For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
But can you prove it Megan? Join us on Monday to find out 😉
Have a great weekend 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
Next instalment coming soon! 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
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The plot thickens! Join us on Monday to see what happens next 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
To refresh your memory of where we were up to in the story before the technical hitch, I’ll repeat the last installment and add the new one under it 🙂
Does it? Continues Friday 😉
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The story will resume as soon as the scanner’s fixed! 😉
While you’re waiting, check out the other comics on the stories for ages 8 and up page 😀
For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
Join us on Monday to see what happens next! 😉
Have a lovely weekend 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
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Is Gertrude in there? Find out Friday 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
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Story continues Wednesday 😀
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Will Megan and Flos and Frances be able to track down Miss Burton? And will they find further evidence of the corruption at Homestead? Join us Monday as the story continues 😉
Have a great weekend 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
Oh my gosh! 😮
The story continues on Friday. Don’t miss it! 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
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What????!!!!
Join us on Wednesday to find out what happens next 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Use the zoom in your browser to make it bigger for easier reading 🙂
Now we’re getting somewhere!
Join Megan on Monday as her investigation continues 😀
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Join Megan as she begins her investigation inside the organisation – Friday. Don’t be late 😉
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Find out if Megan has had better luck on Wednesday 🙂
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For the story so far, click here 🙂
Story continues Monday 🙂
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Story continues from Monday:
Story continues Friday 🙂
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If you find this difficult to read, just enlarge it with your browser’s zoom 🙂
Click here for episodes 1 to 5 of Megan & Flos, or find them on the Stories for ages 8 and up page 🙂
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A great review of Let the dogs out at Hornby HART– check it out! 😀 
You can read the whole story here
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Story continues from yesterday:
😀
For the whole story, and the background and sources that informed it, click here
Let the dogs out is also available in paperback 🙂
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Story continues from last week:
Story concludes tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
Story continues Monday
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
Story continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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story continues from yesterday:
Story continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
Story continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
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continues Monday
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
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continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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story continues from last week:
continues tomorrow
For the whole story click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
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Story continues tomorrow.
For the story so far click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
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Story continues tomorrow.
For the story so far click here
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Story continues from yesterday:
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Story continues tomorrow.
For the story so far click here
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When reading an article in the Journal of Medical Ethics, Advances in neuroscience imply that harmful experiments in dogs are unethical, by Jarrod Bailey and Shiranee Pereira, I was reminded of our George. The Open Access article explains that
“Functional MRI (fMRI) of fully awake and unrestrained dog ‘volunteers’ has been proven an effective tool to understand the neural circuitry and functioning of the canine brain. Although every dog owner would vouch that dogs are perceptive, cognitive, intuitive and capable of positive emotions/empathy, as indeed substantiated by ethological studies for some time, neurological investigations now corroborate this. These studies show that there exists a striking similarity between dogs and humans in the functioning of the caudate nucleus (associated with pleasure and emotion), and dogs experience positive emotions, empathic-like responses and demonstrate human bonding which, some scientists claim, may be at least comparable with human children. There exists an area analogous to the ‘voice area’ in the canine brain, enabling dogs to comprehend and respond to emotional cues/valence in human voices, and evidence of a region in the temporal cortex of dogs involved in the processing of faces, as also observed in humans and monkeys. We therefore contend that using dogs in invasive and/or harmful research, and toxicity testing, cannot be ethically justifiable.”
As soon as we got to know George we knew he was an especially thoughtful person. It was proved beyond doubt when I had a diabetic hypo (hypoglycemia: low blood sugar, causing brain to go to sleep) one afternoon a couple of years ago. I had been unconscious on the settee for a couple of hours and no one else was home except the two dogs. When I came round my brain woke up before my body did so when I tried to get up off the settee I just collapsed onto the floor. I was aware that both dogs, George and Jo Jo, were watching me closely. I was flat on my face and couldn’t even sit up so I needed my husband’s help. I knew he was somewhere in the garden (he’s the resident gardener of a six acre garden) so I tried to shout his name in the hope that he was nearby but I was unable to form words. I made a strange drunken sound which was beyond slurred but it wasn’t very loud and certainly not comprehensible. My arms were starting to work now so I managed to drag myself on my belly to the door and was just able to reach the waist-level handle to open it. Both boys followed me and when I’d got the door open wide enough I slurred “Git Sm’n” as best I could (I still couldn’t say Simon) before flopping back face-first on the doormat. Sweet Jo Jo stayed with me while George ran outside. Bear in mind he now had the freedom to roam six acres, but he didn’t. He stood at the end of the path to the gardener’s cottage and barked. He barked and barked until Simon came and then he ran back to the cottage ahead of him. Simon lifted me onto the bed, got me some orange juice and I made a fast recovery.
But if you think that was clever, wait ’til you hear what happened last week! I got my coat and wellies on, ready to take the boys for a walk. Jo Jo came running to have his coat and lead put on but George was at the other end of the living room guarding his food dish. He still had a bit of breakfast left and was worried someone might pinch it if it was left unattended. Well, I didn’t want to have to take off my muddy boots to traipse across the living room to fetch him so I kept calling him until he eventually reluctantly came. I attached his lead and the three of us left. When we were about thirty feet from the house I noticed George was limping quite heavily on his front left paw. I said, “Oh, darling, are you limping? What’s wrong?” and he stood still and gave me his paw when I reached for it. I couldn’t find anything wrong with it – he didn’t complain when I touched it and there was no thorn or stone or anything caught in it – so I attempted to resume our walk. George made an immediate U-turn and pulled back towards the house so I gave in and let him lead me back. When we got to the front door I opened it, took off his lead and he ran to his food dish – no sign of a limp whatsoever! He has not limped at all since. He is a liar! He pretended he’d hurt his foot so that he didn’t have to go!
He is a clever clever naughty boy 😀
For all the Luke Walker chapters click here
For the whole of chapter 12 click here 🙂
Story continues from Friday:
At half past three, all the Year Fives who wanted to be in the Christmas concert went to the hall to audition for Ms Robinson and Mr Beardsley. There were more parts available than actors to play them so Luke felt confident he’d get something. He was expecting to have to get up on stage and recite a line or two from the play, as he’d seen done in a movie once. However, when Ms Robinson saw how few people had turned up she simply asked for a show of hands for each role. If only one person raised their hand for a particular role, they got it. If more than one person raised their hand, Mr Beardsley drew one of their names from a hat. Luke felt this diminished the accomplishment somewhat. He was the only applicant for the role of Third Spirit so the part was his, in addition he was pressed to play Jacob Marley which he was happy to do. Simon Butler would play Ebenezer Scrooge as an old man, a young man and a child. Katia got the parts of young Scrooge’s sweetheart and Mrs Cratchit; Kenny got Bob Cratchit, Fezziwig and the coachman; Tania wanted to play Scrooge’s nephew and Scrooge’s sister because she thought it would add realism to have some discernible family resemblance between those characters. Her wish was granted. And so it went on. Children were permitted to leave after their roles were assigned and by a quarter past five only a few minor roles remained to be cast. Joe and Luke were the only children left in the hall. Luke was waiting for Joe who, for almost two hours, had waited patiently for an opportunity to ask if he could paint the scenery. He had brought with him some preliminary sketches of ideas for backdrops and costumes but when he approached Ms Robinson, she misunderstood his reason for being there.
“Okay Joe, that leaves us with Scrooge’s Servant, the Gentleman Visitor, the Cook, and the Butcher. Do you think you can handle those?”
Joe went white in the face.
