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brotherhood of man and spoken out against Hitler and the fascists in Britain who were stirring up trouble against the Jews.
    “Dyer’s not a Jew, he’s a scab,” yelled Bert.
    But a few others, who didn’t know what a Jew was, latched eagerly on to the new word and shouted, “Jew! Jew!” at Lennie.
    “I’m telling Miss,” said Margaret Palmer.
    And Lennie knew she would. So tomorrow would be worse than today.
    Mum was at the sink, peeling carrots.
    Lennie hung up his coat without a word.
    “What’s up with you?”
    “Nothing.” Lennie kept his head down.
    She turned round. “Are those boys picking on you again?”
    “No!” said Lennie, too loudly.
    He went into the front room and got out his tin from behind the settee. Inside was the message he had taken yesterday from under Blue Cloud’s ring. He scuttled upstairs to his space on the landing to read it again.
    Ralph’s note was on a torn-off piece of school’s headed notepaper. Lennie smoothed it out. It gave the address in fine black copperplate:
Glaydon Manor School, Burwood, near Cheltenham, Glos. Headmaster: Mr J. A. H. Rolleson, BA, MA, Ph.D
. And underneath, a pencilled message: “Released Blue Cloud 10.23 a.m. 31.10.37. Write to me. Ralph.”
    Write to me. Yesterday had been such a good day, helping Dad tidy the loft, feeding and tending the birds, and every so often stopping to watch the sky for Blue Cloud.
    By midday he had been getting anxious. But then, from nowhere it seemed, a whirr of wings, a dark shape dropping down, wings folded, and she was home. He had gone into the loft, caught and calmed her, pulled the twist of paper from under her ring.
    Write to me. Lennie had been full of enthusiasm. He’d wanted to write straight away: “Received Blue Cloud.” But there was no writing paper in the house, only opened-out backs of envelopes. He couldn’t write to Glaydon Manor School on one of those. There were no stamps either. He’d have to wait till Monday.
    And now Monday had come and he didn’t want to write. Ralph was no good for him. It had made things worse having Ralph for a friend. Mary was right. He should have stuck to his own.

CHAPTER NINE
    Lennie woke up next morning with a pain in his stomach like an iron ball. He didn’t want any breakfast.
    “You must eat before you go to school,” said Mum.
    “I don’t want to go to school. I don’t feel well.”
    Dad spoke sharply. “You look all right to me.”
    Lennie knew that Dad thought Mum fussed over him too much. He thought so too but sometimes he wanted her to fuss. He considered his symptoms and felt vague nausea.
    “I feel sick as well,” he said.
    “He does look pale.” Mum felt Lennie’s forehead. “No fever though. You’re not worrying about school, are you? Those boys that bully you?”
    “Who’s been bullying him?” Dad demanded.
    “No one,” said Lennie.
    “I know they have,” said Mum. “Doreen said. Bert Haines and his mates.”
    “That idiot!” said Dad scornfully. “You don’t want to be scared of him, Lennie.”
    “I’m not,” insisted Lennie. “I just don’t feel well. I think I might have food poisoning.”
    “Food poisoning!”
    Mum looked offended and Lennie realized he’d said the wrong thing.
    “Well, it might be dysentery.” He’d read about dysentery somewhere.
    Dad burst out laughing. “It’s anxiety you’ve got, Lennie. And you’ll only get over it by going in and confronting those bullies.”
    Lennie toyed with his cereal.
    “Maybe he should have a day off,” Mum wavered. “He’s not strong.”
    “You let him stay off and it’ll be worse for him when he goes back,” said Dad. “You know I’m right, Lina. If there’s anything really wrong with him they’ll send him home.”
    So Lennie was dispatched, breakfast-less. His mother called out anxiously, “Don’t forget your coat.”
    Lennie walked slowly. The pain dragged at his stomach.
    Two doors along, Mrs Richards had a thick privet hedge bordering her