The Rogue Crew

Lady Wildstripe was delighted at the prospect. “Right, then, I’ll be down in two ticks!”

Old Colonel Bletgore was seated on a smooth sun-warmed rock, leaning his chin on a long knob-handled stick. He accosted a passing Galloper. “I say there, young ripscut, where’s everybeast off to, eh, wot? Speak up!”

The Galloper saluted. She was bright eyed, bushy tailed and eager not to stop and gossip with the ancient colonel. But courtesy to a senior officer bade her reply. “It’s the Second Season Gallopers, sah, we’re to escort Lady Wildstripe on a patrol of the area, sah!”

Bletgore waved his stick at the young hare as she hurried off to join the ranks. “What’n the name o’ blitherin’ boulders would she want t’go on a confounded patrol for, eh . . . wot . . . wot?”

Thirty of the young hares stood lined up on the foreshore, every one brushed, combed, rigged out in light green tunics and fully armed. Lady Wildstripe paced alongside the major as he inspected them. She kept silent, letting Felton Fforbes comment.

“Ah, young Folderum, got Right Markers post, eh? Very good, your pa’d be proud of ye, laddie buck!”

Folderum saluted with his father’s sabre, which was still a trifle too large for him.

“Thankee, Major sah. The patrol are well armed, all carryin’ blades, ten with lances an’ the rest with bows an’ shafts . . . sah!”

The major nodded, moving on down the ranks. “Chin up, Miz Peasblossom. Tuck that tummy in, Grumby. Hold that lance upright, Twilby—don’t want to stab any of your messmates. Is that a top button I see undone, Frubbs Minor? Do it up, bucko, that’s the style!”

He turned to Lady Wildstripe, barking out briskly, “Parade all correct, Milady!”

She gave him a gracious smile. “Thank you, Major. Give the order to lead off. Perhaps with a good marching tune, please.”

Major Felton Fforbes made a small circle in the air with his swagger stick. “Patrol will lead off to the left—aye, an’ give us a lively song. How about ‘General Billyoh’s Rant.’ Right, off y’go, now, quick march!”

Every hare knew the marching song by heart. They roared it out with gusto into the clear autumn morn.

“Now, here’s a rule or two for you,

as outward bound ye stroll,

you’ve got to prove so true’n’blue,

to join the Long Patrol.

An’ here’s a tip, stiff upper lip,

when facin’ vermin foe,

give ’em lots o’ blood’n’vinegar

an’ General Billyoh!

Aye, General Billyoh, me lads, General Billyoh!

No quarter, no surrender, strike ’em hard an’ lay ’em

low!

“Eulalia is our battle cry,

so shout it long an’ loud,

Ye hail from Salamandastron

an’ don’t it make ye proud,

so when they see ye chargin’

hear the enemy wail ‘oh, no,’

we’re in for steel’n’slaughter

an’ General Billyoh!

’Tis General Billyoh they’ll get, General Billyoh,

throw open wide the Hellgates, an’ we’ll show ’em

where t’go!”

Stamping their pawprints in the damp sand, the column marched north along the beach. The sea was in floodtide, creating a din as it rolled in, with white-combed rollers booming as they broke on the coast. This, combined with the raucous calls of seabirds, vied with the song the young hares were singing.

With a twinkle in his eye, the major called out, baiting the patrol, “Is that the flippin’ best ye can do, wot? Lady Wildstripe an’ meself can hardly hear a word from any of ye!”

The Badger Lady caught on to what he was doing and joined in the fun, shouting aloud, “It must be the sound of the waves and those gulls squawking. I think ’tis drowning our singers out, Major. Mayhaps they could try a little harder, eh?”

The patrol began singing with renewed vigour, increasing their volume. Necks straining and ears flat back, they yelled out the song with all their power.

Major Fforbes shook his head sadly. “I tell ye, Milady, in my young Galloper seasons, I could’ve probably drowned’em all out with my voice. Young Foghorn Fforbes, they used to call me, wot!”

Lady Wildstripe hid a chuckle. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, Major. Perhaps they haven’t reached full volume yet. Maybe if they sing it once more, we’ll hear them loud and clear.”

It was some time before the young hares realised what was going on. By then they had sung themselves hoarse.

Peasblossom fluttered her eyelids at the officer. “It’s no good, sah. We’ll never be as jolly good as you were. I say, d’you think you could sing out an’ show us how?”

Major Felton Fforbes touched his throat, uttering a cough. “Ahem, ahem. . . . Wish I could, missy, but I’ve got this sore throat, d’ye see. Not possible, I’m afraid. Column, left wheel, let’s try a hike into the dunes, wot!”

They halted at midday in a sheltered hollow between four sandhills. Provisions were broached whilst they sat down to relax. Scones, dried fruit and elderflower cordial were passed around.

Lady Wildstripe remarked to Folderum, who was sitting nearby, “Well, young sir, are you enjoying our little foray?”

Folderum nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, Milady, it’s absolutely top hole out here, wot!”