Chapter 1: The Telegram

...

Ivy

There was a knock on the oaken door.

"Yes... Come in!".

Ivy's dark bob poked round the study door, her sharp white collar standing out against the simple black of her dress.

The Professor was behind his desk holding forth with two of the children.

Susan was sitting on the chaise sipping a hot drink of Bushells coffee and chicory from a jade glass mug.

Her hand was still raised in an expressive gesture and her chin tilted in a way that made Ivy think she was putting on airs. And her hair! Her raven hair was out of its staid plaits. Susan had a braid arranged around her head like a coronet and her long dark ringlets bundled fetchingly. It reminded Ivy of something she had seen on Ancient Greece in the house library. But on a twelve year old? Her brother Peter had just been using the poker on the fire. He stood up and inclined his head to Ivy and smiled like a debonair gentleman but he held the poker like a sword!

These children had been like insecure, blundering frightened chickens one day and the next they were well mannered, helpful and charming, but poised and well... alarming. They suddenly behaved like they had gone to finishing school for Shakespearean actors. They projected their voices, and used measured tones. They also used fancy archaic language. Sometimes Betty and Ivy couldn't quite understand them. Their speech was scattered with expressions such as "prithee", "fair sister", "mayhap" and "methinks". They made Ivy nervous.

"S-s-s-s-cuse me sir, but there's a wire arrived from London. The telegram boy just arrived".

"It's from your old friend Miss Plummer" she added coyly, her eyes rolling a little with innuendo.

Ivy noticed meaningful glances between Peter and Susan and the Professor. Was that a brief look of triumph on Susan's face and glee on Peter's, quickly masked?

Without being asked, Peter strode forward with a blank expression took the telegraph from Ivy's surprised hands, and smartly handed it to the Professor.

The professor said: "Thank you Ivy, that will be all. Ah, one moment. If you could possibly locate the younger Miss and Master Pevensie and ask them to attend on us in here as soon as may be, we would be very grateful. And perhaps another pot of the Coffee and Chicory and another of Cocoa, enough for another round for us all. I think we'll be at this for some time".

"Alright sir, anything else sir?"

It was Peter who spoke this time.

"Please provide our compliments to Margaret on those delicious ginger snaps she kindly provided earlier. I'm afraid we really have polished the others off. Now we are growing children again it's to be expected I suppose. But they are so reminiscent of the flavours of the South we indulged in years ago and are helping us remember a lot of things we need to talk about. Could we prevail upon the kitchen to bring us another plateful? We really shall be deeply in your debt".

Ivy's eyes boggled with questions about those particular cryptic statements.

When she fumbled for words, the Professor said "Just do your best Ivy".

"Alright sir. Just something I wanted to ask. The telegram boy has pedalled all the way out here and he's rather tired. We wondered if we might give him a hot drink and a biscuit too. He says he's one of the last with pedals. Next time he hopes it might be a Bantam Motorbike!", she added with some excitement.

"Of course Ivy. Is that all now?"

"Yes sir"

"Thank you!"

Ivy turned and fled.

...

Digory

Miss Plummer? They had just been composing a telegram to Polly Plummer at the very moment Ivy popped her head in the door!

Susan and Peter waited patiently for the Professor to gather himself and read the telegram. He read it out loud.

"Digs coming down blitz continues StJames a mess need break stop George & Elizabeth out meeting people just like Frank and Helen stop Strong feeling about you know where stop Wonderful and sad something happening sure of it stop Friday train three fifteen Polly stop"

Susan and Peter both gasped and went down on bended knee in unison facing the fire silently staring into the flames. No need for their telegram now.

Polly's yellow telegram was held in Professor Kirke's trembling hand whilst he considered recent events.

It was Thursday, three days since the children had tumbled back out of the wardrobe and nearly three weeks since they had first arrived.

First there had been the concern about young Lucy talking about a snowy forest in the Narnian Applewood wardrobe, then suddenly the lot of them were claiming they had all stayed there and actually RULED Narnia for years and years, become grown up and then returned an instant after they left, back in children's bodies. It was all logical really. The evidence was in front of his eyes. Now this!

Polly was already on her way. Usually the practical one, her intuition was clearly in full swing these days. Aslan was on the move.

Digory had almost wired Polly when the wild stories about the snowy wood surfaced. He had needed her advice then. Logic told him it could only be true, but he had held back to see what happened next. Well, no doubt about it, she would certainly learn a thing or two when she arrived now. Things had developed far beyond what he could have dreamed was possible. That Wardrobe was clearly an unmeasurable treasure.

