This began a new set of trials, but it was an ending as well as a beginning, and the old, daily battles with Mrs. Creeley became less frequent and not so bitter. This was all the more important because of the events which soon followed. We needed each other then, all of us, and bound ourselves together, in spite of past differences, to face the present burdens of sorrow and fear.
First came the fall of France, and Hitler's triumphant entry into Paris. That was bad. I pictured the streets thronged with Nazis, the dreamy lamplight of evening spoiled by swastikas and the night music broken by guttural German shouts and whispers. The rhythm of marching feet filled the streets while a Frenchwoman watched for her sons and they did not come.
The fall of France brought Tristan back to England, but we saw little of him, for he was still flying missions. It was not the triumphant return to British soil that he had wished for, and his letters to Violet grew less cheerful as the time went on. I had seen him as a sort of gallant knight when he left for France, but on the first brief visit he paid us on his return, when he got away from the base on a short leave, I saw him changed. His face was harder, its lines cut deeper. I heard him say to Violet, “We all went in for glory, but all there is in war is death, and the only death with any glory in it is a quiet death at home after a long and peaceful life.”
Perry also came to see us less often during that time, and his visits were shorter. He was often distracted when he did come, and Violet said he was very busy in a new position.
"He works with a special committee that works to find housing for the refugees," she said, with a look at Mrs. Beaufort, who brightened visibly at this introduction of her new favourite topic. "They have been busier than ever lately with all the French coming over."
Perry was instantly restored to favour in Mrs. Beaufort's eyes, and she forgot that she had ever criticised him. I could not forget what had been hinted at so easily, but I liked Perry still (indeed, it was impossible not to) and could not help but smile when I walked into the sitting room on several different occasions to find him asleep in the armchair with the newspaper spread across his lap or falling onto the floor.
I received one indignant letter from Gloria on the subject of the fall of France. Then came a surprisingly long break in our correspondence, and I heard nothing for several months after I had posted my reply. This came as quite a surprise to me, considering how regular (allowing for the unreliable nature of the post) she had been in her replies until then.
But soon I ceased to consider the post, or worry over things of that kind, for there came the blackest night in all our lives, the first of many spent in fear, huddled in the corner of the cellar. It was the night the Germans first bombed the city of London.
I shall not waste time making useless comparisons with other horrors, trying to create analogies which would only be flat and empty. It was like nothing I can find to compare it to. The thing we had feared the most since the war began had taken place, and the only thing for us to do was to grit our teeth and accept it with dogged patience.
We had all been trained from the beginning. Everyone had their bomb shelter in the garden, or, like us, a corner of the cellar reserved for such purposes. We kept stocks of food there, and we each had a little bag with some necessities, together with some old patchwork quilts, worked in bright blues and cheery yellows, and pillows, making the whole thing look rather more like a cosy retreat than a place to run to in fear.
We had heard the sirens before, false alarms or tests which came to nothing. Always, after the first sickening pangs of fear had assaulted my stomach and we had all hurried to the cellar the sirens would cease and the world would come right again. I had almost stopped feeling the knot grow in my insides at the sound.
But that night it did not stop. It went on, filling the night with an eerie, tuneless music, weird and relentless, which was soon joined by other sounds -- deafening, explosive sounds. Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort were huddled together among the blankets, and I could not see their faces. Mrs. Creeley crouched with her fingers in her ears, her teeth bared and eyes closed. Violet sat a little apart, very pale and very still, staring wide-eyed at nothing. I found myself thinking of Perry. He had been with us earlier that day. Had he gone home to Ashford, or had he stayed in town? I prayed fervently that he was safe in the country.
In the odd way which sometimes happens in the middle of a crisis, I found myself noticing little, inconsequential things. The pattern of the quilt I held about me, the whiteness of my knuckles, together with the little red lines criss-crossed over them, the line of Violet’s profile, which was all that I could see of her in the darkness, and the paradox presented by the mixed strength and fragility of that line -- all those things showed themselves to me in vivid detail, through my fear and the cacophony around me. So it went on for a while, and the strange thoughts kept at least a small corner of my mind free of fear, until at last all thought and feeling, including fear, collapsed, leaving only a wild desire for the noise to stop. I curled up into a compact little ball and covered my head with my arms.
I woke up there in the silence of morning, a silence which had never seemed so lovely, or so ominous. Was it the fresh silence of early morning, or was it the silence of death, of defeat? I could not remember hearing the bombs and sirens stop. None of us had moved in the night. We all lay in a heap of blankets. I was the first to wake, but the rest soon followed, rising out of the pile of quilts like strange wraiths with wild hair and dark-shadowed eyes, strange creases in their cheeks and strange groanings in their voices.
A few moments were spent by all in staring at the flight of steps leading upstairs, both wishing and fearing to ascend and investigate any damage. Violet was the first to get to her feet, and she stood for a time looking down at the rest of us. She said nothing, but I knew what she was asking with that silent look. Her expression said plainly, "Is there anyone here brave enough to climb those stairs with me?"
I rose to my feet and joined her.
