CHAPTER 3
Letters from Father

Beginning of March 1917

This is a jolly good day for you, Robert,” Mister Crispin said when we entered the post office. He pushed a small stack of envelopes across the counter. “You have two letters from your father.”

Robert’s eyes shone eagerly as he took them. “Is one addressed to me?” he asked.

“It is.” The postmaster chuckled and leaned over the counter. “Good day to you, Miss Darling,” he said to me. “Are you going to join your master in the war?” He pointed to a bulletin tacked on the wall. “The British Army is using dogs as well as lads.”

“Really?” Robert led me over to the bulletin. It showed a dog standing proudly on a hill. Bombs blasted behind him. “See Darling? That German shepherd is a soldier. I told Katherine you could be one.”

“They don’t call them German shepherds anymore,” Mister Crispin said. “They call them Alsatians. On account of us hating the Huns since the war started.”

Robert read aloud from the poster. “‘Even a Dog Can Aid the War Effort. Why Not You?’” He puffed out his chest. “I would go in an instant, Mister Crispin,” he declared.

“I too. But alas, I am old with poor eyesight and flat feet. Now hurry home. Your mum will be anxious for those letters. You let me know how your father is faring.”

“Look, Darling, one is addressed to me!” Robert said. I trotted beside him as he hurried to the top of High Street. Sitting on the chemist shop’s stoop, he carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“‘Dear Robert,’” he read. “‘Mother writes that you and Katherine are working hard at your studies and properly doing chores. Thank you for being a good son. She tells me that Darling is still running off and that Farmer James has complained about Darling worrying the sheep.’”

Robert frowned. “I told Mum not to tell Father about that. You don’t hurt the sheep. And you always come back…right, girl?”

I laid my head on his leg. My muzzle twitched; I could smell meat from the butcher’s. Lately, all Katherine fed me was a boiled egg or bread soaked in milk. The butcher had been tossing fewer bones as well. I licked my lips. My mouth watered for shepherd’s pie and minced beef.

Robert ruffled my ears as he continued reading. “‘The French Armies use dogs, and the British are training them, too. Messenger dogs are smart and swift. Sentry dogs are keen and brave. Darling would be fine at either. I know this will be hard for you and your sister, but the dog tax has gone up to ten shillings, and we can no longer afford to keep her. I have written Mister Seligman, the area recruitment officer. He will be coming round to the house to pick up’”—Robert gasped—“‘to pick up Darling’!” He leaped to his feet, startling me. “What is Father saying? That you are to go to war? I won’t allow it! Father says I am in charge. I’ll tell Mum we need you here.”

Tugging my rope, he raced down the lane toward home. Robert seemed upset, but I was happy to be off with him.

“Mum! Katherine!” Robert hollered as we rounded the corner. Mum stood on the front walk, talking with Missus Ketchum from next door. Katherine leaned over Baby’s pram. “Who’s my wittle ducky?” she cooed.

I skittered to a halt as Missus Ketchum swung round, glaring at me. “There’s the scalawag that done this!” She held up a white pillow slip and lacy undergarments, all streaked with dirt.

“And you can’t play innocent. Look ’ere.” She held a petticoat under Robert’s nose, and he flushed. Brown paw prints dotted the fabric. “It don’t take Sherlock ’olmes to figger out ’oo’s guilty.”

I slunk behind Robert. Rags had been the one to pull down the wash, but I had joyfully trampled it.

“I am so sorry, Missus Ketchum. We try to keep her from running loose.” Mum’s face was dark with anger. “Robert, take Darling inside and lock her in the cellar.”

“Yes ma’am.” Head low, Robert led me into the house and down the narrow hall. He opened the door of the dank cellar. I hesitated, not wanting to go down the narrow steps. “You have made Mum furious, Darling. When Mister Seligman comes, she’ll be only too eager to be rid of you.” He sighed deeply.

“Robert?” Katherine whispered. I turned around quickly. She had followed us down the hall so silently that I hadn’t sensed she was there. “What’s wrong?”

“Darling is going to war.” Robert’s choked out.

Katherine’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Father has told the recruitment officer to pick her up. She’ll be trained as a messenger dog or sentry. She’ll be shipped off to France, just like Father.”

Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought that was what you wanted.” She kneeled beside me and buried her face in my fur. “You said you wanted her to be a soldier and go to the Front.”

“That was pretend.” Robert leaned down to pet me. “If Darling leaves, I’m afraid she’ll never come back.”

“Then we’ll help her run away.” Katherine began to unknot the rope from my collar. “She’ll live in the chalk mine with Rags. He’ll know how to hide her from the recruitment officer. We’ll bring them bread and bones when we can.”

Robert took her hand off the rope. “No. I wouldn’t want Darling to end up in the Battersea Dogs Home. I suppose Father is right. This is best. Darling hates being penned in the yard and locked in the cellar. She’s smart and fast. The poster at the post office shows a war dog. That could be Darling.”

“Is that what you want, girl?” Katherine held my face between her fingers and I licked her chin. “Do you want to serve with Father’s regiment and save his life?”

Robert nodded. “Yes, she does. She’ll protect Father from the Germans, and both will come home heroes.”

“I thought I told you children to lock Darling in the cellar,” Mum said as she strode down the hall, Baby tucked under one arm like a package. I wagged my tail but she didn’t even glance at me as she went into the kitchen.

“We can’t now,” Robert said, following her. “Darling needs to get ready to go to war.”

“What nonsense are you nattering on about?” Mum plopped Baby in his high chair and handed him his bowl of gruel. He promptly threw his spoon to the floor. I got two or three licks off it before Katherine scooped it up. “Be good now,” she warned me in a low voice. “So Mum will forget about locking you in the cellar.”

“Two letters came from Father.” Robert thrust them at Mum. “One was addressed to me.”

Mother’s face paled and she slumped onto the nearest chair. “Is…is he all right?” she stammered.

“He’s fine,” Robert said as she took the letters.

Carefully she tore open the one addressed to her. She read it to herself, her face turning pink again. Then she read the one addressed to Robert. Katherine and Robert stood quietly, watching her. Baby flailed his arms and dumped over his gruel. When no one paid any mind, I licked up the drips running down the legs of the high chair.

Finally Mum’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Yes, he is fine. He made the crossing over the Channel and is stationed in France. He mustn’t say where he is in case the Germans get ahold of his letter.” She held out her arms. “He also sends this hug.”

Katherine and Robert fell onto her lap. Barking, I wiggled between them.

“Did you read the part about Darling?” Robert asked.

Mum nodded. “It is sad, but it’s for the best. Everyone has to sacrifice in wartime—even dogs and children.” Mum patted my head, and I poked my muzzle into her lap, glad that she’d forgiven me. But then Katherine began to cry. I snuffled her cheek, wondering what was wrong.

“I’m sorry, dear, but the war has changed everything. So it is for the best,” Mum repeated quietly.

And this time I heard the sadness in her words.