“er, no, he don’t want them,” said Luke, stepping in.
“Excuse me, I was talking to Joe,” said Ms Robinson, quite testily. “Come on Joe, they’re only small parts, you can do those for me can’t you?”
Joe looked at the sketchbook in his hands.
“I brought these …” he mumbled nervously.
“What was that? You’ll do it? Thank you Joe,” and she wrote his name next to the character names on her clipboard.
Joe looked at Luke with panic in his eyes.
“No, he’s not doin’ the actin’, he’s good at paintin’ scenery. He’ll be too busy paintin’ to do any actin’,” said Luke persuasively.
Ms Robinson looked at Luke as if her patience was at an end.
“This is nothing to do with you. If Joe didn’t want to do it he would have said so. Please credit him with enough intelligence to speak for himself and stop interfering.” She turned back to Joe. “Okay Joe?”
Joe nodded his assent.
Ms Robinson closed her clipboard and began to pack up her things. Luke knew full well that Joe was only there because he’d asked him to be. He couldn’t let him get lumbered with this.
“No,” he said with determination “Joe don’t wanna do it. That’s not why he came. He daren’t say it coz you’re in a mood, but he definitely don’t wanna do it!”
Ms Robinson glared at him in that all too familiar way.
“Luke. Walker,” she said slowly as if something had just occurred to her, “you’re the one Cathy Tebbut warned me about.”
At this point Mr Beardsley, who had witnessed the entire interaction, decided it was time to intervene.
“Can I have a word Ms Robinson?” he asked.
She glared again at Luke and then stepped aside to speak to her colleague. Luke sat down on the floor next to Joe.
“Sorry,” he said.
“S’oright,” his friend replied.
After a few minutes of hushed discussion Ms Robinson left. Mr Beardsley walked over to the boys.
“Ms Robinson and I have been thinking,” he said, “it doesn’t work very well to have an odd number of pupils in a class because when we need you to work with a partner, there’s always an odd one out.”
The boys nodded. That was true.
“So,” Mr Beardsley went on, “it’s better to have twenty six or twenty four pupils in a class than twenty five.”
The boys nodded again.
“So, Ms Robinson has agreed that it would be a good idea for you to transfer to my class Joe, if that’s alright with you.”
Joe’s now very enthusiastic nod was accompanied by a wide smile. Luke smiled too.
“Okay then,” said Mr Beardsley, smiling back at them, “I’ll see you both, ten to nine, on Monday.” He started to turn away before adding, “oh, and Joe, Ms Robinson said she’d be delighted to have your help with the scenery because she’s going to give some of the Year 4 kids the opportunity to audition for the minor roles.”
He winked and walked away.
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Luke Walker paperbacks:
Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er (the first eight chapters); More Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er (chapters nine to sixteen); and Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er: my privut notebook are available from Amazon in the UK, Europe, the USA and Canada 🙂 but if you’d prefer to mail order them through us, get in touch 😀
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from yesterday:
*******
They weren’t prepared for what they found. Parked in the field, alongside the still confined sheep, was a double decker lorry.
The top deck was already full of sheep. The farmer was there, with his dogs, talking to the lorry driver. It was clear to the boys what was about to happen. That’s why they were locked up there. They were waiting for transport. Waiting to be taken to their deaths. Luke and Joe stood frozen at the bus shelter. They dropped their bags of apples.
“The lorry must be late,” said Joe in a husky whisper.
“Why?”
“Coz they haven’t been fed for two days, they must’ve not known it was gonna be that long.”
“It’s not late!” snapped Luke angrily, “look how clean an’ shiny that lorry is! I bet they don’t wanna get their lorry dirty – they don’t want no poo and wee in their lorry so they don’t let ’em eat or drink before the journey. Their last journey!”
Joe felt a lump in his throat and his heart ached.
“That’s horrible!” he said desperately, “what can we do? We’ve got to do something!”
Luke’s eyes started to sting as he watched them send in the dogs to herd the hungry sheep onto the lorry. He picked up the biggest stone he could find and threw it as hard as he could at the lorry’s windscreen across the road. It missed.
“There’s nothin’ we can do!” he said, grabbing his bag of apples, “unless you’ve got a thousand pounds to pay the farmer for ’em, and a hundred allotments to keep ’em on!”
Still they hated themselves for doing nothing and walked away in silent misery.
***
Friday morning at breakfast, Luke’s dad observed how cold and wet it was.
“It’s big coat weather already,” he told his wife, “it’s amazing how quick the temperature drops once September arrives.”
“Sometimes,” Mum agreed, “it’ll probably be warm again tomorrow.” She looked at her boys. “Your big coats need a wash to freshen them up,” she remembered, “so you’ll have to wear an extra jumper under your summer jackets for now.”
“I’m not wearin’ that wool jumper!” said Luke firmly.
“Luke, it’s cold. If your Dad says it’s cold then you know it is. He’s usually hotter than the rest of us.”
“Than you,” Dad corrected her.
“Yeah,” Jared agreed, “you’re the one who’s always cold,” he laughed.
“Well then, there you go, so if Dad thinks it’s cold …”
“I’m not wearin’ that jumper! Take it back an’ get your money back! We’re not givin’ money to farmers!”
Everyone stopped eating. Dad was not impressed.
“Luke Eugene Walker, how dare you speak to your mother like that? Apologise right now!” He spoke in that slow, quiet, angry way that meant you’d gone too far. Luke realised he shouldn’t be taking it out on Mum.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, “but I don’t want you to pay money to sheep farmers. I hate farmers!”
Mum’s response was gentle.
“Luke, clearly something has upset you, but the fact remains, as I told you, that wool isn’t cruel. It doesn’t hurt them to be sheared.”
Luke tried to explain it to her in a way she would understand.
“It doesn’t make any difference,” he said, “they kill ’em anyway.”
“Not for wool they don’t. They kill animals for leather but not for wool.”
“They kill ’em anyway,” Luke said again, “they make money out of ’em for wool; then they kill ’em and make money out of ’em for meat. They kill ’em for money and they’re horrible, nasty, evil, criminal murderers and I don’t want you to give them any of our money!”
Nobody could argue with that.
“Okay,” said Mum, “I’ll take it back today.”
***
Joe gave Luke back the books and pens he’d left in his garden the day before.
“I forgot them last night,” he apologised.
“Me too,” said Luke, taking possession of three brand new, very soggy, text books, and two exercise books in which a lot of his work had dissolved.
“Put them on the radiator,” Joe suggested helpfully.
“Yeah,” said Luke.
The bell rang and they went their separate ways.
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The story concludes on Monday but if you don’t want to wait you can finish it here now 🙂
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vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s stories, vegan children’s books, animals, animal rights, animal protection, animal rescue, vegan children, veggie kids, sheep, sheep farming, wool
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from yesterday:
*******
On their way home from school Luke and Joe discussed the Christmas concert.
“I don’t wanna be in it,” said Joe.
“You could just ‘ave a small part,” Luke suggested, “then we’d be together.”
“Oh yeah,” said Joe, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was terrified at the thought of being on stage; of being watched by people. Luke sympathised and racked his brains for a way that Joe could be part of the production without actually having to be on stage. Then it came to him.
“You could be the scenery painter!” he said with great satisfaction. “Then you’d ‘ave to be there, paintin’ the scenes while we’re rehearsin’. Then I could chat to you when it’s not my scene and I could help you. I could fetch your pens and paints and brushes. You could tell ’em I’m your assistant so they don’t send me back to lessons when it’s not my scene.”
