Pride and the Anguish (14 page)

As he walked away from the crowded hospital his step was almost brisk, and his mind was calmer than he could remember for a long while.

T
REWIN WEDGED HIMSELF
firmly in a corner of the darkened taxi and watched the last dwellings of the city's outskirts giving way to open country and small scattered clumps of trees. The Indian driver seemed glad to get away from the densely crowded streets and gunned his engine despite the deep, savage ruts in the road which had been left by a recent thunderstorm and its attendant downpour.

Now the sky over Singapore was bright with stars, and the air tasted fresh and clean. Trewin had intended to walk to Corbett's house, but the city's atmosphere of desperate gaiety had left him dazed and slightly unnerved, so that he had seized the solitary taxi as something like a refuge.

It was New Year's Eve, and the
Porcupine
had moored to a buoy in Keppel Harbour just twenty-four hours earlier with her sister ship
Beaver
lashed snugly alongside. It was just over two weeks since Trewin had watched the
Shrike
's death agony and her pitiful survivors hauled aboard the
Porcupine
's deck. Two weeks in which the world and the war seemed to have contracted and shrunk to the smallest confines of the hull, a green blur of coastline and the merciless sky above.

The gunboats had continued their duties without a break. They had carried troops, stopped and searched native craft for enemy guerillas, humped stores to the more isolated garrisons, and had hit back at the ever-prowling aircraft. There was never a let-up, and nobody aboard even bothered to ask about air cover any more.

Grayling
had returned to base for some quick repairs, but had reappeared on her patrol area in much the same condition, her hull scarred and pitted from the first fighter attack. With her she brought news of heavy and constant air raids on Singapore's dockyard and base, and a reminder of the personal side to war.

The
Squalus,
her bows smashed after ramming the Japanese landing craft in that first gesture of jubilant victory, had been sunk at her moorings while awaiting the attentions of the dockyard. Fortunately the loss of life was small, her company having been ashore enjoying the attractions of Singapore. Her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Nye, a man once known for his ready humour, had taken command of the
Grayling
to replace Quarrie who had died on his bridge under the air attacks, and he too seemed to bring the realisation of despair and danger even closer by his presence. He was a good captain, but
Grayling
was only a substitute for his own ship, his
Squalus.
His humour too seemed to have gone with her.

But at last they were given a small reprieve, and for most of them it was not a moment too soon. With ammunition down to a last few rounds, and fuel tanks below minimum requirements for safety, the little ships had sailed back to Singapore. The northern side of the island was deserted of ships, but for wrecks and tiny patrol boats, and rather than run the gauntlet of more air raids over the dockyard the gunboats had been ordered to the southern side, to Keppel Harbour and the approaches, which were anything but abandoned. Busy freighters and supply ships queued to unload their munitions and supplies, and from graceful troopers there came a steady stream of khaki reinforcements for the fighting up north.

But once ashore Trewin had sensed the immediate end to reality. In spite of the casual attempt at a black-out the city was quite obviously in the throes of festivity and wild celebration. Restaurants and clubs were jammed to capacity, and even during the occasional air-raid alerts the queues waited with persistent optimism outside every cinema and theatre. It was as if the people were refusing to accept danger. Were drowning it with noise and high living. Shutting off the embattled peninsula like a tap.

Yet the fighting drew remorselessly nearer, none the less. In the three weeks and two days since the first landings, the Japs had fought their way some two hundred miles down either coast.
Over half of Malaya was in their hands, and never a day passed without some vague rumour of defending troops being cut off and decimated. All the impossible things were happening. The Japs were using tanks in plenty to smash down troops who had been assured that such weapons would find no way through the jungles of Malaya. Their aircraft controlled the skies, their ground forces moved with a speed and a mobility which was more than a match for mere bravery.

