IN THE EARLY SPRING OF 1915 they saw Cyril properly, when he came home on leave. He brought a real German bullet for the Lamb and a little glass globe for Edie. Inside was a tiny model of a French village with a church, and when you shook it the globe filled with whirling snowflakes.
The Psammead had never seen a snow globe and thought it was beautiful. ‘I only wish I’d owned such a thing in my days as a god! My dear Cyril, where did you find this exquisite treasure?’
‘It’s not exactly a treasure,’ Cyril said. ‘I was behind the lines in rest-billets, and I bought it in the local market. An old biddy had a whole tray of them – they’re doing a brisk trade in overpriced souvenirs over there. That town must’ve been a sleepy sort of place before the war. Anyhow, good luck to them. The French are having a rotten time of it, far worse than us. You should see how the Huns have ripped up their countryside. Harper says he’s fighting to stop them doing the same to ours.’
When he talked about the war, which he hardly ever did, Cyril’s voice hardened and he seemed to be looking through them all, as if he’d left part of himself behind. Mother said he looked older and thinner, and Mrs Field tried to give him suet pudding at every meal to build him up. They wanted to lay on all sorts of entertainments for him, from theatres to parties, but Cyril was quite happy to spend the entire two weeks either sleeping, going out for long walks on his own, or sitting in the old nursery with his brother and sisters and the Psammead.
Robert was in the middle of exams, but managed to dash home for Cyril’s last weekend. Though the children didn’t go on about it, being together again was wonderful. Edie thought the White House felt comfortably complete, like a person after a big meal.
On the last day of his leave, which was warm and sunny, Cyril persuaded the Psammead to come out into the garden for a little fresh air. ‘I’m sure it’s not good for you to be stuffed in the attic all day – you’ll go mouldy.’
The Psammead said he would do nothing of the kind, but agreed to the outing because he wanted to be nice on Cyril’s last day. The six of them went out directly after lunch, with the Psammead riding cosily inside Cyril’s big tweed coat.
Cyril found it easier to talk about the war when they were out in the open. He told them about the truce they’d seen when they visited him on Christmas Day, which had spread for miles along the lines. ‘My chaps just did a bit of shouting and singing, but some were out in No Man’s Land playing football with the Huns, and giving them Red Cross chocolate. It couldn’t last long, of course – or the whole war would have started to look absolutely silly.’
‘It is silly,’ sniffed the Psammead. ‘All those men dying, for the sake of a few yards of mud!’
Cyril smiled. ‘Since when have you cared about men dying?’
‘I didn’t WASTE my own soldiers. I was very thrifty and only killed prisoners.’
‘Oh, Psammead, how refreshingly awful you are! We don’t kill prisoners these days.’
‘You don’t? What do you do with them? Good gracious – is this ANOTHER thing I have to repent about?’
‘I took some prisoners once,’ Cyril said, looking ahead at a line of poplar trees. ‘I stumbled on four German officers who didn’t realise their trench had been overrun. I don’t know which of us was more surprised. I felt far too polite to shoot them – luckily they decided to surrender, and I took them back to our lines for tea. They were rather decent.’
‘Decent!’ the Psammead sniffed. ‘What kind of war do you call this? You’re supposed to HATE the Germans.’
‘There are too many of them to hate individually,’ Cyril said. ‘They’re only following orders.’
‘Is that where you got my bullet?’ the Lamb asked. ‘Yes, it was in one of the guns I took off them.’
‘My hat – wait till I show Winterbum! What happened to your prisoners?’
‘I don’t know. I expect they’re in a camp somewhere. Sometimes I think they’re well out of it.’
‘My dear Cyril,’ the Psammead said, ‘I’ve tried out all sorts of wishes to keep you at home, but none of them worked. It looks as if you’ll have to go back.’
Cyril smiled. ‘Of course I’m going back! The beastly bits are horribly beastly, but the war’s sort of at the centre of reality. It’s impossible to be anywhere else.’
‘Yes, it’s looking that way,’ Robert said. ‘I won’t be able to duck out for much longer.’
They were all quiet.
‘Don’t rush into anything,’ Cyril said. ‘You might be too much of a weed to pass the medical.’
Robert was serious. ‘You know the government’s talking about conscription.’ He added, to Edie, ‘That’s when they force people to join the army if there aren’t enough volunteers. I’ll join up before they have to force me. I’m already doing army drill three times a week, with what’s left of the Officer Training Corps at my college – and you’re right, we’re a rather wet-looking bunch of remnants. Our ancient sergeant calls us things I can’t repeat in front of girls or sand fairies.’
