by Robin Crumby
The sister seemed distracted, looking over Riley’s shoulder at the restless crowd, jostling among themselves to be next in line. Perhaps they worried they might miss out on the best accommodation.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get these families settled. Perhaps I could pop up to the hotel afterwards? I’d like to say hello to Jean. Set things straight.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Riley nodded, watching the sister leave.
A group of four children were the last to emerge from the waiting bus. An exhausted man she assumed was their father followed behind, doing his best to chivvy them along. The youngest daughter looked half-asleep, emaciated, clothes hanging off her birdlike frame. Endless fatigue had robbed them of their childhood. The father seemed lost in melancholy, his parental responsibilities hanging heavy around his shoulders. The other two girls were holding hands, clutching each other for warmth, tears streaming down their cheeks. They followed their older brother who stood tall, grown old beyond his years.
Will wandered over and bummed a cigarette from one of the drivers. Riley hobbled after him, eager to listen in on their conversation.
“Where are they going to put all these people?” asked Will, drawing heavily on his cigarette.
“That, my friend, is someone else’s problem. I just drive the bus. Let someone else do the worrying. Life’s simpler that way.”
“Ain’t that the truth? So what’s the latest from the mainland?”
“You hear that explosion last night? Rattled my windows, it did. You can see all the fires in Southampton from where we are. I tell you, this is the best place to be, as far away from the front line as possible.”
“Assuming the fighting stays that side of the Solent.”
“You lot won the lottery getting posted here. You should see what’s happening out east. Looks like one enormous construction site. There’s a whole patchwork of building projects, refugee camps, storage dumps. Row after row of armoured vehicles, jeeps, trucks and passenger coaches lined up ready for despatch.”
Riley turned her back on the men. Hearing stories like this reminded her how lucky they really were. It sounded like the allies had their work cut out dealing with the rebels. Over the past few weeks, most of those relocated from Hurst had given voice to their fears. The consensus remained that things would get worse before they got better. It seemed that passive resentment was giving way to widespread anger, fuelled by exaggerated stories of brutality, conspiracy, injustice. She had no doubt that Briggs and King were somehow involved.
What had started as disconnected voices whispering their disapproval was growing steadily into a chorus of discontent. Riley had seen it with her own eyes. If left unchecked, in time, division could split family groups, even whole communities. If the rapid breakdown of trust between the local population and the allies continued, there would be a real danger of civil war. Sooner or later, Riley knew that they would need to defend this fragile island state. War seemed inevitable.
****
The arrival of the first spots of morning rain prompted a hurried departure from the seafront. Putting her hood up, Riley watched the last of the refugees scurry off towards shelter.
Beneath the graffiti covering one of the buses, she made out a faded movie poster, peeling in places. Some apocalyptic weather event featuring storms and earthquakes. Remembering the world’s obsession with global warming and its consequences, she smiled at this outdated Hollywood vision of the future. Mother Nature had found an altogether more subtle method of bringing to a close this so-called ‘Age of Mankind’. The factories, aeroplanes and air conditioning units had fallen silent as one. In the end, a microscopic virus had done more damage than all the hurricanes and earthquakes put together. What came next was anyone’s guess. Riley found that thought somehow liberating.
Will laboured back up the hill towards the hotel, towing Riley in the cart, her legs swinging childishly over the back. He squeaked to a halt beside the front step, handing Riley her crutch.
Parked outside the dining hall was an unfamiliar black and chrome motorbike. A grey helmet was perched lopsidedly on its handlebars. She recognised the make immediately. It was a more modern version of the bike her father had kept in their garage when she was a teenager. The vintage Triumph had been his pride and joy, wheeled out each Sunday for a trip around the green. Riley and her sister took it in turns to ride pillion, wrapping their arms around his leather jacket, holding on tight, eyes closed. Her mother had never approved.
“Whose is the bike?” she asked Scottie.
He looked up from a blue-jacketed guidebook with a picture of the Needles rocks on the cover. “Some officer guy. I didn’t catch his name,” he replied dismissively.
“What did he look like?”
“Never seen him before. Black fella, asking for you.”
She didn’t remember any of Captain Armstrong’s officers being black. From memory, they were all the product of Dartmouth Naval College, stiff-collared, upper middle class – not exactly a hotbed for diversity.
“What did he want?”
“You best ask him yourself. He’s inside. Another administrator with a clipboard telling us what to do. Make him wait, I say.”
Riley smiled at this last remark and hobbled over, waiting for Scottie to make room on the step. His attention had already returned to the book.
“What are you reading?”
“There’s a shelf-full of guidebooks in the library. This whole island is fascinating. So much history. The Romans used to call this place ‘Insula Vecta’? Means place of the division.”
“Seems strangely fitting. I didn’t know the Romans made it here.”
“Four hundred years they were here. Must have been a bit warmer back then. Says it was famous for its wine.” He chortled. “You know, people have fought over this island for millennia. Everyone’s had a crack: the Vikings, the Danes, the French, even the Spanish Armada tried to land here.”