In Professor Kirke's humble opinion, the four children were almost unrecognizable, at least in demeanour. The sense of loss and dislocation they had radiated upon arrival from London was similar, but they no longer were four vulnerable children teetering in the unknown, clutching at each other uncertainly. Their manners of speech were now extraordinary. They genuinely relied upon and trusted one another. They indeed seemed like an adult royal family in exile, albeit one from a bygone era!

They were clearly handling their recent losses with grace, although Peter's gaffe a moment ago about being growing children again, showed that they still needed help to make it all fall into place. He couldn't imagine what it must be like.

The three younger ones all confidently treated their elder brother with a mixture of respect, reverence and teasing familiarity. In turn, he was observably more mature in tone and manner, with an easy friendliness and charm. And he had a gift for inspiration and leadership. They all did in fact. But the others actively asked his opinion and he asked theirs in return, even when he made his own decisions. His directness of manner was disarming. He looked everyone in the eye with utter confidence.

The eldest girl had left behind the slightly churlish, strident manner of the child-mother towards her younger siblings and rival of the elder. She had relaxed into the role of equal and ally of all and with the two youngest so changed, the tone was of supporter, encourager and challenger.

Digory Kirke found to his delight that Susan's ability to apply both practical and philosophical logic almost rivalled his own and he longed for more discussions with her. It seemed that between herself and Edmund, they had dispensed justice on a monthly basis for fifteen years and had presided over cases as diverse as rape, burglary, theft, black-magic, abduction, forced servitude, dwarf unionisation, talking animal emancipation, vampirism, murder and embezzlement. Narnia had clearly not remained the land of hope and blissful peace he and Polly remembered, but it seemed that these four children had done much to restore it.

His own work was at an utter standstill. Almost as soon as the children had returned and broken their story, the rain stopped and the sun came out. He had taken to going on long rambles with them with his stick. He anticipated with awe every conversation.

As for the younger boy, the transformation was astounding. Instead of a stormy, grief-stricken, resentful and vengeful child, he had come back from Narnia full of grace, consideration and gravity. He seemed as if daily he was grateful to be alive and wanted to show it.

Of all the children he was the one who really seemed the most reconciled to being back. The love, concern and respect he showed his siblings as they faced the challenges of dislocation from Narnia and difficulties of being children again was inspiring. Indeed anyone who crossed his path was liable to get a dose of something, whether it was empathy, analysis or moral judgement.

Only this morning at breakfast, he had elucidated on the possible character flaws in the Deutsche leadership and people that they had come to behave so badly towards their own people and their neighbours. He sounded like a lawyer, a psychiatrist or a priest!

Betty had nearly dropped the plates and then he had asked if she needed any assistance.

And the little girl. Well... it would not be an exaggeration to say that she shone.

Digory knew that Mrs Macready had never been a lover of children and had seen her brace herself anxiously for the children's visit.

Only a tenday ago, when Lucy had fallen to pieces over not being believed about the wardrobe, Mrs. Macready had been rather overwhelmed by the shenanigans and found her worst fears about having children in the house were being confirmed. She had come and complained to him more than once and suggested they be billetted elsewhere.

But now the Professor knew that whenever Mrs Macready saw Lucy she would break into a smile and say how delightful it was to have her in the house. Even when Lucy skipped about, clattering up the stairs and bumping into historical artefacts, Mrs. Macready was completely unruffled. Lucy remained the most childlike of the four.

And astoundingly, all of the four were utterly able to shed tears of sorrow about their losses without a shred of embarassment and did so with uncomplicated naturalness. For the tears were like clearing showers and only served to highlight the general sunniness and nobility of the four. It was particulaly noticeable in the boys because of the unusual dignity with which they handled it. There was no shame. They were all processing their grief and loss steadily, efficiently and without inhibition. Mrs Macready was pleasantly surprised by their maturity. Professor Kirke was awed.

...

Ivy

Ivy, Margaret and Betty were confused.

"What's come over them four kids?" asked Betty. "Seems like just last week they was doin' their level best to be miserable and that little boy so mean and all!"

"Yes" said Margaret, "and now, they all four are so suave and pretty with their words and all-so-concerned for everyone. Sorry, but it fair sticks in me craw. S'all very nice and everything, but it's not normal".

"Wonder what they gointa say and do next? I come across that young boy in the stable s brushin down a horse, cryin' his 'eart out. He sees me and next minute he's laughing through his tears and saying it's all for the best!" added Betty.