It was a brilliant plan. Joe was as happy about it as Luke.
They ducked into Joe’s house for sheep food. His mum was in the kitchen.
“Hello Joe, oh, and hello Luke. Are we returning the favour tonight then?” she asked.
“What d’you mean?” said Joe, trying to think of a way to entice her from the kitchen.
“Is Luke staying here for tea today?”
“Oh, er, no. Thank you,” said Luke, “I’ve jus’ come to borra somethin’.”
That gave Joe an idea.
“Yeah, I want to lend ‘im my book about trains,” he said, “ya know, the one Auntie Sue gave me.”
“Okay,” said his mum without looking up from the potatoes she was peeling.
“on’y,” said Joe, tentatively, “I don’t know where it is. Could you find it for me?”
“Haven’t I got enough to do?” she said indignantly, “what else do you want – shall I tie your shoelaces? Shall I clean your teeth for you?”
Joe shook his head.
“Find it yourself you cheeky beggar!” she concluded, and that was that.
The boys stepped back outside. It was no use. She’d started the dinner which meant she’d be in there for at least another hour.
“Sorry,” said Joe, “we’ll have to get somethin’ from yours again.”
“There’s nothin’ left to take,” said Luke, “Mum said we’ll have to have tinned veg ’til she can get to the shops again and coz she thinks I took it for Curly and Squirt and the damsons – typical! They always blame me! – she won’t let me watch telly for a week!”
The boys looked at each other and thought hard. There had to be a way to get something to eat for those poor starving sheep.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” said Luke, not for the first time. Then he had a thought. An idea. A good one. It might be tricky but it was do-able.
“Remember that farm behind the pony field, next to the rec?”
“Yes,” said Joe.
“They grow salads and things, in them plastic tunnels.”
“Mmm,” said Joe, nervously.
“So, I’ve seen ’em, them tunnels, all they ‘ave to do is water ’em twice a day. The rest of the time there’s no one in ’em.”
“But they’ve got them big dogs,”
“Okay, well, we’ll take a couple o’ dog toys, and then you can distract …”
Joe shook his head.
“I don’t want to distract.”
“Okay, I’ll distract ’em and you can go into the tunnels to get the salad.”
“That’s stealin’.”
“To save lives!” Luke reminded him, “and anyway, they’ve prob’ly got hundreds o’ lettuces and cucumbers, they won’t miss a few.”
Taking Joe’s silence as tacit consent, Luke continued.
“First, we’ll go to mine to get the dog toys; and a bag; then we’ll go to the farm and I’ll climb in to play with the dogs; as soon as I’ve got their ‘ttention, you sneak into the …”
Joe laughed.
“What?” said Luke, annoyed that his great plan was a source of amusement.
“Look over there,” said Joe, pointing to the bottom of his garden.
There stood two heavily laden apple trees.
“Or,” said Luke, “we could take some apples.”
They emptied the contents of their school bags behind the water butt and replaced them with apples. With no time to lose, they headed to the muddy paddock.
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The story continues tomorrow but if you don’t want to wait you can read the whole chapter here now 🙂
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vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s stories, vegan children’s books, animals, animal rights, animal protection, animal rescue, vegan children, veggie kids, sheep, sheep farming, wool
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from yesterday:
*******
When they got to the bus stop they stood under the shelter and looked carefully in every direction to make sure no one was watching. Then they hurried across the road and emptied their bags into the muddy paddock. The sheep didn’t trust the boys and they crowded against the opposite fence.
“These’ll give ’em water as well as food,” said Luke, “I hope they like ’em.” He was a little disappointed that they didn’t seem too keen to tuck in.
“I think they’re frightened of us,” Joe suggested, “p’rhaps we should go back over the road and watch from there.”
Luke agreed and within a few minutes the sheep bravely and hungrily partook. The boys were extremely relieved.
“That’s good,” said Joe, “we’ll jus’ feed ’em every day ’til they let ’em out.”
“Yeah, but tomorrow we’ll get the food from your house or my mum’ll catch on.”
“Okay.”
Then they went to visit Curly and Squirt, before popping in to Joe’s house to tell his mum that he was going to tea at Luke’s.
***
On Thursday Mr Beardsley said that Year 5 were going to be responsible for the Christmas concert this year. He said they were going to put on a musical production of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
“… so for any of you who are aspiring singers or actors, the auditions are being held on Friday after school.”
This was interesting. It was a good story. The Muppet Christmas Carol was one of Luke’s favourite films. He’d never thought of himself as an actor and the idea of performing did not really appeal to him. However, when Jared was in the school play a couple of years ago he said they had to rehearse so much that he missed loads of lessons.
“What parts?” he blurted out suddenly without thinking. Mr Beardsley was writing on the board.
“I’m sorry?”
Luke felt a bit embarrassed.
“er, sorry, what parts are in the play?”
“Oh, er, well, lots. Scrooge, Scrooge’s nephew, Bob Cratchit, the Spirits, Tiny Tim, …”
“They’re all boy parts,” said Tania Spriggs, one of the new girls. She was understandably disgruntled.
“Oh, there’s lots of girls’ parts too,” said Mr Beardsley, trying to think of one. “Oh, er, there’s Mrs Cratchit, and er, the Cratchit daughters, and Scrooge’s sister, Scrooge’s nephew’s wife,” he was on a roll now. But then he realised he wasn’t. He couldn’t think of any more.
Tania huffed.
“The wife, the sister, the daughter! All minor roles!” she said, dispirited, “I look forward to a school play with a strong female lead!”
“I tell you what, talk to Ms Robinson at the auditions. She’s adapting the story into a script so I’m sure she’ll make sure there’s plenty of good roles to be had for both sexes.”
Luke gave it some more thought. He liked the idea of being one of the spirits. The really scary one.
Mr Beardsley resumed writing on the board. Maths. Again. Luke pictured himself as the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. He’d have a long, black, hooded cape; his face would be painted white with black cavernous eyes; he’d have sharp talons for fingernails and …
“Luke. What’s next?”
Luke, brought abruptly from his reverie, had no idea what was being asked of him. His bewilderment was visible. Mr Beardsley banged the pen on the board to draw Luke’s attention to the sum written there.
“Four thousand, two hundred and seventy nine divided by twenty two. Long division. Max did the first part. What’s next?”
Luke shook his head. He really hated it when someone interrupted his train of thought. He was in the middle of something. What was it? He turned to ask Joe but Joe wasn’t there. Oh yes, the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, that was the part for him. Then he had another thought. If Joe was in it too they’d be together again. He wondered what part Joe would like. Mr Beardsley moved on to Katia. She didn’t know either.
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The story continues tomorrow but if you don’t want to wait you can read the whole chapter here now 🙂
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vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s stories, vegan children’s books, animals, animal rights, animal protection, animal rescue, vegan children, veggie kids, sheep, sheep farming
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from yesterday:
*******
“Oh no! He prob’ly dint tell no one he’d locked the sheep up without food ‘n’ water, and if he’s dead, no one’ll know they’re here, and they’ll starve to death!” His eyes were wide with alarm.
“Call the RSPCA!” said Joe suddenly, “this is cruelty to animals, lockin’ em up without food or water! The RSPCA’ll rescue ’em!”
“Yesss!” said Luke and the two of them rushed back to his house.
Luke found the number in the phone book and decided, for privacy, to use the phone in his mum’s bedroom. He put it on speaker so that Joe could hear. It rang for a few seconds before being answered by a recorded message.
“Thank you for calling the RSPCA. Please note some calls may be recorded for training and monitoring purposes. To proceed press 1 now.”
