Woodlore for Young Assassins
From Tall Trees Short Stories: Vol21. Woodwide Works. (c) Gabriel Hemery
Until yesterday, when I bumped into a real Nazi, my only enemy was the bull in the lower field, although there’s also the nettles which I keep mistaking for ordinary weeds. Anyway, it was him, I knew it was, that Rudolf Hess. I told Mrs Price and she said it must be. There were two things which meant it was him. He had the biggest eyebrows I’ve ever seen, and he actually said ‘guten morgan’ to me (Mrs Price says that was ‘good morning’ in German, and she told me how to spell it). There were two Welsh soldiers with guns who followed behind as his guards. I know they were Welsh because one of them said ‘bor-reh dah’. So, there were actually three things which mean it must be him, as no one round here has guards.
I wrote a letter to Mummy yesterday, but I’ve not told her about Rudolf Hess. Not yet. I thanked her for the yellow gingham dress she sent for my 13th birthday. Mrs Price gave me a knife—it’s the best present ever—it says ‘Sheffield Steel’ and ‘Made in England’ on the blade, which folds, and it has a real wood handle. Danny Price showed me how to sharpen it, and some ways of whittling a hazel stick. I think Mummy must be very sad about Daddy because she did not mention him in the letter. She reminded me that I have been in Abergavenny for 18 months. She said all the children from my old school have now been evacuated.
I was picking some pretty little red flowers in Pant Skirrid Wood. I’ve learnt a shortcut and it takes me less than an hour to get there now. Danny told me later it was scarlet pimpernel, just like Sir Percy Blakeney in the Baroness’s book. Imagine! I’d finished pressing some of its flowers in my notebook and just stood up after spending a penny, when the Nazi came down the hill and round a bend in the path. I noticed his boots first because their tops were so shiny, although their soles were covered in the wood’s red mud. Then the two guards appeared with guns slung over their shoulders. I didn’t say anything. I was relieved not to have been caught with my knickers down.
Mummy wrote a funny story in her last letter. She says that they sometimes park a mobile AA battery on the road outside the front gate at home—my real home. Mr Churchill thinks it will fool Hitler into thinking we have twice as many guns. Usually the men knock on the doors, mostly to warn the housewives, but also because they know they’ll get a cup of tea. The last time, they forgot to tell anyone in the street, and when they started shooting at the planes, Mummy jumped so much she fell off her chair. Then she looked out of the window and saw Mrs Hargreaves throw a bucket of cold water over the men. She said Mrs Hargreaves was so angry that she was stamping her feet like she was doing a jig.
Sometimes when Mrs Price is milking the cows and Danny is helping, I sneak into his bedroom. It smells funny. Even though he is 14½, I am taller than him. He’s like a brother I’ve never had, but less annoying, sometimes. Last week, I was looking through the books on the shelf above his bed. He must have at least twenty all lined up. Behind ‘Swallows and Amazons’ I found a book which had been pushed behind the others. It didn’t have a dust jacket, just a dark red cloth cover, stained and tattered, but the gold lettering on its spine was clear to read: ‘Woodlore for Young Sportsmen’ by