“They won’t be the last either.”
“I don’t know. All these soldiers? The whole island’s locked down tight. You can’t go anywhere. They tried to arrest me for bringing books back to the hotel. Accused me of stealing. Who’s going to care about the odd missing book, I told them.”
“Sister Imelda was in town. She’s going to head up here when she’s done.”
“God help us. She’s the last thing we need. Bloody do-gooders. Is she preaching her sanctimonious rubbish again? They think we need saving. Last time I saw her I said I was an atheist, just to shut her up. I told her this whole island was pagan up until the sixth century.” Noticing Riley’s puzzled expression, he explained, “You know, pagans? Stonehenge, druids, human sacrifice, that sort of thing?”
“I always thought there was something weird about this place, but I put that down to inbreeding.” She giggled mischievously.
“Island-folk have always been a bit special. Mystical even.”
“The morris dancers are a bit of a giveaway.”
“They certainly have their own ways here. You know the New Forest used to be full of witches, probably still is. That’s why they called this place the Isle of Wight. Wight used to mean spirit or ghost.”
“Isn’t that just what they used to tell the tourists? Ghosts and ghouls are the least of our concerns.”
The front door creaked open, and Sam stuck his head out.
“Ah, Riley, there you are. There’s an officer waiting for you in the drawing room. Arrived about half an hour ago. Said he was happy to wait.”
Riley sighed. “Okay, Sam, I’ll be right there. Just what I need, more census questions about skills and experience.”
“No, this one is different. I think he’s a priest or something. Don’t forget to ask him about Jack.”
“He may know something about Zed too,” added Scottie, with a wink.
“Knowing Zed, he’ll have forgotten all about us.”
“I doubt that!” Scottie said, with a knowing smirk and a nudge to her ribs. “A
nyway, I thought you’d be heading out that way soon?”
“Not until this leg heals. The doctor said the stitches can come out any day. Maybe the padre can give me a lift on that bike of his?”
“I doubt it.” Scottie laughed. “Not without a pass, signed in triplicate.”
“Come on, let’s get this over and done with. You never know when we might need their help again. You want to tag along? Hear what he has to say?”
“Sure. I love winding up these clipboard guys. They’re all so straight-laced and bloody English,” he mocked in his best Glaswegian accent.
Chapter Three
Outside the old manager’s office, Riley knocked before entering, holding the door ajar for the others. The padre heaved himself upright and straightened his jacket over a sizeable frame, beret folded neatly under the arm.
There was something familiar about him, but she knew, from his army uniform, that he wasn’t one of Armstrong’s men. She thought she’d met most of the officers by now and would certainly have remembered the padre.
He looked about her age, and had dark hair, striking features and sharp brown eyes. By all accounts, he had spent much of his service behind a desk, overfed and under-exercised. That was one thing you noticed on the island: so many people seemed plump despite the food shortages. They hadn’t suffered the same deprivation and rationing here.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Riley. “I was down in the village helping Sister Imelda with the new arrivals. Are you new here?”
“I got here a couple of weeks ago.” The man smiled as he shook her hand. “Chaplain Bennett, First Battalion, Princess of Wales’s Royal Regiment. Everyone calls me padre or Doug.”
“Welcome. Everyone calls me Riley.”
He looked surprised as if he’d just made a connection. “Sam tells me you are in charge of this place?” he said flatly, more a statement than a question. He noticed her limp for the first time as she leant back against the armchair.
Riley paused, not sure how to respond. In the absence of Jack, Zed and Terra, did that make her next in line? Scottie pulled a face as if to say “rather you than me”.
“Well, at least until the others get back.”
“Captain Armstrong asked me to do the rounds and make contact with all the different groups in this sector.”
From his satchel, the padre unpacked an Ordnance Survey map of the Isle of Wight, spreading it out on the worktop. His nails were manicured, and Riley was struck by the contrast between the whites of his cuticles and the coffee colour of his skin.
He turned the map around the right way and pointed to some pencil markings highlighting an area that stretched most of the way north back to Yarmouth. An area of perhaps three or four square miles was lightly shaded in pencil, incorporating everything west of Freshwater, including the Needles Headland, Tennyson Down and up towards the village of Totland.
“This is your area. Sector Seven. You’re going to be working closely with Corporal Carter and his platoon based up at the Old Battery.” He pointed to the Needles rocks and the cluster of buildings on the headland above it.
“I’m going to need you to supervise these three farms here, here, and here. Your first priority is to secure food production. Our forecast models show the island population growing by two to three thousand people per month for as long as we can sustain that. By the end of the year, we estimate the island population nudging north of fifty thousand people again. In the short term, we have enough food and water to last the winter. Beyond that, we need to move towards self-sufficiency. I understand your group has some experience with agriculture and farm animals?”
“That’s right. We managed a similarly sized estate back at Keyhaven, near Hurst Castle.”
“Good. Well, I’m told there’s a herd of fifty-odd dairy cows at Warren Farm. That should keep you in milk and cheese. Over here, there are pigs, sheep, chickens and goats. Then over this side, there’s a fruit farm.”
