Looking for Africa

Derek Reid

Description

Matty's quest is to find his father, who is a British soldier serving in Africa during the Second World War. The boy forms a friendship with Boxer, a homeless boy he discovers living rough in a disused brick kiln with a mouse called Smokey. Together with a stray dog they call Tonka the friends make preparations to sail to Africa in a stolen barrage balloon. Matty is sure the balloon will take him there and bring his father home again. But there are many strange happenings in the area around their home, and an evil presence known as the Devil Jack is determined to wreck their plans.

Sujets

• Children's

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 15 décembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780722344491
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title page
Looking for Africa
Derek Reid
ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD
Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA
Established 1898
www.ahstockwell.co.uk



Publisher information
© Derek Reid, 2014
First published in Great Britain, 2014
2014 digital version by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.



Introduction
Climbing the five-bar wooden gate, I stopped for a moment with both feet resting on the third bar to listen. It was four thirty in the morning and there was not a sound to break the silence, except the gentle, rippling flow of the River Ouse a short distance away.
A sound broke the silence. I looked as best I could to its source through the growing mist. I listened and watched. There it was again, a distant howl - a sound of evil. It was the sound which had terrified my granddad - the sound of the Devil Jack. The early mist now lifted, leaving behind dim shadows which darted from one place to another. Fear began to grip my body.
“’Tis time for me to make a move.”
I felt the anguish of twisting this way and that as I moved through the damp grass. Left side, right side, moving slowly forward. I was by now a few feet from the water’s edge. I must lie quiet.
My granddad had stirred me to be here. “Yes, Matty,” he had said, “the beast was there, I knows that.” His face twisted as he nodded his head. “Yes, It was there, beside the riverbank. I could hear a ‘gnarling’ sound. I knew it was his teeth. He were gnawing - sharpening he were. It were standing beside its master, the evil Devil Jack. It’s not like me to be frightened, lad, but I were frightened that day, I can say.” He clutched my wrist. “Be careful, Matty, be careful.”



Chapter 1 - 1942, Jimmy Brown’s Ghost
I called on one of my friends, Peter Harris, to come out and play. Mrs Harris, Peter’s mum, answered the bright-red painted front door. Mrs Harris, a short lady and very slim, always has a welcome smile for me.
Just a few steps before Peter’s house, Mr Cram, the master baker, had his bakery. The smell from the bakery was wonderful and made your mouth water. The times I queued for bread at five in the morning for Mum! I just love the smell of crusty bread rolls. It is heaven.
Mr Harris had to close down his workshop to join the air force. Mrs Harris hadn’t seen him since his last leave from the air force one year ago. Their little red-bricked cottage was just a short distance from the medieval castle called Castle Hill.
“He’s out, Matty,” she said, rubbing her hands dry on a white hand towel.
“Do you know where he’s gone, please, Mrs Harris?”
“Yes, he’s gone to his aunt’s.” She paused a moment, then opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in Matty and wait?” she said, stepping sidewards to let me by.
“Thank you, Mrs Harris, but I will go across the common and see if he’s there. Goodbye.”
I turned away, gutted that Peter was out. Mrs Harris closed her front door, giving a little wave goodbye.
I called at my other friends - Nifty, Rocks and Little Joe - but they were all out too. I decided to venture over to the common on my own and make towards the river as it was a super hot day.
There’s one part of the riverbank where you could sit and dangle your feet in the water without getting stung by nettles and bitten by gnats. I took my socks and plimsolls off and gently splashed the water back and forth. Minnows gathered around my feet - they must have been wondering who this new intruder was in their swim. They tickled as they dived in between my toes. The poor things would get eaten if they were not careful, by something evil that roamed up and down the river there. I hadn’t seen it as yet, but I had heard how evil it was from my granddad. Water voles, beavers and all sorts had been eaten alive, as well as small children, by the River Monster, as it was called. There was a very large white stone further up the riverbank. My granddad told me that one night, as he walked his dog, Fido, he could hear that monster sharpening its teeth on the stone. I did venture close to the stone - not too close, I might add - just to see if the marks were there where the monster had sharpened his teeth as Granddad had said. Sure enough, they were plain to see. The gouge marks were plain and frightening to look at, I can say.
I decided to come here one early morning to see if I could catch the monster. It was four thirty in the morning the next day that I decided to come here alone. If I were to catch the beast on my own, I would have all of the praise.
I dreamt of my photo in the Hunts Post : ‘Local Boy Catches Forty-Feet-Long River Monster Weighing 100 Pounds’. What a scoop! All of the girls were throwing themselves at me, and the boys were just wanting to be my friend.
Over the five-bar gate and into the meadow I crept. Although I was still some way off I had to be very quiet. River Monsters can hear you miles away, the local fishermen in The Market Inn said. I heard them talking in the pub while standing outside once, so I knew it was true. I made my way through the grass like a snake creeping to catch its prey. Coming to the riverbank where the white stone lay, I just parted the long grass a little, just enough to see the stone. No sign of the monster! I started to doze off, owing to getting up early.
Suddenly, I was awoken by a large splash. I knew it was the monster. Sure enough, the mighty beast was on its way. I shivered when I caught a glimpse of him. Moon rays danced off his mighty back as he slithered through the water in slow motion, making his way to the white stone. He stopped occasionally, looking slowly around with an eye of evil.


