Spies in the sky, p.1
Spies in the Sky, page 1
Sometimes we must do things we don't want to, even if they frighten us.
Royal Blue is a royal racing pigeon from a long line of champions. Every morning he wakes in his comfortable loft at Sandringham House, eats the very best seeds and spends the day training with his best friend to be the fastest and strongest pigeon in Britain.
But there’s a war going on, and things are changing. Then one day, the King himself comes to the loft and chooses Blue for a very special assignment.
As Blue goes on missions, helping with rescues, carrying secret messages and facing dangers he never could have imagined, one thing will become clear: never underestimate a pigeon.
Praise for Spies in the Sky
‘An exciting and emotional journey – I couldn’t stop reading! I wish I could fly with Squadron 206 on dangerous missions like Royal Blue.’ – Eiji, Year 6
‘I enjoyed how this story was told from the pigeon’s point of view and the way the words painted the bird’s eye view of the fields, trees, lands and oceans as they flew. I loved the different personalities of the characters and the sweet friendships that were formed among the pigeons.’ – Millie, Year 2
‘What an exciting book! It was really interesting. I didn’t know pigeons were such amazing and brave birds! I loved this story from start to finish.’ – Sammy, Year 1
‘I like how Royal Blue is very brave. This book made me cry, laugh, feel worried, and feel good. I liked it very much.’ – Mae, Year 2
‘I absolutely loved this book! It was so captivating and had me hooked until the very end. The story was amusing and inspiring, and I became completely addicted. Overall, it was a touching and heartwarming tale that left a lasting impression on me.’ – Ada, Year 7
‘What an amazing book! Such a unique and interesting story. It had unexpected and exciting twists and I couldn’t put it down.’ – Zara, Year 4
Also by Beverley McWilliams
The Reindeer and the Submarine
For my sister, Gail
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1. Racing Blue
Chapter 2. The royal lofts
Chapter 3. A royal visit
Chapter 4. Dig for victory
Chapter 5. The NPS
Chapter 6. Lilibet
Chapter 7. Leaving Sandringham
Chapter 8. The not-so-royal lofts
Chapter 9. The challenger
Chapter 10. The race
Chapter 11. The drop
Chapter 12. The story of Cher Ami
Chapter 13. Air raid
Chapter 14. Battle of the skies
Chapter 15. The crash
Chapter 16. The long flight home
Chapter 17. Message delivered
Chapter 18. Operation Columba
Chapter 19. Pigeon spies
Chapter 20. Occupied France
Chapter 21. Vive la France
Chapter 22. Resistance
Chapter 23. Homeward bound
Chapter 24. The spies return
Chapter 25. Boomerang Mary
Chapter 26. King George is coming
Chapter 27. The Exeter Blitz
Chapter 28. Home again
Chapter 29. Dear old Sandringham
Chapter 30. We also served
The real pigeons in World War II
Glossary
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter 1
Racing Blue
Sandringham Estate, Norfolk, April 1940
The rhythm of my wings beat against the gentle breeze. The air was crisp and cool but filled with the scent of spring. Just weeks ago, a dusting of snow had covered the ground, but now the land was carpeted in colour. Below me, sunshine-daffodils bloomed and fragrant magnolias peeped through gaps of towering pines.
I turned at the stables towards Sandringham House. The green dome on the roof shone like a beacon in the morning sun. I soared over the pointed gables and clusters of red-brick chimney stacks, across the perfectly pruned formal gardens and neatly trimmed lawns.
I glanced behind me. Khan was rapidly approaching. I tilted my head and flapped, faster and faster, following the meandering stream past the lake guarded by the ancient oak. A sharp left took me over the cobbled lane where Old Shire pulled his milk cart packed with clattering crates. He whinnied a greeting, but there was no time to chat.
The turrets of the village school were in sight. My heart thumped. My feathers tingled. I concentrated all my energy, straining my muscles and pounding my wings. The loft came into view. I swooped and focused, preparing for a smooth landing. If I hit the trap at the correct angle, I didn’t have to stop on the landing board. That saved at least three seconds, and every second counted when you were in a race. I dipped my head and tightened my tail feathers, steering straight through the dangling bobs and sweeping into my box as delicately as the sway of a dandelion clock. A perfect landing.
A welcoming party bounced and flapped their wings.
‘Blue, you’re back already.’
‘How do you do it?’
‘You’re so fast.’
‘Did I win?’ I asked, puffing up my feathers. But of course, I knew I did. Khan was good, but I was so much better.
Thud!
Khan pushed through the trap and landed in the box to my left – a little less gracefully.
‘Bad luck, Khan,’ I said. ‘But there can only be one champion. Get your breath back and we’ll go again.’
Khan flopped onto his feathered bed. ‘No way, Blue. I’m exhausted. And anyway, we were lucky not to get caught. I saw Ernie wandering the gardens.’
I strode over and prodded him with my beak. ‘Come on, Khan. Where’s your spirit? If we’re going to win the National, you’ll have to try harder than that.’
Khan looked at me and cocked his head. ‘We?’
