“Do you know what we should do?” she said excitedly, when they were sitting on the fence above the railway line one afternoon. “We should find a camp, or a clubhouse, or something. That would make it official. We really would be the Railway Children then.”
“Good idea,” agreed Gus. “Every club needs a meeting place.”
“Aye,” said Perky, who had finished school for the day and come to join them. “Count me in.”
“Can I be in the club too?” asked Greta.
“Of course you can,” said Edie.
But Gus raised his eyebrows. “You’d be better off staying at home with Maisie,” he said. “Real Railway Children adventures might be too daring for a little girl like you. And you always complain you don’t want to walk too far, anyway.”
“No I don’t,” said Greta. “Do I, Edie?” Her lip began to tremble.
“Of course not.” Edie could see she needed to act fast before there were tears. “Railway Children for ever!” she said, jumping down from the fence and solemnly shaking hands with each of them in turn.
“Railway children for ever!” the four children agreed.
“So,” said Edie, “does anyone have any idea where our clubhouse could be?”
“In a flowerpot?” suggested Greta.
“A flowerpot?” The boys spluttered with laughter.
“I think we’d have trouble finding one big enough to fit us all in,” said Edie kindly. She bit her lip trying not to laugh too.
But Greta was deadly serious. “Not me,” she said. “I’m a teeny-tiny fairy with silver wings.”
“Well, I’m not!” snorted Perky. “But I reckon I know a place which might just do the job. Come on!”
He led them along a path at the side of the railway line.
The boys spread out their arms and pretended to be Spitfires.
“Is that what your dad flies, then?” asked Perky.
“Yep.” Gus nodded and dipped away to the left to machine-gun a patch of stinging nettles.
“Which squadron?” asked Perky. “I’ve got a couple of cousins who work in ground crew – they might know him.”
Perky seemed to have cousins everywhere.
“I shouldn’t think so.” Gus swooped back to give the stinging nettles a second blast. “He’s not stationed anywhere near here.”
“Nor’s my oldest cousin, Johnny,” said Perky. “He’s down Kent way, somewhere. Maybe he’s with your dad!”
“Maybe.” Gus circled back for the stinging nettles a third time but seemed to lose heart. His wings dropped and turned back into arms, which swung by his side as he kicked a stone across the tracks. “Actually, I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. It’s all a bit hush-hush.”
“You mean he’s in the secret service or summat?” Perky’s mouth fell open in surprise.
“A spy?” cried Edie. “You never told me that!”
“Shh!” Gus glanced up and down the empty track. “That’s sort of the point of being a spy,” he whispered. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone.”
“Mum’s the word.” Perky put his finger to his lips, clearly impressed.
“He flies top-secret missions and stuff, that’s all,” said Gus. He shrugged and lifted his arms again ready for takeoff.
“My mum flies Spitfires too sometimes,” said Edie, seeing as no one had bothered to ask.
“Rubbish!” The boys laughed.
“They don’t let women fly Spits,” said Perky.
“Of course they do,” said Edie, and she stuck out her arms and dive-bombed a patch of brambles.
Greta followed. “Wheeeeeeee! Boom!”
“I thought you were a fairy?” scoffed Gus.
“I am,” said Greta. “I’m a splitfire fairy!”
“Spitfire!” groaned Gus.
“Whoa! Wait till the Luftwaffe hear that!” laughed Perky.
“The Luffy-what?” said Greta.
“They’re the German air force,” said Edie, although the way Perky had said it in his broad Yorkshire accent, you would never have guessed. “Come on! Let’s loop-the-loop. We’ll show these boys how it’s done.”
All four children flew off, noisily making the sound of whirring propellers.
“Here it is,” said Perky as they reached a short stretch of straight track, just before the bend and the long, dark tunnel. He scrambled up a high bank with some scruffy-looking trees. From the top, Edie could see a little siding running parallel with the main track. It was all overgrown with weeds and brambles and looked like it hadn’t been used for years.
They slithered down and walked along the siding. Half hidden beneath creeping ivy and the branches of a fallen tree was an old train carriage. It towered above them, much taller than any train Edie had ever seen before, as there was no platform running beside the rusty old rails, of course. The bottom of the carriage door was level with the top of Edie’s head, so she couldn’t see in. It made her a little dizzy to think that trains were always like that – so that you’d actually be stepping out in mid-air if there wasn’t a raised platform to catch you.
The old carriage must have been rather grand once, perhaps for first-class passengers. It had rich, chestnut-coloured sides and the remains of what looked like white lace curtains in the windows, though they were ragged and grey now. The glass was mottled with grime and moss was growing in the cracks of the wood. But Edie thought it was just perfect.
“It’s like a little house,” she cried. “Or a caravan!” She ran around the back of the carriage to the other side. “Look! We can get in from here.” A small tree had fallen from the bank opposite, making a sort of drawbridge between the side of the bank and the carriage.
Edie teetered along the fallen trunk and yanked the handle, almost toppling backwards as she pulled the door towards her. “It’s open!” she cried, stepping into the carriage. She saw at once that it must have been some sort of dining car or smoking saloon. Faded, greenish-blue seats like armchairs lined each side beneath the windows and little
