Death in the Stars

by Frances Brody

  A call from the pilot made me look down again. Lights had been spread, a runway created. We were above the grounds of Giggleswick School. That must be the cricket pitch. Everything had been thought of. Slowly, the plane came to meet the earth, its wheels juddering as we bumped across the field.

  Charlie and Joe jumped out first, extending a hand to help first Selina, then me and then Billy from the plane. Charlie was talking to Selina, asking how she felt. Billy looked a little wobbly but was grinning, looking across at the boys in Officer Training Corps uniforms who formed a line along the perimeter of the cricket pitch.

  A small party emerged from the gloom to greet us, led by a tall thin figure in dark suit and muffler. ‘That’ll be him,’ Billy whispered. ‘I might make something of this, a man who spends his life staring at the stars.’ Billy moved to be close to Selina, for whom the gentleman was making a beeline. Part of Billy’s act was to create characters and give them comic monologues. I wondered if we might soon expect an impersonation of the Astronomer Royal.

  Of course it was not Sir Frank Dyson who stepped forward to greet us but, quite rightly, the headmaster of Giggleswick School, Mr Douglas, and his wife, along with the school’s head boy, Alex McGregor, a lad of about eighteen, clad in the Officer Training Corps uniform.

  After exchanging a few words, Mr Douglas led Charlie and Joe away, in search of the Evening News reporter and photographer whom they would be taking back to London in a few hours’ time, once the official photograph had been developed.

  Mrs Douglas ushered us to the cricket pavilion where we met Mrs Dyson, the Astronomer Royal’s wife, and her young daughter, Ruth. The girl looked shy at being introduced to Selina. She was at that awkward age I remembered so well, her hat tilted at a jaunty angle. As she tugged at one of her knee-length stockings to pull out the wrinkles, I noticed that she was clutching an autograph book.

  Finding seats for us at one of the smaller tables, Mrs Douglas, the headmaster’s wife, drew Selina into conversation. Billy amused Mrs Dyson and Ruth with a few jokes from his performance of the night before. The head boy, Alex McGregor, brought a tray of tea and homemade biscuits. If we needed anything, we must ask him, he said, and later he would show us to our viewing point. Mrs Douglas urged Ruth not to be shy about asking for autographs. ‘Whose do you have so far, Ruth?’

  ‘The prime minister’s, all the chaps from Greenwich and the cameramen from two of the film companies, Gaumont and Pathé. I’ve still to find British Polychromide and one other whose name I forget.’ Buoyed up by her success so far, Ruth somewhat shyly asked Selina if she would sign her book. Selina graciously obliged, resting the book on the table and drawing a little picture with the caption The Day the Sun Stood Still.

  A woman at a nearby table held a camera that had a clock drive attached, made from Meccano parts. I exchanged a few words with her, feeling a pang of envy and regret. People in my local photographic society had been exchanging advice and ideas about how to photograph the eclipse. Annie Maunder’s book Camera Work in the Eclipse had been widely circulated and avidly read. Because I was here ‘on duty’ with Miss Fellini, I would forego this once in a lifetime opportunity, though I had slipped a camera into my bag. It wouldn’t do for the eclipse, but there might be some other moment worth capturing. I was already aware of the hundreds of people gathering just beyond the school walls, and I was keen to take a look about, though the light was poor.

  Mrs Douglas had moved away from the table. I glanced at Selina. She smiled. ‘Mrs Douglas has gone to find two senior boys to show me round the school premises.’ There was a sigh in her voice and I felt a stab of guilt that perhaps this was just why I was here, to save her from extremes of hospitality.

  Something was required of me. ‘Do you want me to come with you, or to get you out of it?’

  ‘No it’s all right, but I need to find Billy first. Will you wait here and I’ll bring him back? He likes to stroll about earwigging and I do want us to be together for the big moment.’

  Young Ruth Dyson and I were left at the table together. ‘I’m glad Miss Fellini is bringing Mr Moffatt back. I’d be sorry to miss his autograph. We saw him once in Wembley. He was so funny.’

  ‘Yes he is, and good company, too.’

  ‘Is he well? Only I thought he looked a bit poorly earlier, just before he dashed off. Some people are really very nervous about today. Even I had a headache this morning.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  As might be expected from the Astronomer Royal’s daughter, Ruth was well-informed and began to give me details of the equipment and of the other spots across the country where Greenwich astronomers had set up camp. ‘We all went into the chapel early this morning for a service and to pray that the clouds would part if only for the crucial moment.’

  When Billy returned, looking more cheerful, he happily signed Ruth’s book and included a catchphrase and a stick-man drawing. We then went to explore, walking across the cricket pitch towards the domed chapel. The area in front of the chapel was dotted with tents and items of equipment. Pointing out a telescope, Ruth explained that the instruments had been stored in light huts, specially erected to protect them. ‘The sun’s rays will be reflected into that telescope by means of a mirror that moves by clockwork as the sun moves. It has something called a seleostat. The men named it Joshua.’

  ‘Joshua?’

