Shute, Nevil (13 page)

The man came back and peered at him; on his shoulders he wore the stripes of a flight-lieutenant. ‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s Peter Corbett.’

‘Corbett? What on earth are you doing here?’ ‘Looking around. I’m living on my boat in the river.’

‘Good stuff. I thought about you, in Southampton. I hoped you’d had the sense to get out of it. Is Joan with you?’

‘She’s on board, with the kids.’

‘Fine. I say, I’d like to come down tomorrow, if I may. Where’s the boat lying?’

Corbett told him. ‘Come and have lunch,’ he said. ‘God knows what you’ll get to eat, but come along.’

The other laughed. ‘I’m not going to eat your food. I’ll drop in some time in the morning. Look-I must get along, but that’s a date. I’m terribly sorry that I can’t stop now, but I’m on duty in a few minutes.’

‘That’s all right. Are you flying tonight?’

The other nodded. ‘There’s a squadron coming in pretty soon. I’m taking one of those machines as soon as it’s refuelled.’ He laughed shortly. ‘We’ve got more pilots than machines these days. Playing Box and Cox. I tell you, Corbett, it’s a ruddy picnic, this.’

He turned away. ‘Tomorrow morning, then.’ He vanished into the darkness. Corbett stayed for an hour longer. The squadron landed in the wind and rain, coming in one by one out of the darkness into the flickering light of the flares, to touch down gently on the grass, run along, then swing round and taxi in towards the hangars. The fifth machine to land overshot, landed nearly at the far end of the flare-path, and ran forwards into the hedge, coming to rest abruptly with a cracking noise. An ambulance and a fire-car ran quickly over the grass towards it, but there did not seem to be a need for either.

The machines were refuelled and ammunition checked in about half an hour, the pilots standing round them, clumsy in their flying kit and parachutes. Another squadron landed without incident; then the machines of the first squadron were ready to take off. Corbett tried to identify Collins in his flying suit and helmet, but could not pick him out. One by one the machines taxied to the end of the flare-path, took off uneventfully, and were lost to sight in the dark racing clouds.

There was another pause. Corbett left the aerodrome and walked back towards the river.

He launched the dinghy. The tide was on the flood and he had no difficulty in getting back on board. There was a light in the saloon; Joan was reading in bed. He made the dinghy fast and went below.

‘I must say, you’re a nice one,’ she said. ‘I believe you did it on purpose, so that you could get a decent meal at the pub.’

He smiled, taking off his sodden coat. ‘I didn’t have a decent meal-or not very. I could eat another now.’

‘There’s some cocoa in the saucepan if you like to hot it up.’

He told her, as he heated the cocoa, the substance of what he had learned while he was on shore. Over some of it she wrinkled her brows.

‘It’s not so good about the milk, Peter,’ she said. ‘We’ve not got very many tins, and they get through an awful lot. I did think that we’d be able to get milk here, out in the country.’

He nodded. ‘So did I. I suppose we can’t sort of wean them-give them soup and stuff instead?’

‘We might with John and Phyllis. But the baby must have milk.’

He bent and kissed her. ‘Don’t worry about it tonight. We’ll get some milk, somehow.’

He eyed her for a minute. ‘Have you had the hell of a time with them?’

She shook her head. ‘Baby was troublesome, but the other two were good as gold. They’re simply loving every minute of it.’

‘Next thing, they’ll be falling overboard into the mud.’

‘I know. I thought John was over once or twice this afternoon. I’d hate to have to go over and fish him out.

Peter, couldn’t you rig a sort of life-line round the bulwarks for them?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll fix up something in the morning.’ He undressed and got into the blankets on the other berth. He stretched his head upon the pillow and relaxed. ‘It’s better to be here than in the house,’ he said. ‘At least we won’t have to get up and go out to the trench.’ He rolled over and looked at her. ‘You’d rather be here, wouldn’t you?’

She nodded. ‘I believe something terrible might have happened if we’d stayed at home,’ she said soberly. ‘I’m glad we came away.’

‘So am I.’ He reached up and put out the lamp. ‘Good night, Joan.’

‘Good night, Peter dear.’

Silence closed down upon the little yacht. The rising tide made lapping noises on the hull; as it came up the vessel stirred in the mud. The two children slept quietly, the baby made snuffling noises in her sleep, like a puppy. The wind sighed through the bare rigging of the mast; away in the distance was the sound of aeroplanes. Corbett lay listening to these little noises for a time, tired and content. It was better to be here. Here he felt master of his fate, able to sway their destiny by his own work and his own efforts. At home he had felt powerless, a pawn.

