by V M Knox
Beverley’s lecture had, however, made Clement appreciate one thing; resentment and anger, in all its various forms, was a powerful motivator, and in one way affected every member of the group. In addition to his own bitterness towards his late father and Peter’s situation, Reg, so he had informed them, was also angry because he had received notification that his home could be compulsorily acquired for a hospital. Reg could do nothing to prevent it, if the government so wished. Clement hadn’t known about this. In fact, none of them had. Then there was Ned who, with the tragic death of his son, had lost his reason for living. Clive’s anger for his lost sons was well known and George who felt unjustly wronged, saw the unit as a way to redeem his honour. But the one who worried Clement the most was still Stanley. Clement recalled the wide-spread feet, the powerful lunge, the force of the knife as it ripped the straw soldiers. After Beverley’s lecture and during one of the brief periods of respite, Stanley had confided to Clement about his abusive childhood. Stanley’s anger towards his father was embedded and long established.
Clement had never liked David Russell, who he regarded as rude and unfeeling and of low moral character. Now, after what Stanley had said, Clement despised the man. The thought of taking the list of his closely linked group to the Inspector appalled him. He had fought against it, but Gubbins had insisted. The envelope with the list would be sealed but Clement feared the temptation for Russell to open it would be too great.
An hour out of Lewes, and while the others slept, Clement compiled the final list and sealed it within the envelope Gubbins had supplied for the purpose. It bore the Ministry of Home Security official stamp on the top left corner. He placed it into his top pocket, his thoughts returning to Stanley. Should the lad be excluded? But Stanley’s strength was an asset, and during the few days at Coleshill, Clement thought he discerned a change in Stanley for the better. The lad seemed to have matured. Clement’s fingers tapped the envelope within his pocket, the names burning into his chest. Stanley’s involvement aside, if the operation went ahead, every man on the list, including Stanley, would die. It was just a matter of when. Perhaps he was worrying unnecessarily.
Even though they all lived within a mile radius of each other, dispersing at Lewes station had a sense of finality about it; of lost naivety. Was it acceptance that with a German invasion, the peaceful life they had formerly enjoyed was gone, perhaps forever?
Clement watched Peter walk away, up the hill towards Lewes High Street. His friend had said he wanted to purchase some books from the antiquarian bookshop in town. Clement wasn’t sure the reason was genuine. But during the journey, Peter’s sullenness had softened to some extent. They had talked about the first aid class he and Peter, as second-in-charge, had had to attend. They had studied photographs of stab and gunshot wounds. They had even learned at Coleshill how to amputate a limb, if this proved necessary. No member of the team should ever be left behind, dead or alive, and all traces of their presence were to be removed in the event of an aborted mission. And the subject of Peter’s deceased wife and her mother was not raised between them again.
Reg and his wife Geraldine, who had come into Lewes to meet the train, had gone into the town to do some shopping. Ned, Clive, Stanley and George walked ahead of Clement towards the bus shelter. They were a mixed group, as different as any could be in age and background, yet they seemed to have found a common purpose and he was proud of them.
Thursday was usually Clement’s day with Mary. And now he had missed two, he felt the cool wind of disappointment.
‘Would you like to go to Brighton tomorrow?’ he asked as he entered the kitchen.
The spoon stopped.
‘We could take that Victoria sponge with us and have tea on the esplanade, if you would like?’
‘What are you up to, Clement?’
‘Nothing! I just thought that as I was away last week and for the best part of today, you may like a trip to the seaside tomorrow.’
‘Friday is your chess morning with Peter? To say nothing of your sermon for Sunday?’
‘It would be nice to see the sea birds and smell the salt air again.’
She was watching him; the hazel eyes missed little.
‘A nice thought, Clement. But I think your war games have tired you out and you’re not as young as you used to be. Tea in Lewes will suit me just as well. Besides, I need to pick up some flour there.’
It was a quiet evening. The radio was full of news about London and journalists speculating about invasion. It was a topic he did not wish to discuss.
The telephone rang.
‘I’ll go,’ Clement said.
‘Clement? It’s Johnny. Can you talk?’
‘A little.’
‘No invasion as yet but your group is on high alert. How was Coleshill?’
‘Exhausting.’
‘Good. Clement, you will be contacted by the Royal Engineers who are to build your Operational Base starting tomorrow. Could you select an appropriate site?’
‘Of course, Johnny.’ He glanced along the hallway. ‘But could they work with my second-in-command?’
‘That should be alright.’
The line went dead.
Clement held the receiver in his hand then dialled Peter’s number. He was about to hang up when Peter answered.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Peter,’ he whispered. ‘I do hope you were not in bed already. I wanted to alert you to a call you will receive tomorrow from the Royal Engineers. I have suggested that they liaise with you about selecting the place for the Operational Base. If you have no objections, I could use the morning to spend some time with Mary.’
‘Of course, Clement. Happy to help. And Clement, don’t worry about me.’
Clement smiled. ‘Thank you, Peter. Good night.’
