He noticed many soldiers working with the corporation squads. He noticed also, and very definitely, that the town smelled. It was difficult to define the smell. It was not wholly drains. It seemed rather to be an atmosphere of mustiness and squalor, such as you might find in a poor, dirty house with tight-shut windows. Not very nice.
He made his way back home on foot. On his way he passed a garage and saw cars being filled up. He went inside and found the proprietor, whom he knew.
‘I’ll put six gallons by for you, in cans,’ the man told him. ‘But you must come and get it before dinner-time, Mr. Corbett. I’ll be sold right out by that time at this rate, and I may not be able to keep it. Some of the chaps get real nasty if they think you’re holding any back.’
He saw the petrol put in cans and placed beneath the desk of the small office; then he went on. He reached his house to find his wife with Mrs. Littlejohn, doing the baby’s washing.
‘It don’t take but a minute,’ said the older woman, ‘rinsing out a few things like this. Many hands make light work, that’s what I say.’
He took John into the next room on some pretext. ‘She’s been such a help, Peter,’ said the girl. ‘I’d have been off my head with the children and the washing if it hadn’t been for her.’
He told her what he had learned in the town. ‘We’ll never get to the boat while they keep this cordon up,’ he said. ‘And Lord knows when we’ll get inoculated.’ He paused. ‘I might creep through alone, or you might, if we thought it was worth while to try. But we’d never make it with three children and the car.’
‘I don’t want to separate, Peter. There’s no point in that. Let’s stick together.’
‘All right.’
‘That means we stay here for to-night, does it?’
‘I’m afraid it does.’
She smiled. ‘The electricity’s off, so the cooker’s out of action. Still, we’ve got the cold lamb to eat.’
He said: ‘I’ve got to take the car down for petrol. I’ll look around and see what food I can get hold of.’
‘Do see if you can get some milk. Fresh if possible—otherwise get some tins.’
‘All right.’ He paused. ‘I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go along and see if I can find Gordon. He might be able to help with this inoculation business.’
He drove the car off the trench and out of the back gate. He fetched his petrol from the garage, and then drove down into the town to look for food. There was very little fresh meat to be got, and what there was was bad in quality and smelling a little. He did not buy any.
‘It isn’t very nice,’ they admitted in one butcher’s shop. ‘Still, it’ld be all right for stewing, or making a curry, or anything like that. It’s a job to keep meat good, these times.’
He asked: ‘Why is that?’
‘The refrigerator downstairs. It’s electric.’
He bought a small sack of flour, and a fair quantity of miscellaneous tinned foods. He could not discover any fresh milk in the town at all; at three dairies they told him that none had come in that day. He got six tins of condensed milk, however, and was glad to do so.
Finally he drove to Gordon’s house. He hesitated to ring the bell, thinking that the surgeon might be sleeping after his night’s work. Instead, he pushed at the front door; it was open, and he walked in.
He stood in the hall and called softly: ‘Is anybody here?’
The door of the consulting-room opened, and Gordon appeared. ‘Hullo, Corbett,’ he said quietly. ‘Come along in. I’m just going back to the hospital.’
Corbett said: ‘I won’t keep you, then. But first I want to thank you for troubling to ring us up that afternoon about boiling water and stuff. It was good of you to think of us.’
The surgeon said: ‘That’s nothing. As a matter of fact, I very nearly didn’t. At the time I didn’t really believe that it was cholera. It seemed—incredible.’
‘How did it start?’
The other shook his head. ‘I don’t think anyone knows. The only explanation is, there must have been a cholera carrier in the city. Of course, immediately you get a real case of it it’s bound to spread, with conditions as they are.’
‘I came to see if you could help us over the inoculations.’
Gordon said wearily: ‘I can’t, old man. I only wish I could. There’s not a drop of serum in the town—for anyone. The pathologists are working on it at the hospital, but it will be forty-eight hours before they get their first batch through. And we want such a devil of a lot of it.’
‘I won’t keep you, then,’ said Corbett. ‘But how’s Margaret?’
‘She’s gone back into uniform—you know she was a nurse before we married. She’s down in Northam, with the cholera cases.’ He smiled. ‘So we’re both busy.’
‘You got a lot of casualties last night?’
‘Just about the same as last time—five or six hundred at the hospital. The difficulty is in evacuating them. They’ve got to be got out of the city. A woman who’s been blown up by a bomb doesn’t get on well if you keep her in a town that’s bombed each night. But with this quarantine cordon things are awfully difficult. And anyway, there’s nowhere we can send them to. We filled the country hospitals bung full after the first night.’
Corbett nodded. ‘You’ve been operating all night?’
‘Two tables—just the same. It’s a bad business, Corbett.’
The solicitor said very quietly: ‘You make me feel ashamed of myself. You’re working like this for the city, Margaret’s nursing cholera, and I’m doing nothing at all. All I do is come and worry you for morphia and serums for myself and my own family.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, Gordon.’
The surgeon said: ‘Don’t hurry away. And don’t be a bloody fool—or not more than you can help being.’ He pushed across a box of cigarettes, and lit one himself.
