‘You would have to live with dragons for the rest of your life.’

‘I wouldn’t mind. Just so long as I can be with you.’

‘Are you really certain?’

Jimmy nodded. ‘But how will we get there?’

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘You mean fly, with me on your back?’

‘I don’t know for certain, but we can try, can’t we?’

And so, when they had finished all of the cake, he climbed onto her back and clung tightly to one of the large scaly lumps at the back of her head. She unfurled her wings and began to flap them, slowly at first and then faster and faster and faster, till they seemed to be leaving the ground. As they lifted upwards, she gave another huge roar, sending a brilliant burst of flame spurting from her mouth.

The lake was now far below them, and Jimmy could see the big Hall, and Eli’s hut in the woods, and then the street and the houses and the church tower, growing smaller and smaller until, finally, they disappeared into the distance and all he could hear was the whoosh of air as the dragon’s wings carried them higher and higher into the sky.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Although this novel is in no respect autobiographical, its setting is very personal to me.

I was fortunate enough to spend my childhood years living in a house beside a flooded quarry that had become a small lake, with islands and inlets and huge willow trees, just like my fictitious Wormley Mere. It was my playground, my swimming pool, my boating pond, the home for my pet ducks and the rabbits that lived on the islands. It taught me to be curious about flora and fauna, and gave me a love of all living things. It was obvious that one day I would feel compelled to write about it.

Just a few miles away from there is a village with its own lake where, it was said, a fearsome dragon lived. Even the name of the village, Wormingford, suggests the connection with a dragon, which was often referred to, in early English, as a ‘worme’. In the church there is a wonderful stained-glass window showing a ‘dragon’ – which is obviously a crocodile really – with a pair of white legs waving from its mouth, being threatened by a knight on a white charger.

The creature was said to have escaped from the menagerie of an early king and found its way to the River Stour, stealing sheep and eventually demanding to be fed virgins until the supply began to run out. Desperate, the villagers turned to a local knight, Sir George of Layer de la Haye, who efficiently despatched the beast, as though his mother had named him for the task. Neighbouring villages, including Bures, also lay claim to the dragon myth.