The Lights Go On Again (9 page)

T
IM SHOWED GAVIN
and Roger a clipping from the paper. A Junior Dog Show was to be held at Poplar Park that Saturday. “Why don't we enter Bosley?” said Tim. “The first prize is a book of movie tickets!”

Gavin studied the announcement. There were six categories Bosley could enter: Most Obedient, Waggiest Tail, Best Costume, Best Groomed, Funniest Expression and Best in Show.

Every day that week he brushed Bosley until his coat gleamed like black-and-white satin. He found one of his outgrown Hallowe'en costumes for Bosley to wear: a clown suit trimmed with orange and green ruffles. He cut holes in the orange wig for Bosley's ears.

Bosley had always been obedient. Gavin practised his “wave,” “trust and paid for” and “play dead” tricks. He worked out a routine where the dog jumped over a box to fetch a ball, then came back with it to perch on the box. “You're such a
good
dog,” Gavin whispered to him the night before the show. “You're just as clever as Lassie. I know you'll win everything.”

Bosley bounded beside the three boys on the way to Poplar Park. Gavin carried the box and the others the ball and costume.

As they approached they could hear barking and yelling. Kids and dogs were everywhere. A small girl tried to keep up with an excited Newfoundland dragging her on its leash. Three golden retrievers panted at their owners' feet, grinning at everyone. A tiny papillon huddled inside its owner's jacket.

“Please control your dogs!” shouted one of the adults in charge, as a pug and a curly-haired mutt tumbled in a fight around her feet.

Bosley took one look at the noisy crowd and pressed against Gavin's knee. A cairn terrier snapped at his feet. Bosley whimpered and put his tail between his legs. Daphne Worsley ran up and picked up the terrier's leash.

“It's all right, Boz,” said Gavin, as Bosley tried to hide behind him. “It's only Thistle. You
know
Thistle!”

“Bosley's such a coward,” said Daphne smugly. “He's always been afraid of my dog.”

“He is not a coward!” said Gavin.

“He's going to win everything—just wait,” said Roger.

Daphne picked up Thistle. “Huh! Just
you
wait. Thistle'll win way more ribbons than Bosley.”

Gavin turned his back on her and tried to calm Bosley, as a man with a megaphone announced the first category: The Dog with the Waggiest Tail. Bosley kept his tail firmly planted between his legs.

“Come on, Boz—want a biscuit?” Gavin cried desperately. He always wagged his tail for a biscuit—but not today. Tim tried to hold up the spaniel's tail but when he let it go the tail snapped back out of sight.

“Do something!” said Roger. “They're all in the ring!”

“I can't,” sighed Gavin. “He'll just have to skip this category.” They watched with disgust as Thistle, his tail straight up and whipping back and forth like a metronome, won first prize.

Next was Obedience. “He'll win this,” said Gavin confidently. He pulled Bosley into the ring. The dog reluctantly rolled over and played dead, trembling the whole time. When Gavin ordered “Trust” he obediently sat and ignored the biscuit in front of him; but at “Paid For” he wouldn't touch it, despite Gavin's pleading. He half-heartedly jumped over the box to retrieve the ball, but it landed beside Thistle. The terrier growled and Bosley raced back to Gavin without the ball, yelping with fright while the audience laughed.

“What's
wrong
with him?” asked Tim.

“He's just not used to being here yet,” said Gavin. “He'll improve.” They watched Daphne and her dog prance into the ring. “Thistle will be worse than Bosley,” whispered Gavin. “He
never
obeys.”

But Daphne had worked out a routine involving the one thing Thistle was excellent at: jumping. She arranged three boxes in a row and Thistle bounced back and forth over them like a dog on springs, yipping proudly. The audience loved it and the terrier won another First.

They watched Toby the papillon and Amos the Newfoundland win for smallest and largest dog. Then they decked Bosley out in his clown outfit and paraded him around the ring for Best Costume. Bosley dragged his feet and Gavin had to pull him. Then he sat down and pawed off his wig. Ahead of them strutted Thistle, wearing a tiny kilt tied around his middle and a Scottish beret with holes cut out for his ears. Daphne wore a matching kilt and hat.

“First prize for Thistle again!” groaned Tim when the event was over.

