“How indeed,” said Aunt Roberta. “Are they your piglets, Mr Snigson?”
Edie could see a little muscle in the side of Len’s cheek pumping away as he tried to think of a good answer.
“Yes, Nurse Roberta, ma’am,” he said at last. “They’re our piglets.”
“Then what are they doing in a pram?” said Edie.
Len scowled at her. His cheek was pumping again.
“Donny was playing a trick on me,” he said at last. Edie could imagine the cogs inside his brain whirring. “Yes, that’s it!” He smiled now as if he had finally settled on a good story. “It tickled our Donny no end. Leaving the piglets in the pram like that. He knew I’d go and peep. I’m right soft when it comes to babies, you know.”
Edie found that very hard to believe. This story was getting more and more unlikely by the minute. Even she knew that wartime food rationing meant every farm animal was supposed to be accounted for to the ministry. But the Snigsons were clearly breaking the law. These piglets were smuggled, Edie was sure of it.
“Imagine my surprise,” said Len, “when it wasn’t a bairn sleeping in there, but a pair of porkers… ”
“And the piglets are definitely yours?” repeated Aunt Roberta. “From the farm, I mean. They haven’t just arrived by train or anything?”
“No. They’re definitely our piglets,” said Len boldly. “In fact I – er – I ought to be getting them back to Donny right away. They’ll – er – need food and that.”
“I’ve fed them,” said Greta crossly. “They like eating flowers.”
Len ignored her. He stretched out and took the handle of the pram.
“Stop! You can’t take them.” Greta tugged at his jacket and tried to pull him away.
“Now, Greta.” Aunt Roberta raised her eyebrow. “Mr Snigson is quite entitled to take his own pigs away. Stand back, please.”
Greta’s lip was shaking as Len barged her aside and began to push the enormous perambulator away. He was almost running with it down the path towards the church gate.
“Ta very much, Nurse Roberta. Sorry about all the confusion.” He looked back over his shoulder and smiled like an innocent choirboy.
Edie couldn’t stand it. He was getting away. “You’re not actually going to let him take them, are you?” she hissed. Surely Aunt Roberta knew the pigs weren’t really from his farm, no matter what he tried to say?
“Just one last thing, Mr Snigson… ” Aunt Roberta raised her voice. Edie wasn’t sure but she thought she saw her aunt wink. “You do have all the relevant papers for them, I presume?”
“Papers?” Len was squirming again. “I’m sure we do. I’ll – er – I’ll have to ask Donny. Now if you’ll excuse me, I ought to be getting back to the station.”
While he was talking, Aunt Roberta had walked round to the front of the pram and was blocking the path.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” she said brightly. “We’ll hold on to the piglets until you can find the papers. That way I won’t have to report it to the ministry. You know, of course, that smuggling black-market animals while there’s a war on is an offence you can go to prison for.” She paused and folded her arms as if to let this sink in. Len kicked at the ground with his boot.
“Of course, if you can’t find the piglets’ papers, we could always raise them for you at Three Chimneys,” said Edie with a cheeky grin.
“Exactly. We’ll start an official pig club for the whole village,” added Aunt Roberta.
“You can’t do that!” snarled Len.
“I think you’ll find we can,” said Aunt Roberta firmly. “Come along, girls. You can push the pram up the hill.”
“Hooray! We get to keep the twiglets… I mean piglets!” cheered Greta. But Len grabbed Edie’s arm as she squeezed past him with the pram.
“Now look what you’ve done! Meddling in my business again!” He gripped her shoulder but Edie shrugged him off.
“Any time you’ve got the papers, we’ll gladly give the piglets back,” called Aunt Roberta, climbing on to her bicycle as Len slunk back to the station, like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Edie puffed as she pushed the pram up the hill. Greta was no help at all. She just kept dancing to the hedgerow and back again with Mr Churchill in one hand and bundles of grass to feed to the piglets in the other.
Aunt Roberta had taken the daffodils away. She said they might make the poor things feel sick.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” wheezed Edie, as they reached the stile by Three Chimneys at last. “What’s a pig club?”
“It’s something for the whole village,” Aunt Roberta explained. “We’ve no idea where these piglets really came from. It’s not fair that our family should profit from them any more than the Snigsons should. If we start a pig club then everyone can have a share. They can all send their kitchen scraps to feed them up nicely and then the whole village will get something when it’s time to… ”
“Oh, I see,” said Edie quickly. She put her finger to her lips as she glanced at Greta, skipping along beside the hedgerow, looking for the juiciest blades of grass to feed to the little piglets.
“You mean when it’s time to turn them into b-ac-o-n and s-a… ” Edie trailed off. She couldn’t quite remember how to spell sausages. And the thought was too horrible.
“There’s no point in being squeamish,” said Aunt Roberta firmly. “There’s a war on. You children will have to face the facts. As soon as these little piggies are nice and fat, they’ll be turned into juicy… ” Aunt Roberta trailed off too. She glanced at Greta, who was leaning into the pram, singing lullabies to the “darling Twiglets”, as she insisted on calling the little twin pigs.
“… Into juicy p-o-r-k?” asked Edie, with
