‘No volunteers,’ she said. ‘Then I must use my prerogative. I choose you, Hardy.’
‘Aw, miss. Please pick on somebody else. Not me!’
‘ “Many are called, but few are chosen”,’ she replied. ‘Be brave, Hardy, for that is what your name means, and you share it with the great sea-captain. Sir Thomas, who was Nelson’s great friend.’
‘Yes, miss, if you say so.’
‘Also, Oily, remember your other great friend, Laurel,’ said Oscar. ‘And it looks as if you’ve gotten yourself into another fine mess.’
Slowly, the reluctant Oily, carrying his case and his gas mask, got up from his seat and, accompanied by his form mistress, dragged himself across the road to his new ‘mother’, who promptly embraced him and gave him a big kiss, which delighted the busload of boys, sending them into convulsions of laughter.
‘Kiss me, Hardy,’ Titch called.
The laughter, however, was tinged with a certain amount of relief at their lucky escape.
Two hours later, Miss Barrymore was down to the last five boys, who were now beginning to look tired and dishevelled. The bus drove on, passed a cemetery, turned left into Kincraig Avenue and stopped outside some small semi-detached houses. Billy noticed standing at the gate of number 1 a pretty, dark-haired girl of about twelve years of age who was studying the proceedings with great interest.
‘I hope I’m billeted there,’ said Billy. ‘Now that is what I call a real foster-mother.’
‘You should be so lucky,’ said Robin.
‘I have you five boys left and only four billets,’ Miss Barrymore said. ‘Come along and we’ll see what can be done.’
Mrs Rivers at number 7 was a round, motherly woman with a kind face.
‘I’ll take two,’ she said, as if ordering pints of milk.
‘Thank you, Mrs Rivers,’ the teacher said. ‘It’s much appreciated.’
She consulted her clipboard.
‘Tony Wilde and Nobby Nodder - you’re here with Mrs Rivers. Say good evening to your new mother.’
‘Good evening, Mrs Rivers,’ the two boys said.
‘Come on then, lads,’ said Mrs Rivers. ‘Bring your things and we’ll go inside.’
‘Right, I have just you three boys now and then I’m finished, thank the Lord. Let’s go and see if we can persuade Mrs Mossop at number 9.’
Mrs Mossop was a serious-looking, unsmiling woman, aged about forty-five. She wore steel-rimmed glasses and her hair was arranged in a bun. She waited impatiently at her door.
‘I asked for two girls,’ she said. ‘Not all these boys.’
‘I’m afraid we have only boys in stock today,’ said Miss Barrymore. ‘Girls are being billeted on the South Shore. But these are three very nice boys.’
The boys did their best to look nice, which wasn’t easy since they had been on the road for over eight hours. Robin put on his best angelic expression. Mrs Mossop seemed unimpressed.
‘I used to be a nurse,’ she said. ‘And I can tell you - they don’t look very nice to me. That little squidgy one there looks as if he has conjunctivitis, which is very, very contagious. And I have two children of my own to think of. The other two don’t look too clean either. They don’t have nits or anything like that, do they?’
‘I’m sure they don’t,’ said their teacher. ‘They were all medically examined and certified clean before we let them