Children's Short Story - Billy the Bright Blue Ball by Don Hale

 

(1) BILLY – the Bright Blue Ball - a children's story

The first in a series of fictional short stories by Don Hale.

BILLY woke with a start to the sound of a small boy tapping a coin on the shop window. As he slowly opened his heavy eyes, he could see someone staring back at him. It was unnerving. Billy was in the far corner of the window. 

He felt rather uncomfortable and was perched on a soft pack of coloured plasticine, which was at precisely the same height as the boy’s eyes. Each day at exactly 4pm, this very same boy passed by the window with his mother on his home from school.

It was an old-fashioned toy and gift shop in a small village on the Lleyn Peninsula. The window was a magnet for children of all ages. It seemed like an Aladdin’s cave packed full of goodies. It had everything from a wooden yo-yo, to a spinning top, an impressive Knight’s Castle, string puppets, metallic cranes, cloth dolls and a large electric train set.

The train could be started by pressing a small red button on the outside of the shop, and just under the window. It was every schoolboy’s dream. The set consisted of a red locomotive and three metal carriages. It ran on a Hornby double-track complete with miniature station, tunnel, goods yard and a brief replica of the Cricieth area.

To this little boy, it seemed quite incredible that one small push would send the train racing around the track for several minutes. It would also set in motion a bright light in the signal box, lift a few signals, a level crossing and despatch two miniature cars.

When pressed it culminated in the atmospheric sounds of a real railway, and that button not only lit up the model – but also illuminated many half-frozen faces from the watching contingent.

Billy must have nodded off for a moment. It was the middle of winter and bitterly cold outside. He noticed that everyone was well-wrapped against the chill, and the window soon became half-misted due to the heat in the shop. As the train made a final lap of the track, Billy watched as the boy’s nose pressed against the glass and steamed it even further.

Billy was drifting back to sleep again when he suddenly heard a loud shout: “Stand easy, that man. Wait for the order.” It came from a tall Sergeant Major, resplendent in his brightly coloured red tunic and bright silver buttons that neatly covered his thin wooden frame.

The soldier however, was not shouting at Billy, nor at the watching boy, but at a drummer, who made a rather premature sound. Another dozen or so tin soldiers immediately stood to attention behind him in a long straight line; whilst some other bandsmen held their breath in anticipation of a similar rebuke.

The Sergeant Major lifted his arm stiffly and the band began to play. Two other soldiers clashed their symbols, whilst another played a clarinet, and a fourth man banged his big base drum.

As the sound increased, they all began to move slowly but in harmony, trying to keep pace with the beat of a tape from a military march. A squeaky monkey on the top shelf clapped his hands in glee and tried to join in with the hullabaloo - much to the disapproval of the grumpy conductor. 

When the train finally ground to a halt, Billy’s side was transformed into a magical display of pure fantasy. The boy’s eyes however, remained fixated upon Billy. Dylan Jones, the shop owner, had deliberately programmed his displays to come alive at regular intervals from about 3.30pm onwards, to attract the attention of children, parents and other passers-by.

Christmas 1959 was fast approaching, and each, and every toy was constantly jostling for prime position. New additions included a light brown leather football with bright yellow laces, a silver spinning top and several new dolls. Billy glared at the Sergeant Major, and the monkey reacted to all his shouting by pushing a dead spider onto him from a great height.

Billy remained happy though. He hoped this small boy would buy him. Billy was a bright blue and very bouncy ball. He was slightly larger than a tennis ball, yet much smaller than a football. And each day, when the boy visited his window with his mother, he strained to listen to what he was saying. 

He noticed that on several occasions after watching the train race around the track, the boy’s mother had to harshly pull him away from the glass. “Mum, why can’t I buy that ball?” he had heard the lad ask.

“At two shillings and sixpence, it’s just too dear. You’ll have to save up all your pocket money to buy it,” she replied sternly, before adding: “Anyway, you don’t know what Father Christmas will bring, do you?”