Trewin stared moodily from the taxi window to watch a small trudging group of Australian soldiers making their way towards the city. That was another thing. Perhaps the worst of all. When the time came, as come it must for Singapore, every soldier would be worth his weight in gold and more. Yet Trewin had been stunned, and then outraged to see that such soldiers were being treated with something like contempt by many of Singapore's citizens. There appeared to be a rigid system of segregation. Officers were accepted in the homes of leading businessmen and the like, N.C.O.s and other ranks had to manage as best they could. On this very night, as Trewin had pushed his way through the jostling crowds he had seen some wounded British soldiers being given a firm dressing-down by a man in a dinner jacket outside one of the hotels. “This is out of bounds for you!” He had stared at each soldier in turn. “God, there are
plenty
of places for your sort!” Trewin had turned away, sickened, as the three soldiers had turned obediently back into the crowd. The man in the dinner jacket had called after Trewin, “Must keep up standards!” Trewin had not trusted himself to reply.

The taxi slewed to a stop and the Indian said with a yawn, “Here ‘tis.”

Trewin paid him and stood staring at the neat white house with its low wall and overhanging trees. This was the next phase in unreality, he thought.

Ever since the
Porcupine
had picked up her moorings Corbett had been restless and on edge. Trewin knew that the captain had been hoping to return to Singapore in time for Christmas.
As that had been impossible it now seemed a New Year's party was to be the next best thing.

Trewin had toyed with the idea of getting out of attending the party by standing in as O.O.D. Corbett had apparently foreseen this. “
Beaver
will be alongside while we're here. I've arranged for her O.O.D. to cover both ships, Trewin.” He had rubbed his hands with a rare show of excitement. “I want
all
my officers to be there when the gin pennant is hoisted, eh?”

Pushing his gloomy thoughts aside, Trewin stepped through a porch and handed his cap to a Malay houseboy. He was shown into a wide, low-ceilinged room which was filled from wall to wall with people. Music was being provided by a large radiogram, but it was all lost in the din of conversation and laughter. They were mostly naval officers and their ladies, the latter making bright splashes of colour against the white drill tunics and the occasional khaki of the military.

A glass was thrust into his hand, and when he sipped it gratefully he decided it was almost neat gin. He would have to be careful.

He recognised a few of the faces around him. Some of the
Beaver
's officers, dominated by Lieutenant-Commander Keates, her captain. He was a giant of a man with a shaggy, prematurely grey beard. As he stood surrounded by an intent audience of women he looked for all the world like an Old English sheep-dog, Trewin thought.

A houseboy took the glass from his hand and gave him a full one in exchange. Trewin loosened his collar and began to work his way through the press of figures towards the far corner. He would make his number with Corbett and then leave, he decided.

His heart sank as he caught sight of Fairfax-Loring's massive shape beside a well-laden table of drinks and caskets of fresh ice. He tried to ease back into the crowd but the admiral boomed, “Ah, your number one, Corbett! Better late than never, what?” He looked flushed, and his fierce grin was fixed and unwavering.

Corbett stepped forward and looked at Trewin's glass. “Glad
you got here.” He shot the admiral a quick glance. “Keep it to yourself, Trewin, but Kuantan has just fallen to the enemy.”

The admiral stared at him. “It's no secret now, Corbett.” He smiled knowingly. “This time I think we've done the right thing. We've got a firm line from east to west, and Kuantan or no Kuantan, our lads'll hold 'em on the Pahang River.” He jabbed Corbett with his finger. “So don't be so bloody pessimistic! This is what we should have done from the start!” He looked at Trewin. “Don't you agree?”

Trewin pictured the admiral's casual information as it would appear on a chart. He recalled the first visit to the Talang Inlet with the troops invisible but reassuringly close by in the jungle. He remembered Mallory waving his arm towards the north and telling him about the line of defence along the river and the carefully planned chain of stores and fuel dumps. That was only three weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime. He thought too of Kuantan itself, with its milling columns of refugees and the newly landed infantry singing as they marched away northward along that coast road. He shuddered inwardly. Now the Japs were there, less than twenty-five miles from the Talang Inlet.

He replied quietly, “They should never have been allowed to reach so far south, sir.”

