(Extracts from) 
JULIAN AND THE HEDGEHOG IN THE SECRET SERVICE 


Written by Tommy Usborne in 1944.
(drawing on his experiences in the Ministry of Economic Warfare in World War 2.)

   
     Peter says I'm only a War Baby
          ’Cos I weren’t born before.
     Mummy, why were Peter born in the Peace
          And why were I born in the war?

     Peter says he’s been in an aeroplane
          Two or three times or more.
     Mummy, why could Peter fly in the Peace
          And why can’t I fly in the war?

     Peter says he’s sailed in a sailing boat
          Miles and miles from the shore.
     Mummy, who let Peter sail in the Peace
          And why can’t I sail in the war?

     I don’t like being only a war baby.
          I don’t like being four.
     Oh I wish I were six and born in the Peace.

         
Oh why were I born in the war?

                                                  


Chapter 27
              
The Two Beavers                                 

     Julian, Hedgehog, Hawk, Lark and Dicker had hardly been marching for more than a few minutes when, in the middle of their path, they saw a very curious scene. Two Beavers, a big one and a little one were busily bending over a grind stone which the big beaver was turning with all his might. At first they couldn’t see what the Big Beaver was doing, but when they came nearer they saw with some surprise that the Big Beaver was holding the Little Beaver by the hair on his head and was pressing his nose down upon the surface of the grind stone and grinding it for all he was worth. The hedgehog was plainly upset by this cruelty.
     “Hi” he shouted, “stop grinding that poor little fellow’s nose!”  The Big Beaver looked up with an expression of surprise and dismay on his face.
     “It doesn’t hurt him” he replied in a melancholy voice.  “In fact its good for him.”
     “Good for him?” exclaimed the hedgehog.
     “Yes” said the Big Beaver.  “You see he has a very special and secret nose which is made of a mixture of tungsten, wolfram, chrome and iron ore.  This makes it extremely hard, so hard, in fact, that it will go through anything.  However it has already gone through such a lot that we sometimes have to sharpen it up again and that’s what we are doing now.”
      When the Little Beaver looked up the Hedgehog saw that his nose had a point like a needle and glistened in the sun.  Moreover the Little Beaver was obviously extremely
proud of it and fingered it lovingly, testing the sharpness of the point on his thumb.
     “Is there anything you would like to know about the enemy, by any chance?” asked the Big Beaver.  “If so”, he continued, “I’ll gladly put the Little Beavers nose into it”.
     “Thank you”, said the Hedgehog, “we know all we want for our particular job.”

    
“Which is?” asked the Big Beaver.

     “To catch Hitler and Mussolini”, answered the Hedgehog.  “They are sitting on a large barrage balloon here on which they landed by parachute from an aeroplane two nights ago.”
     “Landed from an aeroplane!” exclaimed the Big Beaver, “quite impossible, my dear fellow.  Quite impossible, I assure you.  Hitler and Mussolini couldn’t possibly be here”.
     “And why not?” asked the Hedgehog indignantly.
     “Not enough red ink.  Not enough red ink.” replied the Big Beaver.  “Isn’t that so?” he added to the Little Beaver.
 
     “Sir”, said the Little Beaver obediently.  “ I am to say that I concur in that statement”.
    
