Following on from yesterday's post about my NaNoWriMo novel, I thought I would post an extract. It is a first draft but would love to hear any feedback on it.
The
next day, June 1st, was an interesting one. The boys all
came down for their breakfast. As Cecil and Ivan chewed through
their porridge, they seemed a bit too quiet and I was troubled by it.
“What
are you two up to?” I asked.
“Nothing,”
said Cecil, angelically.
“We
were thinking of going out for the afternoon. We want to go fishing
in Brightlingsea and build forts.” Ivan blurted out,
unchecked. Cecil scowled at him.
“It is summer,” Cecil added.
“and we always go to the beach.”
“If
I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times.” I told them.
“Steer clear of Brightlingsea beach. I've heard some horrendous
stories about that place and besides that, all beaches are off limits
because of the war.” I was really worried about my mischievous
youngsters. They had been nagging me for ages to go back to the
beach. We hadn't had our annual outing since Reg's departure. It
didn't seem right to have our family outing without our fort building
champions and it was now completely forbidden to go near any beach on
the east or south coast due to the dangerous coastal defences which
had been put up.
“Mum...” they both whined. I
threw them a stern look as they both stood there in the kitchen,
hands behind their backs, their faces painted with innocent smiles,
looking as though butter would never soften in their mouths, let
alone melt. They made me seem ridiculous, clucking around them like
an old mother hen.
“No. I will not say it again. You
can go to play with your friends as you normally do,” I put on my
cross voice. “If you mention it again, you will not go out and you
will have your father to answer to.”
“Humph. Ok … but can we go and
play with Dennis and the others instead?” asked Cecil.
“Yes. That would be fun instead,”
agreed Ivan. “We're not stupid enough to go to the beach after
what you just said, Mum.”
I continued peeling potatoes for
dinner and, despite my better judgement, I nodded, giving the boys
permission to go out and see their friends.
I had my misgivings regarding what
they might be up to, but I was in absolute shock when I found out
what they actually ended up doing.
One hour after leaving the house, my
naughty, disobedient boys scampered along the train tracks,
following the slow train through the marshland to Brightlingsea.
They were beyond excited as their naughty plan drew
towards its climax. They even raced onto the swing
bridge, risking being tipped headfirst into the
horrible estuary mud as they balanced behind the train. How they
weren't caught sooner, I will never know.
As soon as the lads arrived in
Brightlingsea, they headed straight for the beach, the salty sea air
reassuringly familiar to them as their adventure progressed.
As they approached the beach, the
changes since their last visit were stark. The waterline was marked
with dense structures of scaffolding, barbed wire and other sorts of
spiky and unfriendly looking apparatus. Unfortunately, to these two,
excited boys, these defences did not really represent a warning as
perhaps they should have done.
“Let's go crabbing!” cried Cecil
joyfully, heading onto the sand. “And we can practise building
forts too. Then we can beat the others next time we come to the
beach, when the war is over!” Ivan stood back for a moment,
pondering the tremendous defeat he and Cecil had suffered against
their brothers just last year. As his more adventurous brother sped
across the smooth, golden and worryingly empty sand towards the sea,
his mother's warnings rang in his ears. “Come on Ivan!” yelled
Cecil with excitement. “You have the scraps and I want to catch a
massive crab.” With that, Ivan forgot his concerns and ran over to
his brother, giggling naughtily.
Suddenly, the boys' voices were
drowned out by the roar of a Lancaster bomber passing overhead. They
looked up, their mouths hanging open as they watched the elegant
machine making its way to fight the enemy. Unfortunately, the
clattering roar of the Rolls Royce engine prevented them hearing the
voice of a man in forces uniform, who stood on the sea wall, having
just come out of a bunker near to Bateman's Tower. Too late, they
heard his cries.
“STOP!” he yelled urgently.
“You're walking through a minefield! Don't you lads know there's a
war on and the beaches are off limits?”
Both boys froze on the spot, fear
creeping its fickle way up their spines. Their mother's words were
now ringing in their ears louder than ever but it was too late.
Ivan glanced at his younger brother,
regret stabbing him in the stomach. Cecil glanced back at him, his
lip quivering and tears welling up in his eyes. How would they get
out of this scrape?
“I know!” yelled Ivan, wanting to
calm his brother down and reach safety. “There's a stick next to
me. I'll make my way to you and we'll go back to the sea wall
together. With that, Ivan began tentatively poking the stick into
the sand and inched slowly forward. Cecil visibly flinched each time
the stick pierced the sandy surface.
After several painful minutes, during
which, time seemed to stop, Ivan reached Cecil. He then instructed
his brother to stand directly behind him and walk in his footsteps.
He continued prodding the ground, scarcely breathing as they made
their painstakingly slow way back to the safety of the sea wall.
Around three feet from the sea wall,
Ivan stopped in his tracks. Cecil nearly knocked him over, he
stopped so abruptly.
“Oh my God!” Ivan uttered under
his breath, shrinking backwards and knocking his brother slightly off
balance.
“What? What?” whispered Cecil
loudly.
"Mine. In front of us.”
“Oh my God!” whispered Cecil.
“What do we do?
“Look behind you, Cecil.” Cecil
turned his head round delicately.
“See the footprints?”
“Yes Ivan.”
“Step back into them but be really
careful.” Cecil stepped back three paces, treading exactly into
the marks on the beach. Ivan followed him carefully. He prodded the
ground a foot to the right of the mine, which he had marked with a
large stone. The coast was clear and, finally, after a few more
minutes with no more dramas, they reached the sea wall.
The soldier, who had shouted at them
looked livid. He grabbed the two boys by their ears and dragged them
kicking and screaming to the local police station, where he deposited
them with the local constable.
“I found these two playing in the
minefield, Constable.” he said. “I don't know what you want to
do with them. I'd personally lock them up and throw away the key.”
Ivan and Cecil were terrified at this prospect. They both burst
into tears, apologising profusely for their stupid behaviour and
begging for forgiveness.
Evidently, the constable felt sorry
for them. Very kindly, he placed them in his police car and drove
them home, none the worse for their ordeal but eating humble pie like
there was no tomorrow.
When
the constable knocked on my door, my first thought was that something
terrible had happened but as soon as I opened the door, it was
obvious that there was nothing wrong at all.
“Mrs
Bell?” the tall constable asked.
“Yes.”
“Are
these two young scoundrels your children?” he asked with more than
a hint of judgement.
“They
are, Constable,” I answered, dreading what he might be about to
tell me.
“Well,”
the constable shook his head. “A soldier just found these two
running about on a mined beach in Brightlingsea. Did you allow them
to do this?”
“Absolutely
not!” I retorted. “I specifically told them to stay away from
the beaches.” I was truly angry now but also terrified. My boys?
In a minefield? It didn't bear thinking about.
Having
accepted that the boys would be suitable punished for their foolish
behaviour, the constable decided to leave them to me rather than
taking any further action but he gave them a very stern warning
implying that they would be put into prison if they ever did anything
so stupid again.
I
was too angry and disappointed to talk to the boys and so I sent them
to their room until their father returned home.
© Annie Bell 2012
The Colchester Poetry Sunday Matinee takes place around the last Sunday of every month, from 2-4pm at FirstSite Colchester or 15 Queen Street.
