Copyright © 2010 by Gillian Lyden.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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300014

To my daughter, Rachel Millington, who showed me the

Big Dog in the floor boards when she was very young.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Introduction

When my daughter, Rachel was very young. I was getting her out of bed one morning, when we noticed some knots on the polished wooden planks of the floor. They formed a pattern, Rachel said, ‘Big Dog!’ The knots in the wood looked like a wolf or dog’s face. I started wondering why a big dog would be trapped in wooden floorboards. I thought the dog must have done something very bad to be trapped in a tree—and who would have punished him like that?

Many years ago, people believed the there were many gods—a god of the woods and fields—Pan; a god of thunder—Thor—god of thunder and many more. Today most of us believe that there is just one God who looks after us and that He has many names—I know that is right. He speaks to us in a still, small voice, and if we are not careful, we don’t hear Him. So make sure you listen to Him, because He is there to help us all. Sometimes He has spoken to me, and I have not listened properly—that is when I have made very big mistakes!

Sometimes, when I have been very sad, He has made me feel better. He once told me I was not alone, when I thought I was—and of course I wasn’t alone! He was there all the time because He is part of everything in the Universe.

I believe that is why (I think it says this somewhere in the Bible), ‘He knows when the smallest sparrow falls’. (He probably also knows when a fly or an ant gets squashed!)

This is a story about the Big Dog, or ‘Wolf’, which helped Keith to rescue people from the past to make up for something bad that he did.

God has been the only One who helped me to write this story—He even helped us to rescue the book in which I had written the story! When our caravanette caught fire when we were on holiday in Ireland—the book was amongst the things we managed to save from the vehicle just before the flames became too fierce. I thought it must have been burned to a crisp and had decided that I couldn’t write it all over again—when I found it amongst our stuff which was scattered all over the car park near Cork at a pub called ‘Halfway to Bandon’. The pub’s fire extinguisher didn’t work—otherwise we might have saved everything!

I hope you enjoy the story—I shall imagine lots of children reading it. With love to you all,

Gillian Lyden.

Chapter 1

‘Annie, Annie from Tin Pan Alley—rattles

and bangs like an Old Aunt Sally!’

(‘That doesn’t make sense’, thought Keith,

‘—but what else rhymes with Alley?)

In the middle of Wolf Wood stood a cottage, gleaming with new paint and echoing with the sound of heavy boots. Builders had just finished doing it up, replacing all the floorboards and roof-tiles and rebuilding the chimney. The deadline for finishing had been a few days before and they were in a hurry to get away before the new tenants arrived. Noisily they clattered down the stairs and out of the front door, hurled tools into their van, locked the cottage door and put the keys in a gap under the front step before leaping into the van and driving away. The whole wood seemed to heave a sigh of relief, trees rustled their remaining russet leaves and settled into a peaceful silence. The small creatures of the wood hesitated a while, then shyly poked out their noses or beaks to see if it was safe to come out. The wood mouse bustled through the trampled violet leaves, bumped her nose on the new step and scampered back to her nest in the wood. She had been considering moving her family to a hole she had found under the step, but the builders had filled it in. Mrs. Mouse felt a determination to dig out a new one, as for some reason she was feeling a bit uneasy about her home at the foot of the oak tree, near the stream. A green woodpecker landed on the roof and tried to find the hole in the roof where he had found some juicy beetles five weeks before—it was no longer there.

The silence was disturbed by the sound of a large vehicle bumping through the woods. With a loud ‘yaffling’ laugh the wood-pecker flew far into the trees and all the other creatures hid themselves away once more as the sound of the engine came closer and a large furniture van came into sight, pulling up outside the cottage gate. Close behind the van a battered green Morris, laden with cases and a family of four, struggled over the leaf mould and coughed itself to a standstill. Keith, a dark-haired, stocky eleven-year old, sat in the back with one arm around his little sister, Sarah, a fair haired ‘just’ three year old who was fast asleep, close to her brother on the back seat. Careful not to wake Sarah, Keith said quietly,

‘Whew, Dad! Sounds as though ‘Annie’ needs the fresh air as much as you do! Still, at least she got us here’

‘Even though we’re late!’ Mrs. Sillit, Keith’s mum spoke as she opened the car door and began to struggle out, ‘Look after Sarah please Keith, whilst we get the cottage open for the removal men.’ Keith’s dad got out of the car and went across to the van.

Mavis Sillit stopped with her feet out of the car and looked back at her son’s face, ‘Feeling miserable about leaving town, Love? Try not to let Dad see how low you are, eh? It won’t help him to get better if he’s worried about you—you’ll see, there are lots of exciting things to do in the country!’

‘O.K. Mum, don’t worry—I’ll sit here with Sarah ‘til she wakes up.’

Keith watched as his parents began to sort out the removal men. Mrs. Sillit retrieved the keys from under the step and opened the front door, disappearing inside, whilst his dad watched the men with an eagle eye as they wangled armchairs and beds through the front door. He could hear muffled, shouted instructions from inside the cottage.

His mum didn’t really understand—he wasn’t worried about finding things to do. He looked down at Sarah’s fair curls until they blurred into a rainbow and the lump in his throat felt like a gob-stopper. Angrily he dashed the tears from his eyes and looked at his watch. Half-twelve; Ginger and Tony would be helping to clear up after first dinners and cadging scraps from the school kitchen. Then they’d nip behind the dust—bins so the duty teacher didn’t catch them and later on join the football game or sit in the bike-shed and plan out what they were going to do at the park after tea. He knew he could have them to stay, but it wasn’t the same. They’d played together right through the infants and juniors and gone ‘up’ to the senior school at the same time. Sarah stretched and whimpered, interrupting his misery. Keith heaved her up onto his knee and waited whilst she finished the complicated routine of waking. They sat there in the golden autumn light which filtered through the trees, a stocky, dark-haired eleven year old and his blond, sleepy-eyed sister. Suddenly rousing, Sarah pointed urgently through the window,

‘LOOK! A pussycat in the tree!’ she shouted. Keith looked and laughed,

‘It’s a red squirrel, Sassy!’

‘I want the pussycat!’ Sarah wriggled and fought to get out of the car. Keith opened the door and the two of them tumbled out onto the crisp, autumn leaves. Sarah forgot the ‘pussycat’ in the excitement of pursuing a large black beetle towards the gate, and when their mum called, ‘Do you want a drink, Keith, Sarah?’ even the beetle lost her attention and she trotted through the open gate calling, ‘Orange juice please!’ Keith turned for a last glance at the squirrel, but the branch was bare. Quite suddenly he felt pleased that there would be plenty of time to see the little animal again.

The next day, Saturday, Keith woke early to hear the drip of rain amongst the branches of the trees. He could also hear Sarah crying to come out of her cot. Quickly he flung aside the bedclothes and padded barefoot down