A Test to Destruction (26 page)

“Sure thing, Colonel. And please accept my thanks for what you and your kind helpers have done for us British here. By the way, sir, will General West be on the same boat?”

“Surely, but the General’s a very ill man, with gas gangrene, I guess.”

*

The hospital ship
Persia,
a small boat brought into service for the emergency, was convoyed by two destroyers. Sitting below
the deck on canvas-covered forms all round the steel walls were the lightly wounded and walking cases. Others lay or sat upon the floor for the two-hour crossing. The officers’ ward led from this; there were other wards, those amidships on the first deck were for the stretcher cases.

Phillip, sitting by a porthole, was waiting, with renewed hope and annulment of hope, for an opportunity to ask O’Gorman to lead him to Westy. His anxiety grew as the ship left harbour and became dread of being sick before others, the more so because he would not be able to find his way to the lavatory, and, behind a locked door, be safe to vomit, and lie down unseen. Should he ask O’Gorman to take him to the lavatory now, or wait in the hope of feeling better? The orderly had said it was a fine day, the Channel like a mill-pond; perhaps lack of sight had put out his sense of balance, for the ship seemed to be rising and falling.

He sat there, trying to force his mind to believe that seasickness began in the imagination, like fear: thrust away nervousness, and he would not feel sick. After all, the little levels in the human ear could not really be upset while he was sitting down. So it was a case of mind over matter.

“Send Private O’Gorman, my orderly, to me, will you?”

“I’m here, sorr.”

“Oh, thank God! Go and find where General West is, will you? Leave your rifle and clobber here, beside me. Say I sent you if anyone tries to stop you. Then come back here as quickly as you can.”

“Very good, sorr.”

He felt better. It was a case of mind over matter, he told himself. But the word
matter
started another train of thought: yellow matter—pus, stink of cordite, mortar and brick dust—hot oil engines. If only those around him would not talk so, and smoke, smoke, smoke; the combination from irritating became menacing. What a fool he had been to send O’Gorman away. He would never get back in time. The crisis was near, water was gathering in his mouth, fatal sign. He was reluctant to call out for a bowl, and it was too late now to ask to be taken to the lavatory. How weak he was, always going against his intuition. He should not have sent O’Gorman to find Westy.

The ship was beginning to creak. The cork life-belt was too tight round his chest. It was pressing against his breathing. He
would not be able to lower his chin to be sick. He must ask for a bowl. Acrid smoke from the man smoking a ghastly Belgian cigar on his left. He must get away. He stood up, and was flung down by the greatest world-splitting noise. It seemed to break him into a million atoms. He did not feel the blow of his head hitting the deck. He lay there, vomiting, while remote voices began to speak only to fade again. He did not care, but lay in a semi-coma until awareness returned of shouts and cries around him. Then a loud megaphone command.

“Every man is to remain where he is.”

The beat of the engine stopped. There was a roar of steam, the
whoop
whoop
of whistles which he thought vaguely must come from the destroyers.

Feet were moving overhead. An authoritative voice called out, “Everyone on the upper deck! Take your time. Every man to move in an orderly manner. The ship has struck a mine, there is no danger.”

“Any more for the ‘Skylark’?” cried a wag, as Phillip knelt up, trying to find where he was by his hands.

He was helped on deck into fresh blowing air. “Wait here, please, sir. Everything will be quite all right.”

“Yes, I am sure it will. Do you know where Brigadier-General West is? He’s a stretcher case.”

“He’ll be taken care of, sir. Now you wait here, sir, until they get the boat off of the hooks.”

Too many voices were talking at once. Was the deck sloping? He asked the voice next to him, and heard that the explosion had torn a hole in the engine room.

“The boilers might go up any minute now.”

The deck lurched. There were cries from the line of waiting men.

“Keep your places, men. Help is coming. The boats will soon be lowered.”

Westy had a big wooden cage around his leg, how could they get him into a boat? With immense relief he heard O’Gorman beside him. “The Gineril be on the upper deck, sorr. That’s the one above us. We’re on ‘B’ deck, sorr. We’ll have to swim for it, by the way things is lookin’.”

“We ought to get to him. He won’t be able to swim with his leg like that. Take me to the companion way.”

“Very good, sorr.”

O’Gorman guided his hands, steadied him up an iron ladder nearly vertical with the listing of the ship.

