Here’s the set-up:
Ed Frost is testing his brand new telescope on the nearby hills when he spots a shadowy figure. Unusually, the stranger stops walking, leaves something behind and returns the way he came. Ed and his best friend Bertie investigate. They struggle but finally find an old sack. Inside are two terrified Welsh terrier pups, left for dead. Ed names one Moondust and the other Meteor. Moondust soon becomes a much loved member of the family, while Meteor’s life hangs in the balance.
By chance, Ed spots an advert for puppies in the local newspaper. He phones the number on the advert, pretending to be interested in buying a pup. The pups are being sold at a local farm. Ed and Bertie go to the farm on a spying mission. On the way they meet an old foe. He has been upset by his older brother who is renting the farm and selling the puppies in a heartless money-making business. The boys make an unexpected friendship and when they arrive to spy at the farm they are disgusted by what they see – bedraggled underfed pups, kept in dirty and cramped conditions – a cruel death camp for dogs.A courageous and daring race for life begins. Can they rescue the pups and bring the sinister operator to justice?
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And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
The empty clang of the old grandfather clock in the hall at Fern Cottage pierced the lingering silence. It chimed eight times. I yawned, dangled my legs over the edge of the bed and gazed out of the window to admire the final crimson glow of the setting sun. Like a stalking cat, darkness had crept over the horizon. I lifted my legs back on to the bed, curled up and closed my eyes. Slowly, I drifted into a daydream and lost myself in my imagination. Without warning, the fierce roar of a mighty metallic beast burst through my half opened window. I sprang up as it cut through the comfort of my thoughts. The noise lasted for an ear splitting moment before drifting back out of the room. The beast grunted past and rumbled further into the night. Wandering tractors sometimes brought a glimmer of excitement to this sleepy part of the world. I scrambled off my bed, flung the door open and called downstairs.
“Dad, can I stargaze tonight?”
“Have you finished your homework?”
“You need to finish it before you can go out.”
“Why can’t I do it later?”
“You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah, your rules,” I muttered quietly.
“I’m nearly finished,” I shouted, and pulled my school books out of my old brown leather satchel.
Dad’s voice thundered up the stairs again. “Hurry up or you won’t have time. And stop daydreaming. When you’re done you can have half an hour.”
He knew me too well. I was always daydreaming. I could have finished my homework ages before.
I copied the spellings I needed to learn and tested myself. I sniffed, rubbed my nose and lay back down on my bed.
Every boy has a crazy dream. Mine was to be the daredevil captain of an indestructible spaceship on a mission to discover planets not yet named. I wanted to fly faster than a shooting star, steer towards Saturn and smash through her frozen ice rings like a mighty missile. Desperate for adventure, I dreamed of zooming out of our solar system to explore the deep silent space beyond.
I fed my crazy dream gazing at the stars. Whenever the skies were still and clear, I would lie under the majesty of the night sky, a darkness shimmering with light from every corner of the universe. I loved to let my imagination run wild. Although the stars were distant beyond measure, I felt part of them. To me, the stars were more than giant fiery masses of burning gas. It was like I knew them and they knew me. The stars were my friends.
I shoved my books back into my satchel and ran downstairs. Dressed in thick blue jeans, a warm sweater and pale brown duffle coat, I flicked the switch for the kitchen light and rubbing my hands together I headed towards my favourite spot in the garden with Dad’s old grey blanket and my goose down pillow tucked under my arm. The spring air was still and a few small, wispy clouds drifted overhead. The scent of freshly cut grass tickled my nostrils. My nose itched like mad and before I could scratch it, a gigantic sneeze exploded out of my mouth.
I knelt down and rolled out the blanket. Placing the pillow, I stretched out and wriggled to get comfortable.
Fern cottage was about a mile west of the small Shropshire town of Church Stretton and in a perfect place for studying the night sky. We had a clear view in three directions.
I squinted several times. Slowly my eyes became more accustomed to the darkness and the night sky unfolded. I studied the heavens with the watchfulness of a starving eagle hovering over its prey. With only the bleating of distant sheep for company I gazed in wonder. Blue Giant, Red Dwarf and Super Nova stars flickered into view. The more I studied the more I saw. I picked out The Plough and The Little Bear star formations.
