DORA

The boys small world had already been challenged by the arrival in their small block of fields of a group of apparently much tougher boys from the nearby City. These boys had built a very elaborate den that was far superior to that built by the Village boys. They had no idea how to counter this “invasion” and so decided that the best thing to do was to just avoid any confrontation. Roddy, had been successful in finding where these boys came from and had met and befriended an older man, Albert who kept a yacht at an anchorage on the River. However the young boys were about to meet another group of people who had arrived in what the boys always thought of as their own little private world.

It was time to go and check on the den again. Roddy had been so absorbed in other things that he had not been to the fields by the railway, let alone visit the den, for several weeks. He and the Gang had been too busy playing football and attending the Saturday morning matinee at the Cinema to go there. Besides the weather had been unusually wet and they had not completed their work to make the den waterproof and nobody wanted to go and sit in the den under the inadequate sheet of rusty corrugated iron that dripped rainwater through the old nail holes. They had a plan to get hold of some putty and linseed oil and fill those holes, but the plan had fallen victim to their youthful procrastination and the lure of other, more novel things, such as the cart that they had constructed out of old pram axles and some wooden fruit crates. 

But that is another story altogether and on this day Roddy and Peter were mooching down the Lane, heading vaguely in the direction of the den, but diverting frequently to attend to other interests. They were so absorbed that they didn’t even notice anything until they passed the bole of the large spreading oak tree that marked had the end of the row of elms that was their favourite climb and the one that Peter was an absolute master at traversing. Facing them was a surprising sight; four garishly painted, traditional gypsy caravans and some plain ones. Roddy had seen gypsy caravans before, but they had impressed him as being rather drab with a plain roof supported on hoops with windows at one end and a door at the other. Neither were they painted in bright colours like the ones in front of him. These had straight sides and a roof that was only slightly curved and extended beyond the sides of the caravan. There were windows in the sides and the wooden panels all around were painted in bright red and green and gold. The door was blue and in front of it was a narrow, sheltered platform and from the platform there were wooden steps that descended to the ground. All of the windows were picked out in blue that matched the door and there were blue and white curtains at the window. The door of one of the caravans was open and they had a glimpse of the inside. They could see a couch built along the wall and beyond that was the bright flash of highly polished brass and copper.

Peter looked quizzically at Roddy. Neither of them had seen anything like this before and to see these caravans at the end of the Lane was an even greater surprise. Gypsies they were used to, as they would often come to the door and offer things for sale such as clothes-pegs and other small items they had supposedly made. One gypsy had offered to tell Roddy’s Mother her fortune, but that was not the sort of superstitious nonsense that his Mother would entertain. Yet they had no idea where gypsies came from. They would just turn up at the front door having apparently walked there. Nobody had ever seen them come along the street in a caravan, though the adults had told them stories of gypsy caravans and there were stories and pictures in their children’s storybooks.

Roddy could see that Peter was rather nervous about meeting any of the gypsies who might be in the caravans. He had remained still for a while but was now edging backward. 

“We had better be careful. These are gypsies and my Mum and Dad have told me to be careful of gypsy folk”, 

Although uncertain himself, as he well knew the stories that circulated around about the gypsies and their supposedly nefarious exploits, Roddy’s curiosity made him want to go and see more. The worst of the stories were about children being abducted by gypsies and never seeing their family again. Many of these stories were linked to warnings by irritated adults about what would happen if a child were to continue to be badly behaved or disobey their parents’ strictures about what and what not to do. ‘Continue to behave badly and the gypsies will come and take you away’, they would say. It was like invoking the bogyman and it made no sense. Because of this he had become increasingly skeptical of the veracity of these stories and believed that they were made up by adults just to frighten their children into behaving properly. 

Nevertheless he, like Peter, was a little nervous but his curiosity was stronger. Also, he found these caravans to be compellingly beautiful. Not only were they interesting to look at they also suggested a vision of a different way of life that seemed adventurous and romantic. The thought of living a life on the road in a brightly painted caravan was very appealing. Moving from place to place as the fancy took you seemed carefree and exciting, and never feeling tied to one place or to one group of people did have some appeal. 

The two boys moved forward to explore and slowly and hesitantly they walked around the caravans. The horses that had pulled the caravans were in the adjacent field where they were pulling and nibbling at the lush grass. Peter turned to him with a quizzical look and Roddy knew what he was thinking. The farmer who owned this field liked to take a hay crop from it and here were these horses chomping away on the very grass that he hoped would grow tall and yield a heavy crop in a few months. Both boys were sure that the gypsies had not got permission from the farmer to put their horses there.

