Spivvins Tells a Secret

.Autumn Term, 1941.

"Pole!" he said, "Is that fair? Have I been doing anything of the sort this term? Didn't I stand up to Carter about the rabbit? And didn't I keep the secret about Spivvins—under torture too? And didn't I-"

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

There are certain schools that make you want to catch the plague…cholera, malaria, yellow fever…anything to postpone arrival one day. Eustace Scrubb was known to hang around outside the Radcliffe Infirmary in hopes that some fumes from the sick ward would settle on him and infect him with mumps. Eleanor Blakiston held sick-parties in hopes that somebody was secretly infected with the African sleeping sickness and would pass it on. Somehow, it never worked and the Experiment House got its students on time, every term.

The only student who ever managed to catch the plague was Cuthbert Isambard Spivvens (who beat out Eustace Clarence Scrubb for the strangest name in the annals of the school); despite missing large portions of the term on account of being stricken with things like chicken pox, measles and influenza, he never seemed to be behind. The truth was, Spivvens was a genius. Scrubb, who wasn't a genius, was inclined to believe that Spivvens was the only decent chap at school. Spivs didn't notice things…he shuffled through life admiring insects and muttering Latin verbs under his breath. To Scrubb, who had once collected insects himself, it meant something. Spivvens actually knew about them, while Scrubb, despite all his time preserving things in formaldehyde, didn't.

In fact, Spivvens was so odd and so harmless that even They left him alone. They were Them…the school Gang…and They were always on the hunt for someone they could torture. Scrubb knew very well that They could skewer Spivvens on a pin and mount him on a specimen card if They wanted.

"Look here, Pole," Scrubb said one morning, overtaking a skinny, long-legged girl in the corridor between Morning Meditations and Chinese literature class. "Look here, we've got to do something about Spivs."

Jill Pole turned to look at him. She carried her chin out in front of her like a small battering ram. You had to when They were around. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Scrubb trailed off. "What if They take a set against him? What on earth could he do?"

Pole stared at him, as well she might. "Why would you care?"

It was true…up until this term, Srubb had been one of the worst hangers-on and floor-sweepers They had. He was their errand boy, their spy. Nobody trusted Scrubb…especially not when he began to be decent this term. Everyone who wasn't one of Them, suspected a Plot.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Scrubb," Pole said. "And I don't care. Just leave us alone…and that includes Spivs."

"Here, I say!" Scrubb began angrily, but Pole had already turned in at the door and was gone.

Scrubb was left with the helpless feeling of one who has had his good intentions pushed back at him unopened. After the first flare of anger, he didn't blame Pole. It wasn't her fault. He had been something of a rotter last term and he couldn't expect her to believe that he had transformed overnight. In fact, he had. It had happened during the holidays when he went on an Adventure with his cousins, the Pevensies, that was so strange and extraordinary you wouldn't believe me if I told you. All I mean to say is, Eustace Clarence Scrubb had Changed. He was not quite so fine a boy as he thought he was, but he was rather better than he ever had been before.

Scrubb was wandering past the cricket ground when he saw Spivvens. They were both too small to even be considered for the Eleven, but all the younger boys liked to watch the games. Alfred Carter was the captain of the team and by far the biggest and beefiest of the boys at school; he was the one who chose the players…and if anyone asked, he was the leader of Them; Adela Pennyfather might have disagreed, but she was the only one.

"Hullo, Scrubb." Spivvins goggled at him. Spivvens always goggled; the effect of his eyes seeming ready to burst out of his small head was further magnified by his spectacles.

"Hullo, Spivs," Scrubb said dismally.

"I saw a bird…you won't believe this, but I'm dead sure it's an Alpine Swift," Spivvins never noticed if people were dismal or not. He was never dismal and that was enough for him.

"What?"

"They aren't supposed to migrate this far north," Spivvins continued, not hearing him. "But I'm dead sure it's an Alpine Swift."

"It must be a Common Swift."

"This one has a white breast; Common Swifts are grey. It's built its nest in the eves of the Gym; come see it." Spivvins started off with the deliberate certainty that Scrubb was following.

Scrubb trailed along behind, his hands deep in his pockets. His sole consolation was being able to write to his cousins…the ones he'd gone Adventuring with during the summer hols. Lucy could always be counted on to write back and sometimes even Edmund broke his silence and sent him a note. His last one had been encouraging and depressing all at the same time:

"Don't expect them to see you've changed overnight. I know when you've Changed you want to share it with people; most specifically, you want an Audience. However, you're not Being Different to impress or gratify Them, or Yourself…even if nobody ever Notices that you've Changed, it will still have been well worth doing."