My favourite formation was Orion the hunter. As I found it, my thoughts wandered as I imagined Orion the hunter as some kind of galactic superhero. I pictured a mighty space warrior wielding his dazzling sword – a slicing, cutting silver blade of death. It flashed like demented fork lightning back and forth across the galaxy. He smashed it into a distant sun, piercing it through to its fiery heart. Like a cosmic firework show, the star exploded into billions of pieces, sending tiny balls of burning gas drifting further into deep space.
I sucked my breath in deeply several times filling my lungs and as I released it I watched it quickly melt into the night. In the stillness, my thoughts turned to fond memories of Hogan, our wonderful old Red Setter who had died two weeks after Christmas. I thought about him often. He had been in the family forever and the cottage was empty without him. Now I carried a tiny rust coloured shooting star in my pocket to remember him. Dad found it while walking on the moor back in February. As I rolled it in my hands, the spiky edges pressed in and made my skin tingle. It was heavier than a large marble and shimmered with the rugged beauty of something that had burned and hurtled through space for millions of miles.
As I continued to gaze into the night it was like someone was turning all the lights on. More stars appeared as my eyes continued to adjust. I gripped my blanket and wrapped it around me as I felt the chill. My thoughts wandered again. What an amazing year 1969 had been so far in ‘The Space Race.’ The two world ‘superpower’ countries, the USA and the USSR, were like two giant heavyweight boxers, pouring sweat and landing power packed punches on each other. Standing toe to toe, they slugged out space achievements for all they were worth…
THUD! January 16th Soyuz Four and Five of the USSR were the first two manned spacecraft to dock in space.
BAMM! Later in March, Apollo Nine of the USA performed the first manned flight of a lunar module.
SLAM! My thoughts were interrupted as the kitchen door thudded to a close. Mum approached. Her familiar footsteps crunched through the grass, spraying small drops of evening dew in every direction. The crisp air had already grabbed my feet and wrapped them in its icy grip. My half hour had flown and it was time for bed.
“Eddiebies!” she called, in a high pitched voice.
Why didn’t she say ‘time for bed’ like most mums do? I didn’t move. Ignoring her had worked before.
Her voice softened.
“Come on Edward Frost, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
It was one more sleep ‘til my birthday but I wasn’t ready for bed.
“Five more minutes … please.”
“No, you’ve had enough.”
“That’s what you think,” I grumbled.
Her footsteps softly crunched the ground behind me and she waited as I lay there determined to squeeze in the last possible drop of time. Then she stepped forward, stood as still as a post box and leaned over me. Her arms were folded and her eyes were narrowed.
“There’s a big fat spider on your pillow!” she whispered.
That was the moment I panicked and like a deranged grasshopper I sprang into action, shaking my head, my shoulders and my arms.
“Ha-ha! Gotcha!” she chuckled. I can’t believe I fell for that one again. Tricked out of an extra few minutes I trudged back to the house.
“Go sort yourself out for bed and I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in.”
It didn’t take me long to get ready. Mum and Dad came into my room together to say goodnight. After lights out I lay awake dreaming about the day ahead … presents, gooey chocolate birthday cake and playing my favourite game in the garden… crab football! But from out of nowhere my peaceful bliss was broken. Two short heart-stopping words had popped into my head … RAT FACE. Thinking about him was like stumbling across an unexploded bomb. His real name was John Anderson and he was the last of the dreaded Anderson brothers to go through my school. Pure and simple, he was a bully. He took after his older brothers and made everyone’s life at school a misery and he was in my class. Even on normal days he would steal and hide your pencils and marbles, scribble on your exercise books and call you all the names you hated. Another of his ‘jokes’ was tying your laces together and sticking chewing gum to your hair. Outside he would sneak up from behind, trip you over and stand over you laughing. He had regular trips to see old Mr Crenshaw, the head teacher at our school. But none of these visits ever seemed to put him off. He was relentless. However, it was on your birthday that he would give you special attention – ‘Johnny’s b-b-birthday surprise’ he called it, always with his slightly embarrassing stutter. If he knew it was your birthday he would make your day a miserable one. He was the birthday spoiler. Tomorrow would probably be my turn.
I took ages to get to sleep. I twisted and squirmed around in bed like a maggot in a fisherman’s bait box, my throat became dry and I reached for the comfort of my shooting star. This time it didn’t help. Worries grew into murky menacing monsters. Every sound was magnified and every thought sent me spinning deeper into the dungeon of dreadful dreams.
