‘Come on, then,’ Ernie said. ‘We’re goin’ up to the big field the other side of the lake to get us a rabbit.’
The two boys set off. This was a Saturday morning in May, and the countryside was beautiful around the small village where the boys lived. The chestnut trees were in full flower and the hawthorn was white along the hedges. To reach the big rabbit field, Ernie and Raymond had first to walk down a narrow hedgy lane for half a mile. Then they must cross the railway line, and go round the big lake where wild ducks and moorhens and coots and ring-ouzels lived. Beyond the lake, over the hill and down the other side, lay the rabbit field. This was all private land belonging to Mr Douglas Highton and the lake itself was a sanctuary for waterfowl.
All the way up the lane, they took turns with the gun, potting at small birds in the hedges. Ernie got a bullfinch and a hedge-sparrow. Raymond got a second bullfinch, a whitethroat and a yellowhammer. As each bird was killed, they tied it by the legs to a line of string. Raymond never went anywhere without a big ball of string in his jacket pocket, and a knife. Now they had five little birds dangling on the line of string.
‘You know something,’ Raymond said. ‘We can eat these.’
‘Don’t talk so daft,’ Ernie said. ‘There’s not enough meat on one of those to feed a woodlouse.’
‘There is, too,’ Raymond said. ‘The Frenchies eat ’em and so do the Eyeties. Mr Sanders told us about it in class. He said the Frenchies and the Eyeties put up nets and catch ’em by the million and then they eat ’em.’
‘All right, then,’ Ernie said. ‘Let’s see ’ow many we can get. Then we’ll take ’em ’ome and put ’em in the rabbit stew.’
As they progressed up the lane, they shot at every little bird they saw. By the time they got to the railway line, they had fourteen small birds dangling on the line of string.
‘Hey!’ whispered Ernie, pointing with a long arm. ‘Look over there!’
There was a group of trees and bushes alongside the railway line, and beside one of the bushes stood a small boy. He was looking up into the branches of an old tree through a pair of binoculars.
‘You know who that is?’ Raymond whispered back. ‘It’s that little twerp Watson.’
‘You’re right!’ Ernie whispered. ‘It’s Watson, the scum of the earth!’
Peter Watson was always the enemy. Ernie and Raymond detested him because he was nearly everything that they were not. He had a small frail body. His face was freckled and he wore spectacles with thick lenses. He was a brilliant pupil, already in the senior class at school although he was only thirteen. He loved music and played the piano well. He was no good at games. He was quiet and polite. His clothes, although patched and darned, were always clean. And his father did not drive a truck or work in a factory. He worked in the bank.
‘Let’s give the little perisher a fright,’ Ernie whispered.
The two bigger boys crept up close to the small boy, who didn’t see them because he still had binoculars to his eyes.
‘’Ands up!’ shouted Ernie, pointing the gun.
Peter Watson jumped. He lowered the binoculars and stared through his spectacles at the two intruders.
‘Go on!’ Ernie shouted. ‘Stick ’em up!’
‘I wouldn’t point that gun if I were you,’ Peter Watson said.
‘We’re givin’ the orders round ’ere!’ Ernie said.
‘So stick ’em up,’ Raymond said, ‘unless you want a slug in the guts!’
Peter Watson stood quite still, holding the binoculars in front of him with both hands. He looked at Raymond. Then he looked at Ernie. He was not afraid, but he knew better than to play the fool with these two. He had suffered a good deal from their attentions over the years.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.