Suddenly there came a shout that caught their attention. It wasn’t an aggressive shout, more of a call and they both turned and saw that a woman had come out onto the step at the front of one of the caravans and was looking at them and beckoning. This made Peter even more nervous and even Roddy was not sure how to respond. While he did not believe the stories about gypsies abducting children, he had a natural suspicion of strangers and was always wary of them until he got to know more about them. The woman was smiling at the boys as she waved to them to come over. Roddy saw that she was a rather stout-looking older woman, so if there was any danger, they could surely outrun her.  So, with him leading, the boys walked over to see her, trying to look as confident and nonchalant as possible.

The gypsy woman was indeed rather fat, but she was made to look more so by being dressed in a voluminous red skirt and a white blouse with big puffy sleeves. Her hair was deep black in colour and covered with a bright patterned scarf that matched her dress, and she wore many golden bangles on her arm and colorful necklaces of a metal that looked like copper. Neither boy had seen such an array of jewelry and decoration. She stood at the tops of the steps that lead into the van, gleaming and flashing in the occasional bursts of sunlight. Roddy knew how long it took for his sisters to dress in the morning and he wondered if this lady even bothered to undress at night, to save herself the palaver of taking everything off and then putting it all back on again in the morning. The gypsies that came to the door selling clothes pegs and other useful knickknacks were always in some sort of traditional dress that was very colourfull, but nothing as elaborate as this. The door behind the woman was open and they could see an array of gleaming copper urns and also pots that hung from the ceiling. Peter thought that this must be a kitchen caravan as surely it was too small to serve as kitchen, sitting room and bedroom.

“Do you young boys live nearby?” said the gypsy woman in a strange accent; not foreign but unlike any of the accents that the boys were used to. There was a little bit of a country burr overlaid with something of a singsong quality. The effect was strangely compelling and attractive

“Yes, we live just up the Lane from here. When did you come here and what are you doing?” Roddy replied. Peter was standing by his side but seemed dumbstruck for the moment and just swiveled his head nervously between the gypsy lady and his friend.

“Oh, we’re just travelling and needed somewhere to stay for the night or two and we had heard of this place from some of our friends. Some of us are out and about this morning selling some of our wares and trying to make a bit of money. So, what do people do around here?”

“All sorts of things. Lots of the dad have jobs in the City somewhere, making things and so on,” said Roddy.

“His dad is a plumber and he works on houses on the new estate on top of the hill.” With this he pointed at Peter who did not seem at all happy to be the centre of attention, even for just a brief moment.

The gypsy woman nodded at Peter and smiled before asking if they would like to come in and see her caravan. For the boys this was an unexpected invitation and one that was slightly alarming, although their curiosity was peaked and of course they always were looking for something that would make a good story to impress the rest of the Gang and going inside a traditional gypsy caravan and surviving would be a wonderful story that would raise their status immensely. Yet, what if she closed the door and trapped them? Perhaps there were other people inside who would tie them up and hide them so that nobody would be able to find them again. 

The gypsy woman could see the hesitation and even nervousness.

“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. Don’t believe all those silly stories that some parents still tell their children about gypsies stealing kids. That’s just a lot of nonsense and superstition from people who have never met us. We’re harmless people just like you and yours. My family has been living in the British Isles for generations. We just like to live differently, that’s all. Come on, I can see that you are both curious to see what my caravan looks like on the inside.”

Peter looked across at Roddy to see how he would respond. Looking first at Peter and then at the gypsy lady, he finally nodded his agreement. So, still with some trepidation, they edged up the wooden steps and followed the gypsy woman into the shadows of the caravan. Once inside they looked around wide-eyed for the interior of the caravan was astounding and much more elaborate than the brightly painted exterior had led them to expect. It was not just a kitchen caravan but also a complete compact living space. Along one side were built-in settees massed with colourful pillows. Under the settees were built in cupboards and more cupboards were built into the corners and under a counter that served to prepare food. On one side was a large brightly polished copper boiler mounted on the wall. On the other was a tiny stove that gleamed and flashed with the amount of black-lead on it. Just keeping that stove so highly polished must have taken hours. Roddy knew that as when visited his aunt he would sometimes help his uncle clean the huge range with its fireplace and ovens, before putting in kindling and coal and lighting it afresh. The job was a lengthy one and involved much cleaning and polishing.