The air in my bedroom was thick with the salty whiff of fried bacon. Drifting up from the kitchen it had tickled my nostrils and woken the taste making factory in my mouth.
Mum’s voice was comforting after my late night scary thoughts. I threw back the blanket, jumped out of bed and hurtled down the stairs. I somehow avoided falling head first, legged it down the hallway and flung the kitchen door wide open.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” exclaimed Mum and Dad together. Great big smiles stretched across their excited faces.
I froze in the doorway, hands on hips. In front of me was a birthday present I had not dared to dream of. Mounted on an oak tripod and glinting proudly in the morning sun was a Jason Empire telescope!
Dad spoke first.
“Now you can dream to your heart’s content.”
Why did he always have to poke fun at my daydreaming?
I scratched my head and muttered a very happy ‘thank you’. I ran my fingers over the cold metal of the long tube before pressing my right eye to the lens of the telescope. This was going to be incredible. Now I could really star gaze.
The next half hour was a bit of a blur. After devouring Mum’s delicious fried breakfast the only thing I remember is opening some of my birthday cards. There was one from Grandma and Grandpa Frost all the way from Seattle, USA. By ‘coincidence’ it had a telescope on the front. I stuffed the card into my school bag eager to show off to my friends.
I washed, dressed and finally set off for school. Mum gave me the usual embarrassing kiss on the cheek. Dad put his hand on my shoulder and we exchanged big smiles. I jogged the half mile down Burmill Lane in no time, desperate to tell my mate Bertie all about the Jason Empire.
Bertie Jones was my best friend. We all called him ‘rubber chops’. Once, I saw him at the back of a morning assembly squeeze a whole tennis ball in his mouth. Bertie was also clever, sharp like a new razorblade. He had an answer for everything, which sometimes got him in trouble. Bertie was in the year above me at school. He was brilliant at sport and even more brilliant at pulling freaky faces. He had a mop of brown curly hair, a few freckles and a cheeky face to go with it. He was waiting at the end of the lane, leaning up against a gatepost.
I checked my watch as I continued to walk towards him. He was right but only by a few minutes. Today I had a good excuse anyway.
“What’s that face all about?” he asked. “You’ve got a smile like a sliced watermelon.” He stretched his mouth into a massively exaggerated grin.
As we headed for school in the bright morning sunshine I told him all about my brilliant birthday surprise. We arrived in no time.
“Nice one Ed,” said Bertie on the way to our class lines. “Maybe we can spot the Martians invading.”
Our school, Edgerton Junior, was a busy little school. The teachers were caring and thoughtful enough except for Mr Smedley who always seemed so serious. ‘Smiler’ we called him. You could hear his ranting and raving from one end of school to the other. Old Mr Crenshaw the Headmaster was a bit different too. He was a tall, mysterious figure who seldom came out of his office.
‘CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!’ the tinny old school bell brought everyone scurrying to their class lines. Bossy prefects with their little red badges took turns to ring it each morning. The teachers appeared, tea mugs in hand and marched us off to our classes.
Miss Taylor was my teacher. She was tall, wore round-rimmed glasses and had jet black curly hair with a streak of red. Her clothes were always colourful. She lit up our dull classroom with her long flowery pink, yellow and purple skirts. Heavy-scented lemon perfume wafted in the air around her. Bertie called her hippy Taylor. He said that if she became fat he would call her Hippytaylormus. I liked her. She never raised her voice and last Christmas she bought everyone in the class an Aztec chocolate bar*.
The first lesson was Maths and I completed less than half a page of fractions. I kept looking over to where Rat Face was slouched in his chair.
He was across the room pulling foul faces. They were all aimed at me. He stared straight at me and mouthed the words ‘You’re in for it.’ My brain got into a spin. Once Rat Face started to pick on you he was like a crocodile with a fresh meal in its jaws. Miss Taylor gave me one of her teacher stares. Realising I had started to sniff, I pinched my nose desperate to act as normally as I could.
