Chapter Four

Mary Blair studied the invitation card she held in her hand. It requested that she should attend an ‘Open Day’ at St. Bonaventure’s and she didn’t want to go. Willie’s schooling was important to her now that Charlie and the girl had left school and were either working or like Sadie ‘resting’ until she could find a suitable job. Meggie seemed more active and kept trying to get something, but Mary knew it was hard for her children to choose and there wasn’t an awful lot to choose from anyway. She had private dreams for Willie; dreams that she had never talked about to anyone and she knew that those dreams were probably because Willie reminded her so much of her late husband. Mary was like most other women she had nothing to wear, but with Mary, it was a literal statement and not a figment of the imagination. In her particular case, it was true. She didn’t have anything to wear. It was as simple as that.

She reflected on the few things that she had conjured up in her mind of how she could convert some old dress to look like something suitable for the occasion, but it all seemed so futile so hopeless, however with Aggie’s help, she managed to make herself fairly presentable for that great day ... when it dawned.

She walked hesitantly towards St. Bonaventure’s, passing some little children on the way, as they sang with urchin voices, the songs of her own youth a million or so years away and her memory flashed back.

‘One, two, three O’Leary,

Four, five, six O’Leary,

Seven, eight, nine O’Leary,

Ten O’Leary, postman’

The words didn’t make much sense well none at all really and yet the memories were vivid and her heart stood still as she listened. They were ridiculous, stupid words and she wondered who ever had the nerve to create such lines, but whoever did, sent her mind into another dimension as she walked on. She thought again of Willie, her deceased husband of the day they met and of the day he asked her to marry him. She saw him smile again and a tear came to her eye. He had been dead for nearly eleven years, but she missed him in that moment, just as much as she did on the day he died, those many years ago. So much had happened since that day. Life had gone on, like a stream racing down to the river, but yet a part of Mary Blair had stayed still. She looked at her old faded wedding ring and bit her lip.

The pit disaster had taken fifteen young men that dreadful day Young man well boys, really and all between the ages of sixteen and twenty four; Young blooded males Most of them too young to be the fodder of the Great War, but ‘ripe’ for being taken down the mines.

Mary swallowed hard and threw back her shoulders. This was not a time for sadness, she thought as she saw young Willie’s face before her and the children sang a happier song as if they knew that her heart was steeped in sorrow, but she smiled as she walked on.

“Bee baw bappity, bappity, bappity,

Bee baw bappity, I’d raither hae a wee loddie.

Ah widna hae a lassio, lassio, lassio,

Ah widna hae a lassio, I’d raither hae a wee loddie. “

She thought she felt some spots of rain, although the sky looked clear enough, but she took shelter in a nearby doorway. The emotions were too much for her and she knew she was going to cry as she couldn’t rid her mind of all those wonderful years she had spent with Willie. Her mind was in turmoil; a torrent of beauty had plunged into her heart as she stood there and cried and cried uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook as the emotion gripped her. She had never been ‘dressed’ for an occasion since Willie had died and it was the first time she had ever been invited to a school’s open day. She didn’t know why, since she had other children. Perhaps this was a sign Perhaps it was something to do with Willie, her youngest Something special, she liked to think, but then she quickly dismissed her thoughts as pride with the fear that ‘pride comes before a fall’. She felt that her dead husband was looking at her in her converted dress, that Aggie had helped her to make and she liked to imagine he was thinking how nice she looked and she remembered the compliments he was always paying her when he was alive. She fumbled in her handbag and took out an old photograph of him all yellow and crumpled, but the smile was still there and the strong, handsome features that had attracted her to him in those earlier days; on that particular day when she had first laid eyes on him. Oh! My ... He did look grand. Her body responded once again to his embrace as she closed her eyes and stood there in the doorway, clutching Willie’s photograph in her hand.

“Willie ... Willie, my lovely Darling If I could only see you once more, my Precious just to tell you how much I love you Dearest and how I always will.”

Just then the shop door opened and her dreams were shattered. She was startled as Tom Carey stood looking at her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Blair?” he asked with concern and the sight of the butcher with his striped apron brought her back to reality.

“Yes I’m fine Mr. Carey, thank you. Just a little headache and I thought it might rain, so I stood in your doorway I hope you don’t mind. I don’t want to cause any fuss.”