The boy generally gave a long look back as he was dragged along the street by one arm. Billy noted that many of his toy colleagues kept being taken off the shelf, or removed from the window. He wasn’t quire sure what was happening but often saw them being carefully wrapped in colourful, glittery paper for some people called ‘customers.’

“When will it be my turn?” he muttered to himself.

“Your turn?” remarked the Sergeant Major, in a booming voice. “You’re in for a long wait. And you’re far too dear, that’s why my lad! They’ll want something more substantial for that sort of money - rather like me in fact!” he boasted, quickly tweaking his impressive handlebar-type moustache.

“But I’m only a shilling, and I’m still here too,” interrupted a small green tennis ball, in a rather shrill voice.

Billy smiled and responded: “But you are very small, that’s why you are so cheap. And I can bounce much higher than you. Higher than this window in fact, and over that little boy’s head.”

“No, no. Surely the boy would prefer a nice shiny football with new laces,” added the new addition to the top shelf.

All the toys began mumbling and grumbling and making comparisons of stature and price. The conversations ended abruptly as Mr Jones suddenly slid open the wooden panel to the front of the counter, and everyone held their breath as he stretched his arm inside to reach for a toy.

Through the gap, the toys could just see a rather stern-faced woman in a dark coat waiting patiently for her purchase. “Hope it’s not me,” said an anonymous voice. “Me too,” added another.

Mr Jones grabbed at a skipping rope and quickly tried to slide the panel back along its runners. All the remaining toys sighed with relief. Before he could close it completely however, the panel shuddered then jammed; and as much as he pushed and shoved, it wouldn’t move any further.

He left it and continued serving the customer, intending to return to it later. The disturbance though shook all the items, especially on the top shelf. Several began vibrating uncontrollably. Billy too struggled to stay on his cushion, then suddenly lost his grip and fell.

He tumbled down to the tin soldiers, and rapidly spun past the railway platform and dropped down towards the counter and the stone floor. “Hey, stop pushing,” shouted the new football rather indignantly, as Billy unintentionally nudged him.

“Stand still that man,” urged the Sergeant Major, who was also trying to keep his balance, waving an arm at his men. The shock prematurely started the band into motion but all seemed slightly haphazard.

Billy was in a real daze. “Help! Help me, I’m falling,” he shouted.

There was nothing anyone could do to help. And by now, Mr Jones was at the far end of the shop serving someone else. Billy bounced uncontrollably across the cold hard floor, and then just as another customer entered the shop, he was sucked out of the door by the strong draught, and began to roll helplessly towards the busy main road.

As he rolled over and over and over, he could see all the other toys watching him in horror. He became very frightened and wondered if he would ever return to the warmth and safety of the shop window. It was starting to rain and he soon felt the chill. He tired quickly and was very wet.

He finally settled within a small indentation next to a bright lamp standard and still within a few inches of the road. He saw several enormous buses and lorries hurtle past and tried hard to hold tight each time.

It was about an hour later before he realised that the shop was now in darkness and he heard the door slam shut. It was Mr Jones heading home. There was hardly any traffic or people about now, and some swirling dust blew into his eyes. He felt very alone.

He rolled backwards and into the next doorway and began shaking with the chill and fear of the unknown. 

Suddenly, a dog came out of nowhere. It lunged at Billy and gripped him tightly in its foreboding jaws. He could feel its sharp teeth digging in. He felt that with any more pressure he would burst. Billy stared up at its nose and could hear it panting heavily as it ran off down the street. It was a scruffy black and white mongrel. He became dizzy and shaken as the dog picked up speed. The dog began to breath even more heavily and started drooling, but Billy still couldn’t move. 

At the car park, he had a stroke of luck. A large tabby cat scampered out from under a parked truck. It saw the dog and panicked, throwing out its back as it hissed angrily to protect itself. To the dog, this represented an obvious challenge. He dropped Billy and charged towards the cat.

Billy was still dazed but knew he must escape. It was now or never. Slowly and carefully, he rolled backwards and gradually wedged himself against a metal post in the shadows. It was very dark, and in the half-light, he could see the dog returning and started sniffing about for the ball.