As my thoughts wandered to what might happen at break time my fears got worse. Rat Face would seek you out like some guided nuclear missile. He was good at sneaking under the teacher’s radar too and nobody grassed him up, ever. Nobody ever dared. My stomach churned like a cement mixer spinning out of control. A pencil flying from John’s direction whizzed past my ear, almost jabbing Miss Taylor’s foot. Amazingly, she was so busy talking she didn’t notice. Rat Face kept staring at me. The skilful hunter was stalking its terrified prey and today it was me.
With his black spiky hair and toothy grin, John Anderson looked remarkably like ‘Deathshead’ Danny Morgan from Beano’s Bash Street Kids. Some kids called him Danny to try and get his respect but he didn’t much care. Most kids stuck to calling him Rat Face behind his back and from a very safe distance. His parents, Alfie and Marge, ran a scrap metal dealer place. According to our local newspaper the Shropshire Star, they had been fined several times for receiving stolen goods. All the local Bobbies knew the Andersons.
Nobody at school liked Rat Face. He had no real friends and liked his own company. Everyone avoided him. No one wanted trouble. My stomach continued to churn. The joy of my brilliant birthday surprise had faded and as morning break approached and with every fiendish face he pulled, I dreaded what Rat Face might get up to.
Break soon arrived and as I put my books in my desk I could see bully boy smirking and glaring at me from across the class before disappearing down the corridor. I lingered near Miss Taylor’s desk, pretending I needed to talk about maths but she grabbed some workbooks without noticing me and scurried off. I made my way out of the classroom and slipped my duffle coat on, taking as much time as I could. As I ambled along the corridor towards the playground, stopping to untie and tie my laces, I felt so alone. I hoped Bertie would be outside but I remembered that his class had gone up the hill to do some sketching. I stepped out onto the playground and could see all my friends in the distance, playing across the other side of the field. Duty teachers were nowhere to be seen and the early morning sunlight was lost behind the gathering clouds. I stood on my own and trembled as I realised my moment had come.
“Hey b-birthday boy, I wonder what’s in here then?”
I glanced across the playground. Rat Face had snatched my school bag off my peg and was rummaging through the contents. That sly grin seemed forever stuck to his annoying face.
I was now becoming Rat Face’s latest victim. Forced into playing his miserable little bully game I reached into my pocket and gripped my lucky space rock hoping for even a grain of courage. I felt helpless, locked into something I wanted no part of. I sniffed loudly, bit my lip and hoped that someone would notice my emergency. No one did. But then something snapped in my head and I was filled with a foolish kind of bravery. I took one small step towards him and looked straight into his eyes. I was going to at least try to get my bag back.
“Leave it bully boy!” I shouted. Too late, he had pulled out the birthday card from grandma and grandpa. He dropped the bag and sprinted off, waving the card in the air and celebrating like he’d scored the winning goal in the cup final.
“Come and get it, J-J-Jack,” he taunted. I hated being called Jack Frost and he knew it.
Furious and foolishly unafraid I raced towards him. Now I wanted to play. Now I’d let him have his little game. If he wanted to play then so did I. Deliberately, Rat Face stopped and held the card above my head, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach it. I stretched up and felt like a right idiot waving my arm around in thin air. But the foolish bravery was still with me. I continued to hold my shooting star.
“What a stupid c-c-card! A stupid card for a stupid boy! Ooooh and it’s from Grandma and Grandpa Frost. Where do they live, the North P-Pole?”
My craziness turned into a fuming flurry. I became like a Grizzly Bear whose food had just been stolen. Out of nowhere came a crazy idea, really crazy, but I went for it all the same. I was ready to do something no one had ever dared to do to Rat Face before…operation tickle whizzed into action! ‘SHTUNNG!’ my arm sprung into action. ‘Flick, flap!’ I reached up under John’s freckled chin and … ‘jiggajiggajigga!’ I tickled him on his dirty little neck. I couldn’t believe it! He wriggled and squirmed like a piglet in the mud. He had no idea how to fight back. This was unbelievable … me, teasing Rat Face. The tickle attack was working. Now he was my prisoner in my little game. My fears had melted like ice under a giant’s sweaty armpit. Rat Face was helpless under a shower of tickles and beginning to taste some of his own medicine.
“Eeeek!” he squealed and started to giggle like a baby, dropping the card in a flash. Julie Pearson saw what happened. She sprinted over to join in the tickle attack and aimed a delighted finger at his ribs. ‘Kerjink!!’ He squirmed again, desperate to evade another tickling shot. Too late, Julie aimed a second powerful tickle poke under his arm. John Anderson’s power relied on scare tactics and now all that power was evaporating. This was momentous! Our tickle jabs rained in on him from all directions.