“It's not fair,” said Gavin. “The rules didn't say anything about the
owners
dressing up.”

“We'll never get Best in Show now,” said Roger sadly. “There go the movie tickets.”

But then Bosley improved. He was third for Best Groomed and first for Funniest Expression. “To Bosley, the springer spaniel, because he looks so dejected about being here,” said the judge.

“Just ignore them, Boz,” whispered Gavin as everyone laughed again. “At least you won.”

He and Tim and Roger watched as Daphne took Thistle up to receive the ribbon for Best in Show—and the book of tickets.

“Don't worry, Boz,” said Gavin. “
I
know you're the best dog in the world!”

Bosley whined at him pleadingly, as if he were saying “Can't we go home now?”

“We'll go soon,” promised Gavin. “First we're getting popcorn and you can have some.”

Eleanor was standing beside the popcorn stand. Her monkey sat on her shoulder, playing with one of her braids. “Hi,” she called.

“Can I hold Kilroy?” asked Tim.

“Better not,” she said calmly. “He bites strangers. I tried to enter him in the show but they said only dogs were eligible. It's so unfair! Kilroy is as good as any dog.”

The monkey was dressed in a green suit, like a little man. He even wore a tie. He bared his teeth and chittered at Bosley and Bosley got as far away from him as he could.

“He's a swell monkey,” said Gavin. He smiled at Eleanor while Tim and Roger were buying their popcorn. She smiled back. “Your dog's nice too,” she said.

Eleanor's sister led her away and the boys sat on the grass, wolfing down popcorn. Bosley wouldn't eat and still gave Gavin beseeching looks, but Gavin didn't want to go home yet. The Ogilvies' house was so dismal and boring these days, with Norah wretched and Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary wrapped up in the news.

Today was the first day since Gavin's parents' death when no one had come up to him to mention it. The sun was out, the duck pond sparkled in the bright air, and dogs panted and played around him. Bosley hadn't done very well, but it didn't matter. Nobody in the crowd around him would ever guess that Gavin wasn't a Canadian boy and that Bosley didn't really belong to him.

8

The Lights Go On

“
H
ave you heard?” shouted Tim before he reached Gavin. “Hitler's dead!”

“I know!” said Gavin. Hanny had burnt the toast at breakfast while Aunt Florence read aloud the newspaper. Mussolini was dead too. There was a photograph of his body in the same paper.

Adolph Hitler … the evil man they had been fighting against as long as Gavin could remember. When he'd first come to Canada he'd had nightmares about Hitler, but after he started school he had made fun of him like everyone else: a silly little man with a stubby moustache. But one of Hitler's bombs had killed his parents …

“Aren't you glad?” said Tim, while they waited for Roger.

“Of course!” said Gavin. But the paper had also said that a German surrender was “imminent.”

That meant the war could be over this week—so he and Norah would have to go back to England as soon as the school year finished.

“My Mum bought me a flag for VE Day,” said Roger after he'd joined them.

“We should get some bunting and decorate our bikes so we'll be ready,” said Tim.

Mrs. Moss spent half of arithmetic talking about the news. “You are a privileged generation,” she told them. “You'll inherit a world of peace that your elders won for you.”

The class grew more and more restless as they thought of victory—and a holiday from school. “What if it happens on the
weekend
?” worried Roger.

The next day Berlin fell. Norah stopped Gavin on the stairs. “We can go home soon,” she said quietly.

“Uh-huh,” gulped Gavin.

“I finally had a letter from Andrew,” said Norah. “Now he's in Holland. He says he'll visit us in England if we're there before he comes back to Canada.”

“How is he?”

“He always
says
he's fine. It's hard to tell how he really is. I bet he isn't fine. I bet he's hated it, having to kill people. But at least
he
wasn't killed,” she added bitterly. “He said to tell you how sorry he is about Mum and Dad.”

“Mmm,” said Gavin. He tried to imagine Andrew visiting them in England but he couldn't even picture himself there.

And what would happen with Andrew and Norah? He couldn't tell from his sister's voice whether she still loved Andrew.

Everything was happening much too fast, like the last of the water rushing out of a tub. Gavin wanted to put in the plug. At the same time, he couldn't help being infected by the joy of victory that was sweeping the city.