“Does that mean he agrees?” asked the Hedgehog.
     “Yes”, said the Big Beaver.  “If he didn’t agree”, he added, “I’d grind his nose right off”.
     “But what on earth has red ink got to do with Hitler and Mussolini being on the Barrage Balloon?” asked the Hedgehog.
     “Well”, said the Big Beaver, “no aeroplane could fly Hitler and Mussolini over here without red ink, could it?”
     “Since when have aeroplanes flown on ink?” asked the Hedgehog.
     “For the last two years at least”, answered the Big Beaver.  “Ever since we proved that the enemy had used up all their oil and petrol.  That was so, wasn’t it?” he added to the Little Beaver.
     “Sir”, replied the Little Beaver, “ I am to say that I am instructed to concur in that statement.”
    “You see, he agrees.” said the Big Beaver delightedly.
     “And how many gallons of red ink had the enemy left two nights ago?” the Big Beaver asked the Little Beaver.
     Without a moments hesitation the Little Beaver replied “Seventeen million, six hundred and seventy-five thousand, six hundred and fifty-eight gallons”.
     “Exactly?” asked the Big Beaver.
     “Exactly” replied the Little Beaver.
     “ How did you calculate that?” asked the Big Beaver.
     “Sir”, replied the Little Beaver, “I am instructed to say that one source said thirty million, four hundred and two thousand, six hundred and four gallons and another source said four million, nine hundred and forty-eight thousand, seven hundred and twelve gallons, and I split the difference. Thus two nights ago the enemy clearly had no more than seventeen million, six hundred and seventy-five thousand, six hundred and fifty-eight gallons left”.

   
“Well”, said the Hedgehog, supposing aeroplanes did fly on red ink, wouldn’t that be enough to bring the Dictators here?”

     “No” replied the Big Beaver.  The enemy needs to keep seventeen million, six hundred and seventy-five thousand, six hundred and fifty-six gallons to dye their shirts red with so that the British Government will be nice to them after the war.”
     Julian knew nothing about the British Government except that it was a severe personage who owned his gas-mask and would be very cross if he made mud-pies in it or scribbled on the box.
     “Do the Government like red shirts then?” he asked the Hedgehog very puzzled.
     “Not at present”, said the Hedgehog, “They still prefer boiled ones, but they probably will after the war, if it doesn’t upset the Russians too much.”
     “Russians”, asked Julian.
     “Yes” said the Hedgehog “The Russians will probably prefer their shirts to be boiled after the war and won’t like red ones at all.”

    
Julian had never seen a boiled shirt, but he knew there were some in the moth cupboard.

    
“You see”, continued the Big Beaver, a little offended by the whispered conversation between Julian and the Hedgehog, “the enemy have no more than two gallons of red ink left to fly with.  Quite insufficient. The Dictators can’t possibly have got here.  Do you concur?” he added to the Little Beaver.
     “Sir”, replied the Little Beaver, “I am instructed to say that I concur”.
     “You see!” said the Big Beaver triumphantly.
     “Fiddlesticks” replied the Hedgehog a little rudely.  “Whatever you may say, we saw Hitler and Mussolini on a Barrage Balloon yesterday.  And that’s that.”
     At this the Big Beaver burst into a flood of tears, seized the Little Beaver by the hair and continued grinding his nose ferociously on the grind stone.
     The Hedgehog and his army marched on and left them to their grinding.                       


Chapter 22
         
The brave man who sat by the button        

     The Hedgehog could hardly wait till the Hawk’s story was finished in order to tell one himself.
     You know that during the London Blitz a great many houses simply disappeared overnight and it was quite a common thing for someone to arrive at his office in the morning and find that it wasn’t there any longer, but had become nothing but a heap of rubble.
     Now just before the war some builders bought a piece of ground in one of the most beautiful squares in London and built the most hideous building you can possibly imagine.
     When the war came it was taken as offices for about six thousand people, all of whom were engaged on very secret and most important work. During the Blitz a great number of bombs fell around this building, but fortunately for the secret work, though unhappily for the beautiful square, none of them touched it.  However some very important people began to be worried about its safety and they made up their minds to take Most Urgent Action, which means that Messengers with Red and Black Dispatch Cases darted about on noisy motor bicycle in all directions.

    
One morning six thousand people came to the Beautiful Square to do their work as usual, over streets covered in broken glass, they saw to their astonishment that the Ugly Building had totally disappeared.  What was most curious was that there wasn’t even a heap of rubble left where the building had stood; in fact there was nothing there except a large concrete tank entirely filled up with water.
     So the people all stood around the streets waiting for someone to tell them what to do.  Some of them had lunch under the trees in the Beautiful Square and some just leaned over the tank and threw stones into the water.  The next day they came up again and did the same thing, but for three days no-one told them what to do nor could anyone explain what on earth had happened to their Ugly Building.
   
