The Classic Morpurgo Collection (six novels) by Michael Morpurgo
So for the next few days Paddywack was in and out of Fairlawns all day long, a pure delight for the old people to whom he was a new and welcome distraction, and a great source of joy. And what they loved best of all was to see him running, on the great wide lawn under the tree of heaven. Mrs Bellamy would throw sticks for Paddywack to chase after and retrieve, and sometimes Paddywack’s sheer zest for running would take over and he’d forget the stick and go off on several laps of honour, racing round and round the tree of heaven, faster and faster, scattering fallen leaves. All the old people watching from the sitting room window would burst into applause. He made them feel young again, feel hopeful again. And for Joe, even as cold and tiredness set in, Paddywack was becoming the best of companions, a true and trusted friend. They’d spend the nights huddled together in the tent, keeping each other warm as best they could.
To begin with, the weather was kind to them, but then the rain came, and with it the first real cold of the winter. The tent gave them some protection from the wind and the rain, but Joe couldn’t hide away in it for too long. To make the protest effective he knew he had to be out there where he could be seen. He had to be waving back at his supporters as they passed by. There were days when the weather was really foul, when Joe knew the cold and the wet were just too much for Paddywack. Then he would ask Mrs Bellamy if Paddywack could spend most of the day inside Fairlawns. But despite the warmth of the fire, and all the adoring attention of the old people, Paddywack would escape whenever he could and run down to the grass verge to be with Joe again. Joe loved him for that. The two would snuggle together under Joe’s waterproof cape, with just their faces showing.
To pass the time Joe counted the number of cars and lorries, and bicycles too, that hooted and honked and tinkled as they passed. Counting lifted his spirits, because more and more of them were doing just that. Support was growing. Every day, whatever the weather, more passers-by stopped to talk and pet Paddywack, and every day more journalists or radio interviewers or television crews would come by. And through it all Mrs Bellamy saw to it that Joe and Paddywack were well supplied with food from the kitchen in Fairlawns, so that Joe only had to use his stove for brewing up hot, sweet tea, which he did on the hour, every hour. That routine helped, because it was something to look forward to, something to warm him through, and he needed that badly. However hard he tried, Joe found it difficult to keep warm. The more the cold crept into his bones, the more he began to feel it was hopeless, despite all the support and attention the protest was getting. At times he would have given way completely to despair, had not Paddywack been there beside him, had not the old people kept coming down to be with them.
Despite all Mrs Bellamy’s best efforts to keep them inside, there would always be one of the old people from Fairlawns to keep Joe company through his vigil, to wave back at the cars and to talk to the press. There was a rota now, which they kept to diligently. Each one would stay for about half an hour, and then be replaced by another, no matter how hard the icy wind blew. It became a point of honour now for them never to let Joe and Paddywack be alone out there. This was all Miss Carter’s idea, which is why Mrs Bellamy had to go along with it, despite all her concerns for the health of the old people. No one argued with Miss Carter – Miss Carter had been a headmistress for forty years. But the truth was of course that Mrs Bellamy didn’t want to argue with any of them. She felt too much solidarity with them, too much admiration for them. She was simply worried for their health. She made absolutely sure there was always one of the staff with them, and that they were always swathed in blankets and clutching hot water bottles.
A week went by and it was clear by now that two or three of the old people were suffering. Bob Larkin in particular was so weak one morning after a night of coughing that he could scarcely get out of bed. When Doctor Morrison was called to see him, he said that he had a chest infection, and must on no account go outside. He also insisted that Mrs Bellamy had to put a stop to all this before someone caught pneumonia. When Mrs Bellamy said she was powerless to do anything about it, Doctor Morrison called all the old people together in the sitting room. He gave them a severe lecture. “I respect what you are trying to do,” he said as he finished. “I admire your courage and your determination. But this has gone far enough. We’ve already got Mr Larkin sick upstairs. You go out there in this weather and you’re risking your lives. I can’t be held responsible if you go on like this.”
Miss Carter lifted her head slowly. “Maybe,” she said in a steely voice. “Maybe. But they’re our lives to risk, Doctor, aren’t they?”
Mrs Bellamy tried again to persuade them once the doctor had gone, but it was no use. She went outside after that and sat with Joe and Paddywack by the tent. “It’s you they’re rallying around, Joe,” she said. “You and Paddywack. I know you’re doing it for Marion. But she wouldn’t want this, I know she wouldn’t. She’d say what I’m saying, that you should call it a day. You’ve done all you could, Joe. No one could have done more.”
“Believe you me, Mrs Bellamy,” Joe replied, “there’s nothing I’d like better than to get back to my snug little barge and be warm again. It’s a long time since I’ve felt my feet. And I’ll be honest with you – there’s been plenty of times when I’ve felt like giving up. But it’s like Marion used to say: ‘You’re an obstinate old goat, Joe.’ I am too. I started this thing, Mrs Bellamy, and I’m going to finish it. Sitting out here with Paddywack, I’ve had a lot of time to think things over, and the more I think, the angrier I get. They’ve got no right to close you down, to ruin the lives of everyone up at Fairlawns, and I won’t let them. It’s a matter of principle, as I see it. We’ve got to look after our old people. They’ve earned it. They deserve it. So, unless the old people themselves tell me to stop, me and Paddywack we’ll sit this out. We’ll stay here till we make the Council change their minds. That’s all there is to it.”