Billy must have rolled about 50-yards away. He hoped it was far enough. He could hear another cat meowing and screeching somewhere in the distance. The dog stopped and turned its head towards the sounds. He soon lost interest in looking for the ball and continued his rounds. Billy was crying. He felt tired, stiff and rather sore.

As morning finally came, Billy was startled by the sound of a car approaching and heard it drive past him and park to his rear. As the driver climbed out, Billy was surprised to see that it was the shop owner, Dylan Jones. He looked towards him and tried to make a sound but he couldn’t.

Instinctively, he gathered all his strength and hastily rolled out in front of him. “Well, bless my soul,” exclaimed Mr Jones. “My bright blue ball. How on earth did you come to be here?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question.

Billy felt more tears in his eyes. He wanted to explain but couldn’t. He heard Mr Jones mutter something about ‘perishing kids,’ then put the ball in his pocket and marched off towards the shop. He took Billy straight inside and into the kitchen.

Mr Jones washed the ball gently under a warm tap and carefully scrubbed away some of the dirt from his night out. Billy enjoyed the attention. He soon felt clean and refreshed. Within a few minutes, he was back on display in the shop window. This time however, he was put in the prime spot – right next to the electric train set.

Mr Jones placed a gold star next to him. He felt pleased, proud and relieved to be back. All the toys celebrated. And even the monkey clapped his hands again in glee. They each fired a barrage of questions at Billy. They had all been concerned but were now desperate to hear about his adventure. Billy gave them a brief explanation but needed more time to settle. He was still cold and the warm air inside the shop made him feel sleepy. “Later please, I’ll tell you later,” he replied, before dozing off. 

It was 4pm before he awoke, to the sound of that same small boy tapping on the glass. All the toys jumped to attention. “Stand up men. Get ready for action,” demanded the Sergeant Major. “And good to have you back Billy Ball. Very smart on parade,” he added. Billy felt very proud but still wondered what the notice next to him said. 

“Look mummy, my ball is on SPECIAL offer,” the boy remarked, looking upwards toward his mother.

“Special,” murmured Billy. “So that’s what it says? Mr Jones thinks I’m SPECIAL.”

The boy continued tapping and pushed the button to start the train. “Please can I buy that ball mummy? Please?”

Neither Billy, nor any of the other toys could read or write. No one had mentioned what the sign had said before. He was still grinning when he heard the distinctive ding as the shop door opened, and a woman entered with the small boy.

As the panel opened, the toys shook again. There was silence in the ranks. Billy could now see the boy’s face. “That’s the one,” he said excitedly pointing towards him. There was a slight grumble from some of the other toys as Mr Jones stretched his hand inside the panel again.

“Good luck,” shouted the monkey.

“Here, here,” added many others.

“Well done son, go proudly into battle,” added the Sergeant Major, as he struck up the band in his honour.

The shopkeeper ignored the hullabaloo and said: “Just two shillings please, Mrs Roberts. It’s a real bargain. And it’s on SPECIAL offer. And I am sure you’ll have lots of fun Tom,” he said, patting the boy on the head, and handing over Billy, neatly wrapped in a small brown paper bag.

Billy smiled as he was carried away. I don’t think he ever realised his value had dipped, due to his dangerous exploits - but he didn’t care. He felt wanted at last, and by someone who seemed to care. He pledged to bounce as high as he could for his new master.

On the short walk home, he kept replaying that SPECIAL tag mentioned by Mr Jones, and listened to Tom, singing his praises, and telling of what he planned to do with Billy the following weekend. Tom placed the bag on the kitchen table and carefully removed the ball. 

As he turned, Billy quickly gazed out onto a large floodlit garden. His mind was already racing ahead and planning a host of further adventures. For the first time in ages, he felt happy and relaxed.

Thankfully for Billy, he had failed to see something brush swiftly past the rockery; and as the door finally closed, he also failed to hear a rather deep, determined and slightly worrying growl coming from some black and white coloured shape, now tied to its old kennel. Sweet dreams.