Boots were scraping and scrambling. Floats were being unlashed. The boats along the port side filled with men were no longer hanging over water.

“Wait here, sorr, while I take a look for the Gineral. I’ll spot him by the red about his tunic.”

The ship was taking on a steeper list, men crowding the rails steepened the angle. More words through the megaphone.

“Attention, all men! Help is coming from the escort destroyers. Let every man see that his cork-jacket is properly fastened. Those of you who can swim should take to the water, to ease the manning of the boats. There is no need for alarm. All will be picked up.”

It was now five minutes after the mine, wallowing in the ebb down Channel, had struck amidships to starboard.

At the beginning of the sixth minute the order was called out, ‘Every man for himself!’ Phillip pulled off the bandages in order to find his friend. Instantly his eyeballs were stricken by an explosion of light. With blood dripping from the lids he stood there giving himself up to defeat, until a voice told him to sit down, slide to the rail, and then jump into the sea.

*

The
Persia,
taken off the Salonika run during the emergency, sank in seven minutes after its rusty plates had touched one of the horns of the mine. Some of the patients went down with the ship, but most of them, with Phillip and ‘Spectre’, were picked up by the escorting destroyers. Phillip was none the worse for being a quarter of an hour in the sea, but ‘Spectre’ was drowned, the wooden cage around his leg having kept his head low. He had been wearing a cork life-belt on entering the water, but was without it when picked up.

Later O’Gorman said to Phillip, “The Gineral, sorr, he fleeted off av the stracher, he was w’arin’ av his cark belt, but his sharp eye saw me misself without one, for I had gone to watter without it, sorr. The Gineral he guv me the order to put on his belt, sorr. The Gineral he barked at me, sorr, and offered me a court-martial thin an’ there unless I obeyed him, so I obeyed the Gineral’s order, sorr, and put on the cark belt he untied from around his own chest, sorr, the white man that he was. May his soul rest wid the Holy Mother of God Herself, sorr.”

A letter from Phillip at last! And oh dear, the words slanted about the page as though he was learning to write all over again! Still, it had arrived on his birthday, with such wonderful news: he would soon be able to see again. The writing paper was embossed with heavy black lettering,
Husborne
Abbey,
Gaultshire.

“Just fancy, Papa! Phillip is in that lovely place, in that beautiful park, with all the deer, the bison, and the other animals! Oh, I am so proud of my boy, so is Dickie! I expect someone will be able to read my letters to him!”

“You could get there and back in a day, if you were to make an early start, Hetty.”

Other ideas were in the air, buoyant with the song of birds. Doris was going up early to London, to be with two friends of hers in the Women’s Land Army; there was to be a procession through the streets of London, and a review afterwards in Hyde Park. Hetty wanted to go, too; but could she leave Dickie? He, elated by the good news of Phillip, agreed at once; he intended to work in his allotment in the afternoon, and could get his own tea.

“You go and enjoy yourself, old girl!”

After a light lunch Hetty and her elder daughter went down the road to catch a 36 ’bus to London. At the corner, where the lilac bushes were in bud, they saw Mrs. Neville sitting at her open window. Sprat, Phillip’s terrier, was looking out beside her.

“He’s always there when I go by,” said Elizabeth. “I bet he’s not happy with her, but always looking out for Phillip to come.”

“Hush, dear, Mrs. Neville may hear what you say.”

They crossed the road, to tell Mrs. Neville the news. Mrs. Neville had also had a letter from Phillip that morning; but she dissembled, knowing how wrapped up ‘the little mother’, as she thought of Hetty, was in her boy. However, she made one mistake which was detected by the sharp mind of Mavis under the would-be aloof facade of Elizabeth.

“Oh, I am
so
glad to hear the good news, dear! And in the Duke’s hospital at Husborne Abbey, too! He’ll be well looked after there, and have the best of food. That horrible burning gas, I suppose
we’ll
be using it next! Tell Phillip that Sprat is quite happy, won’t you, and looking forward, as we all are, to seeing him again. I shall miss my little companion very much, he is quite a companion, you know, so understanding and intelligent. He’s a little rascal, too. If I read too much, and don’t give him what he considers proper attention, he jumps and up knocks the book out of my hand! Then he fetches his tennis ball, and gives it to me, so prettily. Well, I must not stop you, it’s a lovely day for the procession, isn’t it?”