“That all sounds manageable, but we’ll need some extra hands if we’re to increase production. Skilled workers would be a bonus to work any farm machinery, drive tractors, that sort of thing.”
He made a note of her requests in a pocket notebook. “Anything else you need?”
“Well, we arrived here with next to nothing. For starters, we’ll need basic medical supplies: bandages, antibiotics, painkillers, morphine and anything else you can find for us.”
“Let me see what I can do. In the meantime, probably best to check what’s left at the pharmacy in town.”
“What’s this zone marked here?” she said, pointing to an area marked with red chevrons.
“That’s all off limits for now. Totland and School Green haven’t been cleared. Leave that to the army. They’re trained for that type of work.”
Riley half-snorted at the suggestion they needed protecting. “We managed just fine before your lot showed up.”
“Look, all I’m saying is that there’s a minority of locals who don’t take kindly to us being here. They resent the curfews, the forced relocations and the compulsory orders. And it’s still possible there are pockets of infection.”
“We were told they cleared this whole area weeks ago.”
“Only in Freshwater. It’s dangerous work, and it takes time. The clearance teams are due back here in a couple of weeks. Please just leave the house-to-house stuff to the soldiers. It’s not worth the risk. Your priority right now is the hotel and the surrounding area. How much more is there to do?”
“Well, we’ve made a start fixing the roof, repairing the fences, getting the place ready for winter. We had a team clearing the wood over there for firewood. We’ll put sheep and goats into that paddock behind the outbuildings here,” she said, pointing to the field on the map.
“There’s a pig shed we noticed a mile up the road we can use,” added Scottie. “Maybe have some chickens in this sheltered area behind the car park. We’ll need a few weeks, but I’d say we’re getting there.”
“Good. Next week we’ll begin billeting more people to the hotel. I’ve got another forty labourers arriving in a few days. You can get them to do all the heavy lifting, the digging, the dirty work.”
“Where are we going to put them all?” Riley wondered out loud, scratching her head.
“A building of this size? There should be more than enough beds for double that number,” said the padre.
“I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“I suppose we can put mattresses in those rooms downstairs.” Scottie suggested.
The padre reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and produced a list of names.
“The area commander asked me to confirm the names of those who’ve relocated from the castle. It says here there are seventy-three of you. Does that sound about right?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Riley, noticing Scottie nodding, as he scanned the list.
“And I understand you have seventeen females aged between fourteen and thirty-five?”
“I’d have to check,” said Riley, puzzled by the question. For some reason, it made her think of what Sister Imelda had said earlier.
“Good.” He smiled, ticking off the information on his sheet. “I think that’s everything for now. I’m going to need you to make it up to the Battery before nightfall. Corporal Carter will meet you there and show you around.”
They all nodded, checking the distance on the map. Riley was thinking about her leg and what time it would get dark.
“Is that your bike outside?” asked Scottie, trying to reconcile the image of a vicar on a bike.
“The Triumph? She’s a beauty, isn’t she? One of the men at St Mary’s found her for me. Needs a new carburettor.”
“Padre, I don’t suppose you could get me a lift later this week? With all the fuel rationing, it’s next to impossible to get around.”
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“There’s a young girl, Adele, needs her check-up at St Mary’s. She’s part of the volunteer
group. Then I’m trying to get to the boarding school at Ryde. The colonel said he would help, but I suspect he’s forgotten all about it.”
The padre blew out his cheeks. “Fuel’s only half the problem. With all these checkpoints everywhere, you’d need an island-wide pass. Very hard to come by. I could get you as far as the hospital, but from there, you’d be on your own.”
“I’m supposed to collect a friend’s daughter from the school. Do you know Zed Samuels? He’s working for the colonel. I made him a promise.”
“Can’t say I do. I know the colonel. Cold fish, hard to make out. Look, they’re good people up at the school. She’ll be in safe hands. They’ve had a lot of experience dealing with all these orphans and unaccompanied kids.”
“I’d really appreciate it.”
“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.” He paused as if trying to decide whether to voice his thoughts. “I don’t suppose you were based at Haileybury Court years ago, were you?”
“How did you know?” Riley blinked back at him, struggling to make the connection. “Yes, I was there for several years.”
“You probably don’t remember me, well, I don’t suppose we ever met, but I remember you. You looked after my brother. He used to talk about you. You made a big impression on him.”
“Good heavens. Very possibly. What was his name?” said Riley, wide-eyed.
“Reg. Private first class Reginald Bennett. Everyone called him Gooner.”
Riley took a moment to reflect and clicked her fingers. “Of course, I remember your brother Reg very well indeed. Lovely smile, always made me laugh. He’d lost a leg, hadn’t he? Came to us for weekly physiotherapy sessions.”
“That’s him. Roadside IED, just outside Basra. Blew off his right leg below the knee. He was never the same again, had severe head trauma, but your guys worked wonders, gave him back some dignity.”
“Whatever happened to him? Is he still alive?”