Mary smiled and was about to go when Tom Carey put his hand on her sleeve.

“Come in for a minute. Sit down and have a cup of tea,” he said.

“Oh! I have to be at the school shortly St. Bon’s, you know. There’s a meeting there and I’ve been invited. I really must go but thank you.”

“What time do you have to be there?” he asked, glancing at his watch and Mary looked about her nervously.

“Two-thirty, I think,” she said, “Yes, that’s right, two- thirty.”

Tom looked again at his watch.

“Then you’ll just have time for that cup of tea and I’ll drive you there when you’ve had it. It’s only one-forty now, you know.”

Mary was hesitant but she began to feel faint, having been caught like that, with her nerves all on edge.

“Mrs. Blair ... Are you all right. You’ve come over all pale. You must let me help you.”

Tom assisted Mary into the parlour behind his butcher’s shop and made the tea. He poured, watching Mary as he did so and she realized after a few moments that his eyes were on her.

“There’s no need for you to drive me to the school, Mr. Carey. I’m fine now. I can quite easily manage on my own and the tea was most welcome. Thank you,” she stammered and was surprised at his answer and his insistence.

“Please let me take you, Mrs, Blair ...PLEASE. I would very much like to do that, really I would.”

He smiled affectionately as he put on his jacket.

“Gosh! I am eager, aren’t I. Look I’ve forgotten to take my apron off,” he joked and Mary smiled as she tried to get up from her chair and Tom helped her.

“It will be my pleasure and I won’t hear another word, do you hear?” he said and escorted her with a smile to the car. As he drove through the centre of the city, he looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a trace of rain there anywhere, nor had there been for the last few days, but Tom Carey knew how Mary felt. He had been in a ‘doorway’ with his own grief many times in his life and more than Mary would have realized.

***

As they arrived at the school, Tom Carey took Mary’s hand as she stepped nervously from his car. Cars were things she wasn’t exactly used to ...

“There you are. You’re here now and I hope you find everything as you would have expected, Mrs. Blair and please ... can I call you Mary? I know that’s your name. I’ve heard it many times when you’ve been in the shop, with the neighbours, you know. My name is Tom. It would please me if we could be friends.”

Mary was pleased that Tom had suggested they should be friends as she already felt she knew this man, even more than she had done in the many years before when she had been to the Butcher’s shop, although it was mostly to buy eggs. It was a rare thing that she should buy meat, when the children were young. She smiled.

“Hello Tom,” she said, as if she had been introduced to him for the first time in her life and he grinned as he took her hand and shook it gently.

“I’ve seen you in the shop many times Mary ... and I have often wanted to call you by your Christian name. It always seems to me to be so formal addressing people as Mrs. this and Mr. that, but then I’m rather a shy person, I suppose and it takes me a long time to open up a friendship.”

Mary looked at him for a few seconds before she spoke again.

“You’re doing very well then Tom, considering you’re still holding my hand,” she said and Tom apologized as they laughed together.

“Please Tom would you do me a favour? I mean, I hate to ask, but I would appreciate it.”

Tom Carey did not need to be asked twice.

“Of course Mary if I can ... I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Well if you wouldn’t mind and if you can spare the time would you please come into the school with me... you see, I’m not used to meetings like this and I feel so stupid as I’m sure I won’t know what to say.”

Tom held out his arm and smiled an invitation for Mary to take it.

“Thanks Tom. I feel a bit better now and not so alone, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Mary and I would be happy to take you home again whenever you want to leave the school.”

“Oh! You’ve already done more than enough for me Tom. I can’t expect you to do that, but if you just see me in until I know what they expect of me as Willie’s mother, ten I’ll be O.K. but thanks all the same.”

“It’s your youngest boy whose here then, is it?”

Mary sighed and a pleasant smile crossed her lips.

“Yes ...all my others have left school now. Willie will be leaving next year I think. I hope he is doing all right here in St. Bonaventure’s. I had hoped when he got this far he might stay on until he was sixteen and perhaps well perhaps go to University.”

“That would be nice and all the others have they all got jobs?”

