by Hilary Green
I said automatically, “You must be hungry.”
He made the routine protests, but ate the bread and dripping which I put in front of him.
“What will happen to Jane,” I asked.
He shrugged. “She’ll be detained under the emergency powers, I suppose.”
“That means no trial?”
“That’s right.”
“So we shan’t know how long ...”
“Until we get this Government out,” he said with sudden vehemence, and added more gently, “It can’t be long.”
“Is there any chance of finding out where she is and being able to visit her?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. We can try.”
There was a pause. He continued, “What will you do —about the children?”
I sat down heavily. “I promised her I’d look after them. She said other people would help—with money and things.”
He nodded quickly. “Leave that to me. I’ll organize that end of it. What about their ration books?”
“I suppose Jane must have them at Well Cottage.”
“Right.” His tone was businesslike now. “I’ll get hold of them tonight and let you have them tomorrow. And I’ll bring some of their clothes and things. Is there anything else I can do right now?”
He looked dead tired already. I said, “No. Don’t worry. I can manage.”
Jane had told the children that she would be away for the whole weekend, so they were not expecting her back that night. The next morning I called them all to me. I had always believed that children had a right to the truth, though that day I would have given much for the refuge of a comfortable lie. When I told them about Jane’s arrest there was a moment of stunned silence.
Then Bill, the younger said tremulously,“They can’t put Mummy in prison. What about us?”
“You’ll have to stay with us for a bit longer, Bill,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after you. The important thing for you to remember is that your mother hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s only because the whole country is in such a bad state that all this has happened. When it gets sorted out she’ll be able to come home again.”
“When will that be?” he asked.
I put my arm round him. Why did I find it so awkward to cuddle other people’s children? “I don’t know, love. Perhaps it won’t be long.”
My boys had listened in silence when I broke the news to the others. Later they found me in the kitchen. Simon said, “You won’t do anything to get arrested, will you Mum?”
I looked at them, standing side by side, pale and serious.
“Don’t you think Edward and Bill’s Mum was right, then, to stand up for what she believes in?”
They came and stood close to me.
“I suppose so . . Simon said slowly. “But. ...”
Timmy threw his arms round me suddenly. “We don’t want you to go to prison, Mummy!”
I held them both to me. “I’m not going to do anything that might take me away from you, I promise!” I met Simon’s eyes. “Not if I can help it,” I added, almost under my breath.
The children were getting ready for bed when the knock came. It was Harrington with a policeman and a woman in civilian clothes.
Harrington said, “Mrs Fairing, I understand that you have the children of Mrs Jane Grant in your care.”
I swallowed. “Yes, they are staying with me for the weekend. Why?”
“May we come in, please?”
They went into the lounge. Upstairs, I could hear the children’s voices, subdued for once to a low murmur.
Harrington faced me. “Are you aware that Jane Grant was arrested yesterday?”
I almost admitted it. The habit of deception was not yet established. Instead I said, “Arrested?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
He looked at me narrowly. “For taking part in an illegal demonstration and attempting to incite members of Her Majesty’s forces to mutiny.”
I stared back at him. I had control of myself now. This man had no authority. He was just a jumped up house-agent who fancied himself as a petty tyrant.
“Jane?” I said, in tones of amazement.
“I’ve warned you before about your friend’s dangerous views,” he said tersely. “May I ask why the children are here? What excuse did she give for leaving them? Or were you aware of her intentions?”
“No, of course not.” Did that sound too vehement? “She would hardly tell me something like that. She knows I don’t want to be involved. She said she wanted to spend the weekend with a friend. You understand, being divorced —and with the children; sometimes she needed to get away. I’ve often looked after the children for her.”
He raised his eyebrows with an expression of distaste. “Really? Well, it may interest you to know that this time she somehow got herself to Windsor, where she took part in a left-wing demonstration. As I told you, she is now under arrest. That being so, and there being no other legal guardian, we have arranged for the children to be taken into care. Miss Stephens here will take them as soon as they can be got ready.”
For a moment I could think of nothing to say. Then I mumbled foolishly, “But they’re getting ready for bed.”
“Then you had better stop them before they go any further and tell them to get dressed again,” Harrington said.
I pulled myself together. “There’s no need for you to take them. I promised—I mean, I’ll take care of them.”
“Promised, Mrs Fairing?” The grooves beside his mouth deepened as his lips tightened.
“If anything ever happened —years ago, I promised — when Jane got her divorce.”
“Well, I am afraid you are no longer in a position to carry out that promise, are you. Besides, in giving the children into care you will be doing the best thing possible for them. Surely that is keeping your promise?”