N
EXT MONDAY MORNING
Gavin stood outside Mr. Evans's office with the other messengers for that week. When you were a messenger you waited there every day to take news back to the classroom.

The principal was usually a vague, subdued man. But this morning he actually ran out of his office, a smile creasing his tired-looking face.

A few seconds later Gavin skidded along the wooden floor back to his classroom. He pushed open the door and cried, “The war's over! Mr. Evans just told us! He wants to see you right away, Mrs. Moss.”

Class 5A leapt to their feet, pounded on their desks and cheered. Mrs. Moss didn't even try to stop them. She ran out of the room and returned quickly.

Then she asked them to sit down. Everyone became quiet when they noticed her wet eyes. Cheers and thumps were still coming from other classrooms down the corridor.

“The war in Europe is indeed over,” said Mrs. Moss. “The Germans surrendered last night. I think it's especially appropriate that you were the one to tell us, Gavin, when your family and country have suffered so much.” She beamed at them. “Now … Mr. Evans has informed me that today
and
tomorrow will be a holiday …”

“Hooray!” Pandemonium broke out again, but Mrs. Moss waved it down. “
Quiet,
please … that's better. I know you're eager to go out and celebrate, but before we go we'll have a short service of thanksgiving.”

She read aloud a prayer about peace, then they sang “The Maple Leaf Forever.”

“All right,” she smiled. “Off you go.”

Gavin, Roger and Tim galloped home, leaping into the air and shouting. The sidewalks teemed with released children.

“Okay,” panted Tim at the corner. “Get your bikes and meet here in fifteen minutes. Then we'll go downtown!”

Gavin kept running. His heart pounded so much he had to stop and catch his breath before he dashed up the steps and pushed open the door.

“Aunt Florence! Aunt Mary! Hanny! The war's over!” He forgot that he had wished it would never end.

They all came out of the den. “We know, pet,” said Aunt Florence, hugging him. “We've just been listening to Mr. Churchill.”

“School's closed!” said Gavin. “Can I go downtown on my bike with Tim and Roger?”

Aunt Florence smiled. “I suppose so, if you're careful. Hanny, why don't you go home and celebrate with your husband? Mary and I will stay here and listen to the news.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ogilvie,” said Hanny. “I'll just pack Gavin a sandwich before I go.”

“I'm going to put up that old Union Jack that's in the attic!” said Aunt Mary. Her face looked as excited as a girl's.

Norah walked slowly into the hall, dropping her books. “The war's over. I guess you already know,” she added in a dull voice.

Aunt Mary kissed her. “Yes, dear Norah. This long, terrible war is finally over. Are you going to go downtown and celebrate, like Gavin?”

“Celebrate? Why would I want to celebrate?”

Gavin left the aunts trying to comfort her.

T
HE THREE BOYS
rode to the corner of Bay and Queen, then hid their bicycles under the stairs of a building and joined the noisy crowd around City Hall. A tall red thermometer decorated its clock tower, keeping track of the Victory Bond Drive.

Above them people threw ticker tape from high office windows and Mosquito aircraft dropped bags of paper scraps, until the air looked like December's snowstorm. Music blared from loudspeakers and the Mayor stepped onto a platform and led the crowd in singing “God Save the King.”

Gavin and Tim and Roger pushed their way through the swaying, cheering crowd. Adults ruffled their hair or pulled them into impromptu dances. They caught sight of other kids from their school and waved. Then they spotted some boys hitching a ride on the front of a streetcar.

“Come
on,
” shouted Tim. When the next streetcar arrived they perched in a row on its front fender for a few minutes, then hopped off—right in front of a policeman. But he just grinned at them.

They stayed downtown until their throats were sore from shouting and singing, their legs ached from standing and their stomachs rumbled. As they pushed their way back to their bikes, Gavin noticed a soldier standing on the sidewalk. He was watching everyone quietly, his sombre expression a contrast to the giddy crowd. One khaki sleeve was pinned up neatly where the soldier's arm was missing.

W
HEN HE GOT HOME
Gavin told the aunts and Norah all about the downtown celebrations. “May I go out again after dinner?” he asked. “They're having fireworks in Poplar Park!”