Mrs Bellamy knew there was no point in arguing any more, that Joe had quite made up his mind. “All right,” she said, “but from now on, you will spend your nights inside, in the warm. I can’t sleep thinking of you out here all night. The cold air out here can’t be good for you, nor for Paddywack. No arguments now.”
So that’s how it was arranged. Each night, Joe and Paddywack would pack up the tent, take down the banner and walk up the drive to Fairlawns. They had a spare room there, often used for visiting relatives – Joe had slept in it once or twice before, when Marion had been very poorly. A warm bath and a warm bed each night revived Joe’s strength, and his spirits too. He would fall asleep almost at once, Paddywack stretched out beside him. Every night Joe felt so tired that he wanted to sleep for ever. When he woke each morning he would lie there for a while dreading the thought of another long day of cold ahead of him. But Paddywack would be standing by the door, waiting for him, tail wagging. Joe knew well enough what Paddywack was telling him. “Up you get, lazybones. We’ve got to be out there.” So he’d drag himself out of bed and do what he was told. He’d pull on his clothes, get out there, pitch the tent, put up the banner, and settle down for another day of waving at supporters, of brewing tea, of counting cars.
But every day seemed an eternity now to Joe, colder and more uncomfortable than the one before. It was becoming clearer with every passing hour that not so many cars were hooting now, that the novelty of the protest was wearing thin. He began to lose heart. He was looking grey and drawn. Mrs Bellamy was worried about him. She brought Doctor Morrison down to see him. The doctor did his very best to persuade Joe to call a halt to the whole thing. No one was paying attention any more, he told him. There was just no point in going on.
It was while the doctor was down there with him that Paddywack suddenly stood up and trotted away up the drive, his tail wagging. Then Joe saw what Paddywack had seen. Miss Carter was coming down the drive in her motorised wheelchair. She was not alone. Mrs Bellamy counted them, they were all there, every one of them – even Bob Larkin who had got up from his sickbed. Out of
“What’s going on, Miss Carter?” Mrs Bellamy demanded.
“We’ve been talking,” Miss Carter replied, “and we have all of us decided that from now on our place is down here alongside Joe and Paddywack. After all, Joe and Paddywack are doing this for us, for all of us at Fairlawns, and we can’t just pop out for a few minutes to be with them. We have to be here like he is, all the time. We can’t play at this any longer. And do you know who gave us this idea? It was Paddywack. He used to come inside with us, in the warm where he liked it, where we like it too. But then he stopped coming, didn’t he? He decided that he had to be out here with Joe, whatever the weather. Well, so have we. What we’d like to ask you to do, Mrs Bellamy, if you wouldn’t mind, is to bring out those wicker chairs from the conservatory for us, and maybe a cushion or two, and lots of blankets. We’ll be fine.” Mrs Bellamy was bursting to protest. “It’s no use,” Miss Carter went on. “We took a vote, didn’t we? It was unanimous. We’re going to come out here and sit with Joe and Paddywack, all day and every day, for as long as it takes, until the Council change their minds.”
“You can’t!” cried the doctor.
“We most certainly can, Doctor,” Miss Carter told him. “And we will too, you just watch us. Are you with us, Mrs Bellamy?”
Mrs Bellamy was in tears by now. It was several moments before she regained her composure. “Well, Doctor,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t think they’ve left us much choice, have they? So I suppose we’re just going to have to make the best of it. I suggest you warn the hospital and the emergency services what’s happening here. They’ll need to know, just in case.” She turned to Miss Carter then. “And, to answer your question, I am with you, of course I am. I always have been, you know that. We’ll make you all as comfortable as we can, chairs and blankets like you said, but we’ll need heaters and music too. Warm and happy. That’s what we’ve got to be. Warm and happy. We’ll play all the old songs, from the Beatles to Vera Lynn, all the ones you like, and we can sing along, can’t we? That’ll keep us happy.”
Miss Carter drove her chair over to where Joe and Paddywack were sitting, swathed in blankets outside the tent. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?” she said.
“You’re mad, Miss Carter, all of you are. Mad and wonderful.” He reached out and took her hand. “You’ll catch your death out here, you know that?”
“Outside, inside. What’s the difference?” Miss Carter replied.
Things happened very quickly after that. Mrs Bellamy rang up the local radio and told them what had happened. The word was out. All the old people of Fairlawns had joined the protest, and they weren’t going to give up, not ever. Overhead patio heaters arrived from Mantova, the Italian restaurant in Fore Street. More blankets and duvets and pillows were brought in from the families all around than they knew what to do with. An ambulance came and parked nearby, on permanent stand-by. The television cameras arrived again, but national television this time, and soon a whole posse of reporters. Paddywack became the centre of attention. It was Miss Carter who told them that Paddywack was their mascot. “He’s not leaving and we’re not leaving,” she declared, not till the Council change their minds.”
