The first of the sun broke through and flooded the deck with sudden warmth. ‘Here comes the sun,’ cried Popsicle. ‘Come on, Cessie. Get your fiddle out. Play us a tune, there’s a girl.’
How Popsicle did it, I’ll never know, but somehow he transformed all of us. Within minutes we were the same happy bunch we had been on the way over – well, almost. Popsicle said later it was the magical properties of condensed milk that did the trick. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t my violin playing. I just couldn’t get into my stride. My fingers wouldn’t work as they should, and then my ‘e’ string broke and I didn’t have a spare in my violin case. You can’t play very much without an ‘e’ string.
‘No matter,’ said Popsicle. ‘We’ll have the radio instead. There’ll be some music on. There always is.’ He asked Mac to turn it on full volume so we could all hear it.
After a lot of wheezing and whistling and foreign-sounding stations, the radio at last settled on a clear signal, some jingly music, and then an English voice – a voice I knew at once, the voice of my father. Popsicle had recognised it too. He cut the engines at once.
‘That’s him!’ he said. ‘That’s Arthur, that’s my son! Listen, listen.’
‘This then is a message to my father. I just hope and pray that you’re listening out there, Popsicle.’
‘He called you Popsicle,’ I whispered.
‘So he did, Cessie, so he did. Hush now and listen, there’s a girl.’ There was a pause so long that I thought the radio must have gone wrong. My father cleared his throat, and went on.
‘All those years sitting on that wall I longed for you to come back. All my life ever since I’ve been wanting you to come home – that’s the truth of it. And then when you did come, all I did was give you the cold shoulder and send you away again. What I did was shameful, I know that now; but just how shameful it was I never really understood until we found Cessie gone this morning, until we read your letter, Cessie, the one you threw away. Lowestoft, the Michael Hardy, Dunkirk, Lucie Alice, my mother – I know it all now, I know you’ve gone off to look for Lucie Alice in Dunkirk. I pray you find her alive and well, but if you do not, then please come home and be with us. We want you with us. I want you with me. There’ll be no more Shangri-La, I promise you that. And, Cessie, if you’re listening out there, come home safe and sound and bring Popsicle with you. Take care, both of you.’ I thought he’d finished, but he hadn’t, not quite. ‘I’ve played a lot of requests on my shows over the years, but this is the first one I’ve ever requested myself. This is for you, Popsicle, to serenade you home. I know you’re a lot older than sixty-four, but it’ll have to do. Here it is then: “When I’m Sixty-four” by the Beatles. God bless. We’ll be waiting for you.’
Those who knew it – and that was most of us – hummed or sang or clapped along. But Popsicle stood at his wheel and just listened, gazing out to sea all the while. When it had finished, he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. ‘Cold. It’s cold out here,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home, shall we, Cessie?’ And he started up the engines.
As Popsicle had predicted, there was indeed quite a reception committee waiting for us. In mid-Channel a helicopter found us and circled overhead for a while. We were still several kilometres off when the first boat came out to meet us, a police launch. They came alongside and, through a loudhailer, offered to put a couple of officers on board – to help us, they said. Popsicle refused, and made it very plain that we were quite capable of bringing the Lucie Alice in under her own steam and needed no help whatsoever. They seemed a bit disgruntled at that and told us rather curtly to follow them in. Popsicle replied that we were a lot bigger than they were and faster too, so they could follow us – if they could keep up, that is.
Word had clearly got about, because before long there was a flotilla of small ships all around us escorting us in. The closer we came to the shore, the more there were. Another helicopter was hovering overhead now. There was a cameraman on board, hanging out of the side as he filmed us. It was as if we’d been single-handed round the world, not just over to Dunkirk and back.
Once inside the harbour there was a cacophony of hooting all around us, and one ship had even turned on its fire hoses to greet us. The quay was lined with people cheering and waving. My arms were aching with waving back; but I never stopped, not once. Popsicle stayed at the helm, as he had done all the way. I looked up at him and I could see that, tired though he was, he was enjoying every moment of it, as I was, as were all the ancient Argonauts. You may not have brought back your Golden Fleece, Jason Popsicle, I thought, but even if you had, the welcome could not possibly have been any better.
We were edging our way back into the lock when I first saw my father and my mother. They were standing side by side in front of the lock-keeper’s house, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, as if they wanted to enjoy it all by themselves, in private.
It seemed an age before we were through the lock and tied up once again, the great engines silent at last. I saw Chalky give them a last wipe, and kissing each of them a fond goodbye. Big Bethany enveloped me against her warm softness and said I was to come and play my violin for them one day up at Shangri-La. I promised, and I meant it too.
My mother was first on board. It was while we were still clinging to each other that I saw Shirley Watson and Mandy Bethel, and a few others besides, watching from the towpath. I wriggled my fingers at them. They wriggled theirs back. After a time I managed to disengage from my mother. My father was looking at his father.
‘We heard you, Arthur, on the radio,’ Popsicle said.
‘Welcome home, Popsicle,’ said my father. And there on the deck of the Lucie Alice they hugged each other, for all the world to see; and judging from the applause, all the world seemed to be enjoying it hugely. They hugged and hugged, long enough, I thought – and I hoped – to make up for all the years they hadn’t.
Which type of book do you like best?
Take the quiz . . . then read the book!
Who would you like to have an adventure with?
a) On my own
b) A ghost
c) Someone in my family
d) My best friend
e) My pet
Where would you like to go on holiday?
a) A remote island or a far-away mountain
b) A fantasy world
c) Anywhere as long as my family and friends are there
d) A different time period
e) The countryside
I would like to be . . .
a) Explorer
b) Author
c) Someone who helps others
d) Warrior
e) Circus ringmaster
My favourite stories are . . .
a) Full of adventure
b) Magical
c) About friendships and family
d) War stories
e) About animals
If you answered mostly with A you’ll enjoy . . .
KENSUKE’S KINGDOM
Washed up on an island with no food and water, Michael cannot survive. But he is not alone . . .
If you answered mostly with B you’ll enjoy . . .
THE GHOST OF GRANIA O’MALLEY
There is gold in the Big Hill, but Jessie and Jake can’t bear for the hill to be destroyed. Can they save it before it’s too late?
If you answered mostly with C you’ll enjoy . . .
LONG WAY HOME
George doesn’t want to spend his summer with another foster family . . . but this time he may have found somewhere to call home.
If you answered mostly with D you’ll enjoy . . .
FRIEND OR FOE
It is the Blitz. One night David and his friend see a German plane crash on the moors. Do they leave the airmen to die?
If you answered mostly with E you’ll enjoy . . .
WAR HORSE
In the deadly chaos of the First World War, one horse witnesses the reality of battle from both sides of the trenches.
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MICHAEL MORPURGO
The master storyteller
For more great books see:
www.michaelmorpurgo.org
www.egmont.co.uk
Michael Morpurgo, Escape From Shangri-La
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