‘Back in my days of divinity,’ the Psammead began, ‘When I ruled the—’
‘NO!’ the Lamb groaned rudely. ‘I don’t want to hear another thing about your blood-soaked reign – it’s a waste of Squirrel being here. We want to hear about the REAL war.’
‘I BEG your pardon?’ The Psammead’s eyes telescoped back into his furious face.
‘Please, please don’t be offended!’ Edie cried out. ‘Don’t go into one of your huffs!’
‘Lamb, you have grown up into a very IMPUDENT boy. I was simply trying to chat with your brother, warrior to warrior.’ The Psammead cancelled his huff; he wanted to make the most of Cyril’s leave as much as anyone. ‘People at home can’t imagine what it’s like to fight a war. But I understand.’
‘I rather doubt that,’ Cyril said. ‘Wars have changed a bit since your day.’
‘Wars never change – they’re still basically two sides trying to kill each other.’
‘Yes, but your army didn’t have modern weapons. One of our machine guns could see off the whole lot of them in about thirty seconds.’
‘We shouldn’t spoil your leave talking about the war,’ Anthea said, taking Cyril’s arm.
‘I don’t mind. There are one or two good things about life at the front – my boys, for instance, the best bunch you ever saw. I’d walk through fire for every single one of them. And I’m looking forward to seeing good old Harper again. We’ve planned a slap-up dinner at the Criterion before we catch our train.’
*
It was much harder to say goodbye to him this time. Mother put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. ‘I feel as if you’re only half here – as if most of you had already gone back.’
He kissed her. ‘Don’t fret, Mother – I’m always incredibly careful.’
The house was as flat as a burst balloon when he’d gone, and worse when Robert went back to Cambridge the next day.
Father shook Robert’s hand. ‘Don’t make up your mind about the army until you’ve talked to me.’
‘They won’t be interested in Bobs,’ Mother said; she refused to believe it was possible that anyone would expect to take away another of her sons. ‘Not with his eyesight, and he’s never been strong.’
‘Anyway, it can’t go on much longer,’ Father said. ‘The spring offensive should sort things out.’
This was the sort of thing people were saying now when they wanted to sound cheery, but even Edie had stopped believing it. Whatever an ‘offensive’ was, more and more men were dying; the newspapers ran long lists of the dead and wounded. In Edie’s class at Poplar House, Agnes the bully had lost her youngest uncle, and kind Miss Poole her brother. So many people wore black clothes and armbands wherever you looked.
‘I was so sorry for Agnes that I gave her one of my toffees,’ Edie told the Psammead during their afternoon session in the attic. ‘Poor thing, her eyes were swollen up like golf balls from crying. Miss Poole hasn’t come back yet, because she has to take care of her mother. There are so many sad people nowadays that sadness looks normal.’
‘Careful!’ The Psammead sank deeper into the sand. ‘Not thinking of crying yourself, I hope.’
‘Oh, stow it – I’m not crying.’ Edie was less perfectly polite to him these days. ‘What about your own tears, anyway – do they hurt too?’
‘Psammeads don’t cry.’
‘You mean, you’ve never cried?’
‘I don’t have any tears of my own.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to put up with the teary atmosphere,’ Edie said, more sharply than usual; much as she loved the Psammead, she sometimes thought his hearts were as hard as two little walnuts. ‘Nobody can help crying when they’re by themselves. I know Anthea cries. And not just because she’s worried about Cyril.’
‘Really?’ The Psammead emerged again; he was nosey and fond of gossip, especially now that he’d got his strength back. ‘Why does Anthea cry?’
‘She’s worried about Ernie,’ Edie said. ‘I’m pretty worried about him too. Our professor hasn’t heard from him for weeks and weeks.’
*
‘Oh!’ Anthea cried out. In a flash, the expression on her face turned from sadness to joy.
‘What it is, dear?’ Mother asked. ‘Who is that letter from?’
‘Nobody, I mean Jimmy – the Professor.’
‘Ah,’ Mother said, and went on spreading marmalade on her toast, though she didn’t look quite satisfied.
The family were all sitting around the table having breakfast. Anthea raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her siblings. ‘He’s heard from Mr Haywood.’
‘Good stuff!’ the Lamb said. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He was badly wounded at Ypres – he’s lost one of his legs.’ Her voice wobbled dangerously and she paused to swallow hard. ‘But he’s alive, and good old Jimmy says he’s going to be all right.’
‘Poor thing!’ Edie hated to think of the nimble Ernie hobbling on one foot.
