The Great Ghost Rescue

Susie was lying on her back, her fangs stretched to the stars. Very carefully, very slowly, Rick felt for the pouch on her stomach. Yes, there was Rose, a soft, painfully thin bundle of skin and claws…. He began to lift her out, stopping dead every time Susie stirred. It took a long time but at last she was free and crouching in his hand. He could feel her heart beating very fast against his fingers. ‘Don’t be frightened, Rose,’ he whispered.

One of the illustrations by Simon Stern

My Grade Five teacher was of the “Old-School” variety – to the extent that you wouldn’t be surprised if she were to tell you that she had taught your father, and his father before him!  We clashed quite often as she couldn’t cope with the way I, as a left-hander, held my pen whilst writing.  There is just no way you can write cursive with your left hand the same way you do as a right-hander, holding the pen loosely and pulling it across the page. Now, if we could write from right to left on the page, in mirror-writing, we can do it – but there was no telling her.  Many was the day that I had a pen lid poked repeatedly on the top of my head, with the words “Don’t strangle your PEN!” being shouted from behind.

Back in the warmth of the fire he rolled up the sleeve of his jersey and placed her fangs against the blue veins in his wrist. ‘Come on, Rose,’ he urged her. ‘Come on.’

She also had an “UM and AH and PAUSE” chart on the wall, and we would be required to give two minute talks without notes; every time an “Um” or “Ah” was spoken, or too-long a pause was taken, a black mark was placed against your name.  What with the way she was messing with my mind in the writing department, and my susceptibility to anxiety attacks, my space on the “UM and AH and PAUSE” chart quickly filled with blackness.  To this day when I’m anxious and am trying to speak, I have to constantly fight attacks of complete tongue-tied frustration – a trait that developed over that year.

It was an awful moment – like holding a crumb to a sick fledgling and wondering if it was strong enough to feed. Would she? Would she not?

You would think that from all this I owe no thanks to my grade five teacher, but that’s not true.  The very first book that I remember ever “owning” me (not counting the myriad of picture books, a lot of which still have a place on my bookcase) was one that she read to us.  Right after lunch we would sit at our desks, and she would read to us for fifteen to twenty minutes; I cannot remember any of the titles, except one.

For a moment Rose stayed still, hunched and trembling. Then her head turned, her mouth groped along his arm and Rick shut his eyes as she made a sudden jab at his wrist.

The book was The Great Ghost Rescue, by Eva Ibbotson, and the whole class sat captivated listening to the plight of Humphrey and his ghost family, forced to flee their castle due to its “modernization” by property developers.  A chance meeting with the boy Rick in his school dormitory finds them with a Champion for their cause – he quickly decides that a Ghost Sanctuary is what is needed.  The rest of the story follows their efforts towards making this dream a reality – tracking down those in need of refuge, and dealing with bureaucracy (both good, and very, very bad)!

And, after all, it was nothing. Susie was right. Less than a pinprick, and then he sat happily watching the tiny thing suck and feeling her warm life in his hand.

The next day they set off across the moors. No one bothered any longer to tell the vampire bats that they couldn’t come. When Susie woke and found Rick had fed Rose she burst into a storm of tears. ‘Oh the relief!’ she cried, flying round and round Rick’s head. ‘Oh, you wonderful boy. I’m sorry I said all those silly things to you. Oh, my baby – look how pink her cheeks are! What excellent blood you have, you dear, dear boy!’