Eva Ibbotson - The Great Ghost Rescue

‘Somewhere with lots of thunderstorms,’ said George.

‘Somewhere with other ghosts for me to play with,’ said Humphrey.

‘What you need is a ghost sanctuary,’ said Rick.

‘What’s a sanctuary?’ said Humphrey.

‘It’s a place where people can be safe and no one bothers them. In the old days if someone was being chased by soldiers, or by anyone, and he went into a church, that was a place of sanctuary. No one could get at him there.’

‘I wouldn’t like a church ,’ said Winifred nervously. ‘You practically never find ghosts in a church.’

‘No, I know. I’m only explaining. I mean, they have bird sanctuaries for puffins and cormorants, where they can make nests and breed and no one is allowed to shoot them or collect their eggs. And you have them for Native Americans in America.’

‘But Native Americans don’t lay eggs,’ said Humphrey.

Rick sighed. ‘What I mean is, they have sanctuaries. Only they’re called reservations, where the Indians can go on living the way they’re used to and no one bothers them. And that’s what you need. A sanctuary for ghosts.’

‘A sanctuary for ghosts,’ they all repeated, and nodded their heads. What Rick said made sense. It was a wonderful idea. What’s more it made them feel good to think that they were looking for somewhere that all ghosts could be happy in, not just they themselves.

‘I wish it could be here,’ said Humphrey. He didn’t at all like the idea of leaving Rick.

There was a sudden shriek from the next bed. It was the new boy, Peter. He had woken up and found himself looking straight into the Shuk’s single, saucer eye.

‘Go to sleep,’ said Rick. ‘It’s just a nightmare.’

All the same, he saw that it wasn’t going to be easy to explain to all the boys in the dormitory that they’d had the same nightmare. And soon now it would be properly light and Matron, who looked like a camel, would come clucking in, which could be awkward. Of course he could tell the ghosts to vanish. But telling a ghost to vanish is a bit like telling a friend to get lost. It just isn’t a thing you want to do.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s Sunday. I’ll take you over to the gym — it won’t be used today. And I’ll go and see a friend of mine, someone very clever, and we’ll make a plan. O.K.?’

‘O.K., dear boy,’ said the Gliding Kilt. ‘Er, does your gymnasium have parallel bars? And a vaulting horse?’

‘Yes. All those sort of things.’

‘Oh, good,’ said the Gliding Kilt, following Rick down the dormitory. He was not one to boast but when he was alive he had been very good at sport indeed. Tossing the caber, hurling the Clachneart and all those other clever Scottish things had been nothing to the Gliding Kilt.

The friend Rick went to talk to about the ghosts was the daughter of the school cook. Her name was Barbara and she was plump with thick, long, chestnut-coloured hair, the sort of dreamy, brown eyes you get in well-fed dairy cows and a smooth, pinky-brown skin with lots of dimples. She did everything very slowly and never got excited, and if she wasn’t interested in what people were saying, she just quietly fell asleep.

Although Norton Castle School was a boys’ school, the Crawlers let Barbara do lessons with the boarders. This was not because the Crawlers were nice — they were exceptionally nasty. It was because Barbara’s mother was a very good cook and they were afraid of losing her. Barbara never seemed to do any work, or take much notice of what the teachers were saying but whenever they asked her a question she knew the answer backwards and when there was a test she wasn’t just top but so far ahead it was almost funny, like finishing half an hour early in a maths exam and getting one hundred per cent.

Rick found her in the kitchen helping her mother to make castle puddings. But she came away when she saw Rick had something on his mind and they went to talk behind an old willow tree which grew near the back entrance to the school.

It didn’t take long for Rick to tell his story. Barbara didn’t sneer or say he’d been dreaming but she did look very surprised. ‘Ghosts,’ she said. ‘Who would have thought it!’

‘So you see we’ve got to find them somewhere to go,’ Rick said. ‘Only how do we do it?’

Barbara picked a long piece of grass and began to chew the stem.

‘Westminster,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Go to London. To the Houses of Parliament in Westminster. That’s where the Government is. You’d have to go to the top for a big thing like that. To the Prime Minister.’

‘Write a letter, you mean?’

‘No,’ said Barbara. ‘Go. Take them. Keep them invisible till you get there, then insist on seeing your Member of Parliament. Everyone’s allowed to see their Member of Parliament. It’s a law of the land. Make him take you to the Prime Minister. Then show him the ghosts. No one will believe you otherwise.’

‘Goodness.’ Rick was a bit overwhelmed.

‘Well you can go on messing about trying to get people to do things here but no one’s got the money for a start. A ghost sanctuary would cost thousands and thousands of pounds. Only the government could afford it.’

‘It’s over two hundred miles from here to London,’ said Rick. ‘It’s all right for the ghosts — they’ve got a phantom coach and anyway they can glide. But what about me? I can’t walk that far.’

Barbara’s large, peaceful forehead screwed itself up into dents and grooves.

‘You’d have to do it in stages. From here till Grange-on-Trant you could go in Uncle Ted’s milk lorry. That’s about thirty miles. Then you could get a bus to Lonsdale — country buses are cheap. Over Saughbeck Moors you’d have to walk or hitch maybe, and then perhaps you could do the last part by train. I’ve got a bit of money.’

‘Me too,’ said Rick. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘Do you want me to come with you? I will if you like,’ said Barbara, picking two more bits of grass and starting to chew again.

Rick took the bit she gave him and thought. It would be nice to have her. Sort of calming. Then he shook his head. ‘I think you’d better stay here and cover up for me. And look, see if you can get the key of the school office and be in there between seven and eight each evening. Then if I’m stuck I can ring you up.’

‘Right. Do you think I could see them before you go?’ said Barbara. ‘I’d awfully like to.’

‘Sure,’ said Rick, and led the way to the gym.

The ghosts were having a marvellous time. The Gliding Kilt was hanging from the parallel bars doing a very difficult arm exercise. Aunt Hortensia had discovered the trampoline and was bouncing up and down, her nightdress ballooning over her stump, her horny feet twitching with pleasure. George was standing on his skull.

‘Look at me, Rick!’ shouted Humphrey the Horrible, and promptly fell off the rope.

‘Goodness,’ said Barbara, staring wide-eyed. ‘I must say I’m impressed. What’s that disgusting smell?’

The Hag, very pleased with what Barbara had said, stopped doing press-ups and came over to talk to her. ‘It’s wet whale liver. One of my husband’s favourites,’ she said shyly. ‘I was wearing it when we met.’

Rick introduced Barbara and all the ghosts came down to hear what had been decided.

‘A good plan,’ said the Gliding Kilt, twirling the sword in his chest approvingly. ‘Always go to the top if you want things done. When do we leave?’

‘We thought at dawn tomorrow. That’s when the milk lorry goes into town,’ said Rick.

‘At dawn, at dawn,’ shrieked Humphrey the Horrible, excitedly, bouncing up and down like a yo-yo.