Fairfax-Loring signalled to a houseboy. “Well, of course you can't be expected to see the wider plan of things, Trewin. I have been at a conference most of the day. Believe me, things are starting to hum around here!” He became suddenly grave. “But we must all pull together as a team. No more going off at half-cock!” He stared into his glass. “
Shrike
and
Squalus
are gone now. It makes for harder effort all round!”

Trewin watched Corbett's impassive face and wondered if he was remembering the sinking gunboat and the signal from base about lack of air cover.

The gin was burning his stomach and he toyed with the idea of finding something to eat. But he kept thinking of the small line of gunboats and the nursery rhyme which seemed to fit so
cruelly and so aptly: “… Then there were four!”

He saw Corbett turn his head as a slim, bright-eyed woman with pale, sun-bleached hair and bare, tanned shoulders entered the room from a curtained door and moved towards them. Unlike the photograph on Corbett's desk, she was smiling and she held her head and body as if she was used to being admired.

The admiral beamed. “Hello, Mildred!” He gestured at Trewin. “This is your husband's first lieutenant.”

Her handclasp was warm and surprisingly strong. She had a direct way of looking straight into a man's eyes which Trewin felt like an embrace. She said, “I've heard all about you. It's very nice to meet a fresh man around here.” It sounded like an accusation.

Trewin replied, “You seem to have a lot of friends, Mrs, Corbett.” He wished that she would release his hand and that Corbett would stop staring at him.

She shrugged, tossing the pale hair from one shoulder. “You meet all sorts out here.”

A red-faced artillery major pushed through the crowd and asked plaintively, “You promised me a dance, Mildred!” He stepped closer to focus his eyes properly. “Mil-
dred
! You
promised
!”

She smiled at Trewin. It was a lazy smile, like a challenge, he thought. “Very well, Benjy. As you've been a good boy.” She added calmly, “See you later, Lieutenant.” She was still looking at Trewin as the major guided her tipsily towards the radiogram.

Corbett said tightly, “I don't know where she gets the energy!”

The admiral grinned. “Well, you
should
know!”

Trewin felt like an uneasy onlooker. It was not just the drink. Every word, each gesture seemed loaded with private meanings. It was hard to imagine Corbett living easily with a woman like that. He said, “I suppose that most of the wives will be evacuated to England or Australia soon?”

The admiral stared at him in surprise. “What an odd chap you are! There's no danger here. And as soon as we get more aircraft on the island it will be an even better fortress than before.” He shook his head. “There'll be no running out this time, no more
humiliating retreats!”

Hughes, his flag-lieutenant, appeared at his elbow as harassed as ever. “The brigadier has arrived, sir. You wanted to meet him.”

The admiral placed the glass carefully on the table. “Very well, Flags. I'll come and see him right away.” He shot them a sad smile. “No rest for me, none at all.”

Trewin breathed out thankfully. To Corbett he said, “He sounds confident enough.”

Corbett did not reply directly. He was still staring towards his wife. She was dancing with her arms wrapped around the soldier's neck while a circle of onlookers clapped in time with the music.

He said suddenly, “Come with me.” He turned on his heel towards the curtained door without waiting for Trewin to reply.

Trewin shrugged and followed him. He caught sight of Tweedie's scarlet face beside the improvised bar, his eyes glazed, his chest heaving from drink and exertion as he tried to pour himself a further measure of gin under the anxious eye of a Malay steward. Mallory was sitting relaxed and unsmiling in a chair by the wall, smoking a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the clapping circle around the dancers. He looked very sober and alert, and strangely watchful, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Corbett opened a door and led the way into a small bedroom. A dark-haired Chinese
amah
sat motionless by the window, her hands resting in her lap, and the room was in darkness but for a small shaded lamp beside the bed.

Corbett said quietly, “This is my boy, Trewin.” He stood aside watching Trewin's face, his pale eyes shining in the lamplight. He repeated, “My boy, Martin.”

Trewin looked down at the child and wondered how many other sides he would see to Corbett tonight. Corbett's son was small and rather delicate-looking, his face relaxed in sleep. There was a photograph of his father beside the bed, and standing on
a chest of drawers a small model of the
Porcupine.