Lucy could be counted on being uplifting and he read her letter a bit later:

"It's going to be awfully different now, Eustace, and I'm afraid you're going to be lonely…but you won't be nearly as lonely as you were when you were like Them. Remember all our friends in the Other Place, Caspian, Reepicheep, Drinian and the rest; they knew your worth and you knew theirs. Those are the opinions that matter."

"There it is," Spivvins was pointing at the eves of the Gym where a lump of dried grass seemed to be stuck to a shadow on the wall. "That's the nest. I wonder why they are here? It fearfully late in the year to be building nests. I expect it's because of the war. Bombs were going off and tanks rumbling through and the bird said to his wife, 'We ought to fly away to England. I hear it's green and tranquil there.' And she said, 'what a long flight it will be, going all that way, with no friends to keep us and only strangers when we arrive.' And he replied, 'it will be worth it in the end, my dear.' I suspect that's exactly what happened."

"If they had any brains, they wouldn't have chosen the Moor…they would have settled somewhere with trees."

"I hear the Coast is all barbed wire, land mines and 'off limit' signs," Spivvin's said with a rare spark of practicality. "I expect they passed it by for here."

Spivvins turned to goggle earnestly at Scrubb and Scrubb stared back.

"Do you think birds can talk, Spivs?" Scrubb asked suddenly.

Spivvins blushed hotly, "They talk more sense than most people do, I think. They're rather wonderful, really."

Scrubb agreed and hoped for Spivvin's sake that they really were Alpine Swifts and that they really had decided to leave war-torn Europe and come all the way to England because it was a green and pleasant land.

It was because of the War that Scrubb had changed. If it hadn't been for rationing, Lucy and Edmund would never have come to stay over the holidays while their parents went to America; rations for one person didn't go very far, but something could be done if rations were combined. It was because of some sort of cutting-edge medical break-through that Doctor Pevensie had gone Stateside and of course Mrs Pevensie went, and Susan, to keep them organized. Peter was in the RAF and the only place left for Lucy and Edmund to come to was the Scrubb's pile, to live with their awful Uncle Harold and horrible Aunt Alberta and of course their cousin, Eustace.

"It was tough luck," Edmund had said. "But it turned out all right, thank goodness."

"Scrubb? Can you keep a secret?"

Scrubb started, realizing that he had fallen into a reverie again. "Yes of course, old chap; what is it?"

"Come see."

Scrubb came. There was a damp sort of walkway behind the gym with shrubbery on one side and the brick wall of the gym on the other. They didn't like it because it was damp and dark and had spiders' webs. Consequently, everyone else used it as a sort of safe-haven from Them. Spivvens led the way some distance down it before pulling a large wicker hamper out from under the laurels.

"I say, what's that?" Scubb exclaimed with a feeling of premonition. Something was moving inside of it, something small, fluffy, with drop-ears and white toes and a nose that was wiggling frantically. It was a Rabbit.

"You know the man who owns the land adjoining the cricket field?" Spivvins asked, lifting the Rabbit out of the hamper. "He raises them for the war effort. He let me have this one because he says it's too small and old for really good eating."

"Great Scott!" Scrubb said with feeling.

"You won't tell?"

"Of course not. I'm not a perfect beast."

"I didn't think you were…you know…I might be mistaken…you see; I've forgotten what you were like before…but aren't you rather different? I don't remember you being around much last term and now, you know, old chap, you are really quite good at birds."

For Spivvins, that was high praise.

"Thanks awfully, old man," Scrubb found that there was a peculiarly sized lump in his throat. Spivvins never noticed anything that didn't have a spider at the center of it…but, Spivvins had noticed that he had changed. And Spivvins' opinion mattered. Perhaps there was hope after all.

"Look here," Scrubb pronounced, "It would be rather awful if They found it. How do you feed it?"

"Bits and bobs from the garden," Spivvins said uncomfortably. "I say, it's a small Rabbit, but it does eat an awful lot."

