Danny  Ch. 6 (2) 
Page 46-49

6. Read Story

Page 46

Mr. Victor Hazell (continued)

Part 2

My father explained to me
they were checking up
to see if we were mixing
some of our
second-grade petrol in
with the first-grade stuff,
which is an old dodge
practised by crooked
filling-station owners.

Of course
we were not doing this.

Hardly a week went by
without some local official
dropping in to check up
on one thing or another,
and there was little doubt,
my father said,
that the long and powerful arm
of Mr. Hazell was reaching out
behind the scenes and trying
to run us off our land.

So, all in all,
you can see
why it gave my father
a certain pleasure
to poach
Mr Victor Hazell’s pheasants.

That night
we put the raisins
in to soak.

The next day
was poaching day
and don’t think
my father didn’t know it.

From the moment
he got out of his bunk
in the morning
the excitement
began to build up inside him.

Page 47

This was a Saturday
so I was home from school,
and we spent
most of the day
in the workshop
decarbonizing the cylinders
of Mr Pratchett’s Austin Seven.

It was a great little car,
built in 1933,
a tiny miracle
of a machine
that still ran as sweetly
as ever though it was now
more than forty years old.

My father said
that these Austin Sevens,
better known in their time
as Baby Austins,
were the first successful
mini-cars ever made.
 
Mr Pratchett,
who owned a turkey-farm
near Aylesbury,
was as proud
as could be
of this one,
and he always
brought it to us
for repair.

Working together,
we released
the valve springs
and drew out
the valves.

We unscrewed
the cylinder-head nuts
and lifted off
the head itself.

Then we began
scraping the carbon
from the inside
of the head
and from the tops
of the pistons.

‘I want to be away
by six o’clock,’
my father said.

‘Then I will get to
the wood
exactly at twilight.’

‘Why at twilight?’
I asked.

‘Because at twilight
everything inside the wood
becomes veiled and shady.

You can see
to move around
but it’s not easy
for someone else
to see you.

And when
danger threatens
you can always hide
in the shadows
which are darker
than a wolf’s mouth.’

‘Why don’t you wait
till it gets really dark?’
I asked.
‘Then you wouldn’t
be seen at all.’

‘You wouldn’t catch anything
if you did that,’ he said.
‘When night comes on,
all the pheasants
fly up into the trees
to roost.

Pheasants are just like
other birds.
They never sleep
on the ground.

Twilight’,
my father added,
‘begins about
seven-thirty this week.
And as it’s at least
an hour and a half’s
walk to the wood,
I must not leave here
later than six o’clock.’

Page 48

‘Are you going to use
The Sticky Hat
or will it be
The Horse-hair Stopper?’
I asked.

‘Sticky Hat,’
he said.
‘I’m very fond of
Sticky Hat.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘About ten o’clock,’
he said.
‘Ten-thirty at the latest.
I promise I’ll be back
by ten-thirty.
You’re quite sure
you don’t mind
being left alone?’

‘Quite sure,’ I said.
‘But you will be all right,
won’t you, Dad?’

‘Don’t you worry
about me,’
he said,
putting his arm
round my shoulders
and giving me a hug.

‘But you said
there wasn’t a man
in your dad’s village
that didn’t get
a bit shot up
by the keepers
sooner or later.’

‘Ah,’ my father said.
‘Yes. I did say that,
didn’t I?
But in those days
there were
lots more keepers
up in the woods
than there are now.

There were keepers
behind almost every tree.’
‘How many are there now
in Hazell’s Wood?’

‘Not too many,’ he said.
‘Not too many at all.’
As the day wore on,
I could see my father
getting more and more
impatient and excited.

By five o’clock
we had finished work
on the Baby Austin
and together
we ran her
up and down
the road to test her out.

At five-thirty
we had an early supper
of sausages and bacon,
but my father hardly ate
anything at all.

At six o’clock precisely
he kissed me goodbye
and said,
‘Promise not to wait up
for me, Danny.
Put yourself to bed
at eight and
go to sleep. Right?’

Page 49

He set off
down the road
and I stood
on the platform
of the caravan,
watching him go.

I loved the way
he moved.
He had that long
loping stride
all countrymen have
who are used to covering
great distances on foot.

He was wearing
an old navy-blue sweater
and an even older cap
on his head.

He turned
and waved to me.
I waved back.
Then he disappeared
round a bend in the road.