Gladys and the Gold Hound

CHAPTER ONE

On a misty winter evening in the northern hills where the Dinsbury
Chronicle has its patch, a girl of ten named Gladys Corner went
missing. What follows is her amazing story as I pieced it together
later, helped by Gladys herself, her friends and her enemies.
Gladys lived with her parents, Tina and Tony, in a little rented
cottage down by the river in the village of Gimmerbeck. She was small
for her age and frail and fair with a prominent forehead and a silver
tooth brace. Her family was poor and all her clothes were hand me downs
from Oxfam and War on Want. Her father, Tony, worked as an odd job man,
drank too much and got into fights. From time to time I saw him in
court, accused of poaching pheasants. Mrs Corner took in ironing and
went out to clean people's houses.
It started on Christmas Eve when Gladys and her mother were doing their
best to make the house look cheerful. It was six-thirty in the evening
and the tea things had been put away. The house was freezing, because
they had no coal or wood and the electricity had been cut off, so they
were bundled up in overcoats, jumpers and extra sets of underwear.
Gladys had made two green paper chains with flour and water paste and
she and her mother were stretching one of them from one side of the
room to the other when the back door opened and a gust of wind blew the
seven Christmas cards off the mantelshelf. The paper chain peeled
itself from the wall and floated down on Gladys and her mother.
And now a Christmas tree came through the door top first. It was thin
and straggly but it made Gladys's heart leap with pleasure. More of the
tree came into the room and Tusker the sheepdog, lying under the table,
growled and half stood with her hackles raised. Still more of the tree
came in, thicker and bushier, and with it a strong smell of pine
needles. Tusker ran out from under the table barking, bit the tree, got
a needle in her nose and scuttled back under the table. Now Mr Corner's
voice was heard asking them to give a good pull. Gladys and her mother
pulled and pulled and the tree grew bigger and bushier and then there
was Mr Corner holding the root end and the entire tree was resting on
the frayed Turkey carpet and it was truly huge and beautiful.
"Tony!" cried Mrs Corner, " where did you get this tree?"
Mr Corner winked, stepped outside, came back and emptied a sack of
glowing holly on the floor; then hurried out to the garden shed and
came back with a tiny pot of silver bike paint. Gladys was set to
painting the holly branches with an old blue toothbrush, while her
parents struggled to put the tree in position, using an old paint
bucket as a plant pot. There was no problem making the tree stand up,
because the crown squeezed tight against the ceiling.
Gladys was placing holly berries among the Christmas tree branches when
a knock sounded at the door and Mum went to answer it.
Standing at the door was the village policeman, Constable Sugden
Quiggins, a tall, stout man packed tightly into his uniform and held
together at the ankles with shiny bicycle clips. He walked in without
invitation and stood gazing at the tree.
"Where did this come from?" he asked politely.
Dad licked his lips and said nothing.
"It came out of Groper's wood," said the policeman. "You were seen
dragging it over the fence. I've no option but to report this."
"On Christmas Eve?" cried Tina. "Can't you find it in your heart to
have a little charity?"
"I'm not paid for charity. I'm paid to keep the law. This will be
reported and may result in prosecution. Meanwhile I am impounding this
tree."
"Impounding?" said Gladys, who had not heard the word before.
"Taking it into custody."
"At least leave us the bit of holly," said Mum.
"The holly is evidence," said the policeman. He grasped the tree and
with some difficulty dragged it outside. "Lend a hand," he ordered,
when it became stuck in the doorway, and they all did so, to ensure the
tree was not damaged.
Constable Quiggins marched away dragging the tree behind him, leaving a
trail of holly berries in the middle of the road, shining in the
moonlight like a trail of blood.
Mother shut the door and leaned against it, staring at Tony. She opened
her mouth to speak, but Gladys burst out with: "I'll take Tusker for a
walk." She didn't want to hear the row that was sure to follow. Rows
gave her headaches. She put on her red anorak, green wellies and blue
scarf and rushed out into the night with Tusker at her heels.
She stopped inside the garden gate to let old Nat Minchin pass by. He
was a fierce little man who lashed out at dogs with his boots if they
came too near. He lived alone on the outskirts of the village, never
washed, never smiled and never spoke except to growl. He picked
cigarette ends out of gutters, played a tin whistle in Tarntown Market
Place on market days with a cap at his feet to collect pennies, and was
rumoured to be a miser who slept on a bolster stuffed with hundred
pound notes.