Luke pressed 1.
“Thank you. Please say your postcode.”
Luke was flummoxed.
“What’s my postcode?” he mouthed to Joe.
Joe shrugged.
The recording tried again.
“Please say your postcode out loud or key it into the keypad.”
Luke pressed some random keys.
“Thank you. Now please key in your house number.”
He pressed the seven and the one.
“Thank you. Your address is 71 Broomhill Drive, Glasgow, Scotland. If this is correct press 1; if this is incorrect press 2; press 3 to return to the main menu.”
Luke was exasperated. No, it wasn’t correct but he wasn’t going to tell them that or he’d have to start all over again. He pressed 1.
“Thank you. Now say your name out loud.”
“Robin Locksley.”
“Thank you. If you have called because of an animal in distress, please choose between the following options: If you’re worried about a dog in a hot car, press 1. If you’ve found an abandoned …”
Luke threw his head back in frustration.
“We ‘aven’t got time for this! Jus’ let me talk ta someone!”
“It’s a good job you’re not on a mobile,” Joe agreed, “Janet’s always runnin’ out of credit on hers.”
The machine listed several options before concluding with:
“For anything else, please hold for an operator.”
“Finally,” Luke mouthed and the ring tone began again. After a minute or so, a live person answered.
“Thank you for calling the RSPCA. How may I help you?”
“There’s some sheep locked in a muddy paddock with no food or water,” Luke told her.
“Are they in distress?”
“Wun’t you be distressed if you hadn’t eaten anythin’ for a whole day an’ night? Or drunken anythin’?”
“It’s only been one day?”
“And a night. More ‘n that now,” Luke said.
“Are they injured? Do they look like they’ve been abused or neglected.”
“Well, no, they don’t seem to be injured.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t think any of our inspectors will come out if they’re not injured or in distress.”
“They haven’t had anythin’ to drink or eat since yesterday! They’re really hungry and they’re locked in there! You’ve got to let ’em out!”
“I’m sorry. Perhaps you can ask the farmer to check on them. Do you know who the sheep belong to?”
“We think the farmer might be dead.”
“Who are you talking to?” Mum stood in the doorway.
Luke disconnected the call.
“Nobody. We was jus’ pretendin’,” he thought it best not to involve Mum.
“I heard a woman’s voice. Who were you talking to?” she persisted.
“Somebody. Don’t matter who.”
“I beg your pardon? You’re in my room, using my phone and I insist you tell me who you were speaking to!”
Luke looked momentarily at the floor and then back at her.
“Joe’s mum,” he lied again, “she said Joe could stay for tea. We’re goin’ to check on Curly and Squirt.”
Mrs Walker decided to pretend she believed him.
“Okay,” she consented, “back by six please. And in future, ask before you use the phone.”
While Mum stayed in her room to sort the laundry, Luke and Joe rushed downstairs.
“We’ll feed ’em ourselves!” Luke decided.
He handed a shopping bag to Joe and opened the fridge. Luckily, Mum had just been shopping.
“Take these,” he said, “and these, and these,” and he handed him about twenty carrots, two cucumbers, a cabbage, a lettuce and sixteen apples. The bag was heavy. Luke grabbed another one to share Joe’s burden and they left.
*******************************
The story continues tomorrow but if you don’t want to wait you can read the whole chapter here now 🙂
**********************************
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For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from last Friday:
*******
At the end of the day Luke couldn’t find Joe so he walked home alone feeling very sorry for himself. Then he saw something which took his mind off it. Across the road sheep were being rounded up with two dogs and a quad bike. They looked scared and tried to run in all directions but the dogs and the motorbike kept heading them off so that in the end they had no choice but to enter a fenced paddock at the edge of the field. Unlike the grassy field, this paddock was nothing but mud. There was nothing to eat and nothing to drink. Luke watched from the bus shelter as the quad bike rider locked the gate, ordered the dogs onto the back of the bike, and then rode away. When they were out of sight Luke went over to the sheep. There were thirty or forty of them who recoiled as he approached. Luke wanted to release them but wondered if he should. He couldn’t understand why the farmer would lock them in there like that without even a water trough, but maybe the sheep needed some medicine that had to be taken on an empty stomach. It would be wrong to act without knowing all the facts. He felt it best to come back and check on them later and decide then what to do.
***
Luke opened the back door, dropped his book bag on the kitchen floor, kicked off his shoes and reached for the biscuit tin.
“Erm, did you forget something?” said Mum, suddenly appearing from the pantry.
Luke stuck his feet back in his shoes and shuffled them out of the kitchen.
“Sohhy,” he said, his mouth full of gingernut.
“Don’t tread the heels down!” she reminded him wearily, “and that’s not what I meant.”
He looked back, confused, and then noticed his book bag.
“Sorry,” he said again, picked it up and started to walk away.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said again, in a sort of sing-songy tone of voice.
Luke stood still. He was tired. It had been a long day. Could she not just tell him what she meant? Did they have to go through this trial and error game every time? He turned to look at her.
“What?” he asked, “what did you mean?”
Mum gave him a look which meant he should modify his look. He did. Then she told him.
“Shouldn’t you ask before you take a biscuit?”
“Can I have a biscuit please?”
“You may have two biscuits,” she said smiling, “how was your first day back? Did you like your new teacher?”
Luke slumped into a chair in the dining room.
“He’s alright,” he said unenthusiastically.
“He? I thought you’d be with Ms Robinson this year.”
“Yeah. So did I.”
“So, how come you’re not? Who are you with? Mr Green?”
“No. A new one. Mr Beardsley.”
“Oh. What’s he like?”
Luke appreciated his mother’s interest but really wasn’t in the mood to recap the day’s events.
“He’s alright,” he said again, “I’ve got to do me homework,” and he lifted himself sluggishly from the chair and headed upstairs to cover his new books.
***
On Wednesday afternoon Luke was able to find Joe at the end of school.
“What’s it like in Muz Robinson’s class?” he asked jealously.
“‘s’alright,” said Joe.
Luke was surprised to get such a tepid response but realised that Joe was just being considerate, not wanting to rub it in. He appreciated that and gladly changed the subject.
“We need to go home by the main road,” he told his friend, “I’ve got to check on some sheep.”
When they got there Luke was very concerned to see they were just as he’d left them the day before.
“They must be so hungry,” he said, “and thirsty.”
The boys crossed the road. Joe was equally worried.
“We should let ’em back into the field,” he suggested, “there’s grass; and a water trough.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” said Luke, “but I can’t open the gate coz o’ the padlock.” He tugged pointlessly at the hardened steel lock. “Where’s the farmer got to? I thought he would ‘ave let ’em out by now.”
“P’rhaps he’s had an accident,” Joe said anxiously, “he might be dead!”
Luke hadn’t thought of that.
***********************************
The story continues tomorrow but if you don’t want to wait you can read the whole chapter here now 🙂
**********************************
vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s stories, vegan children’s books, animals, animal rights, animal protection, animal rescue, vegan children, veggie kids, sheep, sheep farming
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 12 continues from yesterday:
*******
Tuesday came around as it was bound to, and Luke found himself back at school. He was predictably annoyed about it but took solace in the fact that at least he wasn’t in Mrs Tebbut’s class anymore. Everyone knew Ms Robinson was the nicest teacher in school. She never sent anyone to the headmaster or made anyone stand in the corner or made anyone do extra homework when they had trouble doing the normal amount of homework. From what he’d heard, Luke felt sure she was the type of teacher who would sympathise with someone if they accidentally stapled their own finger. And she certainly wasn’t the type of teacher to make someone eat all their mushy peas just because they’d asked for a big portion when they couldn’t possibly have known they would be so salty.