We blundered up the stairs together, emerging at the top to find the house still standing. That important discovery made, and our minds more at rest about things in general because of it, we ventured out the front door and into the street, not caring that our clothes and hair were rumpled from an uneasy night spent buried in a heap of blankets.
We were not the only ones in such a state, however, and there were many others gathered on the street, blankets wrapped around their shoulders, blinking bleary eyes through forelocks of disheveled hair. For once nobody seemed to care about their appearance, and we shook hands cheerfully with our neighbours as everybody congratulated everybody else on surviving the night. Our immediate neighbourhood was undamaged, but smoke and dust rose in the distance, and their smells were everywhere.
Perry came in as we were sitting down to breakfast in a weak attempt to return to business as usual. He had intended to return to Ashford the night before, though he had a flat in London and often stayed there, but had been deterred by a friend's offer of dinner. They had sat up together until the bombing began, when they had taken refuge in one of the public shelters.
"I have come to try to persuade you to come out to Ashford with me today," he said to Mrs. Creeley, his usually merry face quite serious. "It is more dangerous than ever for you to stay here now, and completely unnecessary, when we could all fit together comfortably at home."
Mrs. Creeley pursed her lips, smiled, then frowned, and I gave up hope that she would accept the invitation.
"I have no doubt you mean it well, Perry," she said, quite gently for her, "but I won't do it -- not until the house falls down around my ears." Mrs. Beaufort groaned audibly. "I told Tristan once already, and I did think that you at least would understand and not push me. Ever since poor Adam died I've been determined to live on my own and accept charity from no one as long as I am able. Surely you wouldn't ask me to give up my independence when you know how much it means to me."
By the end of this short speech her voice had taken on an alm
ost pleading tone. I could not have refused her. I doubt even Mrs. Beaufort could have done that, and Perry was a closer sympathiser of hers than any of us. He could not approve her decisions, but neither could he take away her dignity. Mrs. Beaufort looked eager, as if she hoped that an offer would be made to the rest of us, leaving Mrs. Creeley alone in London to enjoy her independence alone. Perry looked at Violet, raising one eyebrow in a questioning way, but Violet only shook her head, as I had expected. I thought it strange that he looked to me next, and not to the Beauforts, but he did, and I shook my head as well, though I heard Mrs. Beaufort heave a heavy sigh as I did so. If Violet had chosen to stay with the old lady through everything, I would not desert her.
That decided the matter, and no more was said for the present about leaving town. Perry stayed to lunch with us, and our cheerfulness returned in the light of day with the ease his presence brought. We had just finished eating and were sitting together around the table, laughing over some news Perry brought from Ashford, when we heard a knock on the front door.
I happened to be nearest to the hall, and I jumped up in the middle of a laugh to open the door. Then I stood staring. It was Gloria.
Chapter 13
My thoughts were muddled. I was glad to see her, of course, more than glad. I had wished for her often, and had missed her stimulating influence. Yet, at the same time, why had she come? Her presence now explained the break in our correspondence which had troubled me, yet again, why re-cross an ocean, returning from safety to danger? My mind returned to the mayhem of the night before. That was what Gloria had returned to, though she could not have known that when she began her journey. I shuddered.
“You look like you just saw a moose fly by with blue bows round its antlers.” She was laughing. “Aren’t you glad to see me, Anna?”
Her words brought me back to a somewhat clearer idea of where I was and what I was doing. I hugged her.
“Of course I’m glad,” I said, “just so surprised I didn’t know what to do or say at first. Come in, and tell me what made you decide to come back.”
She stepped into the hall.
“Well,” she said, “you know how frustrated I was with the old ladies back home, trying to get something done for the cause and all they could think of was a knitting group, right? You can do so much more over here, you’re so much closer to things. I just couldn’t take it any longer and came myself. I wasn’t expecting to arrive just before a bombing raid, but they kept us safe once we got off the boat and I’m here now.”
“Gloria,” I said, hesitantly, “I hem shirts and dig potatoes.”
“I know, but there must be so many more opportunities, not just that, so much more everyone could be doing. I could take nurse’s training here.”
I tried not be hurt by the implication that I should be doing more. I knew there were young women training to become nurses in the city’s hospitals, which were already filling with our wounded soldiers, and I knew, in a vague sort of way, that many were my age and some even younger, but the possibility that I might become one had never entered my head. They seemed a breed apart, a bit like the soldiers themselves, born heroes who lived for that purpose. It was a ridiculous thought when I finally brought it out of the depths of my unconscious and examined it, like saying that butterflies were born as butterflies and never started out as ugly little caterpillars. But soldiers and nurses were much tougher things than butterflies, and much uglier than caterpillars, perhaps because of the dreadful, bloody cocoon they were forced to squeeze their way out of. It was a poor analogy, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was thinking nonsense again.
I shook my head to clear it of strange wandering thoughts, and Gloria looked a little offended, as if I was shaking my head at her idea of nurse’s training. I suppose that is how it looked. She could not have been expected to read my mind. I almost said something, but she spoke first.
“I expect I will find somewhere to stay soon, near the hospitals if I decide to do the nurse’s training, but would it be too much to ask to stay here until then?”