‘This thing has been a great disaster to us all,’ he said after a time. ‘I never thought, if war should come again, that it would be like this. Still, that’s the way it is.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got my job to do, and you’ve got yours. Mine’s very easy—just hard work at doing what I’m used to.’
Corbett said: ‘That’s not true. I’m not doing anything. I suppose I ought to go off and enlist.’
Gordon swung round on him. ‘Don’t think of it. Go on doing what you’re doing now.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
The surgeon said: ‘I mean just this. You’ve got three strong and healthy children. The country’s going to need them presently. Your job is to keep them safe through this, and that’s the only job you want to think about. If you get Joan and your three kids through this in safety you’ll have done your stuff—and God, man, it’s a whole time job if ever there was one! Don’t think of anything else until you’ve done that job properly and well.’
He paused. ‘Get them away. Get them to Ireland or America, or anywhere they’ll be safe from bombs and from disease. But get them out of this.’
Corbett said: ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I know I’m right. I’ve thought of this all night. I’ve had young people on the table—kiddies, some of them. Children that I knew, that Margaret knew. And I’ve been patching—patching—patching all the time, trying to make the damage that they’d got less onerous for them. And I’ve been thinking if only I could work at getting them away, out of the danger of it all, I’d be doing a better job.’
Corbett shook his head. ‘Nobody else could do what you’re doing, in your place.’
‘I know. But that’s the man’s job to-day—the only job. To see your people safe.’
Corbett rubbed his chin. ‘That’s very different to the ideas one’s always had. I’ve always thought that in a war the right thing was to join the Army, or the Navy, or the Air Force, and fight for the country.’
The surgeon said: ‘With a bloody great sword, I suppose.’
He shook his head. ‘I know those were the old ideas,’ he said. ‘But
a new war—and this war’s very new—brings new conditions, and the old ideas won’t fit. Then you’ve got to hack out a new set of ideas for yourself, and do the best you can. Put away the red coat, and invent a khaki one.’
He got up from his desk. ‘Good luck, and remember me to Joan. Remember what I said about getting them away.’
Corbett turned to go. ‘Good luck to both of you.’
‘We’ve got it,’ said the surgeon quietly. Corbett glanced at him.
Gordon said: ‘I’ve got no children to look after. And Margaret—she’s working like I am. I’ve got my luck, and she’s got hers. I’m working sixteen hours a day where I’m most needed, at work I can do damn well. I never worked better in my life. I don’t get any money for it. I don’t expect anyone will even remember that I’ve done it, when this thing is all over. But this is my peak, and I know it. This is what I came into the world for. Whatever I do after this will be—just spinning out my time.’
He picked up a raincoat from a chair. ‘And now if you don’t mind, old man—I must get back to the hospital.’
Corbett left him and drove back to his house. He found Littlejohn there. ‘No inoculations for two days at least,’ he said. He told him what the surgeon had said. ‘But keep it under your hat, and don’t go spreading it around. We don’t want to start a panic, or anything like that.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mr. Littlejohn. ‘Least said about things like that the better. I been round and about this morning. Most people don’t know anything at all about the sickness. I didn’t let on.’
Corbett nodded. ‘Better not.’
The builder said: ‘What do you say if we take a car, and find out if there really is this cordon that they talk about?’
‘It’s there all right,’ said Corbett. ‘Anyway, it was this morning. I heard about it at the Civic Centre.’ He paused. ‘Still, I’d like to take a run out on the Hamble road.’
‘Aye,’ said the builder. ‘Mrs. Corbett was telling me that you was thinking of moving to your boat. You’re doing the right thing, if you ask me.’
They got into the car, and drove down to the Cobden bridge across the River Itchen. On the bridge all cars were being stopped by the police.
The constable said: ‘Have you got a pass, sir?’
‘No,’ said Corbett. ‘Do I need one?’
‘Can’t leave the borough boundary without a pass. Where are you going to?’
The builder said quickly: ‘Sholing. That’s inside the borough. I got property there. You know me—Littlejohn’s the name.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said the constable. ‘Sholing’s inside the boundary—you don’t want no pass for that. That’s all right, Mr. Littlejohn.’ He moved back from the car.
Corbett said: ‘I may want to go out to Hamble this afternoon. Will that be all right?’
The policeman shook his head. ‘No, sir, it won’t be all right. You’ll not be able to go beyond the borough boundary, just this side of Netley Common. Not without you have a pass from the Chief Constable’s office.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ said the man impassively. ‘Them’s the orders that we’ve got. You can pass along for Sholing now.’
They drove through. Corbett said: ‘Let’s go on and have a look at Netley Common.’
They went on down the road to Bursledon. Three hundred yards from the boundary they came upon a mass of cars parked by the roadside, all filled with bedding, trunks, and children. Corbett parked his car a little way behind the crowd; they got out and went forward on foot.
