The Last Castaways Read online

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  The Last Castaways

  Roo lives with Harry Horse and Mandy in an old farmhouse in the Scottish Borders. She has turned down several film offers since the publication of The Last Polar Bears, preferring instead to concentrate on rabbits. It is her ambition to own one eventually. She is currently working on her first book, provisionally entitled The Bad Rabbits.

  Harry Horse writes and illustrates children's books. His titles include The Last Gold Diggers, for which he won the Smarties Gold Award. He is well known as a political cartoonist and has produced cartoons for the New Yorker, the Guardian and the Sunday Herald. Unusually, rabbits do not play a large part in his life.

  Poopy is a small grey plastic walrus who lives in Roo's basket. He has no hobbies, but likes to lurk on the stairs, waiting to trip people up. This is his first (and hopefully his last) book.

  Some other books by Harry Horse

  THE LAST POLAR BEARS

  THE LAST GOLD DIGGERS

  THE LAST COWBOYS

  The Last Castaways

  Being, as it were, an Account of a Small Dog's Adventures at Sea

  Written and illustrated by Harry Horse

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2003

  10

  Copyright © Harry Horse, 2003

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author/illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-14-192574-5

  For Mandy and Roo

  Thursday 1 September

  At home with Roo

  Roo and I are both well. I have been pottering around in the garden and Roo has been helping me. She's not really a gardening type of dog, unless you count digging large holes in the lawn as helping, which I don't.

  To distract Roo from digging another big hole by the pond, I took her to the Dog Show at the community hall on Sunday.

  Roo won a cup. She was the Best Unknown Breed in her class. The judge said that he was not sure what type of dog Roo was, but he liked her anyway. Roo said her breed was famous for being unknown. She wanted to keep the cup in her

  basket but I would not let her. It might get dented. We have to give it back next year.

  You ask in your last letter if Roo and I will ever go on another adventure again. As a matter of fact, we have had numerous requests from complete strangers to lead expeditions all over the world. One of the letters was from a chap called Colonel Parker. He wanted Roo to lead an expedition up the Amazon in search of a lost city in the jungle. I had to write back and say that Roo is not good in jungles and that we had retired.

  So for Roo and me the days of adventure are over. No more expeditions for us. Your mother would not allow it for a start. She says that we are both too old. I'm eighty this summer and Roo is not far behind. She's twelve, which is quite old for a dog. But she still chases rabbits when given the chance and she never lets the robin stay on the lawn. Roo still has a spring in her step and she loves life.

  And rabbits. And digging holes.

  And food. Which reminds me – I had better go and feed her. Nothing comes between a dog and its dinner.

  P.S. I almost forgot. Uncle Freddie has invited us to go down to Saltbottle for a few days. It's a lovely little place by the sea. We are going to stay in a hotel. Will write when we get there.

  Friday 2 September

  Just a few lines to let you know that we are here. The journey was awful.

  Uncle Freddie drove us down. He's not that keen on dogs and I think Roo sensed this. First of all, he wanted Roo to go in a dog cage in the back. Roo growled when she saw the cage and the idea was quickly abandoned.

  Roo went on the back seat in her basket instead. There was a bit of an argument over Poopy who had mysteriously appeared in the car. I should say here that Poopy is a small grey plastic walrus. He honks in a most annoying manner, particularly when trodden on, which is often. Roo tends to leave him in the most awkward places. At the top of the stairs, for instance, or on the back doorstep. I have tripped over him many times and in truth am heartily sick of the little walrus.

  But Roo adores him, so what can I do?

  She would not give him back and slunk under the driver's seat with Poopy clenched in her mouth. Honking in that awful way of his. It was a dreadful start to our journey. I am afraid that in the end we had to give up and Poopy came on holiday with us.

  We had not gone very far before Roo began playing us up. Said that she could not ‘scent’ properly in the back. Told her that we did not need her to ‘scent’ as we had a map, thank you.

  Roo said that we were bound to get lost in that case.

  Tried to ignore her.

  Every five miles or so Roo would ask if we were there yet.

  When I told her that we weren't, she would sigh dramatically and lie with her feet in the air making horrible choking sounds. Twice we pulled over to see what was wrong with her and each time she made a miraculous recovery and jumped in the front. When I tried to lift her back, she made herself heavy. It took both of us to budge her.

  What with the honking, the skittering, the scrabbling and the snuffling, it all got too much for Uncle Freddie. He pulled over for lunch at a pub called the Dog and Goose and fled inside.

  Roo was very interested when she saw the name of the pub – but no dogs were allowed in, I'm afraid. The landlord also told us that there was not, nor ever had been, roast goose on the menu and they did not want a dog to guard the pub from robins in return for scraps.

