Waife

It was dark and from inside the warmth of the covers over me as I lay in my cot, kept all safe and secured against escape by the bars of its sides - like most two year olds, I was not a voluntary inmate of a bed but needed to be imprisoned there – thus it was from inside that cocooned warmth that I heard a kerfuffle of voices outside and the clicking of the front gate. There were few sounds at night where I lay, 'cept those of the countryside, each clear and sharp for the lack of the background hums and roars that so drown out distinct noises in towns; mostly the hoots and screeches of owls, or calls of foxes, the sudden sounds of wings, or the moans of the wind in the trees. The house had its own distinct creaks and groans as the old timber frame of which it was made settled, but these were all familiar for I had known them since my first days. 
 

Voices, footsteps on the path: my father's voice, my mother's voice. Then the closing of the heavy front door, creaking as it swung its studded oak on its old hinges and the resounding whoomp as it married back into its frame and the clunk as heavy latch dropped into place.

Some more voices downstairs. My brother, so much older than I and still up on this dark night, but still only a child. My cousin Anne, grown and a working girl in an office, a typing pool, whatever that was. She did look surprisingly dry each evening so I suppose the pool cannot have been that deep – even her shoes seemed dry. Not, so not like me when I went outside. My boots got so wet and muddy that they stuck and my feet came out of them. The the mud went all squidgy up between my toes making my socks all wet and sticky and I would fall over head first into the tractor ruts and get up all covered. That is what happened to people who went outside. If I went near the duck pond it got even muddier and even more slippy and I would get even more covered. How she could keep so dry in her pool, which must be something so much deeper than the duck pond, which I was not supposed to go near, and which I promised not to go near, even when the ducks ran off there when I chased them, which I did because it was what the boy on the salt did – if you don't believe me look at the picture on the box of Cerebos salt and believe me that ducks run much faster than two year old boys – how she did keep so dry and clean in her pool I had no idea. It must have been something to do with the ty ping. Perhaps it was a bit like a very big version of the tie-pin that my father wore. Perhaps it was some sort of pin that you stood on over the pool that meant that even your feet were dry. 
 

It was her voice down stairs with the other voices, all excited and high. 
 

Then the voices went quiet.

In a while the latch of my bedroom door clicked and softly it opened revealing the halo of light that came from the candle that my mother held in one hand to light her way. Her other arm was cradled around something. Softly she came over to my cot holding whatever it was quite close to her. 
 

“David” she said, “Look what I have got here. Some boys just dropped it over the gate. They said they had found it trying to keep warm in the ashes of a fire in the woods and that I would know how to look after it.”

It did smell of wood smoke.

It did look very small and fluffy.

It made a faint whimpering sound.

My mother lowered it into my cot so that I could see it.

It wriggled.

I touched it and it was soft.

Its little mouth closed over my fingers and there were needle like little teeth. 
It snuffled.

“We shall call it Waife” said my mother “Because it is a little waif and stray that has come to us. When it is bigger and stronger you can play with it, but for now I must keep it warm and feed it with a dropper.”

“Feed it what?” I asked

“Condensed milk” she said.

It was Christmas Eve and Waife was the best Christmas present ever. Not planned, but soon to be my playmate as we both grew strong and bigger that following spring and summer.