The Kingdom by the Sea (19 page)

“Maybe they were… all burnt up.”

“The man assured me they would’ve found
something.
They always find
something
.”

Harry had an awful vision of the chicken that Mam had forgotten about one over-merry New Year’s Day, and
left far too long in the oven. He nearly threw up there and then.

“They suggest we try the hospital,” said Mr M. very low and gentle. “They said they’d know at the hospital. The mortuary’s there too.”

Mr M. was gone a long time at the hospital. Harry stared at the nurses passing in their starched uniforms. They just didn’t seem to
mean
anything. He stroked Don’s ears. That helped a bit.

Then Mr M. came back, and his voice was all weird. “They
were
here,” he said. “All three of them. William Baguley, Mary Baguley and Dulcie Margaret Baguley in the children’s ward. I’ve seen their records. Those were their names, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “those were their names.”

“They were all quite badly hurt. Your dad had a broken leg, and your mam crushed ribs, and Dulcie had a lot of cuts from glass. They all had a lot of cuts from flying glass. But they’ve gone. Dulcie was the last. She was discharged a month ago.

“But,” said Harry. “But.” He didn’t believe a word of it. This was all just bits of writing on paper. He’d
seen
the house burning with its evil blue flames.

“Town Hall,” said Mr M. briskly. “The Town Hall will know what happened to them. They told me how to get to the Town Hall.”

It was as well they had; Harry could never have told him.

At the Town Hall, Mr M. was much quicker. “They’ve been rehoused. Number eleven, Chestnut Road, the Ridges estate. Do you know it?”

That proved it was all a lie. Mam and Dad would never go and live on the Ridges. The Ridges was where the slummy people lived. Mam and Dad would have
died
before they would go and live at the Ridges. But Mr M. was off again, driving like mad, full of excitement, the excitement of the chase.

Harry stared dully out of the windscreen, as the jungle-like front gardens and broken fences of the Ridges closed in around him. People on the Ridges smashed up their front fences for firewood… it was all a dream, a terrible mistaken nightmare. It must be three other people, pretending to be his family on the Ridges for some criminal reason. Half the people on the Ridges had been in prison for nicking and all that.

“Number eleven,” said Mr M. “Come on.” He had to nearly drag Harry out of the car. They walked with Don up the cracked ugly front path, past a garden full of weeds. His dad would never have had a garden full of weeds.

Mr M. knocked. There was the sound of footsteps coming.

The front door opened slowly.

Dad was standing there. He was leaning on a stick, and he had terrible scars, on his face and bare arms. He didn’t look at all well, and he had on a very baggy and awful pair of old trousers.

But it was Dad. He looked at Mr M. enquiringly then he looked down and saw Harry.

“You little bugger,” he said angrily. “Where’ve you been? You’ve had us worried out of our minds.”

Mam had burst into tears and hugged him; then made a cup of tea in some very crude and ugly cups. Then they all sat round, except Dulcie, who stood by Mam’s chair for a cuddle, with her thumb in her mouth, and listened with eyes like saucers.

“We was running down the garden to the shelter,” said Dad, “when the bomb hit. It must have blown us clear into next door’s garden, and knocked us senseless. First thing I remember was waking up in hospital.

“But Jack Brightman the warden came to see us. They found us in Simpson’s garden - number seven - so they just thought we were the Simpsons, and got an ambulance and got us into hospital…”

“What about the Simpsons?” asked Harry.

“They were away on holiday. It was Smith’s Dock holiday week.”

Now at last Harry remembered. Remembered the warden that terrible night saying that the Simpsons were safe in hospital. Remembered thinking there was something funny about the Simpsons being at home at all. But not being able to work it out…

“And what the hell have you been up to?” asked Dad angrily. “Where the hell have you been?”

“The wardens said you were dead,” said Harry. “So I just went away.”

“Ran away,” said Dad, his voice full of disgust. “A big lad like you, running away?”

“Running away,” said Mam. “I’ve cried myself to sleep every night, worrying what had happened to you.”

“Running away!” said Dulcie. “An’ you weren’t even
scratched.
You were in the
shelter.
Cowardy cowardy custard.” She snuggled tighter into Mam’s arm, like she owned her. The scars on her face didn’t make her look any prettier, and her dress was grubby.

Suddenly, Harry really hated her. Her always running to Mam telling tales, her always sucking up to be Dad’s little pet.

“Mam,” said Dulcie. “I’m frightened of that big dog. He’s staring at me. He wants to bite me.” She started to snuffle a bit, like she always had.

“That’s
my
dog,” yelled Harry. Don was just sitting
peacefully, with his tongue out because he was thirsty.

“
Your
dog?” said Dad in an awful voice. “What makes it
your
dog?”

“I found him. He was the only friend I had.”

“Well, you can just bloody well lose him again,” shouted Dad. “You’re not bringing a great dog like that here. We can hardly feed ourselves, let alone a great humping dog like that.”

Harry looked at Don, at that faithful face. That had gone through so much with him. And Don looked back at Harry, as ever, his great brown eyes warm with adoration.

“He’ll have to be put to sleep,” said Dad, with great finality. “You’ll never find the owner now, you bloody little fool. Fancy picking up a great hungry animal like that. Have you got no sense?”

It was too much. On the one side, there was Don, and the open air, and the great winding sunlit coast of Northumberland. His whole kingdom, that he’d found for himself, made for himself. And on the other side, these shabby angry bossy people in their disgusting Ridges house, full of whining self-pity for what
they
had suffered. Narrow, narrow…

He stood up. He said, “If Don goes, I go.”

“Go where?” gasped Mam, turning very pale, and
clutching her neck. “What does he mean, Dad,
go
?”