Mary began to tell Tom about her family as they went around the school together. She spoke with the Headmistress and the other teachers, but nothing was said about a pair of brown brogues that the Headmistress had to throw out . as she had outgrown them somewhat. She listened carefully to the report that Miss Carson read for her, both from St. Luke’s and for Willie’s potentiality at St. Bonaventure’s. She had hoped that her youngest could have gone on to University, but the Headmistress didn’t encourage that prospect and she felt a little sad about that as Charlie had done so well when he was at school ... He was a good boy, but the building site was something that she would have hoped he would avoided and gone for something better and less dangerous. Tom Carey was sitting beside Mary and heard everything that was said and as they were preparing to go into the gymnasium where tea had been prepared and was set out on little individual tables, Tom guided Mary by the arm.

“Mary, don’t worry about Willie. He’ll find his own niche, you’ll see and so will Charlie. The world today is any young man’s oyster.”

Mary appreciated his attempt to comfort her, but there was something foreboding in her mind a presentiment that worried her; would not leave her thoughts, even if she didn’t know what it was or how she should feel that way.

“Maybe I’m psychic Tom being a Celt, you see, but I can’t help worrying for all of my children, but particularly for the boys.”

“Mary you’re a good mother and that’s why you feel this way ... Every mother wants the best for her children and worries if she thinks that may not be what they will get.”

Mary sighed and knew that Tom was being kind and she appreciated that, but she was a widow with only her own counsel to see her through and it could be lonely and frightening to be so responsible for five children.

“Hello Mrs. Blair nice to see you. I thought you might be here.” Wattie’s Mammy looked at Tom Carey with suspicious eyes as she interrupted the conversation.

“Oh! Hello Mrs. Watts yes, nice to see you too. This is Mr.Carey ... a good friend and he very kindly drove me here to the school as I was a little late in keeping the appointment.”

Tom smiled and Mrs. Watts sneered.

“I thought I recognised you, Mr. Carey. You’re the butcher, aren’t you?” she asked, but before Tom could say another word, Rita Watts started again. “Nice of you to be so considerate, Mr. Carey We widows have rather a hard time these days ... Nobody wants to do anything for us ... Nobody seems to want to help or to know how difficult it is bringing up children on your own. Now my son...”

Mrs. Watts was about to expound on the virtues and enviable characteristics of Wattie, when Mary was called to one side by one of the teachers.

“Mrs. Blair. I am pleased to see you. My name is Havers, John Havers and I am Willie’s Form master. Can we have a little chat ... If you and Mr. Blair would like to come with me ...this way, please ...”

Mary looked confused for a moment.

“Oh! Mr. Havers This gentleman is not my husband. He is a friend who brought me here in his car, as I was well, I was rather delayed in coming here.”

John Havers apologised.

“I am dreadfully sorry Mrs. Blair Of course, I should have realized. Please forgive me. Would you like to speak with me privately or would you rather that your friend came along?”

Mary turned to Tom.

“I’d like you to come with me Tom if you don’t mind, that is?” she said and the trio went into a little glass partitioned room at the end of the gymnasium. Mr. Havers closed the door as Mrs. Watts was about to step inside.

“Later, Mrs. Watts if you don’t mind. I will see all the parents, but I have to see each one privately.”

Rita Watts grunted and pulled her coat around her full figure as she sucked her teeth and scowled.

***

“I’m not going to start off by saying that Willie is a brilliant pupil, Mrs. Blair. I think that would be very wrong, both for you and for your son. I have only known him for a very short time and this is the first report I have had to make regarding his progress at St. Bonaventure’s, but I will say this. Willie is a good boy. He has very sensitive qualities and this is to be admired, but he is a little headstrong .do you know that?”

Mary nodded, but her fingers trembled as she clutched her handbag.

“I would say that he is NOT University material, but that mustn’t worry you. Sometimes when a child or a young man, as Willie is, goes to University when they are really not suited to be there, life can be intolerable and they feel a coercion to give something of themselves, that they do not have to give. I would rather that a boy be happy even if it meant he became a post man or a clerk in an office or even a footballer, although that seems to be a very lucrative profession these days. It is Willie’s happiness that we are talking about here. He will make a life for himself, I am sure, but he will do it in his way and in his own time and I am sure you will be proud of him. Do you understand what I am saying Mrs. Blair?”

Mary felt strangely happy and more relaxed when John Havers had finished his report.

“Yes,” she said “I do understand Mr. Havers and thank you for your genuine concern. I appreciate that.”