“No, you must stay with us, of course, and not think of leaving at all. I’m sure the others will feel the same way.” All, except perhaps Mrs. Creeley.
I led the way into the sitting room. I was glad that Perry was still there. I felt that he would support me and help me to smooth over an awkward situation, as he had done often enough on other occasions.
It was not to be so, however, for when we entered the sitting room I saw to my disappointment that Perry had fallen asleep in his chair, while everyone else sat staring at us, very much awake. I felt an irrational stab of frustration and for one moment wanted to cross the room to shake Perry out of his sleep and reproach him for failing me.
I shook myself instead. It was not right to expect anyone to take care of this for me. My sense of something vaguely ridiculous in my reaction to the situation helped me to say, “You all remember Gloria, don’t you? She’s come back to London to help, and I’ve offered her a home here with us.”
Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort both smiled and said how nice it was to see her again, but they looked confused. Violet nodded without a word. Mrs. Creeley looked slightly thunderous. I said nothing for a few minutes, searching for the right words, but I was saved the trouble of a longer explanation, for Gloria stepped forward and began to speak for herself, and I relapsed into grateful silence. It was better, after all, that they should hear an account from her own lips.
She made the explanation plain and concise, but it was delivered with all the ease and charm of her nature at its best and could not fail to win over her audience. It was her great gift – to persuade with a smile and win over even tough old ladies to her way of thinking. Mrs. Creeley was one of the toughest old ladies going, yet though she refused to return Gloria’s smile or express anything like joy at the prospect of another long-term guest in her house, she did not reject the idea outright and even told Violet and me to prepare the sofa in our room for another sleeper.
Perry had roused himself by then. Just in time, I thought rather unjustly, to miss all the discomfort. He remembered Gloria from our meeting in the park before her departure, and made her welcome with better grace than any of the rest of us had managed. The mood of the room lightened by degrees, and the pleasantness returned.
Gloria had left her suitcase in the hall. Violet and I went together to take it upstairs and prepare the sofa for her as soon as the question was decided. Gloria remained behind with our elders, drawn into a conversation with Mrs. Beaufort concerning last night’s bombing.
“Why did she come?”
“What?” Violet had asked the question as we were bumping up the stairs with Gloria’s suitcase. In truth I had heard her well enough. My “what?” was brought on, not by lack of clarity but by something in her tone which bordered on the uncharitable.
She looked a little embarrassed, and I gathered that she had not meant to speak her thought aloud.
“It’s only that there are already so many refugees looking for somewhere to sleep, and more are coming every day,” she said apologetically. “I say nothing against her motives. I’m sure she meant it well, but the house might be bombed tomorrow, and then what would any of us do? Tristan writes about the American pilots he works with very often, and I don’t mean to say anything against what they do to help us, but there are bases and quarters provided for those men. It’s different from this somehow. It sounds horrible to say it but there is a kind of help that burdens those it came to help more than it aids them.”
She broke off as if unable to complete her thought, and waved her free arm.
“I said more than I intended. I’m sorry, Anna. It’s so easy to become a little bitter these days.”
She was blushing with frustration at herself. It was the most emotional I had ever seen her. My mind went back to something she had said.
“What if the house is bombed tomorrow?” I wanted to direct the conversation away from Gloria, but I admit my choice of sub
ject was rather grim.
“If we are not killed, then we will all go to Ashford – your friend Gloria too if she wishes. Perry’s offers are always genuine.”
She said the first half of this speech very matter-of-factly, the second with a smile of renewed tranquility.
I didn’t mean to say it, but we had reached the bedroom and were all alone, and it seemed to be a day for blurting things out, if there are ever days allotted for that sort of thing.
“Why doesn’t Perry fight with the others?”
Chapter 14
My question sounded so dreadfully bare to my own ears. No introduction of topic. No mellowing of subject. I might as well have asked, “Is Perry a coward?” straight out. It came to the same thing.
But Violet was looking at me with a smile on her lips.
“Didn’t you know?” she asked.
“Know what?”
“Perry has Narcolepsy.”
I stared at her. I had heard the word before, but I had no more idea of its meaning than I had of the domestic habits of dung beetles.
“There aren’t many people who know what it is,” said Violet. To my surprise, she was laughing.
“I’m sorry Anna,” she went on “but I can imagine what you must have been thinking. Put simply, Narcoleptics fall asleep at uncertain times. It sounds slight enough, but it’s completely uncontrollable, and you could imagine how that would be in the middle of a war zone. It’s also why Perry doesn’t drive.”
I checked to make sure the door was shut, then threw back my head and laughed with her. I was filled with such relief, and it seemed ridiculously funny as well that this thing which had troubled me for so long had an answer which I never would have guessed but which solved the riddle so perfectly. I had imagined so many possible scenarios, but never this one, and never one which tied up all loose ends and uncertainties as this did. I thought of my first meeting with Perry, how he had fallen asleep and dropped his newspaper on the floor and his dictionary on my toe, and there had been a string of instances since then – finding out that he did not drive, walking into a room and finding him asleep, or just today when Gloria and I had come into the room and he had been dozing in his chair.
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