Authors: Megan Rix
This book is partially inspired by the
moving true story of nineteen-year-old Emile (aka Jack) Corteil and his parachute
dog, Glen, who both died on D-Day and are buried together at the Ranville War
Cemetery in Normandy, France.
I tried to imagine what might have
happened had they not been killed but separated on that fateful day.
However, the fictional Grey is
definitely not Glen nor the fictional Nathan, Emile. In fact, I do not know where
Glen came from or how he and Emile ended up working together.
I do know that their
commanding officer was Major Parry, but the Major Parry in the book, and his
actions, are fictional. I wanted to include him because the real Major Parry
insisted that Emile and Glen share the same grave as they were so devoted to each
other. I think Major Parry must have been a good man and a dog lover as this seems
like the kindest and most right thing to do.
In the book no one knows where puppy
Grey comes from and during the Second World War, according to the local newspapers,
there were an awful lot of stray dogs in Britain, plus 200 French and Belgian
messenger dogs that were sent over during the Dunkirk mission, and about whom I
haven't been able to find out as much information as I would have liked.
The threat of imprisonment or worse for
Sabine, Claude, Luc and Madame Dubois for being part of the French Resistance was
also
very real. In one French village 600 people were killed in
retaliation for the murder of an SS officer.
One of the many ways the French
Resistance helped the Allies to free France was by hiding soldiers. One inventive
French family even adapted a rabbit hutch so it had a much larger room hidden behind
it where soldiers could be hidden.
The German talking-dog school in the
book is not fictional. It was called the Tiersprechschule Asra.
Adolf Hitler was very fond of dogs and
had two German Shepherds. In the First World War he adopted a Jack Russell terrier
from the trenches that he named Little Fox. He was devastated when it was
stolen.
German Shepherd dogs became known as
Alsatians in the UK during the First World War because of anti-German feeling. The
name remained until 1977 when the British Kennel Club allowed
the breed to be registered once again as German Shepherd dogs.
The dedication at the front of the book
â âFor Gallantry, We Also Serve' â is taken from the PDSA's Dickin
medal. Fifty-four medals were awarded to honour the work of animals during the
Second World War.
But countless dogs help each other, plus
other animals and people, during man-made conflicts, natural disasters and
peace-time, every single day. I didn't have to look far to find a host of
real-life examples, from all over the world, that were very similar to that of Grey
saving Molly in the book.
I've never met a dog that
didn't love to play, be it hide-and-seek, find the toy, tug or ball. In fact,
one of my dogs, Bella, thinks that a walk without a ball isn't a walk at all.
At home her favourite game is taking it in turns to hide one. When it's her
turn, she's been known to hide
the ball in the bin, toilet,
washing machine, saucepan cupboard, old and new suitcases, wellington boots, a wide
range of assorted human clothing and beds. She usually gives her hiding place away,
though, by staring at where she's hidden it.
My other dog, Traffy, who's
recently started coming into schools with me, although not as ball obsessed, has
been known to try to catch one in her paws.
Like Nathan in the story, I cannot
imagine my life without a dog, or two, in it.
As ever I would like to express my huge
thanks to the many people who gave their time and shared their knowledge with me
while I was writing this book.
The personal stories, both memories of
life during the Second World War and animal anecdotes, were invaluable.
When I was much younger, my grandfather,
Sergeant William Cloves, enthralled me with stories of his time in the Army Air
Corps, for which he received the Military Medal, during the Second World War. He
never mentioned
parachute dogs, but he was a dog lover and
I'm sure he'd have loved Grey.
On the dog side big thanks must go to
Julia Surman and her German Shepherds, Jake and Rosie, for letting me delay their
walks so I could stroke them and ask endless questions.
I'm also especially grateful to
the search-and-rescue service whose volunteers spend many hours practising hiding
and finding with their dogs in all weathers â in readiness for when they might need
to find someone for real.
The staff at Dover Castle need a special
mention as they helped to bring that part of the story to life for me. And Ruth
Rose's vivid recollection of seeing the bombers flying overhead on D-Day
turned a routine train journey into an unexpectedly interesting research trip.
On the writing side I'd like to
thank my editor, Anthea Townsend, whose passion for the
character
of Grey was unfailing; super sharp-eyed copy-editors Samantha Mackintosh and Beatrix
McIntyre; proofreaders Jane Tait and Mary-Jane Wilkins; and my agent, Clare Pearson,
for her continued enthusiasm for my stories.