She was about to leave the little room where they had been speaking when she noticed Wattie’s Mammy staring through the glass partitions. John Havers gathered his notes and tapped them into order on the table in front of him.

“Oh! Mrs. Blair?”

“Yes Mr. Havers?”

“Mrs. Blair I have already said that Willie is a good boy and of course, we both know that, however, I would like to add that I think he is a leader and he’s certainly not one to simply follow on blindly. He has a very clear and lucid mind and academics don’t give this quality to a child. It is usually in the genes and from good parentage.”

Tom turned to look at Mary and there was a proud look in his eye as Mr. Havers looked from Tom to Mary and decided he had said enough. He was about to elaborate on the importance of a young boy like Willie having the caring influence of a father, but he shut up. He realized it was time to conclude his advice as he tucked into a fresh cucumber sandwich, which sat neatly beside a large lump of salmon on his plate, although God only knew where the school had acquired such a delicacy and in such abundance, considering that the rationing was so strict on food of that nature. Willie even thought that Mr. Havers may well be a poacher in his spare time, of course.

***

“Is your Willie doin’ alright. Mrs. Blair?”

It was Mrs. Watts who spoke as she sidled up towards Mary and Tom, eyeing the latter with a suspicious glance.

“Yes, I think so Mrs. oh! I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your Christian name,” said Mary as Mrs. Watts drew herself up to her full height and smiled.

“Oh... call me Rita ...Watts is the name, but you already know that. I’m Rita Watts and I’m the Mammy of that big boy over there, see?” She pointed to Wattie who was standing nearby, looking very proud of himself as he waited for his report. “He’s goin’ to University, you see,” Rita Watts went on, “And your name is?”

Rita already knew of Mary Blair from her son’s friendship with Willie but it would never do to let Mary know that she knew her Christian name, now that she had found out that Mary didn’t know hers.

“Mary ... Mary Blair,” Mary answered and looked demurely at Rita with her well worn fox fur wrapped around her neck. Rita Watts was sure that was a sign of culture and class and she wore it for every occasion that she felt was important, regardless of the season..

“Well Mary,” she gushed and fluttered her eyelashes at Tom. “James, my big boy there. He’s doin’ ever so well here at St. Bon’s ... Stands out in the class, he does ... as he did at St. Luke’s before, you know. The teachers can’t speak highly enough about him. That lad’s got a head on him they say all of them they all say it an’ I’m not at all surprised. Oh! No Not one wee bit, I’m not, since his Daddy was a clever man, you see. It runs in the family. James’ Daddy, God rest his soul, could turn his hand to anything and James takes after his Daddy, you see. I want him to go to University and make something of himself. He owes it to Mr. Watts, I say. A young man needs education these days, doesn’t he? What chance have you got without it? Well, I ask you all these bloody ...Oh begging your pardon, Sir ...All these strikes an’ everything ...Mr. Watts would turn in his grave if he could see the state of things now. He would, really. God rest his soul.”

Rita Watts nodded her assertion to confirm every statement she made as her eyes widened and narrowed to suit the mood. She would have gone on talking and praising her prodigy, had she not had to scowl and hope that Mary hadn’t noticed that her offspring was intent in clearing out his right nostril with the index finger of his left hand.

Willie strolled casually over to his mother, hoping that she wouldn’t kiss him well at least, not until they got home but she understood the situation, only too well and restrained her natural impulses .They left the classroom together and Mary introduced Tom Carey to her son. Willie was delighted to be driven home in a car and he could see Wattie and his Mammy giving him the eye as he waved them Good-bye, taking his time to ensure that they saw every inch of the gleaming Rover.

“James Dear Come to your Mammy that’s a good boy.” Rita Watts called to her son as she cast an envious eye over the car, but Wattie was otherwise engaged. She called again but with the same results. Wattie didn’t hear her or if he did, he was not impressed and made his exit by a nearby door into the playground. Mrs.Watts followed, but her attitude by this time had changed somewhat. Perhaps the Rover car had something to do with that and the fact that Willie Blair had the audacity to wave to them as he went, but she lost her patience waiting for her son ... and the car drove past slowly.

Mary raised her eyebrows and looked at Tom Carey, just as they were going through the school gates and a voice like thunder was heard to shout out.