  ‘They give everything names. Nothing to do with the Bible, they just love that song, you know the negro spiritual, “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho”. Fit means fought. Mother said Daddy’s men are the best kind of warriors, armed with knowledge.’ She pointed to another telescope. ‘That one has a prism in front of the glass to catch the light of the sun’s crescent just as it is dispersing.’

  ‘My goodness, what’s that?’ Visitors were gathered round a very long structure and being asked to step back.

  ‘That’s a specially made camera, forty-five feet long. I believe that’s the one that allows pictures to be taken as if the sun stands still. The photograph will be developed straightaway and the press photographers will copy it.’ She pointed out a man setting up some paraphernalia over by the chapel. ‘He’s not with us. He’s come with recording equipment from the BBC to test whether the eclipse will have an effect on radio waves.’

  ‘You’ve certainly found out such a lot.’

  ‘Yes. I came up early with Daddy. It’s the second time I’ve been.’

  One of the masters called to the OTC boys who began to form a line across the area where the equipment stood. Arms outstretched, in a way that must make them ache, they stood on guard, preventing observers from coming too close. Alex, the head boy, was on the end and gave a little wave.

  We inspected the monster camera and dutifully gathered round to stare but not touch. Miss Dyson gave a little speech of explanation. It was hoped that not only would there be still photographs of the eclipse but a cinematograph film would be created. That was why the film companies were here. She adopted an apologetic tone. ‘Daddy’s chaps would be able to explain it all properly but they’ve too much on today.’

  ‘It’s a mammoth operation, Ruth.’

  ‘I know, and it has been planned for so long. The Astronomer Royal previous to Daddy made the first plan, and Daddy came last year. The chaps have spent ages setting up equipment, taking measurements, making preparations. There are other Greenwich encampments across the line of totality, so somewhere there’ll be success. I just hope it’s here. Daddy feels lucky about it.’

  I glanced inside a tent where men were working by lamplight. Two huddled over a table. One held a millboard and pencil. An air of tense concentration spilled from inside the canvas. It reminded me of the feeling one gets if standing close to runners while they wait for the starting pistol. Three more men were just standing, smoking, waiting. One of them was the prime minister. Mother would be most upset if I did not make myself known to Mr Baldwin, or Stanley as she called him. They were on good terms, and my aunt was a
close friend of his wife, Lucy. Nevertheless, I left Mr Baldwin to his own devices.

  Mrs Douglas, the headmaster’s wife, appeared at our shoulder. She glared at the men and all but tut-tutted. If they had been her husband’s pupils I felt sure she would have told them to extinguish their cigarettes. ‘We’ve asked all the villagers and everyone in the surrounding area not to light fires until after 5.30 this morning. There is a good deal of smoke when a fire is first lit and it could impair the view.’ Ostensibly she spoke to me but her words were for the benefit of the smokers. The men, puffing away like steam trains, paid no heed.

  *

  Having arrived far too early because organisation demanded we should all be in place, there had been time for our blood to freeze and teeth to chatter hard enough to make jaws ache. Selina had been interviewed for her opinions and expectations, photographed by newspaper photographers and the cinematographic cameramen.

  A wireless connection had been rigged up and the BBC’s six-dot signals sounded at 5 am and 5.15. Silence fell as the time neared. We three stood side by side, Selina, Billy and I. In the early light, the sight all around the grounds and beyond was extraordinary. Beyond the school, all along the hills, were thousands of people, a great mass of humanity. In spite of the line of OTC boys and the policeman on the gate, dozens of girls and young women had hitched themselves astride the surrounding dry stone walls.

  Bitter cold travelled from the soles of my shoes and turned my feet and legs to blocks of ice. I pulled down my hat, having lost feeling in my gloved fingers even inside the muff. My cloche didn’t prevent my ears from freezing sufficiently to drop off. My eyeballs turned to glass. Never had ground felt so cold. The goose bumps on my legs grew to the size of potatoes. I thought of the people we had seen by the bonfire as we had flown over the countryside. Was that how ancient man and woman kept fear at bay? We were one with those people of long-gone centuries, gathering according to some instinct that preservation or destruction depended on how they danced, sang or sacrificed. Whether we feared or welcomed nature’s proceedings, joining in came from some deep impulse. The tens of thousands had gathered on the hilltops and hillsides like the sun worshippers of old. My brain seemed no longer to belong to me. I was part of something altogether bigger.

  Someone from Sir Frank’s party called out, ‘Five minutes!’

  Amid the murmur that followed the announcement, Billy whispered, ‘It ain’t funny.’ A deep silence descended.

  Four minutes to go, and the sky was cloudy, as weather forecasters had predicted. It would be the most awful shame for all these men from Greenwich if their efforts were in vain and we saw nothing. We had all been supplied with goggles made of a single piece of cardboard with tiny eye screens. I reached in my pocket and brought out my goggles, ready to raise them.

  ‘Three minutes,’ a voice called.