A rough barrier of planks and barrels had been set across the road. Soldiers were billeted in a house nearby; three of them were on guard at the barricade, with bayonets fixed upon their rifles. There were two policemen dealing patiently with enquiries from the crowd. A tired, worried-looking subaltern of infantry appeared to be in charge.
‘It’s no good hanging about here, sir,’ the constable was saying patiently. ‘You want to go back to the Civic Centre and get a pass. We can’t let nobody through without a pass. Now, keep the roadway clear, please.’
They stood and watched a couple of ambulances go through. There was nothing more to be seen or to be learnt; they turned back to the car and drove home.
The builder was very thoughtful. ‘That crowd’s all right now,’ he said at last. ‘But when they find that they can’t get a pass, and that they’ve got to stay another night … I don’t know.’
Corbett had nothing to say to that.
They parted at the gate, and Corbett went into his house. Joan met him. ‘You’ve not had any lunch,’ she said; it was early afternoon. ‘Come on and have something to eat. Then I thought we might all lie down and have a rest.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve heard of worse ideas than that.’ He looked at the barograph, still falling slowly. ‘That doesn’t look so good.’
It was not raining, but the day was grey and cold. As soon as he had had a meal he went and lay down on his bed; Joan and the children went up to the nursery. He fell asleep almost at once.
When next he opened his eyes, it was dark outside. Joan was with him, with a candle and a cup of tea.
‘It’s six o’clock,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a lovely sleep.’
He sat up on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s the weather like?’
‘Cloudy,’ she said. ‘But it’s not raining.’
He took the cup of tea from her, and sipped it. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
She nodded. ‘I slept for about an hour. The children are still sleeping—I didn’t wake them. The more they sleep the better. Baby’s awake. I’ve just given her her feed.’
‘I must go and put the car over the trench.’
‘I’ve done that,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ He got up and went over to the empty, broken window, and stood looking out into the night. ‘We’ll have to see it out here for a day or two,’ he said. ‘While that cordon’s there we shan’t get to the boat.’
She sighed. ‘I wish we were there now.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Peter, I’ve got the wind up for to-night. I don’t know why. I’m scared of what may happen if they come again.’
He put his arm around her shoulders ‘We’ll be all right. Tomorrow we may be able to get away.’
He took the candle and went with her up into the attic to see how much water they had left. The main tank was about one-third full, the hot-water system seemed to be nearly full. ‘It looks as if we’d used about half of what we had to start with,’ he said. ‘That means about three more days, using it as we are now.’
‘What do we do after that, Peter?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Go and get it from the Corporation water-carts, I suppose.’
He went out into the garden, and stood looking at the water in the bottom of the trench, wondering what to do about it. He looked over the garden wall; Mr. Littlejohn was standing in the middle of his lawn, listening intently.
‘Did you hear any shots fired just now?’ he enquired.
‘No. Were there any?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I was out here, and I thought I heard shooting. Listen again.’
They listened, but heard nothing but the sighing of the wind and the passing of an occasional car.
The builder stirred. ‘It’s just nerves, I suppose,’ he said apologetically. ‘I keep on thinking about them barricades. Properly asking for trouble, I call it.’
Corbett said: ‘There’s trouble either way, whether you keep them in or let them out. If they get out, the cholera may go right through the country with things as they are.’
‘I suppose that’s so.’
They stood one on each side of the wall, staring up into the sky. ‘Do you think they’ll come to-night?’ asked Corbett.
‘It’s all cloudy,’ said the builder. ‘They’ve come the two cloudy nights we’ve had, and kept away the clear one. I reckon they may do.’
‘Sing out if you should want any
help.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Corbett. I’ll do the same by you. It’s better to stick together, times like this.’
Corbett moved away and spent a little time improvising a grating for the bottom of the trench, to raise the floor above the water-level.
Presently he went into the house. He found Joan in the drawing-room, cavernous with the windows boarded up, sewing something for the baby in the flickering light of a candle.
He touched her on the shoulder. ‘Give it up,’ he said. ‘You’ll hurt your eyes. Come on—let’s have a game of cards.’
She laid her work down gratefully. ‘I’ve been thinking about things, Peter,’ she said, shuffling the cards. ‘We’ll have to get away from here. I want to go to the boat now, however difficult it may be living on it with the children.’ She stared around the room. ‘I mean, just look at how we’re living here! It’s … squalor.’ She caught his hand. ‘I was cooking up that gruel stuff for the baby, Peter, and I was making it a big batch because I wanted it to last. And you have to do it in a double saucepan, and that iron one is so heavy. I had to do it over the dining-room fire—there wasn’t anywhere else to do it. And I spilt it, lifting it off the fire, all over the carpet. It made a terrible stain. I don’t think it will ever come out.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I want to get away from here, and go and live on the boat. It’ld be easier than this, and we wouldn’t be spoiling things.’
He pressed her hand. ‘I know. I think we would be better there. I think we should be able to get there to-morrow. Would you like a whisky and soda?’
‘I’d love one, Peter.’
He fetched the drinks, and they sat down together to a simple card game in the light of the guttering church candle. They played for an hour, and then stopped. When they stopped moving the silence was intense.