The ceiling of the caravan was divided into two by a raised skylight that ran the length of the caravan and on either side were transverse carved ribs between which were panels that were painted with scenes of the country. The cupboards and the edge of the built-in settee were all lavishly carved and carefully painted.  From the walls hung highly polished pots and knives and all sorts of other things for preparing and cooking food.  

Every surface and edge were decorated in some way, and nothing was left plain or bare. The entire effect was of strong colour and brightness and neatness, even the fabrics were not just plain cotton or linen but bright satins and silks with elaborate embroidery on every one. Roddy thought that even his Mother, who was single-minded in keeping her home neat and spotless, would have been impressed. He had thought that it would be interesting to live on Albert’s yacht, with its bunks and cleverly constructed cabinets and storage spaces, yet this was finer by far. He looked across at Peter who seemed to have forgotten his caution about being around gypsies and was engrossed in looking at this riot of colour and decoration.

“Come along my dears, sit yourselves down over here and I shall make you a nice cup of tea.” She indicated the built-in settee and moved some of the garishly decorated pillows aside for them. Her invitation made Peter nervous once more and Roddy had to make faces at him to just sit down and not rudely resist her invitation. Peter backed his way to the settee and sat down but near to the open doorway as if planning a quick escape. Roddy smiled at the gypsy lady as he sat and politely thanked her for offering tea. She smiled back and then turned her attention to the shiny copper urn and turned a tap from which came a stream of steaming hot water. Then, taking some heavy china mugs from a cupboard overhead, she rinsed them out in the hot water. The boys were astonished, and the gypsy laughed at their slack jawed amazement. 

“Haven’t you seen a gas boiler before?”

They nodded. “Yes, we have one at home but the gas comes through a pipe from the street. How do you get gas in a caravan?” 

At this she leaned back and laughed.

“Well we gypsy folk are cleverer than you think. We carry bottles of gas that are strapped to the outside of the caravan.  You don’t know much about caravans, do you?”

The boys smiled weakly at her and nodded their heads in agreement. All of this was so very novel. Roddy had never been inside a caravan before, though he had seen some of the sleek modern ones that could be pulled behind a car. Yet those seemed small and flimsy while this wooden caravan was substantial and so intricate and compact in comparison. He found that he was very becoming very curious about the gypsies and how they lived. Moving continually might seem attractive to those people like he and his family, who rarely travelled far from their homes, but he recollected that even going on holiday was a chore of packing clothes and getting everyone organized, and that dulled the excitement of travelling. Moving every few days must be even worse. He had so many questions to ask, but it was Peter who spoke first.

“How many horses do you have? Are they all in the field next to us? 

She looked at him with a slight frown. Why was a young lad interested in how many horses they had and although he had said his father was a plumber, perhaps he knew the local farmer? Her defences were up a little and she thought carefully about her answer. You could never be too careful with these land-bound folks.

“Well, I don’t know exactly as it is the men folk who take care of that. We have the four vans and some bow-topped carts for our supplies so, as there are usually a few spare horses and some for the sulky racing, there must be at least ten or maybe a dozen. You seem to be very interested in horses young fellow, why is that?

Peter had caught the slight hardening in her smile and the defensive edge to her voice and sought to reassure her. “Oh, I was just interested as it must be hard work to pull one of these wooden caravans.”

“I know that you settled folk think that Romany are up to no good and constantly looking for things to steal, but that is not really true, people are just unsettled by us because we live our lives so differently. Do you know why people call us gypsies?”

Both boys looked at her blankly. They had heard adults use the word but had no idea what it meant or where it came from. “Nuho!”, they uttered shamefacedly. This was worse than being questioned in school.

“Well, let me tell you a little about my people and perhaps you won’t be so ready to believe any old cock ‘n bull story that you hear from others. We don’t come from Egypt, which is the origin of the word gypsies, but we probably come from eastern parts but that was a long, long time back. There are some who have studied our old language and say that we come originally from India. Supposedly we use a lot of words that are like one of the Indian languages, Sanskrit I think it’s called. They also say that there have been Romany travelling around this country for centuries and we have married into the local people so that we are just like you really. Most of us do all sorts of odd jobs and we usually help farmers when the hay crop is ready for cutting or all sorts of other jobs that they need doing on the farm. We just like to keep moving and don’t like to have to settle in houses like you folk. Our home is here, in these moving homes that you all call caravans, but we call ‘em vardos, and we like to make them as pretty as we can. Now, sometimes we have to borrow a bit of fodder for the horses, but we know the farmers and we usually pay them back for it, one way or another. So, don’t you go a worrying your heads about us stealing the farmer’s grass or anything like that.  Yes, there are some of us that might get up to a bit of mischief now and again, but don’t tell me that you settled people don’t get up to mischief either. Some of you are thieves and murderers and you don’t all get tarred with the same brush because of that. So, stop getting in a dither about us and let’s have a cup of tea. I’ll call my little grandchild to join us.” 