He must rig that life-line for the children in the morning. His big job tomorrow would be to get milk.

He slept.

In the middle of the night he woke up suddenly. Joan was standing by his side in her pyjamas, shaking him by the shoulder. ‘Peter,’ she said. ‘Peter, wake up!’

He sat up suddenly. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s another raid. Listen.’

They were silent. In the distance he heard the sharp crack of gunfire. Then there was a heavy concussion, and another, and a third. ‘That’s right,’ he said soberly. ‘They’re at it again.’

They went together to the hatch, slid it back quietly for fear of waking the children, and stood with their heads out on deck, listening. Intermittently they heard the concussions in the city; occasionally an aeroplane passed over their heads, landing upon the aerodrome. The rain had stopped, but it was still heavily overcast.

‘We can’t do anything about it,’ Corbett said at last. ‘Better get back to bed before you catch a cold.’

Joan did not stir. ‘It’s terrible,’ she said. ‘I believe one feels worse about it listening to it from the outside than when you’re right in it. Peter, I do hope Mr. Littlejohn’s all right.’

He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I expect he is. He knows how to look after himself.’ He thought of Gordon operating in the hospital, of his wife nursing cholera, of all the people in the city who were still carrying on with the essential jobs, and he was bitter with himself that he was out of it.

The girl stirred beside him. ‘Don’t think me awfully soppy, Peter,’ she said tremulously, ‘but I’m going to say my prayers.’

He nodded. ‘That’s not a bad idea. I believe I’ll say mine.’

They turned back into the dark, narrow little cabin and knelt for a time against their settee-beds, repeating to themselves what they could remember of the prayers they had learned as children. Then they got back to bed and lay for a long time listening to the aeroplanes and the concussions, till presently they fell asleep.

Dawn came next morning, sunny and bright after the rain. Corbett got up at about seven o’clock and put the kettle on. Then for a couple of hours there was the turmoil of getting the children up, washing, shaving, changing the baby, getting the breakfast, getting the baby’s breakfast, eating breakfast, washing up breakfast, till at the end Joan and Peter, exhausted, had time to sit down for a cigarette.

Corbett blew a long cloud of smoke. ‘This is a bit too much like work,’ he said.

Joan laughed shortly. ‘You’re telling me!’

He eyed her sympathetically. ‘If you like to go off and look for milk, I’ll stay on board this morning and look after the kids. I had a walk yesterday.’

She brightened. ‘I’d love a run on shore. It’s too bad we can’t go together.’

‘Never mind. Besides, I’d just as soon stay here this morning. I’ve got a lot to do on board, and Collins may be coming off.’

He helped her with the dinghy, and watched her as she rowed on shore. She landed, pulled up the dinghy on the hard a little way, and tied it to a post. Then she took her shopping basket and went up into the village.

It did not take her very long to confirm that there was no milk to be had. At the general shop where she had bought milk before she asked what had happened to all the milk.

‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said the woman. ‘The car hasn’t brought it from the depot, not for three days. But Mr. Child, what drives the car, he lives in Woolston, in Southampton. Maybe he’s gone away with his family, evacuating like. Anyway, there’s no milk.’

Joan bought one or two other stores and came away. It was no good trying the farms on the Southampton side of the river for milk; she took the dinghy and rowed across the Hamble, and landed on the Warsash side.

She spent all morning wandering from farm to farm. She was not alone in her quest. Other people from the swollen population of the village had been before her. Most of the farms were genuinely sold out of milk. She felt convinced that others had milk, but they would not sell it to her. At last, tired and depressed, she got a pint in an old lime-juice bottle.

‘It won’t go far,’ she thought ruefully. ‘Still, it’s better than nothing.’ She began to revolve schemes in her mind for getting the two older children off milk altogether, in order that the baby might have what there was.

On her way back towards the dinghy she passed a village general shop at a cross roads, and went in and enquired for milk.

The slatternly, woman who came to the counter said: ‘We haven’t got no milk. Got plenty of tinned salmon.’

Joan shook her head. ‘I don’t want that.’ She looked around the shelves a little absently. Her eye was caught by an open packing-case standing behind the counter in a corner, half-full of familiar grey paper covered tins. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘That’s milk down there, isn’t it?’