“Nol” I said, desperation growing in me. “No, you can’t take them. They know me. It’s cruel to take them away.”
“Nonsense, Mrs Fairingl” His voice was growing sharp and the Stephens woman was shifting her handbag restlessly. She was quite a young woman but her thickset body and sturdy legs in the flat-heeled shoes seemed to be the visible expression of deaf authority and her face was impassive.
Harrington went on, “We really haven’t time for all this sentimentality. Children are very adaptable. Their mother must have been fully aware of the implications of her actions. They will be properly cared for, away from subversive influences. Miss Stephens, go up and fetch the Grant children down, please.”
“No!” I said. “I’ll go —I’ll explain to them. ...”
Miss Stephens was already moving towards the door. I made to intercept her but Harrington said sharply, “Mrs Fairing!” and the policeman took a step towards me. I watched the other woman leave the room and then turned on Harrington,
“Why couldn’t you leave them with me? I could have cared for them.”
“Really, Mrs Fairing?” He asked smoothly. “What about food? We have rationing remember?”
“I —I would have got their ration books. They must be at the cottage somewhere.”
He reached into his breast pocket and drew out three ration books.
“We caught a young man who had broken into the cottage this morning. He was about to remove these, together with some of the children’s clothes. He appears to have been one of Jane Grant’s associates. It took us sometime to persuade him to tell us where the children were. Of course, I should have thought of you.” He seated himself, letting the words hang in the air as he returned the ration books to his pocket. I thought of Nick Saunders’ haggard, eager face as he described the demonstration and his quiet determination. How had they ‘persuaded’ him?
Harrington went on. “Mrs Fairing, I have warned you more than once about Jane Grant. I am prepared to believe that you were unaware of her real purpose this weekend but you must realize that your own position is now somewhat —shall we say precar
ious? I don’t know, of course, what your financial circumstances are, but I imagine that you must be more or less dependent on social security since your husband’s death. The time is coming when only those who can show that they are whole-heartedly behind the government will receive such benefits. If there was ever any doubt in your case —it might become necessary to take your children into care also.”
I turned my back on him and grasped the back of a chair. All my muscles had gone slack and I was finding it hard to breathe properly. Outside the room there was a commotion of voices and footsteps and Edward burst into the room.
“Auntie Nell —this woman says she’s come to take us away!”
Miss Stephens came in, holding little Elizabeth tightly by the hand. The child was crying and trying to pull away. Bill followed, shouting, “Let her go! Let her go!”
Harrington over-rode the noise.
“Be quiet, all of you, and listen to me! Your mother is in prison because she broke the law; but that does not mean that we wish you to be punished too. You are going to be well looked after, with enough to eat and plenty of other boys and girls to play with. There are many children who do not have either food or friends, so you are fortunate. There is no point in arguing. If you stayed here Mrs Fairing would not be able to feed you all. So go along with Miss Stephens and behave sensibly. Take them out to the car, Miss Stephens.”
The woman turned away, catching Bill’s arm with her free hand. He struggled. Edward made a movement of appeal in my direction.
“But, Auntie Nell, you said. ...”
I shook my head, the tears streaming down my face. “There’s nothing I can do, Edward. Nothing!”
He looked at me for a long moment and then slowly turned away. Bill ceased to struggle and Miss Stephens made her way purposefully towards the door. The constable laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder and propelled him after her. In silence they left the house.
In the doorway Harrington turned. “Remember, Mrs Fairing. Those who do not support the government cannot expect to be supported by it. Goodnight.”
As the door closed I could hear Elizabeth screaming “I want my Mummy! I want my Mummy!” A car started, doors banged, and the sound of the engine died away.
Simon and Tim were huddled together on the stairs. As I turned from the door they rushed down and flung themselves upon me. It took me a long time to convince them that they were not going to be taken away also. At length I got them to bed and sat with them until they were asleep. Then, sitting in the darkness, I made my plans.
The car had a tank full of petrol. I had not used it since the emergency began. That would take us how far? 320 miles at least. We could get to Dolgelly on that. There were the road-blocks, of course, but Jane and her friends had managed to avoid them. If I kept to the back lanes it would take longer, but we could still reach Wales in a day. And once there, deep in the mountains, surely no-one would bother to track us down.
My first impulse was to start at once, but I reflected that the sound of a car driving off in the middle of the night would be certain to alert the neighbours. Anyway, there was the curfew to consider. If I left just before nine tomorrow I could always say, if challenged, that I was taking the children to school.