As the two walked on down Charlotte Road, under its chestnuts opening their sticky buds, Elizabeth said, “I don’t trust Mrs. Neville, with her smarmy manner all put on. Why couldn’t she say straight out that she had had a letter from Phillip, instead of pretending like that! I knew it at once, didn’t you, Mother? It was obvious as soon as she mentioned Husborne Abbey! You didn’t tell her what hospital he was in.”

“What does it matter after all, Elizabeth?”

“Well, I can’t stand hypocrisy in any form!”

A twinge of helplessness came over Hetty, to be avoided by “Well, why shouldn’t Phillip write to Mrs. Neville? After all, she was kind enough to look after Sprat while he was away. And I expect Phillip wants to know how Desmond is getting on.” At the same time she could not help a pang because Phillip had always seemed to prefer Mrs. Neville’s flat to his own home.

“Oh now, you know very well that he and Desmond quarrelled over that girl, Lily Cornford, two years ago! Ever since then Desmond won’t speak to Phillip. No wonder! Look how he deceived his best friend!”

“Really, Mavis, I mean Elizabeth, you should not say such a thing!”

“It’s true, anyway! You see,
you
don’t know Phillip like I do!”

“I told you before, dear, that you are inclined to be too critical of others. It only hurts yourself, you know. One must try to live and let live. It’s the only way, I am sure.”

“All right, you tell that to Phillip when he comes home! You are always taking his part against me! You favoured him as a child! It isn’t fair!”

“That is not true, my girl! I have no favourites, as I’ve told you many, many times in the past. All you children, and your Father, are equally dear to me.” Immediately she regretted having been so unkind (as she thought) to her child, whose troubles and perplexities she knew so well; and behind all her care was a dread that she might have one of her attacks. She must be careful not to upset Elizabeth in any way.

By now the beauty of the spring day was made remote by care; but once they were on their way, and past the Obelisk, she felt happy again, living in the variety of life all around her in the streets—people whose feelings she could secretly share, their hopes and kindnesses to one another, their tragedies endured so bravely, their happy little family moments. Ah, there was the Old Vic, with its wonderful, wonderful plays of Shakespeare, week after week despite all the war-time worries. Yes, the war had brought people together in so many ways; God indeed did work in His own way, to bring beauty and love into the lives of everyone: if only they could see it was true!

And the Thames! Hetty had never ceased to feel the wonder of the river, every stone and brick beside it part of history. Oh, life was truly wonderful! But more was to come on this buoyant Spring day. Suddenly through the dusty glass window of the tram was to be seen the procession, lined up along the Embankment, just about to start off. The two got down at the next stop, and waited under the speckled shadows of the plane trees for the head of the column to pass.

“Oh dear, I do hope Doris has not missed it, Elizabeth.”

At the head was a tall girl carrying the Union Jack. She wore a smock with breeches and leggings, and on her head was a turned-up felt hat on which was pinned a rosette of red and green. How healthy she looked, with her coiled golden hair! Behind her walked another girl carrying a duck, with a notice round its neck,
I
have
laid
31
eggs
in
34
days,
and
I
am
still
doing
it.

“Poor thing,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “I think it’s a shame to make fun of a dumb creature!”

“Doris will be so disappointed not to be here.”

“Oh, Mother, stop worrying!”

Next came light-draught horses, pulling wagons and carts, all brightly painted, while the horses’ coats gleamed and their feet were dark with oil. In the wagons were more land girls,
singing songs as they stood among sheaves of corn set in patterns of beech and box branches, and clusters of primroses and daffodils; while above them were banners, ‘Come with us into the country’, and ‘Join with us and work for Victory’. How Dickie would have loved seeing it, she thought, instead of being cooped up in the office. Still, he was happy on the ‘rods’, as he called them, of his allotment.

“There you are, Mother, I told you not worry!” cried Elizabeth. “There’s Doris, you see, in the queue! Look, over there, one of those girls singing!”

The wagons had passed; and among the girls carrying rakes, spades, shovels, and hoes, and wearing smocks, knickerbockers, high-legged boots and felt hats, walked about fifty girls in ordinary clothes, but with rosettes pinned to their jackets and blouses. Gould that be Doris? Surely not, for her hair was bobbed.

“Of course it’s Doris! I shall get my hair bobbed, too.”