With that she turned and walked to the door and called out “Dora!” loudly and just once, then turned back to the counter and put spoonfuls of tea into a big brown pot followed by steaming water from the boiler. Roddy had noticed that the interior of the caravan was quite warm but had not realized that the stove was on. The gypsy lady bent down and pulled a bucketful of coke from a cupboard, opened the stove and put some lumps in, and then poked it and opened up the damper so that the stove began to roar as the coke fire began to burn faster. 

She turned to the boys who were following all this with interest and said, “We always use coke ‘cause its lighter and less messy than coal and it gives off more heat too. Not that it takes a lot to heat these snug little wagons.”

A noise on the steps caused both boys to turn their heads and they were simultaneously taken aback by what they saw coming through the door. She was about the same age as the boys and rather petite, but she had the most beautiful face that they had ever seen on a girl and the blackest and shiniest hair. This must be Dora. She was certainly dressed in the gypsy fashion of her grandmother; a voluminous skirt and white blouse and she was also laden with jewelry. There were bangles around her wrist and up her arm as well as loops of what looked like pearls around her neck. Neither boy had encountered a girl like this before. Although the same age as they were, she was much more confident and spoke to her grandmother in a very adult way as if she were an equal. She looked at them boldly and without the feigned embarrassment that they were used to seeing in girls of a similar age that they knew. Her grandmother introduced the boys just as “two young lads from the houses nearby”. Dora looked at them and took a few steps to be closer and then held out her hand to Peter and asked for his name. As she did so she looked him straight in the eye. She did the same to Roddy, but he thought that she seemed to hold her gaze for just a little longer. She then turned to her grandmother and asked why they were here. 

“Oh, they were passing by and saw our caravans and were curious that’s all. So, I invited them in for a cup of tea. I thought it would be good to get to know some of the locals. What have you been up to for the last hour young lady?”

“Just doing some embroidery on my new dress, and I was also reading a book that uncle got for me the other day.”

“Oh, reading, were you? Well don’t forget that all that reading won’t make you any the richer young lady. You can’t sell what you have read. “

“Oh, stop it grandmother. The world is different today and I am not so sure that I want to end up going around from place to place making clothes pegs and telling people’s fortunes. You know that there are some young gypsy girls that are going off and getting jobs in the settled world. Not everyone wants to stay with the travelers’ life, grandmother.”

“Once a Rommany, always a Rommany. That’s what my Mother used to say, and she was right. I’ve seen lots of ‘em go off the traveling life and try to make a go of it in the settled world and it didn’t last too long. It’s in our blood young lady and you can’t go against what you have inherited from generations and generations before you. Now these boys here, they are used to the settled life and living in one place all the time. If they tried to go on the road and live like we do, they would be back home to their mam’s in a week. It’s that way in their blood see, and they can’t break it just like that. I know that there are some of the settled folk who go a tramping, but they are ones who can’t fit in to the settled world because they’re have a weakness of some sort or other, or they have taken to the drink and can’t help themselves. No, my little love, you are born to be either one of the settled folk or a traveler and that’s something that you cannot change easily if at all.”

The boys did not know how to react to this discussion as this was clearly a regular topic of conversation between Dora and her grandmother and all that they could do was look from one protagonist to the other and nod vaguely. Dora just stood there with her arms on her hips looking defiantly at her grandmother and clearly unwilling to concede one bit. It was Dora who had the last word.

“Grandma, I don’t care what you say. All of your argument is based on history and the World is changing too fast for that to be reliable. Who would have predicted travelling across oceans on an aeroplane when you were a girl or that last year Uncle Eddie would have gone to New York on a plane just to watch a boxing match? These old vardos will be in museums in a few years or in someone’s back garden for the children to play in.”

Roddy was impressed that Dora certainly seemed to know how to demolish the opposing argument with some well-chosen examples and Grandma had no answer except to huff a bit and mumble beneath her breath as she turned back to pour the tea. He felt a little sorry for her, as she clearly did not want Dora to leave the gypsy life-style as that would mean that there would be fewer young people to carry on the old traditions. Roddy had witnessed similar arguments between uncles and aunts. While the topics were different, the underlying thread was always the same; the increasing pace of change and the likelihood that the old ways and businesses and accepted ways of doing things would change. Old ways were always better and more reliable in those arguments. They were known quantities and could be trusted, as they had worked well for at least a generation or more. He always listened with interest and although he had some sympathy with the traditional things, he could also see that the wave of change would eventually carry much before it. He understood a little of how Dora felt.

