Read Online Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian - Free Book Online Page B

in the town. See them woods,’ he said. ‘There’s a small river flows through there to where the Grange is. ’Tis popular with the children round here.’
    They stared silently out at the gentle panorama until their reveries were interrupted by loud barking from the graveyard. Sammy was running up and down the pathway and yelping up at them.
    ‘Wants attention, he does,’ murmured Tom, drawing himself away from the window. ‘We’se got another busy day, William. Got to start diggin’ a trench fer the Anderson this afternoon. That’ll put muscles on you.’
    They stripped the bed between them and carried the sheets downstairs. Tom gently washed Willie’s body again and smoothed witch-hazel onto the sore spots.
    An assortment of clothes were lying on the table. Mrs Fletcher had brought them round the previous night. David, her youngest, had grown out of them and although he was younger than Willie he was a head taller. Tom handed him a white shirt from the pile and tied one of his own ties, a brown tweedy affair, around his neck. Willie’s grey trousers seemed more crumpled than ever, but with the braces attached to them they at least felt comfortable. He tucked the long tie into them. Tom handed him a new pair of grey woollen socks and Willie pulled the garters over them.
    ‘I put some oil on them boots last night,’ he said as Willie stood, his feet encased in them. ‘Yous’ll have to do them yerself tonight.’
    Tom had to be in the church early, to see Mr Peters, the vicar. He went on ahead while Willie staggered on after him. It was difficult for him to move in his new boots. They cut into his ankles and he couldn’t bend his feet to walk in them, but apart from the slight discomfort, he felt very protected and supported in them. They clattered on the flagstoned pathway and it pleased him to hear himself so clearly. His bony legs, which usually felt as if they would collapse beneath him, felt firmer, stronger.
    He found the back door of the church already open and Mister Tom talking to a tall, lanky man with piebald black and grey hair.
    ‘Ah, William,’ he exclaimed, turning towards him. ‘Mr Oakley tells me that you’re going to give us a hand. Those are the hymn books,’ he continued, indicating a pile of red books on a table by the main door. ‘Put four on each bench and if there are any over, spread them across the rows of chairs at the front and at the back. Do you think you can do that?’ Willie nodded. ‘Good.’ He turned back to Tom. ‘Now, where’s the best place acoustically for this wireless of mine?’
    Willie walked over to the table and picked up some books, feeling totally bewildered. Mum had said red was an evil colour but the vicar had told him to put them out so it couldn’t be a sin. He had also said that he was good. Mum had told him that whenever he was good she liked him but that when he was bad, she didn’t. Neither did God or anyone else for that matter. It was very lonely being bad. He touched the worn, shiny wood at the back of one of the pews. It smelled comfortable. He glanced at the main door. Like the back door, it was flung open revealing a tiny arched porch outside. Sunlight streamed into the church and through the stained glass windows, and a smell of grass and flowers permeated the air. A bird chirruped intermittently outside. P’raps heaven is like this, thought Willie to himself.
    He laid each book out neatly on the benches, his new boots echoing and reverberating noisily around him, but the vicar made no comment and carried on talking quite loudly, for someone who was in a church.
    He was arranging the books in the back row so that they were exactly parallel to each other, when two boys entered. They were both three or four years older than him. They sat on the second row of choir benches to the left of the altar.
    Suddenly it occurred to Willie that the church would soon be filled with people. He hated crowds and dreaded the Sunday service and its