  After lunch we got lost.

  Roo was sitting on the map and Uncle Freddie missed the turning. It took us ages to find our way back on to the road to Saltbottle and we ended up in a place called Tarbucket.

  Roo offered to scent but we did not need her help. I fell asleep and dreamt that Roo was driving the car. Woke up feeling quite unwell.

  We eventually got to the Seagull's Nest at tea time.

  The manager showed us to our room, which has a view of the kitchens. Never mind. Roo says that at least we will know what dinner is before anyone else. Uncle Freddie was disappointed to find that he was sharing the room with us. Roo was disappointed not to find any actual seagulls' nests in the hotel, despite keen searching under tables in the dining room.

  The manager has asked me to keep her out of the dining room. As there have been complaints.

  As I write this Roo is settled against my leg. She's had her own dinner and some of mine (she has decided that she is not keen on fish. Says it's for cats not dogs). But she's contented. So much so that she's gnawing her paw. Now she's laid her head on my knee. It really is nice to just get along. Like two peas in a pod. I'm so glad I have my dog with me.

  Tomorrow we shall go to the beach and Roo will paddle and look for crabs.

  Saturday 3 September

  Having a lovely time.

  Roo has just trotted in looking very pleased with herself. There is now a trail of muddy paw prints across the carpet. I would tell her off but she's still very sensitive about the cage incident.

  Roo wants me to tell you that there are rabbits here at the Seagull's Nest but they are very, very small rabbits. (Not everyone is quite as interested in rabbits as you are, Roo.)

  Sadly, Uncle Freddie has been called away on important business. When he was told that he could not have another room and would have to continue sharing with Roo and me, he looked very pale. At precisely that moment he went away to make a phone call and that's when he learnt he had to go away on urgent business to China. Something to do with tea, apparently. Anyway, it must have been urgent as he left in such a hurry that he forgot to take his golf bag and golf trolley with him. Uncle Freddie loves that golf trolley It was designed by an astronaut, and has an onboard computer and an umbrella that automatically unfurls when it detects rain. We will look after it for him.

  I hope that Uncle Freddie's departure has nothing to do with last night's misunderstanding.

  Roo often gets into my bed in the middle of the night and I don't like it either. Roo says that the reason she savaged his hot-water bottle was because she thought it was a giant hairless rat trying to attack his feet. It gave Uncle Freddie a dreadful shock.

  It's amazing what a bang those hot-water bott
les can go off with.

  Poor Uncle Freddie.

  We're off to the beach now. Roo has discovered that bootlace seaweed can be dragged around to great effect. Yesterday she nearly cleared the beach entirely.

  Here's the chambermaid to hoover the room. Best stop now.

  Will write soon.

  P.S. I had forgotten that Roo is not very good with vacuum cleaners. But I'm positive that it can be repaired, as she did a similar thing to mine.

  The chambermaid was very understanding. She has a Yorkshire terrier that hates the telephone and won't go near one.

  However, the manager was less understanding. He has just called to say that in future he will not take room service calls after midnight. And certainly not at three o'clock in the morning. Those twelve pizzas are going to have to be paid for.

  I wish my dog hated the telephone.

  An extraordinary thing has happened.

  Do you remember when Roo and I went to the North Pole in search of polar bears? The ship we sailed on was called the Unsinkable. We sailed with the captain all the way up to the North Pole. We found the polar bears but got lost. Thankfully, the captain sailed back and found us. And saved our lives.

  I often wondered what had happened to him and the Unsinkable. Was he still alive? Was the Unsinkable still afloat?

  Today we made an amazing discovery.

  We were strolling along the quayside eating ice creams and admiring all the old fishing boats in the harbour. I love looking at these old boats and like to imagine where they have been. They have such wonderful names like the Lone Cormorant and the Ice Bear.

  Roo went down some very steep steps that were cut into the harbour wall.

  I heard her barking at something. Tried to call her back but she pretended to be hard of hearing, which she has taken to doing recently.

  In the end, I had to go down and take a look at what was upsetting her.

  Roo was barking at an old boat. The boat looked in a sorry state. Barnacles grew all up her sides. Her hull was chipped and peeling. The mast was broken in the middle. A pair of herring gulls had nested in the funnel stack.

  There was something familiar about the old wreck.

  We had found the Unsinkable!

  It was being sold today at noon and it was already a quarter to twelve! We rushed off to find the Sailor's Bunk as quickly as we could.

  (Dear, dear, it was so hard to find. Saltbottle has a maze of small lanes behind the harbour. We found it after Roo chased a cat into Fishgut Alley. An accident really and nothing to do with ‘Cunning Instinct’.)

