Hellooo Everyoneee!! i am realyy sorry for making it this late. U see, i was just busy with school. I made this part a bit longer .Soo.. i really hope u enjoy it....💚💚 LETS START.
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Here I am at the age of nine. This picture was made just before all theexcitement started and I didn't have a worry in the world.
You will learn as you get older, just as I learned that autumn, that no fatheris perfect. Grown-ups are complicated creatures, full of quirks and secrets. Somehave quirkier quirks and deeper secrets than others, but all of them, includingone's own parents, have two or three private habits hidden up their sleeves thatwould probably make you gasp if you knew about them.
The rest of this book is about a most private and secret habit my father had,and about the strange adventures it led us both into.
It all started on a Saturday evening. It was the first Saturday of September.Around six o'clock my father and I had supper together in the caravan as usual.Then I went to bed. My father told me a fine story and kissed me good-night. Ifell asleep.
For some reason I woke up again during the night. I lay still, listening forthe sound of my father's breathing in the bunk above mine. I could hear nothing.He wasn't there, I was certain of that. This meant that he had gone back to theworkshop to finish a job. He often did that after he had tucked me in.
I listened for the usual workshop sounds, the little clinking noises of metalagainst metal or the tap of a hammer. They always comforted me tremendously,those noises in the night, because they told me my father was close at hand.
But on this night, no sound came from the workshop. The filling-stationwas silent.
I got out of my bunk and found a box of matches by the sink. I struck oneand held it up to the funny old clock that hung on the wall above the kettle. Itsaid ten past eleven.
I went to the door of the caravan. 'Dad,' I said softly. 'Dad, are you there?'
No answer.
There was a small wooden platform outside the caravan door, about fourfeet above the ground. I stood on the platform and gazed around me. 'Dad!' Icalled out. 'Where are you?'
Still no answer.
In pyjamas and bare feet, I went down the caravan steps and crossed over tothe workshop. I switched on the light. The old car we had been working onthrough the day was still there, but not my father.
I have already told you he did not have a car of his own, so there was noquestion of his having gone for a drive. He wouldn't have done that anyway. I was sure he would never willingly have left me alone in the filling-station atnight.
In which case, I thought, he must have fainted suddenly from some awfulillness or fallen down and banged his head.
I would need a light if I was going to find him. I took the torch from thebench in the workshop.