“Well I don’t know about all of that young lady. What I do know is that I’ve just made a lovely cup of tea, so come and take these cups to our young guests here and then sit yourself down too.”

Dora did as she was told and carried a tray with sugar, milk and two cups of tea and held it in front of the boys while they prepared their tea. Then with a steady, confident gaze, she asked them what they thought. After all they came from the settled world and had never known the life of a traveler. Did they think that this way of life and especially the old caravans pulled by horses, could survive?

Peter was the first to answer and he came down strongly on the side of a life of travel and adventure. 

“Coming home to the same place every evening was alright, but it did become boring. I’ve never been away from the Village except on a few, brief seaside holidays and I would love to see more of the World. Yes indeed,” Peter said, “I would like to travel and not be tied to one place, to see a different world every day.” 

Dora looked at him pityingly. She knew that his assumption that a life of traveling was one of change and fun. That it was a carefree life and one without the strings and attachments of a settled life. She could not let his views go unchallenged and the two boys saw her body stiffen and then she began to lecture them on the realities of a traveler’s life. Unlike the girls that they knew, Dora was remarkably self-assured, and she talked with the confidence of an adult rather than the stuttering diffidence of the young and hesitant. 

“But how do you know what our life is really like? How could you know? We don’t see the World. All we see is a succession of muddy fields that all begin to look the same after a while. These old caravans look romantic, but they are not very practical and they are cramped. How would you like to spend a wet and cold winter cooped up in one of these? I can tell you that it is not a lot of fun. The mud gets in on your boots despite all of your efforts to clean them off, so you have to leave them outside where they just get cold and damp so that putting them on is miserable. And that’s just the start.”

Peter reddened under the onslaught of her words. He mumbled, seeking desperately for the right words to defend his hastily thought through ideas. If this were the Gang, he would be able to bluff and bluster his way through and cause his audience to lose track of the gaps and weaknesses of his argument. But with this girl he didn’t know what to do. She was confident, assertive and she had a command of words and argument that Peter had never before encountered. He just muttered something about how boring a sedentary life could be and how the same routine every day made you feel desperate for a change before tailing off into silence.

Dora looked at him and decided that it was not worth stating the obvious to this boy. How being on the road constantly imposed its own sameness and boredom. The struggle to find a good camping site where the local people and the police would not harass them. The boredom of being with the same small group of people for weeks on end and how you knew them so well that you could end their sentences for them. She knew what her small band of travelers thought and did in such great detail that she had to shut out the conversations for fear of screaming at them as she heard the same stories, the same complaints, the same expressions to accompany every routine event that they encountered. She turned to Roddy and asked him what he thought.

“ I, I, don’t know what to say,” he stumbled, “I can see that on the surface it looks exciting, but like all things, you get used to it and it might not feel so interesting any more after you have done it for years.”

Dora looked at him with an encouraging smile. Here perhaps was someone who could be moulded into an ally. She turned to her grandmother and was about to pronounce that here was an independent voice that supported her argument but was pre-empted by her grandmother announcing that as the weather was pleasant and warm, perhaps they should go out and play together. Clearly, she had had enough of Dora’s arguments and knew that she could never dissuade her from her conviction that their life on the road was not for the future. It was such a deep part of the grandmother’s sense of what she was that it pained her to be challenged to think of some other way of life. It undermined her self-confidence to even reflect on how she would live as a settled person. This was the life that she knew, and she could manage no other.

“Go on, be off with you for a while. Go and see how they live and see if you like it. I’m tired and I don’t want to argue about this anymore. Quick, off you go!”

Both the boys and Dora were speechless at this sudden turn in the conversation. Dora was not even sure that she wanted to spend any time with these boys. They didn’t seem very interesting and she was not sure that they would be the sort of children who could keep her entertained with stories or some remarkable arguments.

It was Roddy who broke the ice. “Would you like to come and see our den?” Dora’s face displayed a lack of any interest in that proposition, so he quickly embellished it with an invitation to see his friend Albert’s boat. Dora had struck him as a most fascinating creature and he wanted to talk to her some more and look at her. It was such a strange feeling. One that he had never before experienced and he did not want to turn his back on it. He wanted to savour it, enjoy it and make it last.