Next, little Basil Scott appeared and chipped in. He went for the side of the neck. Basil being brave … this was a first! His tickle hand swished through the air … ‘eeeeeooowwww prang!’ Jackpot! Rat Face was a blubbering mess.
“Eeeheeeheeeee! Oooohaha! Heeeheee! St-st-sto-o-o-p!” yelled Rat Face. He looked and sounded ridiculous. Doubled up and defenceless he was like a mental monkey as we continued to jab and prod him. There was no sympathy for the bully. A bit of a crowd gathered. They saw what was happening and stood round laughing and pointing. Bully boy was completely embarrassed and a defeated foe, beaten by tickles. What would his ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ think of him now? ‘Smiler’ approached without us noticing.
“Break it up right now!” he exploded. I jumped and froze as he grabbed me by the arm. Basil and Julie stepped away. Rat Face’s lower lip quivered and his eyes welled up. He lost control and burst into tears.
At that moment, the bell rang. ‘Smiler’ seemed in a bit of a hurry and after making Rat Face apologise for taking my card and bag, he sent us to our line. George ‘maggot’ Maggs was in front of me. He was the most annoying boy in the class, a tell tale and a show off. He turned around, pointed and sniggered.
“You’re for it ‘Jack Frost’,” he said.
Still fuming, I wanted to wipe that annoying smirk off his face.
As we made our way back to class, Smiler reappeared and pointed to Rat Face and me.
“You two, go to Mr Crenshaw’s office… now!”
Mr Crenshaw only ever appeared for assemblies, parents meetings and the occasional rugby sevens match. He wore a long black gown which swirled in time with his footsteps. His low, dreary voice was more frightening than Smiler’s and his cold blue eyes often drilled straight through you. I was terrified and although Rat Face had seen him many times before, he was now going to Crenshaw’s office in defeat.
I tapped on the door. There was a long pause.
“Come,” his deep voice filled me with terror. The sniffs came back.
I pushed down the old brass handle and the newly painted shiny black door slowly creaked open. We inched forward. The dimly lit room smelled of wood polish. With his piercing eyes Mr Crenshaw pinned us to the spot in front of his desk. He sat forward, arms folded. We bowed our heads like we were ready to pray.
“Bullying again were you Anderson?”
“Speak up boy, I can’t hear you. And take your hands out of your pockets.”
Rat Face cleared his throat and glanced up before bowing his head again.
“And you Frost, why are you here?”
Memories of the tickle attack were fresh and vivid. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say to old Mr Crenshaw but I could feel the giggles coming and nothing could stop them.
I was desperate not to laugh but completely lost it. For what seemed an age I giggled out of control. My head was down, my shoulders shook violently and my hands tried to cover my face. It just seemed funny, that’s all. Since when was tickling a crime? In the end I had the courage to look up and Crenshaw’s icy look brought me to my senses. Before bowing my head again I thought I saw a tiny smirk on Crenshaw’s face. I glimpsed over at ‘Rat Face.’ There were tears in his eyes again.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, looking up again for a moment.
“I should jolly well think so, Frost. Anderson, I hope you’ve learnt your lesson.”
The ‘hang dog’ look on his face said it all. His bully balloon had been well and truly popped.
“I’ll be phoning your Pa, Anderson.”
He hung his head even lower.
“Frost, I’ll be phoning your mother. Get out both of you.”
We trudged back to class without a word or a glance. I began to think that mum might cancel my birthday party. She would be so disappointed. What started as such an amazing day had turned into a disaster. Grasping my lucky space rock in my sweaty palm I wished that the day would get better. Instead, as I arrived back in class everyone stared, Miss Taylor ignored me and Maggot managed another annoying little smirk. I clung on to my little shooting star. Rat Face wiped the tears from his eyes.
I tried to turn my thoughts back to my wonderful telescope and capture the excitement I had felt earlier. Why should Rat Face spoil my day? But it was too late; I couldn’t stop thinking about the mess I was in.
To make things worse, before he shuffled into his seat, Rat Face sneered and whispered, “I’m going to tell my b-b-big brother Tony all about you.”