The woman moved in front of the case. ‘We haven’t got no milk to sell,’ she said obstinately.

‘But that’s milk down there.’

The woman repeated: ‘We haven’t got no milk to sell. The shop ain’t open, really, only to oblige.’

Joan said: ‘Look here, I’ve got a little baby. My other two children can get on without milk, but I must have milk for the baby. Let me have a few tins.’

The woman tightened her lips. Then she called: ‘Joe!’ and a man came from the inner room.

‘Tell the lady we ain’t got no milk to sell, Joe,’ she commanded.

The man said: ‘Sorry, lady, but the shop ain’t open. The girl must have left the door on the latch. We ain’t open to-day.’ He pushed her towards the door.

In the doorway Joan turned on them. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’ll go away. But I know this-you’ve got all the milk in the world there, in that case. And I hope it bally well chokes you.’ She walked away, half in tears.

On the yacht, Corbett put in a domestic morning. He rigged a warp twice round the vessel to keep the children from falling overboard, stopping it to the rigging, fore-stays, and backstays. He cleaned and filled the lamps and Primus stoves. He made the beds, and kept the children playing with their toys between his feet upon the narrow, cluttered floor of the saloon.

In the middle of the morning a small motor-launch came alongside, flying the flag of the Royal Air Force. It was Collins. He came on board; the launch backed away and went off upstream.

‘It’s good seeing you again,’ said Corbett. ‘Come on in and have a whisky. I haven’t got any soda, I’m afraid.’

They went below, stepping over the children. ‘These your kids?’ asked Collins.

‘That’s right,’ said Corbett. ‘There’s another in the forecastle, asleep.’

‘Over the lavvy,’ explained Phyllis. For a few moments Corbett showed his guest the layout of the ship. Phyllis stood erect and looked at the newcomer. ‘This is Teddy,’ she said helpfully. John said: ‘This is Horsey, but his tail came off.’ ‘All right,’ said Corbett. ‘Go on playing with them on the floor.’ Pouring out the whisky, he turned to his friend. ‘Joan’s on shore, looking for milk-she’ll be back before long. Is Felicity down here with you?’

The flight-lieutenant shook his head. ‘I left her up at Abingdon, we’ve got a house there. We came down here in such a hurry, too.’

‘You’ve been here long?’

‘We came down here after the first raid, the day war was declared. Tuesday, was it? I forget.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s luck.’

Corbett nodded, and drank. ‘We could do with a bit of that.’

Collins said: ‘By God, you’re right.’ He glanced at Corbett. ‘You didn’t come to any harm in Southampton? I see you didn’t. I went in there yesterday. It’s in a terrible mess.’

Corbett nodded. ‘We stuck it out till yesterday. I had a trench in the back garden. But then-well, we came here.’

He turned to the officer. ‘How long is this going on for?’

‘God knows. For ever, as far as I can see. Or until we can somehow get and bomb their aerodromes. The barrage is no bloody good when we don’t know the height. You know how they’re doing it?’

Corbett shook his head. ‘I’d like to know.’

‘They’re getting a star-fix, and bombing through the clouds.’

There was a momentary silence in the yacht.

Corbett said: ‘You mean, they’re taking sextant observations of the stars and fixing their position above the clouds?’

‘That’s right. They’ve got a sextant-boy, what a sextant! But they’re wizard instrument makers, of course. This one that I saw came out of one of their bombers that crashed at Sevenoaks.’ He laughed, a little cynically. ‘Oh, we didn’t shoot it down, or anything like that. It collided with one of our own fighters in the middle of a cloud, and they both crashed.’

He said soberly: ‘That sextant’s going to win the war for them, if we don’t look out.’

‘How do you mean?’

The flight-lieutenant blew a long cloud of smoke. ‘This way. I don’t know if you know-with a marine sextant, bringing the sun down to a good horizon, you can fix your position within half a mile or so-less, perhaps. In the air, you haven’t got a horizon level with you, so you use a bubble sextant. You bring the sun or star down on to a sort of spirit-level bubble.’

Corbett nodded. ‘I know that.’

‘Well, that’s not so accurate. We use them in the Service, of course, but if you get within four or five miles of the true position it’s all you can do. You’ve got to hold the bubble in your hands, you see, and you can’t hold it still enough. You can’t get greater accuracy than that. But that’s good enough for ordinary navigating by.’