‘He’s just been moved to the Endell Street Military Hospital in Covent Garden. He sent a postcard to Jimmy because he doesn’t have anyone else. He must be so lonely.’
‘That’s the hospital where all the doctors are women,’ Jane said. ‘So you see, women doctors absolutely do exist.’
‘Jane, must we start all this again?’ Mother sighed.
‘I’m simply pointing it out.’ Jane had said it to distract Mother from looking too closely at Anthea, who had tears on her eyelashes, and it had worked.
‘Well, I don’t want to hear any more about it, thank you – and nobody’s going to welcome a doctor with those inky fingers.’
‘Bobs pinched the pumice stone and I can’t rub it off with just soap.’
Anthea had quickly wiped her eyes. ‘I think we ought to visit him.’
‘Rather,’ the Lamb said. ‘Losing a leg is one of the beastliest things I can think of, next to going blind. Or losing both legs. Or losing both arms.’
‘Darling, don’t be morbid,’ Mother murmured.
‘Jimmy wants us to take Mr Haywood some books,’ Anthea said. ‘We can drop in at Old Nurse’s on the way and pick them up, as it’s near the hospital.’
‘If Jimmy’s sending them, I bet they’re extremely boring books,’ Jane said, smiling. ‘And not what any normal wounded soldier would want to read when they’re ill. I vote we dig up a couple of nice, amusing ones, and we know Mr Haywood likes the New Citizen.’
Father, hidden behind a wall of newspaper, heard the name of his magazine. ‘Good for him – he can have a copy of the latest edition, with my compliments.’
‘Anthea,’ Mother said, ‘do I know anything about this young man?’
Nobody had said anything to Edie, but she knew perfectly well that Mother had noticed the blushy way Anthea behaved whenever anyone mentioned Ernie. She’d heard the big girls whispering about it, and knew that Jane was doing her best to damp down Mother’s suspicions.
‘We’ve told you about him,’ Jane said. ‘He’s a friend of the Professor’s, and a sort of assistant. He knows a lot about ancient history.’
‘He’s extremely nice,’ Edie said. ‘Old Nurse says he has a very taking way with him.’
Mother looked at Anthea. ‘And he’s serving in the army?’
‘Yes,’ Anthea said.
‘He’s an officer, of course.’
‘No.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mother’s hand, holding toast, froze in mid-air.
‘He’s a private,’ the Lamb said. ‘But when he’s well enough, he’s going to work as the Professor’s secretary. I’m sure he can still do that with one leg.’
‘I see.’ Mother’s voice was faint with doubt.
‘Poor young chap.’ Father lowered his newspaper. ‘Of course you must visit him.’ He added, to Mother, ‘No harm in it if they all go. Errand of mercy, and all that.’
‘I suppose not – if they’re simply going to cheer him up.’
And it was settled. Anthea, blazing with energy, fired off postcards to Jimmy and Old Nurse to say they would be there for lunch on Saturday.
‘And I’ve had a wonderful idea,’ she told the others when they were upstairs without the parents. ‘Let’s take the Psammead.’
‘Hmm,’ the Lamb said. ‘He was a bit of a nuisance last time. I’d rather leave him out of it.’
‘No, let’s take him,’ Jane said. Mr Haywood likes him, and it’ll be a good chance to try out his new carrier.’ Jane had a flair for engineering – she was the best in the family at mending bicycles – and she had made a new Psammead-carrier out of a string shopping bag and a leather belt, which was far sturdier than the old one. It was decided that she should carry him this time – under her coat, which had a cape over the shoulders to hide the strange lump under her left arm.
‘Most comfortable,’ the Psammead said approvingly. ‘Quite a miracle of construction. I may even get a wink of sleep, if you don’t bounce me about too much.’
*
On Saturday morning they packed the big basket with gifts for Ernie – books, magazines and a box of very good shortbread made by Anthea. The Lamb put in one of his favourite adventure stories, and Edie had spent two weeks’ pocket money on a bag of barley-sugar twists (Mrs Trent, who ran at the village shop and post office, had put in extra when she heard they were for a wounded soldier).
At Old Nurse’s house, Jimmy had been waiting for them impatiently. ‘Now, how much can you carry? I’d like Haywood to see all three volumes of this – and these photographs from the museum at Stuttgart—’
‘Steady on,’ the Lamb said, ‘we haven’t got a wheelbarrow.’
Jimmy wanted them to take Ernie an enormous pile of heavy books, but Anthea talked him down to three.