As my stomach tightened I swallowed hard and looked down at the tiled floor. For a brief moment I felt the dread of the previous night, before comforting myself with the thought of Rat Face blubbering out of control in Crenshaw’s office.
Worried about losing my party and still fuming about my unfair visit to old Mr Crenshaw’s office, I sneaked into the dimly lit kitchen. The windows at Fern Cottage were small and the rooms were poorly lit even on sunny days. Thin lines of sunlight creeping through the gaps in Mum’s new blinds were just enough to light my way. As I trudged towards the living room I could hear the dull tick of the large clock hanging on the wall. I threw my satchel on the kitchen table, hung up my duffle coat and went to find Mum. She was sat on the sofa calmly sipping a cup of tea. I took a quiet sniff and pressed myself up behind an armchair. Mum put down her cup, stared up at me and the battle of words began.
“Old Mr Crenshaw was so disappointed. ‘Let down’ were the exact words he used.”
So Crenshaw had kept his promise.
“But he didn’t even bother to find out what happened,” I grumbled.
“I feel let down too – and on your birthday.” Mum sank deeper into the sofa and took another sip of tea.
“Aren’t you going to bother to find out what happened, either?” I said.
All mum cared about was being ‘let down’.
I clenched my fist and thumped the back of the chair. It wasn’t my fault and mum was clueless about what really happened. She looked straight into my eyes and ignored my little outburst.
“I’m sure Mr Crenshaw knows more than you think. He’s a wily old fox.”
“So what did he say?” I said.
“You and some friends were picking on John Anderson.”
What? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Rat Face was the one picking on me. I was defending myself and trying to get my birthday card back.
“But that’s not all that happened. Before break …”
Mum interrupted me.
“… and you made John Anderson cry.”
“Mum, listen! Can I just…”
Before I could have my say she cut me short again. This was getting ridiculous.
“Mr Crenshaw also told me that John had been teasing you and had taken your birthday card. He told me you had used the latest tickle technology to fight back.”
So there was a tiny smirk on his face. Crenshaw was human after all.
As she got up to go to the kitchen, mum beamed a broad ‘knowing’ smile. She spoke as she ambled across the room.
“I’m disappointed you had to go to Mr Crenshaw’s office, but so proud that you stood up for yourself. That must have been a hard thing to do.”
I sighed, wishing I hadn’t interrupted her in the first place.
Mum opened the kitchen door wide and the sweet aroma of baked chocolate cake drifted towards me. It was like honey, vanilla and cocoa all mixed into one. I was going to get my birthday party after all.
Later that evening, Mum’s cake was a massive hit with all my friends. We devoured every crumb. Basil looked like he’d grown a moustache with blobs of chocolate icing stuck all around the top of his mouth. We played games in the garden and chatted about what happened with ‘Rat Face’. I was a bit embarrassed really, as it was something I did in the heat of the moment and it could have turned out a disaster.
Everyone left by eight thirty. Happy, tired and with my mind spinning with the events of the day, I was in bed by nine o’clock. Although I tried to wait patiently for Dad I must have drifted off to sleep. When he brought the radio up he had to dig me in the ribs to wake me. He had promised we could listen to a special programme. When I opened my eyes, however, the first thing I noticed was raised eyebrows and a hard stare.
“I bumped into Peter Maggs in the newsagents. Told me all about what happened with you and John Anderson at school. Said George saw it all.” Dad folded his arms.
That was a lie for a start – typical Maggot. George Maggs was always blabbering. Dad had heard only half the story.
Before Dad could lecture me any further I jumped in and explained the whole drama. He soon changed his mind.
“Well done son, I think the bully might have learnt his lesson.”
“I wish you’d talked to Mum first. She could have told you what happened.”
The special programme on the new Radio Four was all about the plans for the first ever moon landing coming up in July. It was mind boggling but I loved it. Maybe my dream was possible. Dad laughed. The name of one of the astronauts fascinated me too – Buzz Aldrin. ‘Excellent name,’ I thought, ‘sounds like a super hero!’ As Dad strolled out of the room my thoughts drifted once again and I set my heart on warm summer evenings under the stars with my new telescope, gazing into deep space, dreaming of adventures on those planets not yet named.
Continued…. Click on the title below to get the book and keep reading: