Pied Piper

       They stared at it, irresolute. 'I dunno as I fancy it,' the corporal said. 'It don't look right to me.'

       The driver said: Bloody funny nobody's about. You don't think its full of Jerries, corp? Hiding, like?'

       'I dunno...'

       Howard, leaning forward with his face to the trap in the partition, said over their shoulders: 'I don't mind walking in ahead to have a look, if you wait here.'

       'Walk in ahead of us?'

       'I don't see that there'd be much risk in that. With all these refugees about I can't see that there'd be much risk in it. I'd rather do that than drive in with you if there's any chance of being fired on.'

       'Something in what he says,' the driver said. 'If the Jerries are there, we mightn't find another roundabout this time.'

       They discussed it for a minute or two. There was no road alternative to going through the town that did not mean a ten-mile journey back towards Montargis. 'An' that's not so bloody funny, either,' said the corporal. 'Meet the Jerries coming up behind us, like as not.'

       He hesitated, irresolute. 'Okay,' he said at last. 'Nip in and have a look, mate. Give us the wire if it's all okey-doke. Wave something if it's all right to come on.'

       The old man said: 'I'll have to take the children with me.'

       'My muckin' Christ! I don't want to sit here all the bloody day, mate.'

       The old man said: 'I'm not going to be separated from the children.' He paused. 'You see, they're in my charge. Just like your lathe.'

       The driver burst out laughing. 'That's a good one, corp! Just like your muckin' lathe,' he said.

       The corporal said: 'Well, put a jerk in it, anyway.'

       The old man got down from the lorry and lifted the children one by one down into the hot sunlight on the dusty, deserted road. He started off with them down the road towards the town, leading the two little ones by the hand, thinking uneasily that if he were to become separated from the lorry he would inevitably lose his perambulator. He made all speed possible, but it was twenty minutes before he led them into the town.

       There were no Germans to be seen. The town was virtually deserted; only one or two very old women peered at him from behind curtains or around the half-closed doors of shops. In the gutter of the road that led towards the north a tattered, dirty child that might have been of either sex in its short smock, was chewing something horrible. A few yards up the road a dead horse had been dragged half up on to the pavement and left there, distended and stinking. A dog was tearing at it.

       It was a beastly, sordid little town, the old man felt. He caught one of the old women at a door. 'Are the Germans here?' he said.

       'They are coming from the north,' she quavered. 'They will ravish everyone, and shoot us.'

       The old man felt instinctively that this was nonsense. 'Have you seen any Germans in the town yet?'

       'There is one there.'

       He looked round, startled. 'Where?'

       'There.' She pointed a trembling, withered hand at the child in the gutter.

       'There?' The woman must be mad, distraught with terror of the invaders.

       'It speaks only German. It is the child of spies.' She caught his arm with senile urgency. 'Throw a stone and chase it away. It will bring the Germans to this house if it stays there.'

       Howard shook her off. 'Are any German soldiers here yet?'

       She did not answer, but shouted a shrill scream of dirty imprecations at the child in the gutter. The child, a little boy, Howard thought, lifted his head and looked at her with infantile disdain. Then he resumed his disgusting meal.

       There was nothing more to be learned from the old hag; it was now clear to him there were no Germans in the town. He turned away; as he did so there was a sharp crack, and a fair-sized stone rolled down the pavement near the German spy. The child slunk off fifty yards down the street and squatted down again on the kerb.

       The old man was very angry, but he had other things to do. He said to Rose: 'Look after the children for a minute, Rose. Don't let them go away or speak to anyone.'

       He hurried back along the road that they had entered the town by. He had to go a couple of hundred yards before he came in- sight of the lorry, parked by the roadside half a mile away. He waved his hat at it, and saw it move towards him; then he turned and walked back to where he had left the children.

       It overtook him near the cross-roads in the middle of the town. The corporal leaned down from the cab. 'Any juice here, do you think?' The old man looked at him uncomprehending. 'Petrol, mate.'

       'Oh - I don't know. I wouldn't hang about here very long.'

       That's right,' the driver muttered. 'Let's get on out of it. It don't look so good to me.'

       'We got to get juice.'

       'We got close on five gallons left. Get us to Angerville.'

       'Okay,' the corporal said to Howard. 'Get the kids into the back and we'll 'op it.'

       Howard looked round for his children. They were not where he had left them; he looked round, and they were up the road with the German spy, who was crying miserably.

       'Rose,' he shouted. 'Come on. Bring the children.'

       She called in a thin, piping voice: 'Il est blessé.'

       'Come on,' he cried. The children looked at him, but did not stir. He hurried over to them. 'Why don't you come when I call you?'

       Rose faced the old man, her little face crimson with anger. 'Somebody threw a stone at him and hit him. I saw them do it. It is not right, that.'

       True enough, a sticky stream of blood was running down the back of the child's neck into his filthy clothes. A sudden loathing for the town enveloped the old man. He took his handkerchief and mopped at the wound.

       La petite Rose said: 'It is not right to throw a stone at him, and a big woman, too, m'sieur. This is a bad, dirty place to do a thing like that.'

       Ronnie said: 'He's coming with us, Mr Howard. He can sit on the other end of Bert's kitbag by the 'lectric motor.'

       The old man said: 'He belongs here. We can't take him away with us.' But in his mind came the thought that it might be kind to do so.

       'He doesn't belong here,' said Rose. 'Two days only he has been here. The woman said so.'

       There was a hurried, heavy step behind them. 'For Christ's sake,' said the corporal.

       Howard turned to him. 'They're throwing stones at this child,' he said. He showed the man the cut on his neck.

       'Who's throwing stones?'

       'All the people in the village. They think he's a German spy.'

       'Who - 'im?' The corporal stared. 'He ain't more'n seven years old!'

       'I saw the woman do it,' said Ronnie. 'That house there. She threw a stone and did that.'

       'My muckin' aunt,' the corporal said. He turned to Howard. 'Anyway, we got to beat it.'

       'I know.' The old man hesitated. 'What'll we do? Leave him here in this disgusting place? Or bring him along with us?'

       'Bring him along, mate, if you feel like it. I ain't worried over the amount of spying that he'll do.'

       The old man bent and spoke to the child. 'Would you like to come with us?' he said in French.