said to her friend earlier as they sat at a table with cups of tea during a swift twenty minutes after the morning rush and before lunchtime really got going. ‘Yes, you can take that look off your face! James said that if we got a van or something СКАЧАТЬ