At ten to nine he and the rest of class 5 were allowed to enter the classroom. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces and not enough desks or seats for everyone. Those who could, found seats, others sat on the desks while some, mostly the children Luke had never seen before, just stood around in huddles.
“I know there’s not enough seats,” said Thomas, Ms Robinson’s teaching assistant, “but bear with us. Ms Robinson and Mr Beardsley will be here in a minute and they’ll explain everything.”
“Who’s Mr Beardsley?” asked Katia.
“Ah, here he is. Mr Beardsley, meet Year 5.”
At that moment a tall, thin man with very short, sandy hair and glasses walked into the room. He wore a beige knitted waistcoat buttoned up over a white and beige checked shirt. Luke was a little concerned.
“Good morning everyone,” said the man, “I’m Mr Beardsley and I’ll be teaching some of you this year.”
“Where’s Muz Robinson?” shouted Kenny.
“She’s still talking to the Headmaster, she’ll be here in a moment.”
Luke and Joe stood against the back wall feeling rather uneasy. The room hummed with muffled mutterings. Nobody knew what was going on. A few minutes later Ms Robinson joined them.
“Sorry to keep you waiting class 5,” she said, “it’s all a bit last minute so I hope you’ll bear with us.”
“If they told us what needs bearin’ with, we might be able to,” whispered Luke.
Joe nodded. Ms Robinson explained.
“Little Greatoak Primary school has closed due to insufficient attendance. That is, the council has decided it’s too expensive to run a whole school when there are not enough pupils to fill it.”
Everyone was listening.
“So, all the children from Little Greatoak will be coming to school here from now on.” She looked around at the new faces. “Welcome to Gingham County Primary, we hope you’ll be very happy here.”
Luke, without understanding why, felt suddenly possessive of the school he’d never liked.
“Most classes have had the addition of three or four pupils,” Ms Robinson went on, “but Year 5 has been increased by twenty, making a class of fifty pupils which is far too many.”
Luke didn’t like the way this was going.
“So we’re going to have two Year 5 classes: Class 5A and Class 5B. I will take Class 5B and Mr Beardsley – who has also joined us from Little Greatoak – will take Class 5A.”
It could not truthfully be said that Luke was good at maths but even he was quick to work out that, since half of fifty was twenty five, at least some of his old class would not be in Ms Robinson’s group. Without realising it, he held his breath.
Mr Beardsley and Ms Robinson stood at the front of the class with open registers in their hands. Ms Robinson continued.
“Class 5B,” she said, “we will be moving to the new mobile classroom next to the playground. When I call your name, collect your bags and coats and wait for me in the cloakroom.”
Ms Robinson called the names on her register and, one by one, children left the room. Luke realised with horror that the division had been done alphabetically. Ms Robinson was taking the top of the alphabet. Those at the bottom were being left with Mr Beardsley. Joe Currant’s name was called. Luke Walker’s was not.
***
The story continues on Monday but if you don’t want to wait you can read the whole chapter here now 🙂
Have a lovely weekend 😀
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vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s stories, vegan children’s books, animals, animal rights, animal protection, animal rescue, vegan children, veggie kids, sheep, sheep farming
For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter Twelve begins here:
Luke Walker and the new teacher
“Search everyone’s quarters on decks five to seven.”
“It’s nillogical to search deck six …”
“No, you don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Coz you’re Tom Paris.”
“Paris knows when things aren’t logical.”
“No he doesn’t. Paris don’t think like that.”
“But …”
“I’m Tuvok, you’re Paris,” Luke put his foot down, “say somethin’ like ‘no don’t search deck six coz it smells in there’.”
Joe shrugged.
“No, don’t search deck six, it smells in there coz that’s where Tuvok’s quarters is.”
“This is a serious situation Mr Paris! My quarters do not smell and even if they did it is nillogical to leave an entire deck out of the search. Search all quarters on decks five, six and seven. Now!”
“Luke, come downstairs please,” Mum called, “I want you to try on your new school uniform.”
Luke pulled a face. They would be back at school in three days and he had been trying not to think about it.
“Luuuke, now please.”
He reluctantly put down his tricorder and did as he was told. In the living room Mum had all his new clothes laid out on the settee. They looked horrible. Two pairs of grey trousers with a smart crease pressed down the front; four white shirts folded and pinned with cardboard under the collars; five pairs of grey socks; one black sweatshirt with the name of his school written in gold across the front; one black jumper, and new shoes. Luke looked suspiciously at the shoes.
“Are they leather? I’m not wearin’ cow skin,” he insisted.
“I know they look like it but they’re not,” Mum assured him, “look.”
She showed him the label inside and Luke was satisfied that they were made of synthetic materials.
“If they can make shoes what look like leather and feel like leather and do the same job as leather without bein’ leather, why do they keep killin’ cows?”
“Beats me,” said Mum, she really didn’t have time to get into it right now. “Okay, try these on. If they don’t fit I’ll have to take them straight back and change them.”
Luke tried it all on and everything fitted perfectly. Mum had a knack for choosing the right size which she was very glad about because it meant she didn’t have to take him with her when she went shopping.
“Oh, you do look smart,” she said proudly.
Luke scowled.
“I don’t like this,” he said, pulling at the black jumper, “it’s itchy. What’s it made of?”
“Wool.”
“Sheep’s wool?”
“Lamb’s wool act…, oh Luke, don’t start. Taking the wool doesn’t hurt the lamb, they have to have it sheared so they don’t get too hot. It’s just like when you have your hair cut. That doesn’t hurt does it?”
“How do you know? Have you ever seen a sheep bein’ sheared? Or a lamb? I don’t think Squirt would like it.”
Mum looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath.
“Luke, you need a warm jumper for school. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt them to have their hair cut.”
Luke didn’t know what to think. He supposed there could be no harm if the sheep did need to have their wool cut off; if they didn’t want it themselves. He decided to let it go for now, but he would have to find out more about it before making a final decision. He tossed the jumper onto the settee and ran back upstairs. He wanted Joe’s opinion.
Joe wasn’t sure.
“When Janet doesn’t know somethin’ she looks it up on the computer,” he said, “p’rhaps we should do that.”
“I bro…, erm, Dad’s computer doesn’t work anymore and Jared won’t let me use his. Can we borra Janet’s?”
Joe laughed and shook his head. Luke was stumped.
“We’ll ‘ave to investigate it ourselves,” he said eventually, “I’m not wearin’ that jumper ’til I know for sure it’s not hurtin’ anybody.”
************************
Chapter 12 continues tomorrow 🙂
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For all the Luke Walker stories so far click here 🙂
For the whole of Chapter 11 click here 🙂
Chapter 11 continued from yesterday:
The police car was between him and the officers so he kept his head down and crept up to the rear door. He tried the handle. Nothing happened. He tried it again. It should have opened. He’d seen Dad do it a hundred times. A car’s back doors were only locked on the inside. The black-haired lady looked out the window, shook her head and spoke almost inaudibly.
“What are you doing? Go away! Quickly! Before they see you!”
Luke didn’t listen. He was determined to rescue her. This lady was a righteous warrior like himself; a fighter for justice; a fellow animal stick up for-er. He would rescue her or die in the attempt. He tried the door again. It clicked open. It was like dad’s car!
At that moment the ice cream van pulled up between the police car and the police officers, thus enlightening the black-haired lady on the reason for her arrest. The ice cream seller leaned out his window to talk to the officers.
