My story starts in late July. It was July 21st, I think. It was the first day of our holiday, a hot July day. I stood in the sun and looked at the sea. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. I was on the boat at Portsmouth with my mother and father and my sister, Louise. Sea birds played near our big boat and the small boats near us on the sea.

       I started to look at the people with us on our boat. They all watched the sea birds and talked and laughed. They were all happy on the first day of their holiday too.

It was breakfast-time and Mother was smiling.

       ‘I’ve sold another story, darlings,’ she said. ‘We can have cakes for tea.’

       The three children looked at each other. Then Bobbie said, ‘Can we have the cakes on Thursday instead of today? It’s Perks’s birthday on Thursday.’

       ‘How do you know?’ asked Mother.

       ‘I showed him my brooch – the one you gave me for my birthday – and I asked him about his birthday.

We were at Portsmouth with Old Webb—sorry, Mr Webb—and Mrs Webb. She’s from Argentina; all the boys think she’s good-looking, too. There were six of us with the Webbs: Harry Potts and his sister Sonia, Nick Atkins (he’s a good friend), Sue Bellamy (she’s clever), my brother Dave and me (we’re fourteen and we’re good friends too . . . usually). There were hundreds of people on the boat. It was hot in the sun, a lovely day. People watched the sea and the small boats. I liked being in the sun and thinking about the two weeks holiday in Spain.

One day, the children were walking by the fence along the top of the hill beside the railway line. The line here ran through a deep little valley and the hillside on both sides of the line was very rocky. But among the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and many small trees.

       Phyllis stood by the fence and looked down to the lines at the bottom. “It’s like looking down the side of a mountain,” she said.

       Suddenly, they heard a noise. It was soft, but very clear, and slowly began to get louder.

Mark’s story I started Spanish at school in September and I like it. We’ve got a good teacher—Old Webb. Mr Webb, not Old Webb,’ my mother always says to me. ‘He isn’t old, you know.’ Old Webb—sorry, Mr Webb—always takes some people from our school to a place in Spain for the first two weeks of the holidays, every July. Old Webb is OK. Not bad, for a teacher. v

Mark’s story I started Spanish at school in September and I like it. We’ve got a good teacher—Old Webb. Mr Webb, not Old Webb,’ my mother always says to me. ‘He isn’t old, you know.’ Old Webb—sorry, Mr Webb—always takes some people from our school to a place in Spain for the first two weeks of the holidays, every July. Old Webb is OK. Not bad, for a teacher. v

Donna's story My story starts in late July. It was July 21st, I think. It was the first day of our holiday, a hot July day. I stood in the sun and looked at the sea. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. I was on the boat at Portsmouth with my mother and father and my sister, Louise. Sea birds played near our big boat and the small boats near us on the sea. I started to look at the people with us on our boat. They all watched the sea birds and talked and laughed. They were all happy on the first day of their holiday too.

The Town’s Story

Comillas is a small town fifty kilometres from Santander, near the sea. In the town there are quiet streets of old buildings and there is a small square. There are small shops and cafés with tables and chairs in the square, under the trees. A lot of people from Madrid come to Comillas for their holidays, and a lot of people from England stay in the town too. In the evenings in June and July and August people like to walk in the streets of Comillas. They stop in the square and stand and talk together; their children play together.

Chapter Four: Bobbie’s Ride

About two weeks later, the old gentleman saw another white sheet with black letters when he looked out of the train. It said: SHE IS NEARLY WELL. THANK YOU.

       Then it was time for the children to tell Mother what they had done. It was not easy, but they had to do it. And Mother was very angry indeed.

       ‘Now listen, it’s true that we’re poor,’ she told them, ‘but you must not tell everyone. And you must never, never ask strangers to give you things.’

       ‘We didn’t mean to be bad, Mother,’ cried Bobbie.

Chapter Three: The Old Gentleman

The children could not keep away from the railway, and they soon got to know the trains that passed by. There was the 9.15 and the 10.07, and the midnight train that sometimes woke them from their dreams.

       One morning they were sitting on the fence, waiting for the 9.15, when Phyllis said, “It’s going to London, where Father is. Let’s all wave as it goes by. Perhaps it’s a magic train and it can take our love to Father.”

       So when the 9.15 came screaming out of the tunnel, the three children waved…

       …And a hand waved back!