‘Well, me,’ I said. ‘But you might come second if you keep working on it. I’m sure I can see an improvement in your flight muscles. Although …’ I walked in a slow circle around him, ‘your appearance leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘What’s wrong with my appearance?’ Khan squeaked.
Unfortunately, Khan didn’t have the advantage of being a blue bar pigeon like me, with shiny silver-grey feathers and a distinguished black stripe. Khan was a grizzle breed, and his dappled appearance made him look like he’d been sprinkled with salt and pepper. He was a little plump, one of his feet turned outwards, and he had a tuft missing at the crown of his head from when he’d got into an argument with a sparrow.
‘You just need to smarten up a little,’ I said, flicking the dust from his feathers. ‘When we race, we’re representing royalty. When they award us our medals, we must be a perfect example of a pedigree pigeon. You never know – King George might even come to watch the presentation. How wonderful that would be.’
‘We haven’t got a chance of winning a medal, Blue. We’ll be competing against pigeons who’ve been racing for years. You can’t expect to fly in there and take the trophy.’
‘Yes I can.’ I stretched out my wings and preened my glossy feathers. ‘Remember, my father won the first National he flew.’
‘How could I forget?’ Khan said. ‘You’ve told me at least a hundred times.’
I didn’t like to brag, but it was hard not to be proud of my prestigious stock. I was descended from the first British royal pigeons given to King Edward VII by King Leopold II of Belgium. King Edward and his son were so fascinated by pigeon racing that they built their own separate lofts so they could compete against each other in national races. But it was my great-great-grandfather, King Edward’s pigeon, who took the first royal trophy, winning the National Flying Club Grand National from Lerwick in 1899. Since then, every generation of my family had been prize-winning flyers.
‘But Blue …’ Khan shuffled awkwardly, ‘are you sure you’re ready for a proper race?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Competing against hundreds of highly trained pigeons is very different from racing around Sandringham with me.’
‘Don’t you think I’m good enough?’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe my best friend doesn’t have faith in me.’
‘It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Blue. It’s just that—’
‘What?’ I huffed.
‘I don’t want you to be disappointed if you don’t win.’
I softened. ‘I won’t be disappointed because I will win. I have the speed of my father, the intelligence of my mother and a pure bloodline that stretches back to the first pigeon racers in Belgium. If anyone is destined for greatness, it’s me.’
My ears pricked. A familiar whistle floated through the air.
‘Ernie’s coming,’ I said, nudging the wooden plank back in front of the dangling metal rods on our trapdoor. ‘Quick.’
I checked our secret exit was secure and flew back to my box just in time.
Ernie pushed on the gate and strolled inside. ‘Morning, my beauties,’ he said, raising his cap.
Ernest Steele, or Ernie, as we called him, was the royal loft manager. He’d lived on the estate all his life and loved Sandringham just as much as I did. His family farmed the land, and his father had won countless trophies and cups for his famous Sandringham pigs. But it wasn’t pigs that thrilled Ernie. It was pigeons. There was nothing Ernie didn’t understand about pigeons. He knew the right mix of feed to give the shiniest feathers, and he could recognise a nd treat every disease from pigeon pox to canker. But more than anything, Ernie was our friend.
He wandered along our rows of boxes, peering into each. I quickly straightened my stray feathers and flicked the grass from my toes. Ernie stopped beside my box. I nestled into my bed as though I’d been there all morning.
‘Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Royal Blue?’ Ernie scrunched his mouth and his bushy moustache twitched, which was about as angry as he could look. ‘I saw you and Khan racing around the gardens.’
Ernie knew every pigeon by name and could pick any of us out of the flock, even in flight. This was nice, but it meant I couldn’t get away with anything.
He lifted me from my box and stroked his hand down my back.
‘You’re a fine young bird, Royal Blue, and one day I believe you’ll be a great one, but you can’t work by your own rules all the time. We have a training regime. If you over-exercise you’ll inflame those muscles and I’ll be forced to rest you.’
Ernie had this theory that too much practice was not good for young pigeons. He wanted to build us up gently. But I just wanted to race. All this gradual training and these dull rest days just slowed things down.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ Ernie said, smiling. He kissed the top of my head and ruffled my feathers. He could never stay cross with me for long.
Ernie opened the door of the aviary, which stretched the length of our loft.
‘In you go,’ he said, guiding Khan and me through the door. ‘You two can take a rest while the others go out for their morning flight.’
I glared at Ernie. My beak dropped. I’d escaped many times before, but he had never punished me.
‘This is for your own good,’ Ernie said. ‘I don’t want you overdoing it.’ He scratched my head with the tip of his finger. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll still get fed.’
Ernie walked away, leaving us trapped in the aviary. Khan and I watched helplessly as he opened the hatches of the loft, and one by one, our friends soared into the sky. My neck feathers swelled. My face flushed.
‘I can’t believe Ernie locked us in here.’ I huffed.
Khan shrugged. ‘To be honest, I’m tired anyway. And at least we still get breakfast.’
