Page 101 of Strangers in Time

“What of it, sir? Wireless says they may come back tonight.”

Willoughby rubbed his stubbly chin and said, “Well then, tonight we’re going to take this lad back to the scene of his crime. And if the Germans do bomb, this might work out all right.”

“But, sir—”

“You will either do your duty, Constable, or be written up.”

Higgins gave a halfhearted salute. “Yes, sir. How will it be done, then?”

Willoughby began speaking quietly.

ONENIGHT INHELL

IGNATIUSOLIVER WAS DRESSEDin his air warden’s uniform. He carried his overly large gas mask with massive eyeholes and a built-in speaking system so that he could address a crowd with instructions that might save their lives. He had a coil of tubing over his shoulder that would be used with a bucket and pump stirrup, which his comrade tonight, Lee Parker, would be bringing. He slipped his training manual into his pocket because no one could remember every line of instruction. He had a torch with a special covering so as not to be an unintentional beacon for the Luftwaffe. Even so, he would keep it pointed down. That and his gas rattle and first aid kit completed his equipment.

Oliver recalled that before the Blitz his uniform consisted merely of dark blue overalls and a steel helmet with “ARP,” standing for Air Raid Precautions, imprinted on the front. Things were a bit more complicated now.

He opened the door to Molly’s room and saw that she was already fast asleep after her long and tiring day. Still just a child, really, but nonetheless carrying the burdens of adulthood on her youthful, if capable, shoulders.

He set off to meet up with Parker and commence their rounds.The sky was clear and the wind was quite calm. Both those factors gave him grave concerns. And the moon, while not a bomber’s moon, was full and bright enough to be potentially disastrous for the British tonight. And the BBC had repeatedly warned of a possible attack.

He passed an intersection where an official sign hung on the wall instructing:

WHAT TO DO WHEN I HEAR GUNS, EXPLOSIONS, AIR RAID WARNINGS

Oliver went through the official litany in his mind:Do not rush about like a madman terrifying others, but keep a cool head and take cover in appropriate facilities with your gas mask. Do not try to have a bloody “look” at the bombs falling. Keep in mind that certain noises can be good noises, like our boys firing back with their ack-ack guns. And lastly, the odds are largely in your favor not to be blown to bits.

How terribly reassuring,he thought.

He met up with Parker, a man of about fifty with a lopsided smile and a flask of water, with perhaps a touch of something added, always on his person. Oliver noted that Parker had the stirrup pump and an empty bucket, which, when paired with the tubing Oliver had brought, could be used to fight small fires. The problem was the fires they encountered were rarely small.

Parker said matter-of-factly, “Appears London’s going to get a hiding tonight, all right. Well, let’s get on then, shall we?”

They started their sector rounds, which took them past the Covent Garden Medical Clinic. Their blackout curtains were drawn and secure, as were all the others up and down the street. There was virtually no traffic.

They made rounds for an hour, and it was drawing close to ten o’clock when the whine of the first sirens ended the quiet. The radar stations and watchers had obviously spotted the enemy coming from across the Channel.

They both looked to the sky, though they knew nothing could be seen as yet. Oliver also was aware that all over the city, anxious gunners were running to their antiaircraft batteries, and soon their booms would herald projectiles heading skyward.

He and Parker sped into action as folks started spilling out into the streets.

They blew their whistles, spoke through their gas masks’ amplified equipment, and corralled the citizens into orderly groups. Oliver was grateful to see that a sleepy-looking Molly was among them. There were several public shelters about, and Parker and Oliver split up leading the groups to those respective places as quickly and efficiently as possible. Others with backyards would be scurrying into their half-buried Andy bomb shelters and lie there hoping not to perish. Oliver knew that many Londoners refused to go to the Underground stations for shelter. Many had told him that they thought hiding beneath the earth showed a lack of moral courage. Desdemona Macklin had been one of those to so inform him. “A hidey-hole?” she had said with disgust. “No thank you. If I’m to die let it be in my own home.”

The red alert sounded as he worked away.Twelve or so minutes to attack,Oliver thought with a relative calm that belied what he was actually feeling.

Oliver took down the names of everyone at his shelters, then rushed out and compared his list with Parker’s. There were a number of people unaccounted for, for whom they had responsibility. They once more split up to track them down.

Oliver managed to get to four of the five fairly quickly. Two had no occupants; the third was Desdemona Macklin. She came to the door, refused to leave as usual, and went back to her basement refuge. The fourth was an elderly woman who was a bit dazed, but Oliver managed to get her to a shelter. He crossed her name off the list and was rushing to the fifth and last home when he felt it.

This was his own personal early warning system that he had discovered during the first attack he had ever endured. It was theinordinate humming and vibrating under his feet, as though a million bees had taken up residence in the pavement. The disturbance, in fact, was coming from the collective force of the fleet of propeller planes thousands of feet above them. And if the sheer force of what he was feeling and hearing was any indicator, this was not going to be a good night for the English.

A hiding indeed.

Oliver began to run. The house he was going to was just around the corner. A Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, elderly and not always responsive to the sirens. The vibrations became so intense, it was as though he were being lifted off his feet. He looked up again and felt his heart leap thrice in rapid succession. The sky was blotted out. All he could see were dark, oblong shapes. The Luftwaffe force above was truly beyond comprehension. Next, the planes’ bay doors opened, and now came thousands of bombs plummeting toward London.

Oliver listened closely to the whistling sounds the falling bombs were making. He knew from experience that if the notes became deeper the bomb was heading away from you. If the pitch started to rise, however, the opposite was true. Unfortunately for Oliver, the pitch soared.

He sprinted around a corner and dove behind a pile of sandbags set ten deep in front of a small hotel. Oliver kept his chest off the pavement so that his ribs would not be crushed by the vibration of the bombs’ detonations. The first explosives struck around the corner, and the next thing Oliver knew there were no sounds in his ears. It was like he’d been tossed off a pier into deep water. He could hear nothing except a murky, dulled semblance of disquiet.

---