‘But these are vital for the research into my next paper – the paper that will make my reputation! And those female dragons at the hospital won’t let me see him, though I explained that I was bringing him important work. They think I’m some kind of slave-driver.’ He smiled dreamily at the Psammead, perched on his desk. ‘Like you.’
‘I know I’m a fascinating subject,’ the Psammead said, ‘but I’m not sure I like you raking up the past. Frankly, there are certain incidents I’d rather forget.’
‘Certain crimes, you mean,’ the Lamb said, grinning.
The Psammead’s whiskers bristled irritably. ‘It’s a respectable history paper – not a police report. This scholar and his warrior will only tell of my GLORY.’
‘You’re a key to the hidden history of the ancient world,’ the Professor said. ‘Now that I know about you, all kind of texts suddenly become clear. I’ve been taking a new look at the sad story of the young lovers Osman and Tulap.’
‘It’s all a pack of LIES!’ the Psammead snapped. ‘Young lovers PHOOEY! They were nothing but a pair of troublemakers!’ He pulled in his eyes as far as they would go and folded up his long arms and legs until he was a compact furry ball of deep sulking.
‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to annoy him.’ Jimmy looked at them all properly, as if waking from a trance. ‘Please send poor Haywood my best wishes. Tell him he must get well as fast as possible – he’s the only person who can be trusted to help me with my work.’
*
‘But I can’t think why Ernie would want to read books like these,’ the Lamb said when they were walking along Bloomsbury Street towards Covent Garden. ‘Even the footnotes have got footnotes.’
The Military Hospital took up one side of the narrow street; it was a grim, sooty building that had once been a workhouse. The four children and the hidden sand fairy walked into a large, tiled hallway that smelled of disinfectant and boiled cabbage. Through an open door they could see a sitting room with armchairs and small tables, where soldiers in blue uniforms smoked and read newspapers. The man nearest to them had an empty sleeve pinned across his chest.
‘Hospital blue,’ Anthea said, ‘the uniform of the wounded.’ Her voice wobbled and she was very nervous.
A nurse with grey hair came briskly across the hall. ‘May I help you?’
‘We’d like to see Private Haywood, please,’ Anthea said. ‘I understand this is visiting hour.’
The nurse looked at them doubtfully. ‘Just a moment,’ she said and hurried away.
‘Crikey, wouldn’t I love a guided tour of this place!’ Jane muttered.
A thin lady in a white coat – with smooth dark hair and a face like a stern wooden doll – came into the hall.
‘I am Dr Garrett Anderson,’ she said. ‘I understand you’ve come to see Private Haywood.’
‘Yes,’ Edie said. ‘We’ve brought him some books and things.’
‘May I know who you are? We don’t generally allow children in, and I’m not sure he’s well enough for a host of visitors.’
This was a terrible let-down.
‘Ernie – Private Haywood – doesn’t have a family,’ the Lamb said boldly. ‘We’re the nearest thing, and I promise he’ll be no end pleased to see us. We won’t stay too long and we won’t make a row.’
The doctor was still stern, but there was a glint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’ll hold you to that, young man. The patients here are all recovering from serious wounds and mustn’t be disturbed or upset.’
‘We’ll be as quiet as mice,’ the Lamb assured her. ‘Honour bright!’
‘Hmmm, he could certainly do with a bit of cheering up – the poor boy hasn’t had a single visitor, unless you count one rather dotty gentleman who wanted him to do some sort of work.’ (They all recognised Jimmy from this description.) ‘Very well, I’ll allow you ten minutes. Follow me, please.’
She led them through a door covered with green felt and along a short corridor into a bare, bright conservatory that had been converted into a hospital room. Beside the metal-framed bed was a wheelchair with a thin, sagging figure sitting in it. Edie was about to say this wasn’t Ernie, but the doctor said, ‘Here are some visitors for you, Private Haywood.’
‘Visitors?’ Ernie raised his head, and when he saw them Edie suddenly understood what the books meant when they said a person’s face ‘lit up’; it was like seeing the sun rise behind his eyes. ‘You!’
‘Don’t let him get too excited – this is only his first day out of bed.’ The doctor left the room.
The moment the door shut behind her, Anthea let out a little cry and ran to Ernie. She dropped to her knees in front of him, and they clasped each other’s hands as if they would never let go.
‘You!’ Ernie said again. He smiled dazedly at the rest of them. ‘All of you – this is a bit of all right!’
‘I’m sorry about your leg,’ said a muffled voice under Jane’s coat. ‘If I still had my full powers I’d wish you a new one – at least till sunset.’
Ernie burst out laughing. ‘I don’t believe it – you’ve brought his nibs!’