  The Sailor's Bunk was a run-down hotel behind the gutting factory on Squab's Lane. There were some very unsavoury-looking characters in there and a strong smell of boiled cabbage and tobacco added to the atmosphere. We found the captain in the snug bar with his cronies.

  He leapt to his feet when he saw us. Clasped Roo to his bosom and showered kisses on her. Hugged her to his chest and wept, afterwards wiping his nose on my sleeve. Said that Roo was the best sea dog a skipper could wish for. He was just telling everyone how Roo had once rebuilt the Unsinkable's engine single-handedly (actually, she fell on it through an open hatch, an accident really, no skill involved at all) when the auction began.

  A large crowd pressed noisily into the lounge bar. The captain fell back into my arms and sobbed loudly. Roo licked both our faces until I told her off. The captain gave her a packet of crisps and she took them under a table and tore them apart as noisily as she could (or so it seemed to me).

  The auctioneer introduced himself by blowing his nose and hammering his gavel. He peered at us through a thick pair of bottle-end glasses and offered the Unsinkable for twenty pounds. There were no takers. The crowd coughed noisily, mainly in embarrassment for the captain. He sobbed louder into my ear.

  The bidding eventually started. Rather ungenerously at five pounds. A scrap dealer called Foxy fought it out with a small chap in a tea-cosy hat called the Dickler. With the hammer poised at fifteen pounds, and the Unsinkable going to Foxy, the crowd gasped as a new bidder joined the sale, rapidly driving the bid up to a hundred pounds!

  The auctioneer took his glasses off and bowed to the new bidder, called her Madam and blushed. I strained to see who the woman was but the crowd was restless and excited. I looked under the table. Roo had slipped away and was nowhere to be seen.

  Jabbering numbers, the poor auctioneer barely had time to draw breath.

  The bid rose dramatically to nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds and even I could see that the Unsinkable was not worth that sort of money.

  But the captain was thrilled. He ordered another round of drinks for the whole house. Foxy was scratching his head, wondering how on earth he had found himself bidding so much for an old wreck. Exhausted, the auctioneer lay slouched over his lectern. His jacket had been discarded, his hat had fallen off and his glasses were steamed up. He raised his gavel for the last time. His voice was hoarse but just audible.

  ‘Going once, going twice, going for the third and final time… Sold to the lady in the brown fur coat!’

  The captain threw his hat in the air, kissed me on both cheeks and then collapsed on the floor. His friends carried him to the bar to revive him.

  He seemed to have cheered up considerably.

  Who was this mystery woman in the fur coat who had wasted her money on the Unsinkable? I craned with everybody else to see.

  The crowd parted and the new owner was revealed.

  Roo had bought the Unsinkable.

  Afterwards, I had a dreadful row with the auctioneer, who explained that he could see now that Roo was a dog and not an old lady in a fur coat, but that his glasses had got steamed up during the sale. Still, the sale was binding. Had to write an IOU on the spot with Roo straining on her lead to get back to her crisps. The auctioneer said that we had twenty-eight days to pay up in full.

  We found the captain in the bar celebrating with his chums. He said he always knew that the Unsinkable was a valuable ship. Had always said so. And that he would be proud to work under an owner like Roo and, what's more, he respected her and would fight any man who said that he didn't.

  I'm afraid that we had a bit of a disagreement about the whole thing. In the end I stormed out, dragging Roo behind me on the lead (she wanted to stay and ‘yarn with the boys’).

  Got the bus back to the hotel only to find the manager waiting for us. He did not look pleased. Our bags were packed and ready in the hallway with Uncle Freddie's golf trolley. The manager led me to the snooker room.

  Across the snooker table, a trail of muddy paw prints criss-crossed the green baize. Roo said that she had thought it was an indoor lawn and that the pockets were rabbit holes. She did not know where all the coloured eggs had come from. But guessed that they were probably from the Seagull's Nest.

  After that the manager informed us that we were not the type of guests he wanted and showed us the door.

  I am very cross with Roo, needless to say, and I'm worried about how we are going to pay for this wretched boat. It's a lot of money on a pension.

  All the other hotels in Saltbottle were full up or did not take dogs. We were forced to return to the Sailor's Bunk. Technically, Roo, as the owner of the Unsinkable, is eligible for a cabin, whereas I, as a landlubber, qualify only for a hammock in the hallway. The porter signed me in grudgingly, saluted Captain Roo (as he insisted on calling her) and said that we would have to leave our seaboots outside our cabins. Really! We don't have any seaboots!

  Don't tell your mother about all this. I'm sure it would just upset her. She was only saying last week how pleased she was that I had finally settled down. Don't worry. I will sort everything out and then come back home soon. Somehow or other we will raise the money for the Unsinkable.