“Jimmy Watts, ya wee bugger. Get your bloody self home, NOW. D’ya hear what I say?” Rita screamed her command as she smiled at Miss Carson who seemed to appear from nowhere. “James will be back again in the morning, Miss Carson, in time, as usual,” she said in her best Sunday voice, but although she spoke softly . . . her mouth was tight.

***

The following weekend brought on the ‘Big Fight’ where the boys from St. Bonaventure’s, the Catholic school, took on the students of Middleton High ... the Protestants, with Blackie as their leader. Blackie stood, with his staff in hand at the top of Castle Street, near St. Bon’s, surrounded by boys of all shapes and sizes, but all with the same wild look in their eyes. They were hungry; hungry to bash a Dan and as Wattie stood watching them, he licked his lips and wiped his nose on his sleeve, in that order.

“Well ... What the hell are ye waiting for?” Someone shouted from behind the Protestant leader, “Let’s see the colour o’ yer breeks.”

Wattie touched the edge of his glasses a protection, he thought, if the goings got too tough and he wished Willie was with him. Ackie had capitulated to the battle and had finally agreed to fight and he and several other lads stood around Wattie, like troops around their Captain. Only Craigie was absent. Wattie cleared his throat to shout, but all that came from his lips was the feeblest sound of a faint whisper. He tried again.

“Up St. Bon’s,” he wheezed, gaining some confidence with the sound of his own voice, trilling through the brisk air.

“God bless the Pope,” shouted someone behind him, but the reply that came back was anything but edifying.

“Fuck the Pope Down with all Papists Down with all Dans.”

The fight began and the skirmish that followed would have shamed Culloden according to some who were at the battle of Castle Street .Boys tore at each others jumpers and wool was stretched beyond any mother’s recognition. Trousers were ripped and bums were exposed. Blood flowed in the gutters some later remarked, dramatically as one young lad wiped his bleeding nose on his handkerchief but the young men of tomorrow battled on bravely and the battle cry could be heard for miles around again, according to some.

“A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can ...

Up wi’ the Pope and’ down wi’ the Orange man.”

Blackie was just about to wallop a young boy who had suddenly appeared from a street nearby, but the youth was startled as he knew nothing of the battle that was raging and was cowering lowly as the bully hit out.

“Leave him alone ...”

Blackie turned to the speaker of the voice behind him.

“I said Leave him alone.” Willie repeated, having come round the corner as the incident was about to happen and the bully backed off a little as Willie grabbed the young boy by the shoulder and drew him away.

“You’re Nathan, aren’t you? You’re Mrs. Harris’s wee grandson ... Is that right?” Willie asked and the boy nodded. “Get home quickly,” he added and the young Jewish lad shot off like a bullet from a gun.

Blackie was surprised to see Willie. He knew him well, but he also knew that Willie, the handsome Blair boy, never came out to fight in the streets.

“Got a special interest in that wee shit, have ye?” Blackie snarled, but Willie made no reply although his lips were tight and his nostrils widened with rage. “He doesn’t look like a Dan to me,” Blackie continued, sneering as he talked. “Could he be an Old Tin?” but before he could finish his sentence, Willie hit out and smashed his fist into Blackie’s chest.

The bully staggered back in utter surprise, his hair falling down over his forehead as he spat on the street and took to his heels, shouting as he went.

“I’ll get ye ... yea I’ll get ye another time ... another time, ya Papish bastard. You see if I don’t,” he shouted, but before Willie could respond, Blackie had disappeared with his gang following him hastily and he could hear the singing nearby as Wattie and his lot, shouted jubilantly in the air.

‘A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can ...

We don’t give a fuck for no Orange man.’

They sang gleefully as they marched away in triumph, but Wattie stayed behind. He came up to Willie with a look of pure delight on his face. His nose was bleeding and he had a cut on his chin, but Willie was with him now so what more could he want?

“I knew we’d show ‘em what we are made of them Billy’s,” he boasted proudly, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve .well, after all that’s what sleeves are for, aren’t they?

“Where did that young lad come from?” Willie asked, ignoring Wattie’s congratulations to himself, but Wattie couldn’t give him an answer. He could only assume that Nathan had got lost, being new to the district and had got caught up in the fight.

“Wipe your nose, Wattie ... “

Willie started to walk home as the singing faded away into the distance, but he hadn’t gone far when he could feel something tugging at his trousers and a small face peered up at him and smiled.