Gladys waited until Mr Minchin was out of sight, huddled in his old
army greatcoat, then turned right along the main road and passed her
Uncle Grindly's chip shop, its windows steamed up and the smell of
fried fish wafting into the night. A few doors doors away, at the
police house with a blue lamp over the porch, Constable Quiggins was
dragging the tree through his front door. Gladys lingered behind a lamp
post to watch what happened next. Suddenly the tree filled the big bay
window of the policeman's front room and Constable Quiggins was seen
waving his arms and giving orders to his wife and son. The tree rose
aloft, a necklace of electric fairy lights was cast among its branches
and the room light turned off. Then the fairylights were switched on
and threw coloured reflections on the admiring faces of Mr and Mrs
Quiggins and young Hedley Quiggins, who was in Gladys's class at school
and teased her about her silver tooth brace and prominent forehead. So
that was what "impounded" meant.
Gladys turned for home and whistled Tusker, but the dog was trotting
eagerly in the opposite direction with her nose to the pavement. Gladys
whistled again but the dog ignored her and the girl had no option but
to trot after, calling Tusker's name and trying to sound stern. Her
voice was weak and piping at the best of times, but tonight she was
starting to get a bad chest, and she was hoarse, too.
Suddenly the dog swerved across the road and up a lane to the left.
Gladys waited for two cars to pass - one in each direction - then
crossed the road and started up the lane. Far ahead she saw the white
tip of Tusker's tail bobbing in the darkness. The lane led steeply up
to the moor and Gladys was reluctant to go there at this time of night,
but she couldn't go home without Tusker. The fields were full of sheep
and if a dog were found among them a farmer would not hesitate to
shoot. Gladys wished Tusker were a nicer, better behaved dog, but
didn't want her shot.
They reached the moor and for a while Gladys followed a sheep trail
winding in and out of waist-high banks of springy heather. For long
stretches when the moon went in she could not see her own hand. The
path rose and fell , sometimes plunging down unexpectedly. The moor was
eerie even in sunshine. Now in the darkness a thorn tree would suddenly
grab at her clothes, a gorse bush would scratch her cheek, a white
boulder would loom up and stare her in the face. Tusker plunged forward
as if she had an urgent appointment, the tip of her tail occasionally
visible. Soon Gladys realised she was lost. She sat down on a stone and
wept in the dark.
The moon came out and there was a sudden rustling and snapping of
twigs in a bush not five yards in front of Gladys. She leaned forward
and peered into the shadows. A huge dog crept out of the bush and stood
staring at her. It had the saddest face imaginable and its fawn coat
was loose and baggy, like the skin of a pantomime horse with a tiny
person inside. Its eyes were buried so deep in folds that looking into
one of them was like gazing down a well and seeing a drop of water in
the bottom. It stepped right up to Gladys and licked her hand. Its
tongue was rough, rasping and warm. Suddenly Tusker ran up and kissed
the strange dog, then ran round behind to sniff its bottom. The two
animals growled and rolled in the heather, pretended to fight, then ran
in circles, chasing each other's tails. Then they bounded away into the
distance as the moon went in again.
It was then that a voice said into Gladys's ear: "Excuse,
please."
Gladys jumped out of her skin and froze.

CHAPTER TWO

When the moon came out again Gladys turned and saw a boy of about
fourteen wearing a rough sheepskin draped over his shoulders and
fastened at the front with small pieces of bone. He had long silky
black hair and an oriental face with high cheekbones and slanting
eyes.
"Hallo," he said. "Happy to make your acquaintance." But he looked far
from happy.
"Who are you?" said Gladys, standing up and backing away.
"Kim," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. She backed away
further, preparing to run.
"Please," he said. "Don't run away."
"My dad will be looking for me."
The boy looked around in fear. "Don't tell him you saw me. Please to
keep it dark."
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I live here," he said, gesturing at the ground.
"On the moor?"
"That's right."
"In a house?"
"Not exactly."
She waited for an explanation but none came.
"Is that your dog I just saw?" she asked.
"Yes. Is that other one yours?"
"Yes. She's named Tusker."
"Mine is named Song. He's a Chinese hunting dog. And may I please have
your name?"
"Gladys Corner. You really live up here?"