It was quite a shock for Hetty: why, Oh why, hadn’t she told her mother that she was going to cut it? And could she really have joined up? Oh dear, what about Bedford College? She ought to work for her degree in History, if she was going to be a schoolteacher. She sighed. “Such a pity!”

Doris saw them as she marched by, and waved gaily.

By the time Hetty arrived at Hyde Park, to walk among pens of lambs, pigs, and poultry, to see happy faces and clear eyes,
and to be told by her younger daughter that she had joined for six months—“Only until the autumn, Mummie!”—and that she would be able to work at her books at night, she felt that the only worry now was what Dickie would say.

The girl took home with her a copy of
The
Landwoman
which she put on the sitting-room table, near the corner where her father usually sat in his armchair. When Richard came home, having worked until nearly 7 o’clock, he took it up, and was at once interested in an item that said the plague of moles in the country was due to all ferrets having been sent to France to kill rats in the base warehouses, and in the trenches.

“H’m,” he remarked. “Whoever heard of ferrets being used to kill moles? It’s the mouldiwarp catchers who have gone to France! Where did this come from?”

“Doris brought it home, Dickie. Some of the girls at London University have joined the Land Army just for the summer. They are going to do their studies in the evening, and on wet days.”

“That’s a sensible idea. Why doesn’t Doris go, too? It will do her the world of good.”

“I’ll tell her what you say, Dickie.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with me, really. It’s for her to decide, she’s of an age to make her own decisions now.”

He took up
The
Daily
Trident,
to read a forecast that the new Budget, to be announced on Monday, would contain a rise in Income Tax. Richard was already paying
2s.
3d.
in the £, his annual salary being within the £160 to £500 class, at £350. And when on the Monday evening he read in
The
Pall
Mall
Gazette
that there was not only no increase in tax for him, but an extra allowance of £25 had been given for a wife, he felt quite optimistic.

“Well, Hetty, it may interest you to know that you are worth more by £25 today than you were yesterday!”

“Well, I am glad to hear that I am of some value after all, Dickie.”

“Oh come, may I not make a joke for once in a while?”

“Yes of course, dear, naturally!”

“Well—— Just a moment. Ah, I see! The £25, after all, is but a nominal sum.”

“I thought it was too good to be true.”

“In practice it will work out at, let me see, a saving to the
household of just under £3. Against that, all letters will require a thr’penny ha’penny stamp instead of a penny. Tobacco is up, that doesn’t concern me any longer. The stamp duty on a cheque is to be raised to twopence. However, Doris being under eighteen years of age and still at home will entitle me to the same allowance as last year, £25. Of course, if she joins the Land Army, this relief may not be allowed.”

Hetty was silent.

“What is the situation, do you know?”

“I joined on Saturday, Father,” said Doris, coming into the room.

“Oh?” said Richard, looking at his wife. “You didn’t tell me that, Hetty.”

Her fatal desire not to upset anyone was once again the cause of upset. “Why don’t you tell me these things? Why are you so—— Why do you hide them from me? ’Pon my word, you treat me in my own house as though I were a bully, who cannot be told a blessed thing!”

“Well, you can’t, Father.”

“What?” He turned in his chair to look at Doris. “What do you mean by that remark?”

“That you are always bullying my Mother.”

“Doris, how dare you,” said Hetty.

“Leave the room!” shouted Richard. “Leave the room immediately!”

Doris got up, gathered her books, and walked out of the room. The front door closed.

“She shall not enter my house again until she has apologised!”

“Yes, Dickie. It was wrong of her to say that. It is all my fault. Please don’t upset yourself. I’ll bring in your tray. It’s a herb omelette, Doris got some eggs specially for you from the Parade on Saturday.”

“Oh. Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Doris wanted it to be a surprise.” She wept. It was always the same. Everything went wrong, however hard she tried. Perhaps the best thing she could do was to die.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t turn on the water-works! Why can’t you think straight? You are afraid of me, I know it. But your fear creates these situations, you know.” He went on, protestingly as usual, “I am far from being a bully by nature. But
it is my duty to try and see that things happen in an orderly and upright manner in this house.” He felt hopeless.

“It’s all my fault, Dickie. I should have told you, of course. Please do not take any notice of what was said by Doris. She is still terribly hurt by Percy’s death. She doesn’t say much, but she feels things the more because of it. She’s been working very hard, too, at college, to be a credit to her parents.”