The police were there too, and in numbers, as a huge crowd began to gather. And all the while the old people sat there, wrapped in their blankets alongside Joe, and Paddywack would walk from one to the other, stopping by each of them for a few minutes, to rest his head on their laps – and to be given a biscuit. By now the cars weren’t just hooting, and the lorries weren’t just honking. Some of them were actually stopping, and the drivers would get out and come up on to the grass verge to shake hands. More police arrived because of the traffic congestion, and because the crowds all along the pavements were spilling out on to the road.
A police inspector came up to speak to the old people and tried to persuade them to end their protest. He said they were causing a public nuisance, that he’d have to take action if they didn’t move. “What are you going to do?” Miss Carter asked him. “Are you going to arrest us? Are you going to arrest Paddywack too?” And when they started up their singing again, he had to retreat. It was a song they all knew, an old favourite.
Miss Carter had suggested they should sing it, because of Paddywack of course, but also because everyone at Fairlawns knew it had been Marion’s favourite song:
This old man, he played one,
He played knick knack on my drum,
With a knick knack paddywack,
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home!
They sang it and they sang it, over and over. And then the whole crowd was joining in, belting it out up and down the road.
Soon dozens of relatives had turned up, to support the protest. A few of them did try to persuade the old people to go back indoors, but none of them would. They stayed right where they were, and many of their relatives and friends were so inspired that they stayed on with them, in solidarity. As the streetlights came on and the evening darkened, everyone began to feel the first nip of frost in the air. Mrs Bellamy made a statement to all the gathered reporters. “We’re all going inside now,” she said, “because it’s getting too cold. But we’ll be out again in the morning, you can be sure of that.” And as they left, the crowd clapped and cheered them all the way up the drive.
In the warmth of the house, those that could stay awake watched themselves on the television news that evening, and that’s when they discovered just what an impact their protest had had, and also what was still going on under the glare of the floodlights right outside their front door. The world’s press was there now, and hundreds of local people were still gathered on the grass verge. It was Lynn, the paramedic from the hospital, that they happened to be interviewing.
“What you maybe don’t know,” she was saying, “is that Joe Mahoney’s wife, Marion, was looked after in Fairlawns for nearly five years, until she died a couple of months ago. He knows better than anyone how good this place is, and what a crime it would be to close it down. So do I, so does everyone here. And don’t think he’ll give up, because he won’t, nor will any of them.” She was looking straight into the camera. “And if you’re watching up there in Fairlawns, good on you! Good on you, Joe! Good on you, Paddywack! We’re all with you, the whole town.” And another great cheer went up. And then they weren’t cheering any more, they were singing. It was Knick Knack Paddywack, and they were singing it out so loud that the reporter had to shout to make himself heard.
“We asked the Council if they had anything to say, but they refused to make anyone available this evening for comment.”
Heartening as all this was Joe found it difficult that night to keep his spirits up. He knew that the old people couldn’t sustain their protest for very long, that there was a limit to their endurance. Many of them were very frail. All night long he lay awake, agonising about it. He decided to give it one last day, and then call it off if the Council hadn’t changed their mind by the evening.
The next morning, after breakfast, as Joe and Paddywack led the old people down the drive, Joe saw there were hundreds of supporters waiting for them, gathered on the grass verge and all along the pavement below. Some of them were holding up a new banner that read. “Paddywack for Prime Minister!” There was more clapping and whistling and whooping, and then everyone started singing Knick Knack Paddywack all over again – it really had become the anthem of the protest. It was all a bit much for Paddywack, whose ears were twitching constantly with anxiety. He thrust his head in under Joe’s hand for reassurance. The reassurance was mutual. As the song rang out, as he felt Paddywack there right beside him, Joe began to be hopeful once again. But an hour later, with all the exultation and excitement over, with the cold gnawing at him, hope gave way to despair
The crowd was still there in vast numbers all that morning, and so was the press. There were vans with satellite dishes all down the road now. Everyone was watching and waiting. Joe was just brewing up again when he looked up and he saw the policeman – it was the same inspector as the day before – come striding across the grass verge towards him. He had a piece of paper in his hand.
“What’s that?” Joe asked. “A warrant for my arrest?”
The police inspector shook his head. “You’d better read it,” he said, handing it to Joe. It was a press release.
“Fairlawns Nursing Home. After due and careful consideration, and in the light of the strength of local feeling on this issue, the Council has decided to cancel plans for the closure of Fairlawns.”
Joe read it twice, just to be sure there was no mistake, that it really was true. Then he read it aloud, loud enough for everyone to hear.
The cheer that went up was mighty. Total strangers hugged one another. Mrs Bellamy, who was not generally a hugging sort of person, went up and hugged the police inspector, because no one else had.