"That young lady, look at 'er! Way she does 'er 'air. A fair slapper she's showin' 'erself to be, I reckon" said Ivy.

"Oooh, slap you! Yes fair sister, methinks the day will come when a sticky end to that one will come! Shouldn't bleedin' wonder!" chortled Margaret.

They went about their tasks and shared many a sly glance as they encountered the children over the days but they held their tongues and listened guilefully at breakfast and the evening meals.

...

Polly

Polly alighted onto the Maiden Newton Station platform and looked about expecting to see the dour housekeeper in the station yard, impatiently waiting for her to get herself and her things into the automobile. But there she was, smiling and waving and walking towards her as if they were best of friends, which they never had been. When Polly had come down to Dorset to stay with Digory, Mrs. Macready had been Miss Judith Sloane, the gamekeeper's daughter. They had tried to "get on" but Judith had never really trusted Polly, the girl from the big city. They had learned to tolerate each other.

Next to Mrs. Macready were two extraordinary girls. One looked only about 7 years old. She was the most brilliantly-grinned golden-child Polly had ever seen, positively brimming with enthusiasm and joy to see her. With her was a gracious taller girl of about 12 with unbound raven locks and the poise and queenly smile of a lady more than twice her age. It was she who spoke.

"Oh, Miss Plummer, it really is such a delight to meet you at last. My dear brothers and gentle sister and I have all been waiting with bated breath since we heard of your impending arrival yesterday! I'm Susan". It was not the speech of a 12 year old. She held out her hand, took Polly's hand gracefully and then actually curtseyed, with practiced grace and skill. It looked distinctly medieval.

It was a far cry from Polly's stolid tweed and sensible shoes approach to life, but she couldn't help smiling.

The other one skipped forward, bobbed her head slightly and grasped her hand, eyes twinkling with suppressed conspiracy. "I'm Lucy. To have finally met you after all this time!"

That was a little odd , but Polly couldn't help smiling back at her too. She said

"Well it is very good to be here. I decided I simply must come down to see the Professor. I just had a feeling about something and needed to talk to him. Time does fly. And I haven't seen either him or Mrs. Macready here for nearly three years."

Looking sharply and wonderingly at Mrs. Macready, she added, "So you did take some children from London then Judith. I am glad. Do this tired old museum and its staff the world of good I shouldn't wonder".

Mrs. Macready just shrugged smiled and winked broadly and gave her a warm hug and said, "So lovely to see you again Polly".

What had got into that woman?

The younger girl took Polly's enormous portmanteau, staggering under its weight.

She looked nonplussed for a moment, laughed a little and said cryptically, "I am sorry, I keep forgetting I'm not as strong as I was Miss Plummer. Could you assist me dear sister?"

From Polly's point of view this one looked as strong and vigorous as any growing child she had ever seen, but she was obviously far too small and light for the big suitcase. Whatever could she be talking about?

Susan stepped in and between her and Lucy, they wrestled the suitcase down the platform ramp and up into the trunk of the black Vauxhall.

When they were all on their way, Polly in the front passenger seat, the younger child leaned forward and spoke in an undertone into Polly's right ear.

"You should know something Miss Plummer. The Professor has shared with us some extraordinary tales about his time living next door to you in London".

"Oh really, did he now?" Polly wondered what Digory could have been referring to. "Did it involve jumping into puddles and me getting into trouble and being sent to my room?"

"Indeed yes, and more beside. Mayhap I am being a little presumptuous to speak of this before we return to our fair accommodations, but I believe it also involved: some rings, a wood, a bell, a very tall lady and a journey to get an apple.

Polly stared forward thunderstruck. What was coming next?

She glanced warily at Judith Macready, but she was concentrating on avoiding potholes, her eyes fixed on the road and didn't seem to have heard a thing.

Susan leaned in from behind on the other side. "We now have some extraordinary tales of our own you see Miss Plummer. Your unexpected arrival has come only days after our own... return, shall we say? We believe Aslan must have sent you to visit us for some purpose."

Polly swallowed a lump which arose in her throat at the sound of that name. The sea of tossing gold washed over and through her. She remembered once again the joy and reassurance that had sustained her through all the moments of doubt in her long life.

"Or for us to give you and the Professor a message of some kind" came in Lucy in her right ear. "You may be pleased to know that the London Lamp Post is still burning".

Polly twisted around, looking through tears first at Susan, then Lucy. Their eyes also brimmed and their lips trembled.

Polly reached back and offered a hand and they hung on tightly. She now had some inkling of why she was here.