A flicker of interest crossed Dora’s face. A visit to a boat sounded interesting. Travelers were strictly landlubbers and never ventured on water and never even came near it if at all possible. She didn’t find these scruffy boys very interesting, but if they could take her to a boat, they might be worth tolerating.

“You’ll have to change your clothes Dora.” Grandmother was back in control. 

“You can’t be going to look at boats on that mucky river in those good clothes.”

Dora nodded silently and ducked out of the caravan to go back to wherever she had come from in the first place. The two boys concentrated on their tea and hoped that Dora would not be too long. Peter, still stinging with embarrassment from her dismissal of his romantic ideas of the life of a traveler, was wondering why his best friend was being so accommodating to this rather bossy and opinionated girl. After all, he had never offered to take Peter to see Albert’s boat before, even though he had talked about Albert often enough. 

When Dora reappeared, she was dressed in a blue cotton blouse tucked into jodhpurs and she had put on some scuffed riding boots. The mass of jewelry that had adorned her earlier was absent. Both boys stared in amazement at the change from the primped girl in the dress to this outdoors horsey look. Still, it was perfect for going to look at the boat and Roddy decided that somehow she looked prettier in a blouse and jodhpurs than she did in the red dress. Even in these older workaday clothes, she somehow managed to look poised and elegant. The boys rose from their seats and politely carried their empty tea cups to the counter next to the washing up sink. They thanked the grandmother properly and politely for making the tea.

“Now you young lads. I don’t want any messing about. You make sure that you bring my Dora home safely and don’t take her to places that will get her all messed up and muddy. Alright?”

The boys rather knew what she was implying but there was a threat in her voice that struck through to them and made them realize that if they didn’t bring Dora back unharmed, there were other gypsies whom they had not yet met who would be unhappy and might do something to them. The responsibility was rather intimidating and it took some of the gloss off the growing sense that an afternoon with this exotic girl could be a lot of fun. Now they would have to be on their guard all the time.

They scuffed their way out of the caravan and waited at the bottom of the wooden steps for Dora to emerge. They could hear fragments of a low conversation between Dora and her grandmother. It seemed to be mostly her grandmother issuing warnings and guidelines to Dora, and when at last the booted legs of Dora stepped lightly and quickly down the wooden steps, their owner carried a frown of annoyance. 

“Come on said Roddy. We shall go to our den first and then go to see if we can find Albert and then go to his boat. It isn’t far.” Dora looked at him, the remnants of her annoyance still clouding her pert features. She just nodded and waited for them to lead the way. As they left, they looked back at the caravan and saw that Dora’s grandmother was standing watching them from the top of the steps. Dora turned her head back very quickly and muttered something that the boys could not understand, but they guessed that it had to do with grandmother and that it was not a kindly remark.

Off they went across the stones and mud of the Lane and into the larger hay field on the far side, making a beeline toward the den. Roddy wondered if all would be well at the den. He had not been there for several weeks and there had been some rain recently and it could be in a mess. Perhaps taking Dora to the den was a silly idea anyway. Whatever would she think of their pathetic attempt at building a den when she lived in such a wonderfully carved and painted “den” on wheels? Well it was too late now as they were already approaching the thick hedge that formed the walls to the den and they would soon be opposite the entrance. Peter led the way and ducked down to negotiate the narrow entrance next to the oak tree. Roddy noticed that there were telltale signs of scuffing and wear in the grass by the tree and decided that when the Gang was together again, they needed to work on making the entrance less obvious. 

He was deep in thought on how they could better conceal the entrance, when a comment from Dora brought him back, startled, into the present.

“What an interesting secret place you have made for yourselves. Do any grown-ups know about this place? Do they come here at all?”

Both boys shook their heads vigorously.

“Then you can come here whenever you want and none of the grown-ups can bother you. I like that. “ 

She continued to look around the den with a mixture of admiration and criticism. 

“I like that this is a secret place, but it isn’t very comfortable is it? You haven’t done a very good job of making it comfortable and dry. And it needs a thorough clean.”

The two boys looked around them, following her eyes as they cast their critical gaze over the den. She was right, they decided, the den was not that comfortable and they had never made a good roof over it and so it was rather damp and smelly. Of course, it was easy to criticize the den but much harder to find the right things, such as handy sheets of corrugated iron that could be used for the roof, or the right scraps of wood that could be made into roof supports or benches on which to sit.

