Homing (20 page)

All that brightness, all that joy—finished. He hadn’t had to go. He wasn’t with his own ship when the call came. He might have stood back. But not Michael. Not Mona. They had always gone to meet things.

The war was moving in.

“
We are told
,” said Mr. Churchill in the House on June fourth, “
t
hat Herr Hitler has a plan for invading the British Isles. This has often been thought of before
.”

There was laughter in the House, of course, for Winston was at his best that day. But buried in the majestic rumble of his trumpet call to arms was a phrase which few of his hearers failed to notice with a suspicion shared by those who read the speech next day. He said:

“I have myself full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.”

There was no emphasis on the word, but England’s ears went up. Alone. Winston had been in Paris again last Friday for a meeting of the Supreme War Council. People looked at each other.

And there was more.

“Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grasp of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag,”
the speech rolled on.
“We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing-grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle….”

All very true. Very well said. But what had Winston learned in Paris last Friday?

It was a thing which Bracken too wanted very much to know, as Hitler pressed home a new attack on the Somme where two British divisions remained in the line with the French, besides a considerable number of RAF squadrons. Hitler was now in a real hurry. The British Army at Dunkirk had got away from him, and might some day be in shape to return and fight again. But the French kept on falling back.

On June tenth Jeff returned to France with a Press unit, bound for the new British Headquarters at Le Mans. It was inconceivable that the French would not make a stand before Paris, as they had done in the other war. Backs to the wall again. And that would be a story.

At 6 pm the same day, about the time Jeff went ashore at Le Havre, Italy declared war and attacked on the Alpine Front.

France lasted about three weeks longer than Belgium. The French Government fled to Tours, then to Bordeaux, and the Germans walked into Paris unopposed, and Marshal Pétain asked for an armistice.

“So now we know what Winston meant by alone!” said Virginia, not at all in despair, but with a visible satisfaction that a mystery was solved.

And then the thing that no one had foreseen and that Hitler would never comprehend took place in England. When Belgium went under, England had reeled with angry protest. Now, with France gone too and America standing well back out of Hitler’s way, overnight the English steadied, spit on their hands, and went round grinning. Let ’em all come. There’s nobody to desert us now. We’ve nobody to count on but ourselves. Nobody to save, nobody to save us. The Army was home, the family was together again, inside the moated fortress with the drawbridge up. Alone. Just let him
try.

Virginia had reacted like everybody else, with an unreasoning elation. It made no sense. Things could hardly have been worse, without Hitler actually coming ashore from the Channel. But there it was. They were in the Finals now. The main event, as usual, was between Germany and England. The Island-devil, mentioned by that unfashionable fellow Kipling a generation ago, was now awake, and as he had pointed out, never cool for being curbed.

In the midst of the characteristic upsurge of British morale now that the worst had happened, there arrived at Farthingale a letter from Irene, announcing her decision to evacuate Basil and Mab to America at once. Bracken had had a cable from Fitz and Gwen at Williamsburg, offering to take as many children as they cared to send, whether members of the family or not, to be met in New York and escorted to Williamsburg for the duration. Irene thought it an excellent opportunity, and several of her friends preferred it to the Government scheme for sending children to the Dominions, which was already under discussion in the House.

No bomb could have caused more consternation in the Farthingale household. Even Basil’s nurse was against it.

“That’s all very well for the Dutch,” she said, referring to Princess Juliana’s recent arrival in Canada with her little
daughters. “Their country was shot out from under them, as you might say. But he’s not in England yet, nor ever will be, if you ask me.”

What they were asking her, Virginia tried to explain through a certain gratification at Nurse’s attitude, was if she would act as escort to the children during the voyage, and stay at Williamsburg with them, at least for a while, if that could be arranged.

“Well, madam, I don’t say I won’t,” said Nurse cautiously. “If it’s decided on, that is. But I do think it’s a bit much at this time, if you ask me.”

“Then I can tell Mrs. Poynter that you are willing to go,” said Virginia, who heartily agreed with everything Nurse said, but could not admit it.

“Well, I suppose if it came right down
to
it—” said Nurse, obviously with many reservations. “But Basil is sure to be upset, being sent away from his Mummy like that, and he’s always a bit of a handful when he’s upset.”

Basil, of course, was not consulted about going to Williamsburg. If he had been, he would have voiced a strong preference for staying as near as possible to his Mummy. But Mab was of an age where her views had to be heard, and Virginia was not surprised when she dug in her heels.

“That’s all very well for small children like Basil,” said Mab. “But I shall be fifteen in August.”

“But I thought you
wanted
to see Williamsburg,” Virginia suggested feebly.

“I do. But not like that,” said Mab.

“There’s no disgrace about it, you know. Lots of children will be leaping at the chance. There was something about it on the BBC and I thought at the time—”

“And
I
thought at the time what mugs they were to think of such a thing!” said Mab, who very seldom interrupted. “They’ll all feel pretty silly if Hitler doesn’t come after all!”

“Perhaps we ought to try to get your mother on the telephone,” Virginia murmured weakly, for she couldn’t but agree with Mab.

“It’s Basil they’re worried about,” Mab said without resentment. “He can go, he’s too little to understand.”

“Well, after all, Mab, the bombing is sure to start now, if not an actual invasion, and if Hitler should go into Ireland, and some people think he will, it won’t be any safer here in the West than in London, and—”

“When Jeff left England I was here,” said Mab, too quietly. “How would it look if I wasn’t here when he came back?”

Jeff had last reported on Press Wireless from Tours, which was an extension of chaos and the French censors had allowed him to say so. At that time he intended to follow the Government, which had already gone to Bordeaux. And there he was expected to find a boat which would bring him to England.