“Get out! Quick!” Luke urged the lady.
The two of them ran as fast as they could back into the market and out the other side towards the trees. When they reached cover they slumped down behind the trees and caught their breath.
“I’m sorry I got you in trouble Jessica,” said Luke. The lady grinned.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Luke.”
“Not Luke Walker by any chance?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“They’ve been calling your name on the Tannoy for the last hour and a half.”
“Oh yeah, that’s why I had to hide.”
The lady laughed.
“Oh, it all makes sense now. It wasn’t the police, it was your family trying to find you.”
Realisation flickered across Luke’s features.
“Oh,” he said, feeling a little guilty for forgetting about Nan and Grandad. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” he apologised again.
“Hey, listen, getting blamed for what you did won’t do my reputation any harm at all,” the lady said with a chuckle. Luke smiled.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’m free and clear now. Thanks for rescuing me.”
Luke looked at the lady and thought she could be trusted.
“Would you like to join my secret society?” he asked.
“I like the sound of that! Especially if this is the kind of stuff your secret society gets up to!”
“Good,” said Luke, “there’s on’y me an’ Joe so far but that’s good coz no one else knows about it. So don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” the lady agreed.
“Nobody.”
“I won’t,” she laughingly assured him.
“How will I get in touch with you?” Luke asked.
The lady took a pen out of her pocket and wrote a phone number on the back of Luke’s hand.
“Any time, day or night, you can reach me on that number,” she said, standing up, “and my name’s Kris.” She smiled at his mild confusion. “I’d better get out of here before they start searching the woods. Will you be alright? Will you be able to find your people?”
“Yeah.”
“Go to the organisers’ table, they’ll be able to get hold of them for you.”
Luke wasn’t sure.
“Don’t worry, the police aren’t looking for you. It’s safe. Go and find your people,” she urged him and then she started away, going deeper into the trees.
“Oh, don’t forget your jacket,” Luke called after her.
“Keep it,” she said, smiling, and left.
Luke walked back through the market to the organisers’ table and informed them that he was Luke Walker. Nan’s mobile was called and she and Grandad were there to fetch him in next to no time. Nan ran at him, hugged him and then smacked his bum.
“You horrible boy! Why would you do this to us? We’ve been worried sick! Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, “I was jus’ shoppin’ and I lost track of time.”
“Shopping! You weren’t supposed to go off by yourself! You were supposed to stay with us! You knew th…”
“What did you buy?” Grandad interrupted.
Luke looked at him and thought for a moment.
“A wheelbarra …” he said, turning full circle to look for it. And there it was, lying on its side, just a few metres away. “This one,” he added, going to fetch it.
“And a jacket by the look of it,” said Nan, a little calmer now.
“Oh yeah,” Luke smiled, “and a jacket.”
Come back tomorrow for Chapter 12 😀
**************************************************
Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er (the first eight chapters); More Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er (chapters nine to sixteen); and Luke Walker: animal stick up for-er: my privut notebook are available from Amazon in the UK, Europe, the USA and Canada 🙂 but if you’d prefer to mail order them through us, get in touch 😀
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For the stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 11 continued from yesterday:
Luke stood still, his face flushed hot.
“They know!” he thought with horror.
It got worse. He watched as two police officers walked up to the organisers’ table. After a few moments a man there pointed in Luke’s direction. The police officers started to walk towards him. He ran. All he could think was that he needed to get out of there. They might know his name but would they know his address? He didn’t look behind, that would be suspicious, he just ran as fast as he could. The wheelbarrow was slowing him down. He had to leave it.
He climbed the low post and rail fence and jumped down into the car park. His first instinct was to find Grandad’s car, but then he thought that if they knew his name, they might know who his grandparents were, they might be waiting for him there. He hesitated, crouched between a Mini and a Fiesta, and tried to see Grandad’s car without being seen. Yes, that was it, and there was Grandad. With another policeman.
There was nothing for it, he had to go back into the market, he had to try to be invisible in the crowd. But he was scared and wanted an ally. He made a beeline for the black-haired lady’s stall.
The lady, who was just beginning to pack up her stall, putting leaflets back in their boxes, was surprised to see Luke racing towards her, all red in the face and out of breath, looking like he feared for his life.
“Hide me!” said Luke desperately, and sunk to the floor behind the biggest box.
The lady was alarmed.
“What’s wrong? What are you …?”
“Shhh!” said Luke in a vehement whisper, “don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! They might be watching!”
“But …”
“Excuse me Miss,” another woman’s voice interrupted her. She turned to face a policewoman.
“Is this your stall?” she asked.
“Yes it is.”
“And your name is?”
“Jessica Rabbit. Would you like a leaflet?”
“I would like to have a look, yes, thank you,” and the policewoman began to paw the various piles. “Is this all you’ve got?”
The black-haired lady casually dropped her jacket on top of Luke as another officer stepped around the stall to look in the boxes.
“I’ve got these as well,” she answered, “as you can see,” and she lifted the boxes onto the table so that they wouldn’t need to rummage around the other side.
The policewoman found what she was looking for – three different anti-dairy leaflets.
“Is there any reason you were hiding these?” she asked.
The lady laughed.
“I wasn’t hiding them, I was just in the process of packing up,” she explained.
The police officers exchanged cynical glances and while the male picked up the box of leaflets, the female addressed the stall-holder.
“I am arresting you on suspicion of offences under section 1 of the Criminal Damage Act 1971. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
“Not remotely,” the lady replied, “what am I supposed to have done?”
Luke stayed motionless under the lady’s jacket. He felt bad that she was getting blamed for what he’d done, but was somehow unable to move or speak. He just sat still until he couldn’t hear them any more. He waited till they’d gone.
When he stood up and watched them retreat past the other stalls, seemingly diminished in size, his courage returned. He donned the khaki jacket, pulled the hood over his head and cautiously followed. The officers and their captive approached a police car and the policewoman opened a rear door, put her hand on the black-haired lady’s head and assisted her into the back seat.
Luke was worried they would drive away before he could get to them but luck was on his side again. Another policeman with a camera called to his colleagues and they walked a few steps away from the car to talk to him. That was Luke’s chance.
*******************************
Story concludes tomorrow, or read the whole of chapter 11 now 🙂
**************************
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For the stories so far click here 🙂
Chapter 11 continued from Friday:
With a wheelbarrow full of three different leaflets which told the truth about the dairy industry, Luke headed for the car park. The wheelbarrow was heavy and the cars were parked quite close together on uneven ground, so it was rather difficult to stop the barrow from tipping. But Luke was strong and determined so he only lost control of it a couple of times, and on those occasions the cars he grazed were already scratched anyway. He put one leaflet under a wiper blade, on the windscreen of each car. He’d seen it done before with car-wash flyers in the supermarket car park.
Some wipers were easy to lift, some of them required a bit of force, a couple of them came off, but when that happened he was luckily able to find a window or a sunroof open so he tossed the leaflet inside. Considerate as always, he tossed the wiper blade in with it.
After some time – he had no idea how much – Luke had leafleted most of the cars in the car park. He had intended not to miss a single one but when he saw an angry man, waving a wiper blade, fast approaching his position, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and retreated behind the long queues for the portaloos. He had almost half a box of leaflets left and wanted to use them. It wasn’t long before he found an opportunity.