“You all think that being a traveler is a wonderful life, don’t you? Well, let me tell you about the problem of moving every few weeks and having to live in the cramped space of the caravan. People; aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, constantly surround me and I can never get away from them. You, despite your settled life, have more freedom and space to get away. We gypsy children could never have a private space like this, where adults never came and we could play our own games in peace. “

Peter was puzzled at first but as he thought more deeply it, he began to see that Dora was making a good point about the reality of gypsy life.  Her words made sense and he now regretted his half-baked and incoherent support of Dora’s grandmother and the gypsy lifestyle. While superficially it did look very attractive, imagining what it would be like if he had to live in a caravan with his parents and his brothers and sisters, he began to see many problems. Sharing a bunk with his younger brother, putting up with his father’s snores at night. He shuddered at the vision that flashed across his mind and decided not to explore that avenue of thought any more. Even though he had to share a small bedroom with his brother, at least he had the privacy of the bathroom and he didn’t have to spend all of his waking moments trying to get out of his brother’s way.

She was right. This self-assured little girl had managed to completely change his mind about what had always seemed to him to be the ultimate in romantic freedom. He glanced at her admiringly. She looked so adult-like in her boots and jodhpurs, even though they were scuffed and worn. She still had the look of a child but her bearing and the way that she discussed things with you were so full of confidence and sophistication that she seemed more like an adult. Sophistication was a word that he had just learned in a book at school and it surprised him to realize that this is what it meant and that it could be applied to someone he knew and not just to a film star or actor whom everyone admired and praised. Here was this girl who was not much different in some ways to the pretty girls that he knew in school who always seemed to dress in attractive clothes and who had a knack of keeping themselves looking cool and clean, even at the end of the day when all of the boys that Peter knew were scuffed and dirty, with shirts hanging out and shoelaces untied. Dora didn’t even need the clean up-to-date clothes of those girls to appear just the same. There was something inside her that just made everything she did and said seem right. He stared at her and then noticed that his friend Roddy was looking at her as if he were in a trance.

“Well, are we just going to stay here for the rest of the day or are we going to see that boat as you promised to take me to?”

Once again Roddy was snapped out of his reverie and he stuttered and mumbled a reply that yes indeed they were going to see the boat and they were going right now. He made his way back through the leafy tunnel in the hedge and once they were all out, he led them across the fields, through gaps in hedgerows, all the while keeping a close eye for any signs of the City gang. The way was clear and soon they were walking along the path through the reed beds next to the pond that filled the old clay pit. A breeze was ruffling the water and on the far side he noticed that there was a family of ducks bobbing and dipping on the small waves and he idly wondered if the duck had nested on the small island in the pond. If only they could find some large cans or old oil drums and build a raft, he thought, then they could go and explore that intriguing island. 

Next was the passage of the railway bridge, and when he turned to Dora to explain how they were going to cross the River, he noticed that Peter was looking very unhappy. Then he remembered that the last time that he tried to bring the gang through the bridge, they had decided to turn back and let him go on by himself. The reason they gave was that Derec was too nervous to go through and they couldn’t just leave him to wait for them to come back. As he looked at Peter’s discomfort, he realized that Peter, the magnificent and fearless tree-climber, was nervous about going under the railway bridge. He was surprised but then he noticed that Dora was showing no fear at all and was listening with interest to his description of how they had to run the gauntlet of being caught by one of the engine drivers or firemen if they mistimed the run across the bridge walkway.

“OK, “he said to his two companions, “are you ready to go?”

Dora nodded and Peter, after a slight hesitation, also gave a grudging nod of assent.  Roddy wondered if he was afraid to embarrass himself in front of Dora. Turning and ducking his head beneath the black iron girders, he led the way. Halfway through a fast express train came onto the bridge with a booming roar and almost at the same time a heavily loaded goods train passed overhead. Not only was the noise overwhelming to the ears but also the pulses of sound seemed to pound their bodies. Particularly impressive and frightening were the hammer blows as the heavy wheels of the goods train hit the rail joints. Looking back to see how Dora was managing, he saw that Peter’s face was white. Was he about to turn and flee he wondered? But just then Dora turned back also and signaled to Peter to hurry up and catch them. He knew that Peter could not be seen to show fear in front of a girl, especially one as confident and apparently fearless as Dora, and despite the flickers of dismay on Peter’s face, he put his head down and scampered after them. 

