Whirl of the Wheel
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Three children whirl back in time through an enchanted potter’s wheel into the reality of evacuation in 1940s Britain . . . Whirl of the Wheel pulls feisty Connie, her brother Charlie-Mouse, and school pest Malcolm into dangers on the homefront and towards a military operations secret that will save their home. The children hit trouble when Malcolm fails to return to the present day. This fast-moving adventure will keep you guessing . . .
‘This one,’ she said. Their dad put Bat Hair on the circular plate under the lens and tilted the mirror to catch the light. ‘There it is,’ Charlie-Mouse said. ‘Looks fluffy.’ ‘Poor, poor bat!’ Connie remarked and crawled underneath the desk. And while her brother looked at the slides, she happily slipped her tiny hand behind the drawers and into all the darkest nooks and crannies to explore for hidden treasure. She found a shiny coin. ‘Daddy, Daddy, let’s put this under the magnifying glass,’
news to Charlie, but now she couldn’t. Not with him here. Malcolm’s shivering face stared back. Was it Malcolm? Yes, she was sure of it – even with his dark-ringed eyes shallowed with tears and his nose rubbed to red-raw. The cold and the fear had buried into his complexion, making him look even more pale and pathetic. ‘The dog found the lad shivering in school,’ said Uncle Geoff. He stamped several times on the mat and bent to ease his feet from his wet and snowy boots. ‘Wouldn’t stop ‘is
arrived for Christmas service with a brushing of hats and a shaking of snowy umbrellas. ‘If we’re here we have to pull together,’ she breathed into the window glass. ‘What’s here?’ ‘Christmas 1940.’ ‘This isn’t a trick?’ he spluttered. ‘The war and everything?’ ‘No, it’s very real.’ ‘And . . . you don’t live here . . . the farmer does.’ ‘That’s right. And Bert and Kit – they’re all good people.’ ‘Meaning?’ ‘Nothing in particular.’ She meant everything in particular. Malcolm let go of
silhouetting its way along the glass. Not long after, his athletic strides sounded on the wood floor. ‘Don’t say a word,’ he said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. She unlocked her calipers and sat herself at the lion stool. She slid her hand across the wheel, clasped hold of the edge and pulled it round with as much force as she could. A glittering, dancing lasso picked up from the spin. In the dim light, it seemed to tighten its grip on the room as it spun faster and faster around them
Veronika’s small silver medal warmed in her hand as the same afternoon she watched members of the local news television crew buzzing like bees over a lavender bush in front of the Friday market in Corberley town square. She gripped tightly, with rebounding thoughts. What had become of her? What had become of Malcolm? The producer waved his arm across her line of sight, darting this way and that over the pavement to brief the camera team. The presenter paced up and down rehearsing her lines.