The ice cream van was parked close to the line of trees which skirted the market. It was doing a roaring trade. Luke felt that it wouldn’t do any trade at all if there was any justice in the world. He was sure it wouldn’t if everyone knew the truth. That thought gave him an idea. This idea, he was well aware, was not, strictly speaking, legal. But it was moral and that meant he was right to do it. He would do what Robin Hood would have done, whatever the consequences. He was an outlaw after all.
He left his wheelbarrow in the shadows behind the trees and ran back to a craft stall he’d seen earlier. The lady on the craft stall was demonstrating how to make paper maché models. She was doing the ‘here’s one I made earlier’ bit, revealing a stiff, hollow, paper pig ready for a coat of paint. The tub of wallpaper paste that she’d been using in an earlier part of her demonstration was tucked away under her stall.
“I jus’ need to borra a bit,” Luke told himself, “I’ll bring it back before she misses it.”
Within minutes he was pasting leaflets all over one side of the ice cream van, unseen by the ice cream seller or his treat-seeking customers who stood in line on the other side. He worked fast, knowing he might be spotted and stopped at any moment. At the same time he was encouraged by a feeling that some great spirit was watching over him, enabling him to complete his mission unhindered. The spirit of Robin Hood? It couldn’t just have been luck that he’d been able to get his hands on exactly what he needed for this job. The label on the side of the tub of paste read:
MELROSE WHEATPASTE
suitable for paper maché, scrapbooking
wallpaper application & billboard posters
NON TOXIC * STRONG * DRIES TRANSPARENT
WARNING: WHEATPASTE POSTERS, ONCE APPLIED, ARE DIFFICULT TO REMOVE.
It couldn’t have been more perfect. Luke fearlessly pasted over colourful illustrations of lollipops, ice cream cones, and a happy cartoon cow who bore no resemblance to her real-life counterparts. The van’s lies were soon obliterated by pages of facts and figures about the cruel reality of dairy farming, including miserable photographic proof. When the side of the van was completely covered in leaflets, as high as Luke could reach, he stepped back to see the full effect. It was good.
Unable to believe how well this was going, Luke slipped unseen, back the way he’d come. He re-emerged from behind the line of trees when he reached the craft stall and returned the paste. Then he tucked the remaining four leaflets in his back pocket and pushed his empty wheelbarrow from stall to stall, looking for Nan and Grandad. He looked for ages until eventually he came close to the organisers’ table and heard his own name over the Tannoy.
“Would Luke Walker please go to the ice cream van. Would Luke Walker please go to the ice cream van, near the car park and the toilets.”
*******************************
Story continues tomorrow 🙂
To read the whole of Chapter 11 now, click here 🙂
**************************
vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s story, vegan children’s book, books, children’s books, juvenile fiction, veggie kids, vegan children, animals, cows, animal farming, animal rights
For chapters 1 to 10 click here 🙂
Chapter 11 continued from yesterday:
He smiled broadly as he considered how fortuitous this outing had turned out to be; how lucky it was that this week of all weeks he’d needed a wheelbarrow.
***
Nan and Grandad loved to go to car boot sales, antique fairs and flea markets. They would drive for miles to get to them and rarely a Sunday went by without Nan acquiring a ‘new’ old plant pot, or handbag, or garden bench, or record or book or who knows what. So, when Luke decided he needed a few tools for his allotment – a rake, a bucket or two, and a wheelbarrow – he asked Mum to ask Nan if he could go with them that weekend. She said yes, as long as he behaved himself and didn’t eat or drink anything in Grandad’s car, or put his feet on the seats.
“Will she ever get over the chocolate biscuit/chewing gum incident?” he thought. “It wasn’t even my gum – it had got stuck on my shoe because of a dropper and the chocolate crumbs … ”
Anyway, he promised to be good, and it was arranged.
Six days later, Luke was sitting in the back of Grandad’s car; seatbelt on; feet on the floor; no food or drink whatsoever. They turned into a farm lane and drove past a field of grazing cows, one of whom had a baby with her. They waited in a long queue of cars approaching the flea market and Luke was able to watch mother and baby for a few minutes.
He could see how attentive the mother was to her baby and how the baby followed his mother wherever she went. It was nice to watch. Then he saw two farmers with a wheelbarrow walk over to them and lift the baby into it. The baby cried out for his mum and the mum tried to get to her baby but one of the farmers obstructed her so that the other one could wheel the barrow away. He walked briskly, almost breaking into a run to get to the gate as quickly as possible and the mother cow hurried after them, calling all the time to her baby and him calling back to her. The farmer with the wheelbarrow got through the gate and closed it and the other one climbed the fence. They put the calf into a trailer and drove away in the Land Rover that towed it, along the track that bordered the field, until they got to the road and were soon out of sight. The whole time the mother cow was running along the edge of the field, trying to keep up with them, calling for her baby. When the trailer was out of sight she just stood at the fence and called and called, a most miserable, pining sound, as she watched the direction in which they’d fled, pleading for her baby’s return.
“Where are they takin’ ‘im? Are they gonna bring ‘im back?” Luke desperately asked his grandparents.
“What love?” said Nan. She hadn’t been watching.
“The baby cow! They took ‘im away from ‘is mum! Why did they do that? When will they bring ‘im back?”
“They won’t,” said Grandad, matter-of-factly.
“What?! Why not?” Luke demanded.
“The farmer keeps cows for their milk. He needs to sell as much milk as possible so he can’t have the calves drinking his profits can he? He’s got to make a living. Way of the world Luke, you might as well get used to it.”
Luke was outraged. He’d known instinctively that it wasn’t right to steal a cow’s milk and was certain it couldn’t be natural to drink it if you weren’t a baby cow, but he’d had no idea that farmers actually kidnapped babies away from their mothers; that a mother who’d done nothing wrong, who was giving him her milk, was not even allowed to keep the baby who made the milk possible. And the baby – what would happen to the baby?
“Does everybody know this? Does everybody know what the horrible farmer is doin’?” Luke felt that surely people wouldn’t buy the milk if they knew.
“He’s not horrible Luke,” Nan tried to explain, “cows are not people, they don’t have the same feelings and emotional attachments that we have.”
“Yes they do! Din’t you see? Din’t you see ’em together? They love each other!”
“Luke,” Nan answered quietly, “the farmer’s got to earn …”
“I could earn a livin’ stealin’ other people’s jewel’ry and sellin’ it to someone else, but if I did that you’d tell me off!”
“It’s not the same …”
“Too right it’s not the same coz I wun’t be kidnappin’ someone’s baby!”
While Luke fumed Grandad reached the car park and they all got out of the car. Luke couldn’t stop thinking about the cow baby and the cow mum crying for each other. He trailed slowly behind his grandparents, very unhappy in the realisation that this was the way of the world and there was nothing he could do about it, not really, not for that baby or that mum.
“Grown ups always say ‘you must be good’, ‘you must be kind’ and then they do things what they know is unkind,” Luke mumbled frustratedly to himself, “they don’t follow their own rules, so they can’t expect me to follow ’em. They should follow my rules – mine make more sense, mine do what they say instead of just say and not do!”
And so, as he railed against the world, he wandered away from his grandparents and browsed the stalls alone. He wasn’t worried. He’d find them later.
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Story continues on Monday 🙂
To read the whole of Chapter 11 now, click here 🙂
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vegan, vegetarian, vegan children’s story, vegan children’s book, books, children’s books, juvenile fiction, veggie kids, vegan children, animals, cows, animal farming, animal rights
If you’re a UK resident, Compassion in World Farming needs your help.