From his previous passages beneath the bridge, Roddy knew that the best way to deal with the fearful noise was to push ahead as fast as possible. Just four of the tracks across the bridge carried the fast passenger and slower goods trains, the other four tracks were for the sidings that held the goods trucks. So, the gauntlet of crashing sound and the percussive blows of train wheel against rail joint were at their worst for just a short distance and the hammering faded away quite quickly once you were under the part of the bridge that carried the sidings. He turned his head and shouted encouragement to Dora and Peter. Dora’s eyes were shining brightly in the gloom and he could see that for her this was a huge adventure. The excitement made her eyes shine and put a grin of pleasure on her pretty face. 

They were soon out from the bridge and ready to climb the bank to the cinder path alongside the sidings that led to the far side of the River. Signaling to Dora and Peter to keep out of sight, he carefully reconnoitered the path to make sure that it was clear of railway workers. All of the sidings were full of coal trucks today and there were no engines backing down the siding to couple up to them. With four sidings full of coal trucks they had the perfect cover against any possibility of being seen by the signalman in his glass-fronted signal box. With an all-clear signal to the others he scrambled up the bank and onto the cinder covered walkway. Then, in single file they scampered across the bridge. Roddy had already noted that the tide was well on the flood, a good sign, for if Albert was not in the allotment, he just might be down at the boat taking advantage of the high tide that allowed him to board the boat more easily than when he had to pull his small dingy down the steep muddy banks to launch it.

Reaching the far side of the bridge, they turned and scrambled down the bank to the gap in the wire fence. Peter, who was feeling much more in his element now that they had left the dark confines of the bridge, noticed that there was quite a prominent path down the side of the bank where the grass and weeds had been flattened and scrapped away by the passage of many feet. He realized that the wearing of this track must be due to the City gang coming this way to visit their den, crushing the grass and wearing a distinct path into the bank. Touching his friend on his shoulder. Peter pointed to the well-worn path. Roddy understood immediately and nodded.

“The City kids must be over in our fields more than realized. We really need to do something about making our den harder to find, and soon. Also, I’m worried that the railway people will see this well-worn pathway and start to take more interest in this part of the railway with more regular patrols.”

Peter looked again at the path worn into the bank and nodded. Dora looked at them quizzically and asked them what they were talking about. Peter jumped in first and told her about the City gang coming across the River and making a den in their territory and the fear that very soon they might find their den and vandalise it and that would lead to a confrontation that he didn’t think they could win as his Gang was small and the City kids had a reputation for toughness. Dora listened carefully but didn’t say anything beyond a few muttered “Uhmms!”

They moved on to the fence and Roddy held up the wire as first Dora then Peter ducked their way through. He marveled at the litheness in Dora as she ducked and swung her upper body through the gap between the wire strands. It suddenly struck him that she was a most extraordinary girl the like of which he had never previously encountered. Looking at her disturbed him in a way that he had never felt before. His feelings about girls were rather neutral. He liked his sisters, particularly B, but most girls did not register on his consciousness. They were just there, mostly leading separate lives and playing different games to those that he and his friends liked to play. He did not dislike them and had always been taught to be polite and gentle with girls but none of the girls that he had to deal with was anything like this supple, confidant person who had just slid so elegantly and easily through the fence.

He in turn ducked through the fence and then took the lead once more, striking his way across the paths that separated the garden plots, zigzagging his way to Albert’s shed. There were just a few men working on their gardens today and they briefly looked up at the passing children before resuming their digging and weeding. When they got to Albert’s plot he was nowhere to be seen and so Roddy went to the tool shed to see if he was inside. It was locked and there were no tools leaning against the side that might signify his imminent return. He looked around at the vegetable plots to see if there were signs that Albert had been there recently.  Albert’s allotment was kept so clean and neat that it was impossible to tell if any recent work had been accomplished. The rows of vegetables were free of weeds and he knew that Albert hoed the plot frequently so that the soil always had a fresh look to it. He turned back toward the small tool shed and looked at the heap of weeds and trimmings that Albert kept there. It did look as if some of the weeds and cuttings on the top of the heap were fresh and greener than the remainder. Perhaps he had been here this morning to do a little work and could be found on his boat if they hurried.

“He must be at the boat ” said Roddy, desperately hoping that he was there and not on one of his expeditions across the City. “Come on, it’s not far from here.”

He led the way out of the allotments and past the old airfield to the River bank, which they followed around to the place where the yachts were moored at their buoys in mid-stream. As the three hurried toward the boat anchorage the sun emerged through the late morning mist and the day, after a dull start, looked as if it might develop into a fine, calm early summer day. They could hear the lapping and gurgling of the setting tide as it surged over the muddy curves of the snaking River. Dora looked all around her as if she had never seen anything like this before. This little adventure was beginning to appeal to her.