An hour later they lay in bed. He knew Mary was not asleep but they didn’t speak. He was weary. Yet despite this, it was the unknown that drained him most. Johnny had said they were on high alert. Any day. He felt a surge of nervous anticipation. His thoughts turned to the Operational Base. He was pleased Peter had agreed to liaise with the engineers. Whatever had triggered his friend's reaction to those photographs seemed to have abated. The building of the Operational Base was a blessing all around. He said a short prayer, asking the Lord for forgiveness for its brevity and turned on his side. In the darkness he heard another wave of droning increase and decrease overhead.
‘London?’ Mary whispered, turning over in the bed.
‘Probably,’ he replied.
He felt her nestle into his side and he drew her close.
Chapter 9
Friday 13th September
The door closed behind them as they stepped from the bus. Mary slipped her arm through Clement’s. As they walked the narrow footpath of Lewes High Street, one unfamiliar face followed another, but his mind was not on the people of Lewes. The men of his cell occupied his thoughts. Private lives. Secrets. Skeletons. Their lives had been changed, no doubt forever, but it couldn’t be obvious to the casual observer.
While the outward behaviour of the older men of the group had not altered, it was not the case for the two young villagers, Stanley and George. While in the village waiting for the Lewes bus, Clement had seen how differently they looked at him. George had even winked. It was foolish. Nothing about their activities at Coleshill could even be hinted at in the village and he intended to raise it with them the next time they were all together.
His thoughts lingered over Stanley. The lad was a special case, and even now Clement felt ambivalent about his inclusion. He would never forget what Stanley had confided about his father, nor could he erase the image of Stanley’s powerful swing. Swift and deadly. Stanley had thrust the blade with such force that it had shocked them all. But, as Clement had discovered, each one of them had their Achilles heel. Anger, in all its forms, lurked within the human breast.
Anger lies in the lap of fools, he thought, quoting Ecclesiastes and holding the grocer’s door for Mary. He wa
ited while she purchased their ration of flour. With the neat, brown paper bag in her basket, they made their way to the tea room.
‘Tell me about the meeting Monday night, Mary? I’m keen to hear about it?’
‘It went very well, Clement,’ she said sitting beside him in the bay window of the tea shop. ‘We have compiled a roll of villagers’ names and a separate one for any evacuees. It was a unanimous decision to make The Crown the assembly point, with the roll kept there. Doctor Haswell is putting some basic medical supplies there also. I made sure to include the local ARP warden in the meeting.’
Clement patted her hand. ‘Well done. Let’s just pray all these arrangements won’t be necessary.’
The waitress brought the tea and Victoria sponge. Forty minutes later they walked back to the bus stop.
‘Do you ever think about all the people who have walked this High Street since the castle was first built?’ he asked.
‘You believe the invasion is imminent?’ Mary asked.
He did not answer. Not that he intended to avoid her clairvoyant question this time, but they had reached the bus stop and a young woman was seated in the shelter.
‘Are you going to Fearnley Maughton?’ the young woman asked.
For a moment Clement was struck silent by her astounding beauty. He gathered his wits. ‘Yes. I am Reverend Clement Wisdom and this is my wife, Mary,’ he said and tipped his hat.
‘Pleased to meet you, Reverend Wisdom. I’m Elizabeth Wainwright. But everyone calls me Elsie.’
‘Do you have family in Fearnley Maughton?’ Mary asked.
The girl shook her head. ‘No. I’m the new nurse and midwife. I have to report to a Doctor Haswell tomorrow. Do you know him?’
‘It’s a small village, Elsie.’ Mary’s voice was sharp. ‘We all know each other. Where are you staying?’
‘At The Crown. Is it all right? Decent, I mean?’
‘It will suit you well enough,’ Mary said. ‘I didn’t know Doctor Haswell required a nurse?’
‘I answered the advertisement in The Times,’ the girl said.
‘Where have you come from?’ Clement asked.
‘London,’ Elsie said. ‘Actually, I’m pleased to find employment outside London. What with the bombing since Thursday night.’
‘Is your family still in London, Elsie?’ Mary asked.
‘My parents lived in Eastbourne but they died some years ago. They were quite old when they had me. But central London isn't the safest of places at present so I'm pleased to be out of it.'
'Where did you work?' Mary asked.
'Charing Cross Hospital. Its near..'
'I know where it is,' Mary said.
'You'll find it very quiet here in comparison, Elsie,' Clement put in.
'I do hope so and I am looking forward to meeting some of the people in the village. Who knows, perhaps I will meet someone special.’
The girl beamed her flawless, wide smile, her intense blue eyes sparkling.
The arrival of the bus halted the conversation and Clement watched as she reached for a battered, red tapestry valise. It was not much bigger than Mary’s shopping basket and he wondered if the girl had lost everything in the raids.
Mary did not chat on the return journey. That was unusual. And Clement knew the cause. Mary’s eyes had not shifted from the disarming Elsie Wainwright and he saw the evidence of disapproval in the corners of his wife’s mouth. As intrigued as he was to learn why the girl should be the object of such scrutiny, he knew better than to ask.
‘There is The Crown,’ he said, as they drew into the village. He bent to pick up the girl’s odd, red bag.
‘I can manage, really,’ Elsie said grasping the tote.