  Yet for the birds that had started their dawn chorus in the usual fashion, this was a morning like any other, where even birdsong took on immense poignancy. After the three-minute call, a lark sang. The great invasion of their territory by humans onto their dawn doings did not worry the birds or stop their chorus.

  We within the area of the school chapel were all quiet but such was the excitement beyond the school, all along the path by the wall that divided us, a collective whisper rose.

  The sky remained cloudy. Billy would have his comic monologue of disappointment and wasted effort. We were in for a gigantic flop. At ‘two minutes’, the whispering from beyond the dry stone wall faded. At ‘one minute’ came a collective intake of breath and the rustle of sleeves as goggles were brought to the ready. The OTC boys were all standing together and as one they raised goggles to their eyes. In the dim light, the effect was extraordinary. The dark centres of their protective goggles turned their eyes to empty sockets, creating a platoon of boys with skeletons’ heads.

  Miraculously, the clouds parted at twenty-three minutes and thirty seconds after five o’clock.

  The prayers of that morning had been answered. The clouds had parted just in time for us watchers to witness the eclipse. Sir Frank Dyson and his men were lucky indeed, and so were we.

  As the moon began to blot the sun, shadow fell, deep and dark and bitter. The world turned utterly bleak and icy cold. Slowly, light abandoned us. Birds stopped singing. Stillness enveloped us. Now and forever silence and darkness would hold. We all knew it. The light of the world died. And then a voice grown hollow was counting aloud, counting the seconds.

  From the deep grave of darkness came some stirring in the air, a hesitant light. Behind me, someone sighed. A circle of colour appeared, as if splattered from small brushes. An unseen crayon, pink and orange, outlined an oddly shaped black cloud as if mapping some new country in the sky. There was a sigh of relief as the light grew. We there on that dawn had witnessed the eclipse, watched earth snatched into the void, and then returned to us.

  We could see again. The chapel, the ungainly instruments, the puny tents, the hills beyond, and each other, all came back to life.

  The silence stretched and then suddenly a cheer went up and a great sense of relief swept through the crowd. There were hoorahs and applause and as hands clapped, two young men from the Greenwich party flung out their arms and in time with the clapping of their fellows began to dance a fandango.

  Selina joined in, laughing and clapping and then humming and improvising a fandango tune, like some American jazz singer. One of the young men held out a hand and she began to dance with him. She whirled and twirled. The dance did not last long. Selina parted from the young man with a smile. He kissed her cheek and returned with his fellows to their instruments and measurements. The schoolboys from the Officer Training Corps began to speak to guests and escort people from the chapel grounds.

  It would be a little while yet before Charlie and Joe returned from taking the reporter and photographer into the line of darkness. I turned to Selina, ready to speak, to ask would she come for refreshments. Even after our airmen returned, we might have a wait until the official photograph was developed, to be taken to London for the Evening News.

  Selina’s gaiety of a moment before had fled. She gulped. ‘Billy.’ She was looking about for Billy Moffatt. Only Billy wasn’t there.

  She then caught sight of the OTC lads, over by the chapel, taking their cue from the Greenwich scientists and dancing. A small crowd had gathered. ‘He’ll be over there, showing off.’ She laughed with relief. ‘He’ll be dancing the fandango.’

  We set off in the direction of the chapel, unaware that we had witnessed not just an eclipse, but the eclipse of death.

  Five

  Missing

  Watching such an extraordinary occurrence had left me slightly wobbly at the knees and queasy in the gut. Perhaps Billy had experienced a similar queasiness to mine and had gone to find the facilities because he was no longer among the OTC boys who had now been rounded up by a master and given some new task. Alex, the solicitous head boy, remained watchful and keen to be of service. He had clearly been appointed to take care of Selina.

  ‘Where is Billy?’ Selina asked. ‘We said we would stay together.’

  We looked about. Now that I could turn away from the heavens and return to earth, I was almost overwhelmed by the numbers of people. Women and girls were still sitting astride the dry stone wall, wondering how best to get down. Having clambered up there in darkness they realised that climbing down in the light challenged modesty and the preservation of stockings. There was much merriment as OTC lads began to help them down.

  A few people went into the chapel, for reassurance or prayer. I guessed Billy would not be among that number. Most observers were now leaving, making their way to cars or to the railway station. The party from Greenwich were still about their business, checking their equipment, jotting down figures, comparing notes.

  Alex stepped forward. ‘He can’t be far away. If you want to get a cup of tea and warm up, I’ll take a look for Mr Moffatt and let him know where you are.
Mrs Douglas has made arrangements for you to take tea in the dining hall.’

  I thanked him.

  ‘Don’t mench!’ He grinned and went off to find Billy.

  Selina looked suddenly ghastly, stricken. I touched her hand. ‘It’s over. We can relax. Let’s go into the school and warm up. It’s only a few minutes’ walk down the path.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t bear it if something has happened to Billy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something has happened. I had a feeling something bad would happen today but I told myself it was just anxiety. I thought if I were here, and if you were here, everything would be all right. I should have held his hand.’