The Country
That was how it happened that the four Pevensies, and Eustace of course, found themselves on the train headed to the country.
'Evacuating' was what they called it. Officials had planned to send 1.5 million women and children to the country as soon as the war started. Bombing was imminent. Peter especially hated the thought of 'Evacuating', he Peter Pevensie, was far too old for 'Evacuating'. It was disgraceful. Anyway, he was going into the RAF.
After the war ended, there were horror stories about the homes to which the children went. Some children walked for miles to get back to their parents in the city. Nevertheless, desperate parents faced the dangers and decided that even an uncertain home in the country was safer then firestorms from constant bombing in the major cities. But, most of the homes in the country were good and kind to the poor children that came to them.
~o*o~
The Pevensies and Eustace arrived at Glenridding village a little after four in the afternoon. The shadows were growing longer and the sun was low in the sky. They could just see the sparkle of the sun off Ullswater beyond the town to their right.
The hills rose up around them in craggy green beauty. If they were higher, Peter told them, because he had been soaking in a map of the area during their journey, they could see mountains in Scotland. It was beautiful, beautiful, but somehow it seemed too bright, because the world in distant parts was too dark.
Just that morning the aircraft carrier HMS Courageous had been torpedo by a U-boat and sunk off Ireland. Later that day, the army of the Soviet Union had invaded Poland from the east and the Germans had encircled Warsaw. It was only a matter of time before Poland would fall.
They piled their suitcases and gas masks on a nearby bench and stood, watching a distant spec of sail beating across the lake. A tall maple to their right was just beginning to be singed by the cold weather. Winter was coming. Susan turned to button Lucy's coat higher about her neck. They all started at the sound of a backfiring engine.
An old battered truck leaped around the corner. Edmund, who was the automobile connoisseur, had difficultly placing the year and make. Susan was vaguely wondering if it had ever been a definite color. Peter wondered how tires so bald managed to have any traction.
The truck screeched to a halt, the brakes whining like tortured ghosts.
A man leaned out of the window, or wind hole, rather, for the glass had long since disappeared. Or perhaps, Edmund speculated, it never was.
"Hello!" the man said, he had dark hair, graying now and a ruddy face, very odd, but very memorable. "I'm Digory Kirke, You Edward's kids?"
"We are," Peter said stepping forward, "I'm Peter, sir."
"And you?" Mr. Kirke's gaze came to Susan.
"Susan, sir," Susan said smartly.
"I'm Lucy!" Lucy exclaimed, "I'm very glad to be here!"
"I'm delighted to hear that," Mr. Kirke said, smiling. He turned an inquiring gaze on Edmund.
"Edmund, sir," Edmund broke into a shy smile.
Mr. Kirke turned and looked at Eustace, but Eustace was pretending to look the other way.
"Well, I suppose one of you doesn't belong to a name, very unfortunate, but…" he looked back at the rest of them, "Welcome anyway. Mrs. Kirke would have been here to welcome you too, but she's away, looking after her mother, I'm expecting her back in a few weeks."
"We really are glad to be here," Susan said, "and we'd like to thank you for being so kind."
"My pleasure!" Mr. Kirke said, "Most of you seem very delightful. There seem to be quite a lot of you, I suppose it didn't occur to me how many five really is. Ah well. All luggage and boys in the back, girls in the front."
"I'm not going to ride in the back!" Eustace exclaimed. "It's not safe!"
"You could run along behind," Edmund suggested, pitching a suitcase into the bed.
"I'll ride in the back!" Susan said quickly, then stepped closer to the Professor, "His parents were killed in a car accident."
"Well then, he can be a gentleman for once," Mr. Kirke said decisively, "Hop in the front, my dear."
~o*o~
It's a beautiful place, the Lakes district. The countryside was beautiful, misty and almost Scottish. It had a magical, mysterious quality about it.
The travelers in the bed commanded the finest view, even Eustace had to admit it was breathtaking. I won't say the journey wasn't hazardous, for the truck had an uncanny knack of behaving like a wild thing, bucking and rearing like a stallion. But it gave them, especially Peter, a free, daredevilish sort of feeling.
"It's a big place," Mr. Kirke said over the roar of the engine. "A very large place. Don't get lost in."
Susan nodded, staring out the window at the sweeping countryside.
"Don't fall foul of my Uncle," Mr. Kirke continued, "He's a reformed soul, but he can still be a bit unpleasant at times."
Susan smiled. The engine howled.
"Do you have any children?" Lucy wanted to know.