‘Will we see you in church on Sunday?’ Mary asked.
‘Yes,’ the girl said. ‘That is if there are no babies to deliver.’ She walked away, carrying her limited possessions.
There was no conversation at the kitchen table as they listened to the Home Service broadcast on the wireless. London was ablaze, especially in the East End. Bombs and burning aircraft fell from the sky. People everywhere were homeless. Hundreds of previously evacuated children who had returned to London had died or been orphaned. The fire brigade worked around the clock battling the overwhelming flames from incendiary bombs. Even the Palace and St Paul’s Cathedral had taken a hit, and there was no indication that the bombing would cease any time soon. Clement stood and switched off the radio. A gloomy pall descended.
‘Clement, I think I should visit Gwen. She will be frightened,’ Mary said.
‘Do you think it wise?’
‘Wise or not, she is my sister and Windsor is not that far away. I could catch this evening’s train and be back tomorrow.’
He didn’t like it but there was little use protesting. Once Mary had decided there was no stopping her. He glanced at his watch. It was not yet five o’clock. And even though he would worry about her safety, her absence would give him the opportunity he needed to see David Russell.
Clement went to his study to consider what he would say to Inspector Russell. He closed the door and listened for the click. Sitting at his desk he reached for the envelope. He carried it on his person at all times and never took it out anywhere but in his study. He ran his finger over the Ministry of Home Security crest and pondered the names on the list one more time. As much as he hated the idea of Inspector Russell’s involvement, with the bombing London and other major cities were receiving, he knew Gubbins expected the German invasion very soon. Clement convinced himself that it would only be a matter of days that Russell had access to the list. Al-though, that led to another unsavoury duty.
Within the hour, he walked with Mary to the bus shelter.
‘I’ve left some sandwiches in the meat safe for your supper. And don’t worry about me, Clement. I’ll be back tomorrow on the evening train.’
He kissed her goodbye and waited only long enough for the bus to leave the village.
Clement walked away from the village green. Tapping his fingers against his top pocket, he felt for the envelope and strode towards Fearnley Maughton Police Station. It was a building he passed daily, many times, but it was also a place he rarely frequented. Even though giving the list to Russell still did not sit comfortably with Clement, visiting the Inspector did give Clement a chance to familiarize himself with the building’s layout. He pushed open the door and walked towards the desk. ‘Good evening, Constable Matthews.’
‘Good evening, Reverend. How can we help you today?’
‘I would like to see Inspector Russell, if he is still on duty.’
‘You're lucky to catch him in,’ Constable Matthews said, glancing at the clock on the wall. He entered Clement’s name in the daily log and noted the time; five forty-five pm. ‘If you’ll take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.’
Clement sat in one of the upright chairs that lined the walls of the public area and slipped the envelope from his pocket. The sealed list felt warm and it had developed a curvature from contact with his chest. He replaced the envelope, pushing it down into his inside coat pocket.
He heard the slow but deliberate stride of Constable Matthews and the man reappeared. ‘If you would like to come this way, Reverend?’
Constable Matthews held open the glass partition door to the rear hallway. Clement had never been on the business side of that door. He looked around. Before him was a long corridor. To his right and left were glass panelled offices while directly in front of him, at the end of the hallway, was Inspector Russell’s office. The door was ajar but Clement could see the name painted on it in large gold letters: Inspector D Russell.
‘Just the Inspector and myself here at present, it being late.’
‘This won’t take long, Constable.’
Matthews smiled. ‘I was just off home.’
Constable Matthews tapped on the door, pushing it wide. Clement stepped forward and the constable closed the door behind him. Clement heard the heavy footsteps d
isappear along the corridor.
David Russell was a small man in his mid-forties - red-faced, red-haired and with piercing blue eyes. Clement had never considered the man’s age before, but now that he knew Stanley’s exact age and about Stanley’s young life, Clement realized that David Russell must have been in his mid-teenage years when Stanley was born. It explained a few things. Russell remained behind his desk, making no attempt to stand or greet Clement, he simply gestured towards a leather-covered chair before the desk. ‘Well, Reverend, what can I do for you? I hope you haven’t come begging for money?’
Clement furrowed his brow, visualizing the day, which could be soon, when he had to eliminate the man. ‘I have come on the most secret of issues,’ he said, his voice low.
The Inspector slouched into the chair. There was something condescending about Russell’s posture, Clement thought, as if he were saying, what could you possibly know that would be deemed secret? A derisive sneer spread over the man’s lips.
‘Last week I met with Colonel Colin Gubbins in London,’ Clement began. ‘I have been asked to form an elite sub-branch of the Home Guard known as the Auxiliary Units. These orders have come directly from the Prime Minister.’ Clement reached into his coat and withdrew the letter, his fingers pinching the paper. ‘This contains a list of names; men who have been trained to kill the enemy once they land on our shores. Only you and I know of the existence of this list. And it is to stay that way. You are involved only so that when the invasion happens you will not impede these men in any way nor interfere with their decisions. The men on this list have authority far beyond your own.’ Reaching across the desk, he handed the sealed envelope to Russell who leaned forward to take it.