“I’m sure if we could consult Jeff he would recommend a trip to Williamsburg now,” Virginia insisted, hoping she was right. “A voyage in convoy is no great risk these days, and we might even get you on an American ship—”

“There won’t be any more American ships,” said Mab, who read the newspapers.

“Unless they send one specially for evacuation, there’s some talk of that.”

“Gran, it’s for
children
! I’m almost fifteen!”

“But darling, what am I going to tell your mother?”

“Tell her Basil will go, and I won’t.”

“But don’t you think it would save a lot of trouble and argument if—”

“No, no,
no,
I won’t leave England while Jeff is away!” cried Mab, and ran out of the room.

Oh, dear, well, I can’t tell Irene
that,
thought Virginia. And then—I suppose it’s a good thing, she thought. In some ways Williamsburg might be more dangerous for Mab than anywhere in England. Perhaps this way she will escape a different kind of risk. This way she won’t see the portraits of Julian and Tibby. Gwen seems to have forgotten about that in her anxiety about invasion.

The next day Nigel arrived on the afternoon train from London, preceding his telegram by an hour or so, so that he had had to share the only taxi as far as the crossroads and walk the rest of the way. Virginia was almost as much surprised as she was pleased to see him.

“I couldn’t use the telephone,” he explained, “and I have only twenty-four hours clear, but I felt I had to come and make sure you were all right.”

“We’re just the same as usual,” Virginia said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Nigel. “Now, there are certain things you must attend to at once.”

“Such as burying the silver in the garden?” she asked flippantly.

“Such as having your passport and identity papers and spare cash in a safe place. And a bag packed with necessities. I know that sounds fantastic and futile, but I’d feel better if you’d pay attention and take a few precautions.”

“Nigel, do you really think they’re coming?”

“No,” said Nigel deliberately. “But if they do, I shall be stuck in London and you will be here, practically alone, and I shall want to know I’ve done my best for you.” He took out his wallet and removed from it a number of crisp banknotes. “I don’t want to seem theatrical, but first of all I want you to sew some of these inside the lining of a warm coat which you will keep handy, and have some of them always on you, somehow, and hide some in your room—in the lining of the curtains, or some such place.”

“But Nigel, I could go to the bank here—”

“If you like, but don’t draw out a lot, not down here. I want you to find a stout bag or knapsack, and pack it with what I have written down here—” He gave her a neat list. “Most of it will be in your store cupboard, I expect. What sort of shape is your passport in?”

“Bracken keeps it up to date. But I won’t—”

“Where is it?”

“In my desk.”

“Please bring it to me. And your identity card. How do you carry it?”

“In my hand-bag.”

“Let me see.”

While they were in the midst of this, Mab came hunting for Virginia, and was charmed to find Nigel too. She was carrying a sort of circular, printed on both sides, which looked rather like a cheap advertisement.

“I say, have you seen this?” she said, handing it to Virginia. “Isn’t it gruesome?”

The paper was headed by the Royal Arms, Issued by the Ministry of Information, and began in large type:
IF THE INVADER COMES, What to do—and how to do it.
With their three heads together, silent, with a growing incredulity that the thing had actually entered their lives, they read the seven numbered paragraphs….
You must remain where you are. The order is “Stay Put”…. When you receive an order make quite sure that it is a true order and not a faked order…. Keep watch…. Do not give any German anything. Do not tell him anything…. Be ready to
help the military in any way … felling trees, wiring them together or blocking roads with cars…. Remember always that the best defence of Great Britain is the courage of her men and women….

Why, Virginia wondered angrily, aware that her hand holding the flimsy sheet was not quite steady,
why
should it be so frightening! It was designed to inform and reassure. There was really no excuse for the sickening wave of pure terror which had run through her as she read.
Make sure that no invader will be able to get hold of your cars, petrol, maps, or bicycles….
Make sure how?

“Maybe old Mrs. Pelham was right to oil up her grandfather’s duelling pistols,” she heard herself saying.

“Darling, you must be serious,” said poor Nigel.

“And do you think Mrs. Pelham isn’t?” she heard herself ask lightly.

“Irene expects to have the children’s passage by the end of the week,” Nigel went on, deciding to ignore her. “Nurse’s too, of course. They’ll go by way of Montreal and will have to take a train to New York. The Spragues will meet them there.”

“I had an idiotic letter from Gwen, begging me to come home with the children,” said Virginia, folding the paper once across and laying it aside, wondering if her face looked as stiff as it felt, hoping her voice sounded right. “I wasn’t taking any notice of it till Irene went off her head too. They seem to think in America that England is all through, and we haven’t started yet!” she added, as though she had not seen the seven rules sent out by the Ministry, emerging to her own surprise from the first paralysing shock. “Anybody’d think we were Belgium!”

“Mummy, they’re only facing facts, in America,” Nigel told her patiently. “Even Churchill said—”

“I know quite well what he said. And there was nothing about sending our children away.” Virginia began to listen to herself with an impersonal admiration. “What’s got into you, Nigel, I never thought that any son of mine—”

“I haven’t given up, any more than you have,” he assured her firmly. “But now Hitler has got to
try,
and it’s going to be hell’s delight here for a while. If I had a child—” He hesitated.

“Well?” said Virginia relentlessly.

“I can only thank God I don’t have to decide,” he concluded, with his rare, slanting smile. “Anyway, in the case of Mab and Basil, it’s all in the family, and Mab has always wanted to see Williamsburg.”

There was a silence. He looked from one to the other inquiringly.