"No, unfortunately," Mr. Kirke replied, "we always wanted them, but the stork passed up by."
"Oh…I'm sorry," Lucy said, not quite sure what to say. That was the proper thing to say to someone who'd lost a child, not someone who'd lost a child that never existed.
After about fifteen minutes, they arrived.
The professor's house lived up to every description the Pevensies' parents had given them. It was Elizabethan, constructed of light gray stone, solemn and beautiful and strangely mysterious with many windows like silver mirrors, reflecting the blue clouded sky. Great trees, elms and oaks stood behind it, adding an older feeling to the place. Ivy grew heavily on the west wing. The lawns were very green and wide with straight pebbled paths running between bushes carved into geometric shapes by the gardeners. The lake, cheerful and gleaming, sparkled at the end of the lawn.
The truck roared up to the front door, bucked around in a circle and came to a squealing halt.
Eight people were standing outside, waiting for them. The doorman, who remained where he was, the chuffer, who took the truck away the moment the baggage was unloaded, three maids, Ivy, Margaret and Betty, the Professor explained, the housekeeper, Mrs. Macready, a tall, strict woman with a tight gray bun and lastly, two elderly people who were quite delighted to see the children. They were, they learned, the elder Mr. and Mrs. Kirke.
~o*o~
It was the day after they arrived that the four children…and Eustace were eating breakfast. They had taken supper in their own sitting room the night before, as the professor had told them that they would be much too tired to keep company with old codgers like him and his parents.
"He's not old," Peter had said afterwards, "he's fifty-one. Only ten years older than father."
"I saw his limp," Edmund said, "How did he get that?"
"Father was in the RFC by the time that happened," Peter said.
That morning, they had switched on the wireless for the news that the Polish President had left Poland for Romania. Things were going from bad to worse.
"Why is it always like that?" Peter had exclaimed, "Just look at a historical map and Poland is constantly disappearing and reappearing like magic, they all seem to want it."
Eustace let his spoon fall back into his bowl. He had a terrible headache.
"What's this?" he asked peering into his bowl.
"Cornflakes," Susan said.
"I never eat cornflakes!" Eustace shouted, "Why doesn't anyone ever eat proper food? Why don't they have Plum Tree's vitaminized nerve food? And made only with distilled water, not water from the tap. I never drink water from the tap!"
"Just eat them Eustace," Peter said, "There isn't any Plum Tree's vitaminized nerve food here."
"I will not!" Eustace got up and stormed out of the room.
"Little grub…" Edmund muttered, "All he cares about is himself…and his bug books."
"Edmund!" Susan said sternly, "he's your cousin; you jolly well have to be nice to him."
"I don't know if I want to be, he's such a beast…"
"Did you notice that his hair is white?" Lucy said, her big, blue eyes dancing. She had noticed this for a long time, but she had never mentioned it until now.
"It isn't white," Peter said, "it's really red. But you're right, it does look rather pale…like a grub."
"The resemblance between Eustace Scrubb and a grub is very startling," Susan said after a moment, "Sorry, I couldn't resist saying that."
"Why Su! I'm ashamed of you!" Peter laughed.
"I'm sure he can't be so very bad..." Lucy said, "I mean, it must be dreadful to have both your parent's killed in a car accident, perhaps that's why he's so beastly. I suppose we must be nice to him."
"So do I," Susan said, "we must be very nice to him; after all, we'll have to live with him for a while."
"I still think his hair is jolly white," Lucy giggled.
Edmund grinned over at her, "Beastly white," he said, "and he has sickly green eyes too."
"Red," Peter said quietly, "it's not white."
"His eyes are red?" Susan asked innocently.
Peter grinned and made a grab for her hair, but she jumped out of the way.
"Tag!" Lucy screamed, "Let's play tag!"
"No tag in the house," Susan was firm.
"We ought to do something, and it is raining…" Peter said.
"Yes," Edmund said, "It would rain…"
"Well," Susan said, "we are pretty well off, there's a wireless and lots of books."
"Only war news," Edmund said sadly, but brightened up, "I did see a complete volume of Sherlock Homes on the bookshelf."
"Hide and Seek?" Lucy suggested hopefully.
"Well…I suppose…" Susan said slowly.
"All right!" Peter said, "You're it Su!"
"Why me?" Susan asked.
"Because I say so," Peter said, "and I'm the oldest!"
With shrieks of laughter Lucy and the two boys raced down the hallways in search of hiding places.
A/N If you are interested in what the Professor's house looks like, look up Wakehurst Place.