“Thank you mister ...Thank you.”

Willie recognised the little boy immediately.

“You shouldn’t get into trouble with that lot, you know. Those boys are much bigger than you are and they could be dangerous,” he said as he took Nathan’s hand and walked home with him. How could you tell a little Jewish boy that he shouldn’t be around at the Orange Walk fight, when they would only consider him, not as a Billy and certainly not a Dan, but an old Tin Can . . . How could you tell that to a Yiddish boy?

“I didn’t realize what was going on. I just saw the crowd and heard the noise and went to have a look, that’s all. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Willie grinned at his new companion and squeezed his warm hand.

“If ever you see a fight like that again, keep well away. They bash anyone in sight and ask questions afterwards.”

“What was that they were singing?” asked Nathan and he puckered his brow quizzically and narrowed his eyes, as Willie looked ahead with a certain sense of pride.

“That was the battle song, that was,” he answered and he held his head erect.

“What does that mean?”

Willie looked down at the small face with the dark inquisitive eyes.

“A Billy or a Dan or an Old Tin Can well, a Billy is a Protestant That comes from King William of Orange, of the old days, you see and a Dan is a Catholic because most Dans are Irish and .” He suddenly stopped talking and looked into his friend’s face, knowing that he could say no more, but Nathan was persistent.

“Yes, Go on . . . what more?”

Willie hesitated and bit his lip.

“I’m not sure about the other thing,” he lied innocently, but the little Jewish boy stopped walking and took his hand from Willie’s grasp as he looked towards the ground.

“I’m an old tin can, aren’t I?” he asked quietly and Willie put his arm around the boy’s shoulder as they continued walking.

“Anyone who is not a Protestant or a Catholic could be, I suppose, but it doesn’t mean much. Not really. It’s what you are inside that counts Nathan” said Willie and the boy was pleased that Willie had called him by his name.

“Thanks again anyway. You’re Willie Blair, aren’t you? I met you at my grandmother’s place, didn’t I? Can I call you Willie, please?”

“Well that’s what God calls me and He seems to know what He’s doin’ if we don’t, eh?” said Willie and Nathan laughed.

“I’m Nathan Harris, but you already knew that, didn’t you, Willie?”

Willie looked up at the sky in his embarrassment.

“I think we’d better hurry. It looks as though it might rain at any minute.”

***

Charlie was fast asleep when Willie got into bed that night. He was always tired since he went to work on that building site and Willie undressed quietly and slid in beside him into the warmth as his brother moved and grunted. Willie put his hands behind his head, resting on the pillow and reflected on the events of the day. He thought of Wattie, with his ‘jewel’ and of young Nathan, but his longest and deepest thoughts were about Craigie, before he eventually fell into a deep sleep. Defending the meek is a powerfully tiring vocation isn’t it?

***

The following day he set off to see Craig Daniells as he hadn’t seen him for over a week and he hadn’t been attending school. He knocked on the door when he came to the house.

“Can I speak to Craig, please?” he asked the man who stood scowling in the doorway.

“No He’s no’ here,” The man barked and was about to close the door, but Willie would not be deflected.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” he asked

“Ah dinna ken.”

Willie knew he was getting nowhere fast, but he was persistent.

“He hasn’t been to school and I just wanted to see if he was alright. Are you Mr. Daniells?”

The dour man rubbed his fingers round his unshaven chin.

“He’s alright. He’ll be back at school soon. Cheerio,” he snapped and the door closed, leaving Willie standing on the pavement wondering. He was worried, but he couldn’t understand why. He wanted to knock again, but he knew he would get the same response and the man still didn’t say if he was Mr. Daniells or not. As he walked away and was about to turn the corner of the street, he looked back at the house and a quick movement of the upstairs curtain caught his eye. He glimpsed a face for just a fleeting moment. It was the face of a young boy and he was sure he had bruises on his forehead and his eye was discoloured. The curtain dropped quickly as he called out.

“Craigie Craigie ...”

But there was no answer and the curtain didn’t move any more.

***

Willie couldn’t sleep that night for wondering and worrying about his friend. He couldn’t imagine what could have happened to him, but it was obvious now why he hadn’t come to school. His face would have caused some questions to be asked. He was sure of that as he lay awake for hours listening to Charlie snoring contentedly all through the night.