I've also been very fortunate to
work with PR and Marketing executives supreme Hannah McMillan and Julia Teece, as
well as animal-loving Tineke Mollemans from the Penguin sales team, and the many
wonderful booksellers and librarians who've been so encouraging.
They say you can't judge a book by
its cover, but I think Sara Chadwick-Holmes's design for this one is just
stunning.
Most of all I'd like to thank my
husband for his support, his help with the research and his willingness to dogsit,
provide delicious meals for a frazzled wife and tell stories of life growing up with
German Shepherd dogs.
Thanks also to our two golden
retrievers, Traffy and Bella, who I like to think would have
been
great friends with the exuberant Grey, if he were not a fictional dog.
Finally, I'd like to thank my
readers who make it all worthwhile and in particular the boy who asked me if I was
writing a book about the Second World War that showed it from more than one
side.
I told him I was â and this book is
it.
Â
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On a steamy hot Saturday morning in the
summer of 1939, a Jack Russell with a patch of tan fur over his left eye and a black
spot over his right was digging as though his life depended upon it.
His little white forepaws attacked the soft
soil, sending chrysanthemums, stocks and freesias to their deaths. He'd soon dug
so deep that the hole was bigger than he was, and all that could be seen were sprays of
flying soil and his fiercely wagging tail.
âLook at Buster go,'
twelve-year-old Robert Edwards said, leaning on his spade. âHe could win a medal
for his digging.'
Robert's best friend, Michael,
laughed. âBark when you reach Australia!' he told Buster's rear end.
He tipped the soil from his shovel on to the fast-growing mound beside them.
Buster's tail wagged as he emerged
from the hole triumphant, his muddy treasure gripped firmly in his mouth.
âOh no, better get
that off him!' Robert said, when he realized what Buster had.
âWhat is it?' Michael asked.
âOne of Dad's old slippers â
he's been looking for them everywhere.'
âBut how did it get down
there?'
Buster cocked his head to one side, his
right ear up and his left ear down.
â
Someone
must have buried it
there. Buster â give!'
But Buster had no intention of giving up his
treasure. As Robert moved closer to him Buster danced backwards.
âBuster â Buster â give it to
me!'
Robert and Michael raced around the garden
after Buster, trying to get the muddy, chewed slipper from him. Buster thought this was
a wonderful new game of chase, and almost lost the slipper by barking with excitement as
he dodged this way and that.
The game got even better when Robert's
nine-year-old sister Lucy, and Rose the collie, came out of the house and started to
chase him too.
âBuster, come back â¦'
Rose tried to circle him and cut him off.
Until recently she'd been a sheepdog and she was much quicker than Buster, but he
managed to evade her by jumping over the ginger-and-white cat, Tiger, who wasn't
pleased to be used as a fence and hissed at Buster to tell him so.
Buster was having such a good time. First
digging
up the flower bed, now playing chase. It was the perfect day â
until Lucy dived on top of him and he was trapped.
âGot you!'
Robert took Dad's old slipper from
Buster. âSorry, but you can't play with that.'
Buster jumped up at the slipper, trying to
get it back. It was his â he'd buried it and he'd dug it up. Robert held the
slipper above his head so Buster couldn't get it, although for such a small dog,
he could jump pretty high.
Buster went back to his hole and started
digging to see if he could find something else interesting. Freshly dug soil was soon
flying into the air once again.
âNo slacking, you two!'
Robert's father, Mr Edwards, told the boys as he came out of the back door. Robert
quickly hid the slipper behind him; he didn't want Buster to get into trouble.
Michael took it from him, unseen.
Lucy ran back into the kitchen, with Rose
close behind her.
âYou two should be following
Buster's example,' Mr Edwards said to the boys.
At the sound of his name Buster stopped
digging for a moment and emerged from his hole. His face was covered in earth and it was
clear that he was in his element. Usually he'd have been in huge trouble for
digging in the garden, but not today. When
Mr Edwards wasn't
looking, Michael dropped the slipper into the small ornamental fishpond near to where
Tiger was lying. Tiger rubbed his head against Michael's hand, the bell on his
collar tinkling softly, and Michael obligingly stroked him behind his ginger ears before
getting back to work.