Like many schools around the country, the second cricket field had been plowed under to plant a Victory garden. Only Victory wasn't looked well upon by the Experiment House; everyone knew that the Head had written a letter to Hitler at the beginning of the war encouraging him to consider the lot of the Common Man. Nothing had come of it; Hitler had invaded Poland anyway, grinding the Common Man under his tank treads on the way. Winston Churchill, the present Prime Minister of England, seemed to be under the impression that the Common Man ought to take up arms and throw Hitler out, but the Head still maintained that a peaceful end could be negotiated. She had begun writing letters to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, urging him to negotiate between the two sides. That idea of hers had been brutally slaughtered when America entered the war.

By then, there were no countries left to write to. They were all involved somehow or other and the Head was forced to accept that they were going to slug it out. At the Experiment House, the word 'Victory', however, was verboten. Nobody was allowed to mention Winston Churchill, either. Not that anyone would; Adela Pennyfather's brother was a Conscientious Objector doing manual labor in Yorkshire. The very idea of Adela Pennyfather's glossy older brother doing manual labor was enough to brighten even Scrubb's most doleful days.

"Look here-" Scrubb began again, but was cut off short by the sound of footsteps on the gravel. He and Spivvins looked around like suspected burglars; Spivvins appeared to be holding the loot, Scrubb made a surprisingly good representation of a thug planning a get-away.

"We'll sell our lives dearly," Scrubb whispered half to himself, clenching his hands.

But it was only Jill Pole, all knees, elbows and short brown hair. She jumped when she saw them, mouth open. Scrubb recovered himself first. "Gosh, but you gave us a turn."

"What are you doing hiding in the shrubbery?" Pole asked accusingly. They had given her quite a scare and her voice was shrill. Her stubborn chin jutted a little further.

"Nothing to bother you, I should think," Scrubb said unkindly, then caught himself. In quite another voice, he added: "Sorry if we startled you."

"Is that a Rabbit?" Pole asked, forgetting all at once that she had been startled. "Where did it come from?"

Spivvins told the story once more, and before he finished, he found that Pole was holding the Rabbit. He shook his head; to him, girls were more mysterious than birds and much more unpredictable.

"We mustn't breathe a word of it to anyone," Scrubb said warningly. "If the Head found out, there would be a most frightful row…and I wouldn't really like to know what They would do if They discovered it. You will keep it a secret?"

"Teach your grandmother," Pole replied stiffly. She wanted to crush Scrubb in one word, but couldn't think of one. "See that you don't let it slip to Carter, yourself."

"Well I like that! What absolute rot!" Scrubb cried. "Do I look like I'm about to rush off and gas to Carter?"

Pole stamped her foot, "You needn't make such an appalling fuss about it, at any rate!"

"Look here," Spivvins said quickly, taking back the Rabbit. "Look here, let's not all row. The Swifts are nesting just around the corner and we mustn't disturb them…and I think…I really do think they're Alpine Swifts."

To Be Continued...

PS: I was going to 'put off' posting this until 'later', and then I thought, "why? why put it off until later? What good will that do?"

Unfortunately, 'later' has become a hallmark of my life. Many of you who have been following Rose and me since 2011 will know that I was once a girl who wrote exuberantly about skiing and horseback riding. Since then, you've might know that I've developed an undiagnosed and insidiously progressive neuromuscular disorder which makes it difficult for me to perform day-to-day activities such as walking, swallowing, and speaking clearly. On good days most people can't tell there's anything wrong with me...on bad days, I'm stuck in bed, almost unable to move. Fear? been there. Pain and suffering? done that. Despair and loneliness? experienced that, too. Books like C. S. Lewis' 'The Problem of Pain' and Corrie Ten Boom's 'The Hiding Place' mean more to me than ever before.

Rose, meanwhile, suffers with extreme and unremitting migraine headaches while still trying to get a PhD in a alien city (that sounds so dramatic!). Her advisor moved, which meant she had to move, too, as well as adding a couple years onto her schooling because of the change of college. When she's done, she's going to have a degree from each level of college learning. Maybe I can borrow one?

I hope everybody hasn't forgotten who 'Rose and Psyche' are. :) We rather hope that you remember (with fondness) some of our previous attempts to amuse you, like 'What Fools These Mortals Be' and 'The Fish With the Golden Scales'. This story is also light-hearted, but I hope it is meaningful as well.

I know many people have written about Spivvins...and some other people have written about The Rabbit, but I'm not sure if anyone has ever written about Spivvins and the Rabbit. If you have, well, hurrah for you! If you haven't, here it is! I was reading some of Wodehouse's school stories the year before last and this just sort of…hopped…into being.

All the best,

~Psyche (and Rose)

PS: Now let's see if I've forgotten how to post a story, which is more than likely...