‘Granddad was right: this monster will only bring evil,’ I thought.
It stopped moving. An almighty splash brought it to the surface. I could see the full size of the beast. Was the beast looking for me? I jittered. Slowly it started to grind its teeth. I tried to move. I wanted to run away from this place, but my hands wouldn’t move and my legs were numb. Soon I would be eaten alive. Then I heard the howl of evil itself - the evil Devil Jack!
The numbness went. My arms, legs and hands were free. I ran and ran like never before. I didn’t care about fame and fortune, nor the girls throwing themselves at me; I just wanted to get to home and safety from the beast.
Later on in the day, I sat much further up the river, away from the evil monster. On the opposite side of the river to where I was sitting were the posh people’s houses where the gardens led down to the river’s edge. Moored up to the bank were their posh motor boats. I could see people in straw hats, white shirts and cream-coloured trousers, soaking up the hot sun as they lay stretched out.
Looking down the river to my right I could see people from the sailing club sailing their boats. Looking upriver to my left I could see part of the hosiery mill and the Norman stone bridge. I started to think of the things I liked and didn’t like as I looked at the river. One thing I did have a pet hate for, and that was stinging nettles. They always seemed to cluster thickly along the banks, most probably because of the wet from the river.
I dried my feet with grass then stood up to stretch myself. I ventured a short stroll across the freshly cut grass field, swiping the tops off the stinging nettles with my newly cut willow stick. I felt in total command of the nettles, and called out, “Hate! Hate!” to them.
Bows and arrows cut from a willow tree I always found to be the best. My friends found the same. You can bend and twist the branches to all sorts of shapes without breaking them. Also, you can cut the nick for the string of your bow without the branch splitting all the way down.
There was a willow tree close to my home - to reach it you had to walk over the Norman bridge not far from our house. You went past the Woolpack pub then down the steps to the river, where you could only turn right. You couldn’t turn left because the bank was impassable owing to Diggers Quicksand. They called it Diggers Quicksand, but it was mud mixed with sand. They said that many a small boy had been sucked into the mud and never seen again at this spot. You keep sinking and sinking, never ever reaching the bottom! I knew this to be true because I’d heard grown-ups talk about it. They said that a new boy at our school, Jimmy Brown, disappeared in that quicksand of mud!
I sat down on the stone steps leading to the riverbank and looked toward the quicksand. I couldn’t help but look at the spot where little Jimmy had sunk. Leaning my head on the red-brick wall next to me, the thought of him crying out for his mum led me to cry out loud. You can’t help but think of Jimmy Brown as you creep along the bank towards the old boathouse and towards the willow tree.
I saw his ghost one evening. I was down there late on my own. I don’t kid you, I was scared. I was hiding behind a bush there on the bank - hiding because someone was coming over the Norman bridge. I didn’t want them to see me and report me to my mum. Anyway, something suddenly stepped out from the next bush along. It looked human, and then again it looked all grey-like.
I called out in fear: “Is that you, Jimmy Brown?”
I trembled with fear, not wanting an answer yet wanting to know if I was seeing things, or if it was just my head playing tricks on me. My skinny little legs were shaking. My nose started to itch, but I daren’t move to scratch it. I was wearing my old brown shorts - my legs were