By current European law, animals are recognised as sentient beings, acknowledging their ability to feel pain, suffer and also experience joy. No one who has seen a cow going outside for the first time after a winter indoors, a hen dust bathing, or a pig wallowing in a fresh patch of mud would disagree with that. The law says that as animals are sentient beings, full regard must be given to their welfare when creating new legislation or regulations.
Securing this status for animals was a massive step forward for animal welfare in 1997. It was the biggest campaign Compassion has ever run. The recognition of animals as complex and intelligent creatures has been the cornerstone of European animal welfare legislation since that time, and the basis for so much of the progress we have made together.
But now, there’s Brexit!
Raystede Centre for Animal Welfare
The Broyle, Ringmer, East Sussex, BN8 5AJ, UK
Tel: (01825) 840252
e: info@raystede.org
Today I saw some horrible men
Who were happy in their pursuit
Of rabbits with their tiny dogs
Who were sent down the holes by the brutes.
These horrible men, these are the type
Who work at the pig farm or kill shed.
They hang and they slash, they pluck and they chop,
And afterwards sleep sound in their beds.
And while they sleep, these horrible men,
Some nice people smile and are friendly.
At their fundraiser for a good cause
They eat ham rolls and beef ravioli.
Horrible men, paid by the masses,
To torture and batter and kill.
The coins in those brutal, blood-stained hands
Are from Raystede’s blood-stained till.
I’m so sorry to have to write such a sad poem when we were in such a happy place looking at the other sanctuaries this week, but for the animals’ sake I have to draw your attention to this again.
It’s true that there are many animal charities which confine themselves to working for just one, or a couple of species – eg Cats’ Protection, Dogs Trust – but Raystede never used to be one of these.
Their website used to display the slogan: “We believe that every animal has the right to health, happiness and freedom from suffering” but since this campaign started they have taken it down.
Raystede was started in the 1950’s by a woman, born in 1902, who had convictions and compassion as strong as those of the other sanctuary hosts we’ve met this week. She described herself as a ‘non-meat eater’ and, as she reiterated again and again, cared about ALL animals, without exception. Miss M Raymonde-Hawkins wrote in her book Sensible Pets and Silly People,
“My own view, and that of every decent minded person, is that no animal should be caused to suffer at all for any reason.”
and
“Too often our entertainment, our food, our clothing and so-called sport are all at the expense of animals and a civilised society in years to come will look back with horror at the way that we have exploited animals during this century.”
She concluded her book with:
“Those of us who have grown old in the work and who have so little to encourage us for the future welfare of animals can at least only hope that having carried the banner so far, we can, in falling, fling it to the hosts behind to carry on the work and hope that they will be more successful than we have been during this century.”
She died in 1998 and the “hosts behind” dropped the banner.
They betrayed her.
They betrayed the animals.
Roll up your sleeves guys, looks like this is gonna take a while.
Let’s Shawshank them!
We can do this.
For as long as it takes.
For the sake of back-to-front Grace and Archie No-Tail in Hugletts’ video, and all the billions of others, please join this campaign and tell Raystede to make their cafe vegan.
Write a letter a week (or email or phone call) until Raystede stops serving the products of animal cruelty.
Until they stop instigating unspeakable suffering.
Thank you so much.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
Raystede Centre for Animal Welfare
The Broyle,
Ringmer,
East Sussex,
BN8 5AJ,
UK
Tel: (01825) 840252
e: info@raystede.org
Frettenham, Norfolk
Wendy Valentine’s amazing
Her firey compassion don’t stop blazing.
Her sanct’ry is home to many a horse,
It goes without saying, she’s vegan of course!
There’s chickens and ducks and budgies and turkeys,
And sheep and cows and llamas and donkeys.
There’s rabbits and emus, alpacas and deer,
There’s even some chipmunks and goats live here.
But rescuing’s not all that Hillside does,
They also investigate farms because
They need to make public the horror that’s hidden
Behind the farm gates of those animal prisons.
❤ 🙂 ❤
Hillside is now home to over 3000 animals and is one of the UK’s most successful campaigning organisations for the animals’ cause. They have always known that one of the main reasons animals are left to suffer in factory farms is because people have little or no idea about the immense cruelty involved in their food production.
East Peckham, Tonbridge, Kent
Marion and Mark made FRIEND
And such good friends they are,
To pigs and goats and cows and sheep
And turkeys and geese and more.
They give a gift to Death Row souls
The best gift they could give:
Forever freedom in paradise,
Now they can really live.
And they do more, they do for sure,
Showing how to go vegan, they teach.
They strive for a world where FRIEND’s needed no more,
To help future souls they can’t reach.
❤ 🙂 ❤
On a beautiful 10 acre site nestled in between the orchards and hop farms of rural Kent, established in 1994 with the purchase of a small lamb at a livestock market, FRIEND is a working animal sanctuary with around 100 former farm animals and companion animals. Animals find their way there in all sorts of ways. Some are rescued from places of abuse, some arrive following the death of their guardian. Some despicable people abandon their animals by throwing them over the fence. No matter how they get there, they are all welcome to live the rest of their lives as naturally as possible with little human interaction.
FRIEND provides a no kill, free roaming (as far as possible and safe) home to cows, sheep, goats, chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys. Their 30+ pigs live in their own paddock with wallows. Some of their cats are feral and some are house dwellers. All of their dogs love walking in the meadow.
Promoting veganism is an important part of what they do. They are pleased to meet supporters at their summer open days and introduce them to the animals, who are of course the best ambassadors for a cruelty free life. They do ask that no one brings dogs with them on their visit, as the sanctuary’s residents are free roaming.
They rely solely on donations from the public and put on events to raise money. Financial donations are spent on food, bedding, essential equipment and veterinary bills.
This wonderful woman, who sadly died in 1998, was a life-long advocate for animals. She writes in her book Sensible Pets and Silly People, referring to activities with her childhood friend when she was 5 years old: “… I do not think there was any crime we would not commit for an animal. We were always prepared to do anything we could to reduce the sufferings of any animals that came our way …” She went on to found Raystede Centre for Animal Welfare , in the 1950s I believe, and tirelessly continued as she had begun – saving all the animals who needed her.
The day she died was a great tragedy for animals because those left in charge of Raystede have betrayed her legacy by serving meat, fish, eggs and dairy in their café – something she would never have allowed. How do I know that? Read this (another excerpt from her book):
“Too often our entertainment, our food, our clothing and so-called sport are all at the expense of animals and a civilised society in years to come will look back with horror at the way that we have exploited animals …. Things have gone wrong. Things have got worse. The sparrows go on falling. The sheep go on suffering and it is time many more of us did much more about it … We must be less cautious, we must forge ahead with less timidity and decide that all cruelty should be punished and eliminated. …. Those of us who have grown old in the work and who have so little to encourage us for the future welfare of animals can at least hope that having carried the banner so far, we can, in falling, fling it to the hosts behind to carry on the work and hope that they will be more successful than we have been during this century.”
Heartbreakingly the hosts behind have dropped the banner and let her down horribly.
How dare they? How dare they betray her life’s work? How dare they betray the animals? How dare they do it in Raystede’s name?
Every time someone signs the petition to make Raystede’s café vegan, the CEO, Nigel Mason gets an email. Get everyone you know, and everyone you don’t know to sign it. Even better, write to the president (who worked there when Miss Raymonde-Hawkins was there incidentally) and tell him what you think of their betrayal. Tell him to make that café vegan! I know I can count on you. Thank you ❤
Raystede’s President:
Morgan Williams,
29 Hamilton Court,
The Strand,
Brighton Marina Village,
Brighton,
East Sussex,
BN2 5XD
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