"Yes, indeed."
"What do you do all day?"
"Look for food and water and hide from the men."
"Why do you have to hide?"
"If they catch me I'll be sent back to China. I came to this land
without permission."
"How did you get here?"
"I swam across the sea with Song and then we stowed away on a
boat."
"Why did you do that?"
"Life was bad in China."
"Worse than living up here on the moor all alone?"
"Oh yes. Much worse."
"And what made you pick Gimmerbeck?"
"Where is that, please?"
"Here. This is Gimmerbeck. Don't you know where you are?"
"Not the name," he said. "At the docks we jumped on a lorry filled
with bags of cement. I fell asleep for a few hours and when I woke it
was the middle of the night and the lorry was slowing down, so we
jumped off. That was nearby here. We've been here now two-three
months."
"How do you live? What do you eat?"
"Anything. Plants, rabbits, birds, eggs, rats, hedgehogs. Anything
Song can find. He keeps us both in food. Song is a Chinese hunting dog.
He can find anything he wishes."
"Is that why you brought him with you?"
The boy threw back his head and laughed.
"What are you laughing at?" demanded Gladys.
"Song brought me."
"How do you mean?"
"He helped me climb the mountains and swim across the sea. Without
Song I would have drowned. Sometimes I rode on his back."
"A hunting dog?" said Gladys. "Does he hunt sheep? Does he kill
them?"
"Oh, you mean this," he said, touching his fleece. "No, I sheared this
off a sheep and then set it free. It was trapped in barbed wire."
"Up here, on the moor?"
"Yes."
"Wasn't that stealing?"
"I didn't want to die of cold."
"What would the farmer think?"
"He'd be angry. But I look after his sheep if they get stuck or fall
ill."
"Where did you learn to speak English?"
"My parents were teachers of English and I listened to English lessons
on radio."
"Won't your mum and dad be missing you?"
"No," he said. "They were sent to the countryside to work on a farm
and they weren't strong enough. They soon died."
"Why were they sent to the countryside?"
"The leaders thought it would be a good idea to teach everybody how
the peasants live."
A sudden spattering of rain flew into Gladys's face.
"I'd better be getting home," she said. "Where have those dogs got
to?"
The boy stood on a boulder and whistled a long, high note, which made
Gladys's ears tingle, and in less than a minute the dogs came bounding
back.
Gladys looked about anxiously.
"What's the matter?" asked Kim.
"I'm lost. I don't know the way."
"I'll show you," said the boy, and they set off along the sheep trail.
The dogs circled them playfully.
"Song has an amazing sense of smell," said Kim. "He can smell a rabbit
a mile away and take me to it. I can bury an object anywhere on this
moor and he can find it. "
"What kind of object?"
"Anything. I'll show you. Give me something out of your pocket. A coin
or a hair clip, perhaps?"
Gladys felt in her pockets and brought out a small blue comb with
several teeth missing. Kim held it under Song's muzzle for a moment,
ordered him to sit and stay, then ran along the path until he was out
of sight. He returned after a minute and said to the dog, "Find."
Song put his nose to the ground and padded slowly away, as though
following an invisible thread, and Kim and Gladys followed a few steps
behind. The moon went in again and the night was black.
"He'll never find it in the dark," said Gladys.
They shuffled forward and the moon came out again, just in time to
show Song diving into a clump of heather at the side of the path. He
swam in a mazy pattern with his great baggy behind in the air, then
came to a stop. They saw his tail wagging as he dug into the ground.
Then he came breasting back through the heather and held his great head
up to Kim.
"Hold out your hand," Kim told Gladys.
She did so and the big dog dropped the saliva-sticky comb on to her
palm.
"Amazing! " whispered Gladys, wiping the comb on the bottom of her
anorak.
"He's an amazing dog," Kim said proudly.
At that moment they heard distant shouting and Gladys looked up to see
white and yellow lights bobbing in the distance.
"Gladys! Gladys!" called her father's voice.
"I'm here!" she called. "Over here!"
The lights and voices drew closer and then she saw men's figures
silhouetted against the moon bright sky. One of them was tall and
stout. It was Constable Sugden Quiggins.
"Oh no," she said, turning to Kim. "They've sent out a blooming search
party."
But Kim was nowhere to be seen and neither was Song, and Gladys knew
she must never say anything about them to the searchers.