withering look. “This is a ship. There’s not exactly far he can go, is there? So, presumably you must know where he’s likely to be?”
Robert shook his head. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t tell you.”
The officer paused for a long second, letting the silence hang in the air between them. “Quarantine laws in Britain are strictly enforced, Sergeant. Breaking those laws is a very serious offense.”
“I’m not committing an offense, sir. I just can’t seem to see my dog.”
Robert was choosing his words carefully. Strictly speaking it was true that he couldn’t see his dog, for right now he was concealed deep within a mountain of luggage.
The officer stared at him as he pondered his next move. “Very well, but don’t try to tell us that you didn’t know the penalty when your dog is found . . .”
The ship’s crew searched the vessel from end to end, flinging open lockers, rifling through closets, lifting containers, and peering behind doors, but no sign of the errant German shepherd could be found.
Later that afternoon Uncle Vlasta briefed Robert that a Lieutenant Josef Ocelka would be meeting them upon arrival at the Liverpool docks. He was to be their liaison officer for further processing into Great Britain. Lieutenant Ocelka had been persuaded to appoint Joska and Robert himself as the party in charge of disembarking the Czech airmen’s luggage and ensuring its safe transfer to the railway station for transport to their new home—Cholmondeley, just outside Liverpool.
“You’ve been put in charge of all luggage,” Vlasta repeated, looking Robert meaningfully in the eye. “All luggage is to be disembarked safely from the ship.”
“Understood,” Robert confirmed.
• • •
On the dank early evening of July 12, 1940, the convoy steamed up the Mersey and docked at Liverpool. Thunder rolled over the city as the Czech airmen were separated from the other passengers for their deployment instructions, and rain started to pelt down from a glowering sky. Welcome to Britain. On the quayside a crane creaked and squealed as it took up the strain and then jerked a netload of luggage into the air. Robert gazed up at the load’s seemingly perilous progress, wondering what on earth he would do if the cable broke and Ant was plunged into the cold waters of the harbor.
Lieutenant Ocelka, having been tipped off about the smuggling operation, ordered Robert and Joska to move the baggage double-time onto the waiting truck, before the rain soaked it completely. He wanted it out of sight and out of mind before a hidden dog started yapping. By the time they had most of the luggage loaded, Roberthad detected not the slightest sign of life from the bulging kit bag in which his dog was concealed.
The last suitcase thrown onboard, he leaped onto the truck’s rear and settled down next to the kit bag. He slipped his fingers through the semi-open top, murmuring quiet words of reassurance, and was rewarded by a good few licks from the hidden animal. So far, all was going to plan.
After a short journey they unloaded the luggage and prepared to board the train. But the station platform was milling with British policemen, and worse still, eight of the dreaded Red Caps—British Military Police—were scanning the assembled throng. Few of the airmen doubted that news of a stowaway dog trying to evade British quarantine laws had been passed around the assembled forces of law and order. It was now that Ant—secreted in the kit bag perched beside the Czechs’ luggage, and emblazoned with the name R. V. Bozdech —had to play his part to perfection.
Just minutes before the Cholmondeley train was due in at the station, a platoon of British soldiers marched onto the platform. They came to a halt in unison right next to the pile of luggage and lowered their rifles with a sharp clatter. The butt of one inadvertently struck a kit bag labeled R. V. Bozdech , and a loud and startled yelp issued forth from within. The
Robert shook his head. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t tell you.”
The officer paused for a long second, letting the silence hang in the air between them. “Quarantine laws in Britain are strictly enforced, Sergeant. Breaking those laws is a very serious offense.”
“I’m not committing an offense, sir. I just can’t seem to see my dog.”
Robert was choosing his words carefully. Strictly speaking it was true that he couldn’t see his dog, for right now he was concealed deep within a mountain of luggage.
The officer stared at him as he pondered his next move. “Very well, but don’t try to tell us that you didn’t know the penalty when your dog is found . . .”
The ship’s crew searched the vessel from end to end, flinging open lockers, rifling through closets, lifting containers, and peering behind doors, but no sign of the errant German shepherd could be found.
Later that afternoon Uncle Vlasta briefed Robert that a Lieutenant Josef Ocelka would be meeting them upon arrival at the Liverpool docks. He was to be their liaison officer for further processing into Great Britain. Lieutenant Ocelka had been persuaded to appoint Joska and Robert himself as the party in charge of disembarking the Czech airmen’s luggage and ensuring its safe transfer to the railway station for transport to their new home—Cholmondeley, just outside Liverpool.
“You’ve been put in charge of all luggage,” Vlasta repeated, looking Robert meaningfully in the eye. “All luggage is to be disembarked safely from the ship.”
“Understood,” Robert confirmed.
• • •
On the dank early evening of July 12, 1940, the convoy steamed up the Mersey and docked at Liverpool. Thunder rolled over the city as the Czech airmen were separated from the other passengers for their deployment instructions, and rain started to pelt down from a glowering sky. Welcome to Britain. On the quayside a crane creaked and squealed as it took up the strain and then jerked a netload of luggage into the air. Robert gazed up at the load’s seemingly perilous progress, wondering what on earth he would do if the cable broke and Ant was plunged into the cold waters of the harbor.
Lieutenant Ocelka, having been tipped off about the smuggling operation, ordered Robert and Joska to move the baggage double-time onto the waiting truck, before the rain soaked it completely. He wanted it out of sight and out of mind before a hidden dog started yapping. By the time they had most of the luggage loaded, Roberthad detected not the slightest sign of life from the bulging kit bag in which his dog was concealed.
The last suitcase thrown onboard, he leaped onto the truck’s rear and settled down next to the kit bag. He slipped his fingers through the semi-open top, murmuring quiet words of reassurance, and was rewarded by a good few licks from the hidden animal. So far, all was going to plan.
After a short journey they unloaded the luggage and prepared to board the train. But the station platform was milling with British policemen, and worse still, eight of the dreaded Red Caps—British Military Police—were scanning the assembled throng. Few of the airmen doubted that news of a stowaway dog trying to evade British quarantine laws had been passed around the assembled forces of law and order. It was now that Ant—secreted in the kit bag perched beside the Czechs’ luggage, and emblazoned with the name R. V. Bozdech —had to play his part to perfection.
Just minutes before the Cholmondeley train was due in at the station, a platoon of British soldiers marched onto the platform. They came to a halt in unison right next to the pile of luggage and lowered their rifles with a sharp clatter. The butt of one inadvertently struck a kit bag labeled R. V. Bozdech , and a loud and startled yelp issued forth from within. The
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