I got up and fetched two suitcases. Swiftly I packed as many clothes as I could take for the three of us. Then I filled two cardboard boxes with all the food I could lay my hands on and crept into the garage to load it all into the car under cover of darkness. Then I crawled into bed and lay, tense and wakeful, waiting for morning. My conscience troubled me. I felt that I should stay and try to find out where Jane’s children were and visit them; try to contact Jane; keep them in touch with each other. But I remembered Harrington’s warnings and my own children’s faces, and thought of the quiet of the mountains; and the voice of argument died. This was where friendship and social responsibility ended. From now on it was me and mine.
FOUR - ESCAPE?
By first light I was up, sorting through maps and planning our route. Nick Saunders had said that all the bridges over the Thames were guarded. I must keep south of the river then, until it bent northwards at Reading. West of Oxford it might be easier to cross. Where else would I find roadblocks? The motorways appeared formidable barriers on the map; but I remembered the many lanes and farm tracks which crossed them. Surely they could not all be guarded. Towns, of course, must be avoided if possible; but how large a centre of population dare I risk passing through? Would every village present a hazard? I had no idea. Perhaps Jane and Nick had been dramatizing. After all, Nick had driven back from Windsor without being .stopped. Suppose I was stopped? Was it an offence to attempt to travel beyond the twenty-mile limit, or would I simply be turned back and told to go home?
I pulled myself together and shuffled the maps into a pile. There was no point in guessing. I must simply be prepared for each eventuality as it arose. Whatever the consequences I was determined not to stay where I was any longer.
I woke the children and prepared breakfast, using up the last of my egg ration in a prodigal omelette. Over the food I told Simon and Tim what we were going to do. Their eyes grew wide.
“You mean we’re not going to school?” asked Tim.
“No, I’m afraid you’ll have to miss a bit of school. You’ll catch it up later.” My heart gave a lurch. When would they be able to go back to school? Could I send them in Dolgelly?
“Won’t they mind —at school, I mean?” Simon asked. He was always the more cautious of the two, and more far-seeing.
“We aren’t going to tell them, Simon,” I said quietly. “Now listen. No, listen, Tim!”
He had started a sing-song ‘We’re not going to scho-ol. We’re not going to scho-ol!’
“This is difficult for you to understand, I know, but just believe me. You know things aren’t, well, normal, at the moment and we can’t do a lot of things we used to be able to do. I’m afraid if people knew we were going to Granny and Grandad’s they might try to stop us, so we’re not going to tell anyone. No one at all. Do you understand?”
“Why?” said Simon. “Why would they want to stop us?”I
I did my best to explain. After some thought he said, “We shall be breaking the law then, shan’t we.”
“Just this one, particular law.”
“It’s a stupid law, anyway,” said Tim. “You don’t have to obey stupid laws, do you Mummy?”
I felt their eyes on me and said, “Come on. Let’s get these dishes cleared away.”
Neither of them pursued the subject, but I caught Simon’s gaze once or twice and flinched inwardly.
We cleared up and finished packing. I made the boys tidy their room. I even made the beds, as if we should be back in a day or two. I looked into the room we had given Alan and Clare. Alan’s suits still hung in the wardrobe. As I opened the door they emitted a faint but powerful male smell which made me feel suddenly weak in the pit of my stomach. I had got Jane to dispose of all Mike’s clothes soon after his death because I could not bear the lingering odour which clung to them. It surprised me that Alan’s smell should have such a strong effect on me.
I wondered what would happen if he came back after we had gone, and contemplated leaving a note for him. Then I remembered how Harrington and his men had searched Jane’s cottage. I would leave no clues for them. In a sudden rush I hunted out all the old letters I could find from my parents and made a bonfire with them in the garden.
I turned off the gas and the water and unplugged the television. Then I locked the back door and took a last look round. The boys were waiting in the hall. I smiled at them.
“Come on! It’s like going off for a holiday, isn’t it! By tonight we shall be at Granny’s.”
I was trembling as I backed the car out of the drive, almost expecting Harrington or one of his men to appear and demand to know where I was going. I deliberately set off as if I was taking the boys to school and then doubled back, resolutely avoiding looking at anyone passing me on the pavement,
as if by so doing I could render myself invisible. It was not until we were well away from the village that I began to relax.
For the first part of the journey I needed no maps. Here the main roads ran west and south from London. Our route crossed them in a series of dog’s legs, tending always north-west through pastureland on into the heaths and pine woods of Berkshire. At a junction with the A30 we had to wait while a long convoy of army trucks and tanks rumbled past, heading towards London. The boys bounced up and down on the back seat with delighted exclamations. I gripped the steering wheel and felt my heart beating.