Breakfast might be all Khan was worried about, but how was I ever going to be a first-class racer if I missed my practices? I peered through the mesh of my prison roof and watched the other pigeons circling in the sky and heading north across the gardens towards Sandringham House. I clenched my beak. I wanted to be out there stretching my wings, not stuck in here like a jailbird. This wasn’t fair.
I stomped up and down. There must be a way to get out of here. I pushed at the door with my head, but it didn’t budge. I perched on the handle and stretched my beak through a gap, tapping at the lock. But it was hopeless. I could manoeuvre my way through a closed hatch, but not through a bolted door.
‘Just leave it, Blue,’ Khan said. ‘We’ll not get through that door, however hard you peck it. Relax and take a dip in the birdbath.’
I flew back to my perch, stood on the edge and stretched my wings wide.
‘What are you doing now?’ Khan said.
‘Making the best out of a bad situation,’ I replied.
I counted to three, clapped my wings, then launched myself through the air, flapping furiously.
‘Stop,’ Khan called. ‘There’s not enough room in here.’
I flew around and around and around the aviary. It was a little cramped, the turns were rather sharp, and it was awkward avoiding the hanging branches and scattered perches. But I could do this. Negotiating obstacles at speed was good practice.
‘Please stop,’ Khan called. ‘It’s dangerous. You might hurt yourself.’
I ignored his plea. Faster and faster I flew. I was good at this.
‘Blue, at least slow down,’ Khan begged. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll—’
Whack!
Crack!
My head hit the mesh wall at full speed and I plummeted to the ground, creating a cloud of sawdust in my wake.
‘Blue!’ Khan flew down and prodded me with his beak. ‘Are you alive?’
I opened one eye and then the other. ‘I’m alive.’
‘Did you hurt your wings?’ Khan asked.
My wings? Panic shot through me. I couldn’t afford an injury, not to my wings. I stretched my feathers. ‘How do they look?’
Khan examined me. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘All feathers are still tightly in place.’
My body flopped. ‘This is so frustrating.’
‘Let’s play.’ Khan bounced like an excited puppy. ‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with …’
‘Really, Khan? I’m not in the mood for silly games.’
‘Something beginning with K,’ Khan continued.
I groaned. ‘You know “cage” begins with a C, right?’
‘It’s not “cage”.’ Khan’s eyes sparkled. ‘Try again.’
I looked around. ‘Are you sure it begins with a K?’
Khan nodded.
‘It’s not “Khan”, is it?’
‘Nope.’ Khan grinned. ‘Do you give up?’
‘Yes. I give up.’ I sighed. ‘What is it?’
‘King George!’ Khan said, puffing out his chest. ‘I win.’
‘It’s supposed to be something you can see,’ I said. ‘That’s the idea of the game.’
‘I can see King George,’ Khan replied. He stretched his neck and peered out of the aviary. ‘At least I could see him a few minutes ago. He must have gone.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You’re trying to cheat,’ I said.
‘I’m not trying to cheat.’ Khan’s voice wobbled. ‘I saw King George. I really did.’
‘I suppose he was dressed in his robes and wearing a crown?’ I snorted.
Khan shook his head. ‘No, just a suit and a cap. But it was a very smart suit and cap.’
‘So, what makes you think it was King George? You don’t even know what he looks like.’
‘Yes I do. Maggie has a photo of him in her nest. She got it from a magazine,’ Khan said. ‘She showed me.’
Maggie, Sandringham’s resident magpie, loved to fill her nest with bizarre trinkets. Beads, bottle tops, buttons, shiny string and pretty paper. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d had a photo of King George among her treasures.
‘If King George was back at Sandringham, then Ernie would have told us,’ I said. ‘And I’m sure the King would’ve visited. We are his pigeons, after all.’
‘Maybe he’s just arrived.’ Khan fluffed his feathers. ‘Perhaps I was the first one to spot him.’
‘Or maybe you’ve got sawdust in your eyes again, and it was the gardener.’ I chuckled. ‘Or the maid.’
Khan scrunched up his face. ‘Don’t believe me, then.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m telling you, King George is back at Sandringham. You just wait and see.’
Chapter 2
The royal lofts
I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about what Khan had said. I was sure he’d been mistaken. Ernie had told us it wasn’t safe for the royal family to visit Sandringham anymore because of the war. Maggie always boasted about the ‘good old days’ when the procession of cars piled high with luggage announced the royal arrival. When music drifted from the ballroom and the Princesses’ laughter filled the air. The older pigeons talked of the days when King George visited the lofts and selected his favourite birds to race. They said that sometimes he would even wait by the loft to congratulate the winners. Khan and I never knew those glorious days as the war started before we were born. But what if Khan was right? What if the King was back at Sandringham and we finally got to meet him? My heart fluttered at the thought.
The bell rang at the village school across the field. The children’s cheerful voices faded as they piled through the doors, ready for the day. That meant Ernie would be here at any moment. He always arrived just after school started. Ernie was never late.
I prodded Khan. ‘Morning, sleepy beak. Time to get up.’
Khan slowly opened one eye.