On the fourth day a Messenger tore up on a very noisy motor bicycle and out of a Black Dispatch Case he drew six thousand pieces of paper, one of which he handed to each person.  On it was written: “For the sake of safety from bombing your building has been removed to Wales.”  The piece of paper went on to say where it had gone to (though I couldn’t tell you because it’s secret).  But it commanded the six thousand people to go to Wales also and find their Ugly Building.
     Now when they arrived in Wales they had to go up into the mountains.  Having walked half way up a long and desolate valley without even a road up it, they suddenly saw their Ugly Building standing all alone, glistening horribly in the sun in a setting of grim black rocks and heather.
     Now one end of this valley led straight down to the sea and at the other end, high up in the mountains was a colossal reservoir.  A reservoir, you know, is a lake made by building a huge wall in a valley and stopping up the flow of a river so that all the water collects behind the wall.  The reservoirs in Wales are mostly used for supplying water to the towns for miles around.  But the Ugly Building had been put just beneath this reservoir for a very special purpose.  You see the building was full of secret papers and it was immensely important that the enemy should on no account get hold of them.  So the people who looked after the building thought of a clever plan.  ‘If ever the enemy comes dangerously near the building’, they said to themselves, ‘we could simply make a hole in the wall holding up the waters of the reservoir and millions and millions of tons of water in a great wave will sweep the building with all its secret papers into the sea’.

    Now they thought this out very carefully and they arranged that when the danger signal was given someone in this building would just have to press an electric button and the whole wall of the reservoir would blow up.  So they put a special man in a special room with nothing to do but sit by the electric button all day, waiting to press it if ever he should be told to do so.
     Days and days and months and months went by and of course as you know, the enemy never landed in Wales or came anywhere near it and the man who was sitting by the electric button got very, very bored.

He just sat and gazed at the button day after day and no-one came near him. Eventually the button seemed to him to become almost alive.  He began talking to it, but after a while he discovered that the button wasn’t a tall friendly.  In fact it was most quarrelsome.  It seemed to start out of the wall towards him.  Then it made rude faces; it taunted him, teased him, laughed at him and finally sneered at him saying he was an idle coward and that he ought to be fighting in the war instead of sitting there day after day doing nothing.  At last the button said that he was afraid to fight.
     Now the man by the button had fought in the last war.  He had fought extremely bravely and lost an arm and won a whole row of medals which he wore on his chest.  So when the button told him he was a coward, he could stand it no longer and with his one remaining arm he hit the button as hard as he could on the end of the nose.
     Far up the valley a colossal explosion echoed through the mountains.  Running to their windows the six thousand workers saw a vast wave of water seeping down the hill towards them.  The alarm bells rang furiously in all the passages.  They knew what it meant.  Leaving their papers on their tables they all scrambled out of the Building and ran as fast as they could up the side of the mountain.  They were only just in time to save themselves; for pouring down the valley came the great wave of water.  They saw it crash against the Building, which immediately broke up into a million fragments.  They saw a few papers floating on top of the water and when the sun went down the Ugly Building and everything in it was resting safely at the bottom of the sea several miles from the coast.  Of all the six thousand workers only one was missing and that was the Man who sat by the button.

  
  Within a few weeks five thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine workers were safely back at work on the opposite side of the Beautiful Square in London in which they had been before, and when they looked out of their windows they could see the big water tank on the other side of the Square and they blessed the Brave Man who sat by the button.”
    
When the Hedgehog’s story was finished someone asked, “But if the Man who sat by the button wasn’t saved how did anyone know that it was he who caused the explosion?”
    
The hedgehog looked annoyed as if it were a particularly idiotic question.  “They didn’t” he snapped                                                                                .