Eva Ibbotson - The Great Ghost Rescue

The Prime Minister was in his study. He had grey hair and glasses and looked very tired. In front of him on his desk were lots of papers which he was shuffling through as they came in.

‘Ah, Mr Wilks,’ he said rather sadly, and Rick got the idea that perhaps he didn’t like Mr Wilks all that much. ‘Let me introduce my secretary. And this is Lord Bullhaven who has called to see me on… a personal matter.’

Rick didn’t mind the secretary who was just an ordinary young man, but he thought Lord Bullhaven looked horrid. He had a sharp, white nose, small sludge-coloured eyes and black hair slicked down like sticks of liquorice.

‘Now then, this is the boy with the extraordinary story,’ said the Prime Minister, turning to Rick.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Rick.

‘Something about a ghost sanctuary?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Rick again. ‘The ghosts of Britain — the ghosts of the whole world are in a very bad way. Everywhere they’re being driven out of their old haunts and nobody seems to care. People build motorways over them and tunnels under them and poison their rivers.’ And he began to tell the Prime Minister about his own meeting with the ghosts and the adventures they had had. The Prime Minister listened very quietly and sensibly though you could see he was surprised. But Lord Bullhaven fidgeted and twitched and sniffed in a rude and unpleasant manner.

‘It’s true, sir,’ said Mr Wilks, when Rick had finished. ‘I’ve seen some of them myself.’

‘Would you like to meet just one family?’ said Rick eagerly.

‘Well, I would but—’

Rick clapped his hands. The next second the Craggyford ghosts had made themselves visible and stood respectfully in front of the Prime Minister’s desk.

‘Cursed be your name,’ said the Gliding Kilt politely.

‘Doom and Disease pursue you all your days,’ said the Hag, curtseying. She was using one of her best smells, Rick noticed — crushed pig’s bladder mixed with unbrushed teeth, and she was holding George’s jawbones tightly between her crooked hands because she didn’t think he ought to scream in Downing Street. Winifred just wailed shyly but of course Humphrey immediately came up to the Prime Minister, laid his skeletal fingers on his knee and said: ‘You are going to find us somewhere to live, aren’t you?’

‘Well,’ said the Prime Minister. He was definitely looking shaken but he wasn’t making a fuss like Mr Wilks’ dinner guests had done. Compared to the horrible things that happen to you when you are governing Britain, seeing a few ghosts is nothing. ‘Well, I shall certainly have to see what I can do. But I really don’t know where—’

‘Might I make a suggestion?’

It was Lord Bullhaven who had spoken. His sludgy eyes had narrowed and a muscle was twitching in his cheek. ‘I have… an old estate on the North West Coast of Scotland. It’s called Insleyfarne. The army used it as a rocket site during the war and it’s been derelict since then.’

‘Insleyfarne?’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Yes, I think I’ve heard of it. I’m afraid the army was a bit trigger-happy. I seem to remember the castle’s in ruins?’

‘That’s right,’ said Lord Bullhaven grimly. ‘Completely bashed up. The trees are all scarred — there’s not a building left with a roof on. Still, it’s a very bleak place anyway — a promontory jutting out to sea. There’s always a wind blowing and the land’s too boggy to be any use. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it for your ghosts.’

‘Oh,’ said the Hag, the whiskers on her nose twitching with joy, ‘doesn’t it sound just absolutely lovely , darlings!’

And Rick, as he thanked Lord Bullhaven over and over again, felt very ashamed. He’d thought he looked such a horrid, creepy man with his sleety eyes and liquorice hair and yet it was he who had brought their search to such a happy and successful end.

‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said the Prime Minister, turning back to the pile of papers on his desk. ‘My secretary will help you to work out the transport.’

As they turned to go, Rick shook Lord Bullhaven’s hand again and again, and the Hag, though she usually kissed no one but her husband, kindly pecked him on his chalk-white cheek. Unfortunately, Rick could not read people’s minds. If he had been able to, he would not have left the Prime Minister’s house whistling so loudly and so happily that people turned to look at him in the street, and smiled.

They travelled to Insleyfarne by train. Once the Prime Minister made up his mind to do something he did it quickly. Rick had a First Class ticket and a sleeper so that he could get into his bed somewhere round Peterborough and not wake up again till they were over the Scottish border. What’s more, he went to the restaurant car all by himself and ordered a huge meal: soup, and steak with fried onions and chips and grilled tomatoes, and fruit salad and cream, and ate it while the fields and hedges and cows flashed past the window. There is nothing nicer than eating on a train and Rick enjoyed himself very much. He didn’t even feel guilty about eating the steak because Sucking Susie had said he needed meat to make new blood for Rose.

And while he ate he thought of what the Prime Minister had said to him just before he left.

‘I’d like all this kept secret,’ he said. ‘If it ever came out that I’d provided a sanctuary for ghosts the whole country would think I’d gone mad. And then I wouldn’t get re-elected.’

Rick didn’t see it like that.

‘Wouldn’t people think you and Lord Bullhaven were very good and kind to give the ghosts somewhere to live, and vote for you all the more?’

‘I promise you, Rick,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘if it got out that I believed in ghosts—’

‘But you’ve seen them.’

‘No one would care whether I’d seen them or not. They’d just think I was mad. If the papers got hold of it—’ He shuddered.

So Rick had promised to get his ghosts to Insleyfarne without anybody noticing and they had all sworn to stay quietly in the luggage van being invisible till they got there. Even Humphrey. Both the Hag and the Gliding Kilt had given up hope that Humphrey’s left elbow ever would vanish properly. It was like having a child with cauliflower ears or a stutter. One just had to make the best of it. On the other hand one didn’t want any of the passengers noticing a pink, cobwebby thing hanging in the luggage rack now they were so near to home.

They changed trains at Inverness and the country got wilder and wilder and more and more beautiful, and then they got out at a tiny station and there was a big khaki lorry with the letters H.M.S. on the side, waiting to take them to Insleyfarne. The driver thought it very strange, taking just one boy in a huge lorry but he had his orders to say nothing and he said nothing, even when the lorry began to fill with the smell of rotting sores, even when a huge puddle appeared from absolutely nowhere….

They drove steadily north. It got colder; rain began to slide in from the sea. On either side Rick saw brown peat bogs swirling with mist; granite boulders glistening with damp; trees gnarled and bent against the wind.

The road narrowed and ran along the side of a deep, black loch. And then it became a rutted track taking them across the neck of shingle and sand that joined Insleyfarne to the mainland — and there they were.

The ghosts just couldn’t believe it! As soon as the driver had gone, promising to return for Rick in a few hours, they appeared one by one, clapping their hands and laughing with happiness.

‘And what’s more, we can stay visible for ever and ever,’ shouted Humphrey. ‘Can’t we!’

Rick said, yes they could, and then they did a tour of their new home.