Dad glared at Harry, and Harry glared back at Dad. There was a long, long silence, in which an awful lot was said.

Harry and Dad would never be quite the same ever again.

Oh, some things would get better, no doubt. Dad would get back to work, when his leg was better. Dad was a good worker, and made good money, and they wouldn’t stay long on the Ridges. But…

Dad had never seen a gannet dive. He had never seen the dawn come up over the breaking waves of Druridge Bay. He would
never
understand. None of them would ever understand, not even Mam.

Harry had grown, and they hadn’t. Harry had grown too big for his family, as if he’d drunk from some magic bottle like Alice in Wonderland. And Dad knew it. And hated it.

It was Mr M. who broke it up. Gently.

“I’d be glad to look after the dog for you,” he said. “He’ll be company for me.”

“Right, that’s settled then,” said Dad. “I’m beholden to you. And for bringing this young fool home.” But he didn’t sound beholden; he didn’t sound grateful. He sounded pretty angry underneath.

Mr M. knew. Mr M. got up to go. His shoulders dropped a bit, but his face was very kind.

“I’ll see you to the car,” said Harry, glaring at his family, daring them to try to stop him.

They went out to the car. The car that was still waiting to take them back to the glorious kingdom. Don got cheerfully on to the back seat, but looked puzzled when Harry didn’t get in. Mr M. got into the driver’s seat, and wound down the window, and sat staring into space.

“I
told
you,” said Harry. “I
told
you we shouldn’t have come back.”

Mr M. looked up at him, amazed.

“I want to stay with you,” said Harry. It was the truth.

Mr M.’s face lit up a little, through the bleakness.

“I’ll write and let you know how the dog gets on,” he said.

“I’ll write every week,” said Harry. “
Twice
a week.”

“Steady on,” said Mr M. “Once a month will do. Don’t make your father jealous. He’s a good man really. He’s been through a lot.”

“So’ve you.”

“I shall get over it,” said Mr M. “Thanks to you. And Don here. We’ll look after each other. I think we’ll manage.”

And Harry thought he might. But he added, “I’ll come and see you both. As often as I can. I’ll hitch-hike in the holidays. Like the soldiers do, when they go on leave.”

“You’re welcome. If you can manage it. Go steady though. Don’t make trouble for yourself.”

“I’m nearly thirteen. I’ll soon be able to do what I like.”

“None of us can ever do that,” said Mr M. warningly. “Not even when we’re grown up.” Then he said, “Cheerio,” with a tremble on his lips, and put the car into gear and drove away.

As they turned out of the road, Harry caught a last glimpse of Don’s face, peering at him through the back window.

Then he went back inside. He paused in the hall, hearing Dulcie’s voice.

“Who was that man? I didn’t like him, and I didn’t like that dog.”

“Funny sort of feller,” said Mam. “He talked very posh. Not
our
sort. Not our sort at all.”

“I wonder if he’s married,” said Dad. “Or if he’s one of
that
sort…”

Harry walked in. “He was married,” he said. “But his wife died. And his son was killed on board the
Repulse
off Malaya.”

That shut them up. But he stared at their faces, and wondered how he was going to keep his own mouth shut, over all the years.

The years before he got back to his kingdom by the sea.

What an amazing book! I mean,
what
an amazing book!

I love
The Kingdom by the Sea
for lots of reasons. For a start, there’s the way it begins … grabbing you on page one and never letting go. The story is set in the North East of England during the Second World War. Page one plunges the main character, Harry, into the middle of an air raid. Sirens, noise, confusion and exploding bombs. By the end of the first chapter, Harry has lost everything - his home, his family, even his rabbits. Reading it the first time, I was already completely hooked.

As Harry goes on the run he has to deal with some of life’s biggest challenges - finding food and shelter on a daily basis. He finds a purpose - trying to get to the island of Lindisfarne - and someone to care for - Don, the dog. As he travels around, he grows up - and this is another fantastic part of the book; the way without either us or him realising it, Harry changes and learns how to look after himself.

There’s a perfect balance in the story between exciting action where Harry faces terrible dangers, and Harry’s thoughts and feelings about his situation. You get completely
inside Harry’s head and the book is really emotional, without ever being sentimental. And that’s another thing I love - the beautiful style in which the story is written. Every word counts. Nothing excessive. Nothing wasted.

Harry meets a variety of people on his travels. Some are kind and helpful, others abusive or manipulative. Harry calls himself a pilgrim at one point and, indeed,
The Kingdom by the Sea
is like a quest story, with Harry having to face life-threatening dangers and gain confidence before coming to the end of his journey.

Perhaps my favourite thing about this book is the ending. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give it away here! Often when I read stories the endings are disappointing. After a good story, the final pages are predictable or unrealistic. Not with
The Kingdom by the Sea.
As I was reaching the end of the book, I started wondering how it would finish. I was so caught up in Harry’s life and adventures I could only see two alternative endings. In the end, the story ended in a third way - one I hadn’t foreseen but which felt completely convincing.

This is such a brilliant book - it definitely inspired me to be a better writer and, most importantly, was - and is - one of the best reads, ever!

Spotlight on Robert Westall

The Robert Westall Walk

Lindisfarne

Pillboxes

Key events in WWII

Want to know more?

Seven Stories

Want to read more?

More than a Story section © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2009
Photographs © the Estate of Robert Westall, used by permission of Lindy McKinnel Thanks to Lindy McKinnel for her help with this section.

Robert Atkinson Westall was born in North Shields, Northumberland, on October 7
^th
1929.

He spent his childhood on Tyneside and his wartime memories later inspired many of his novels for children.