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 . . .
sniff. ‘I can get up there,’ she asserted. ‘If I want.’ ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘So, your chair downstairs?’ ‘I don’t need it all the time, if I want to walk I use calipers.’ She waited to see what he might say next. ‘Some sort of hi-tech stuff it’s built of, your chair?’ ‘Titanium – and I’m sure your dad could buy you one if you wanted.’ Now she struggled hard against the guilt switching between her head and her heart. ‘S’pose so . . .’ He left a long pause. ‘S’pose this is the best I can do,’
pillar. He counted as he rose, to drown out his haunting echoes. Following a trail of wet prints, he grew closer to the chatter of Charlie-Mouse and Bert. Forty five, forty six. His feet worked faster to meet it. Fifty three, fifty four. His echoes trailed further behind him. Sixty. The freezing wind bellowed and the tower staircase sucked him upward, pushing him towards an open window. He struggled to stay standing. A scattering of butterfly wings swirled in front of his face, and with a tug
Veronika has a rendezvous at 6am, she has to radio back.’ Veronika put down her small brown case and gave a meagre smile. Her thin painted lips glowed orange in the strange light. ‘Do we trust them, Malcolm?’ she lilted. Malcolm turned. ‘It’s OK – they know this place,’ he replied. ‘Then you’re Malcolm . . .’ began Charlie-Mouse. ‘And you know who we are?’ ‘Time does strange things,’ Malcolm said. ‘But it won’t let us forget where we came from.’ The kitchen door opened. ‘Tomasz. So soon,’
The lady cleaned the blackboard with a damp cloth and swung it over to the dry side. She took up a chalk and headed, Monday, 18th September, 1939. A half-breath warmed at Connie’s neck as Charlie-Mouse stifled another gasp. He clenched his grip on her hair. ‘Be calm and considered in your writing – your parents will expect it.’ The children dipped their inkpens. As they drew the pens across the page, the background hiss of silence changed its tone and the invasive sound of a low-altitude
down a pail of water. ‘But . . . how? How on earth . . .’ Kit stumbled, dragging her auburn hair behind her ears. Moisture glistened in her green-flecked eyes and rising to her knees she clutched at her brother’s legs. Connie watched her friends’ emotions chase to keep up as she spoke of the magic of the potter’s wheel, the Wendlewitch, and of a different time spent at Claybridge. Bert fidgeted, flitting his eyes between the circling fish and Charlie-Mouse. Whole tears clung in the corners of