The Silent Forest

by Guy Sheppard

  ‘We should do it while everyone’s distracted.’

  ‘And how exactly do you plan getting away?’

  ‘We’ll go through the Forest.’

  ‘But it’s so dark we won’t see anything.’

  ‘It’s simple. You can come with me or stay here and suffer.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘You’ve seen what happens to workers who can’t or won’t work any more. They vanish. We should go tonight.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘We can’t risk not to.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘This has to end.’

  Nora’s eyes met his. To the everyday hazards of their surroundings, the ‘disappearances’ were an added, unspoken terror that she understood only too well.

  ‘You honestly telling me that you can find your way through the Forest, Thibaut?’

  ‘Yes, I think I can.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  ‘Everything tickety-boo?’ asked John, doing his best to duck and squeeze up the narrow, stone staircase. Were medieval monks really this small, he wondered, banging his head on the curved wall? Not slopping water from his bucket was virtually impossible, as he led the way over the vault of the south transept to reach a platform just outside the cathedral tower. ‘How’s the high intensity training coming along?’

  Every time Jo made this climb she still found it a maze. The tiny steps seemed to go on for ever and ever – they could have been on their way to the roof of the world.

  ‘Very funny, I’m sure.’

  To clamber about in these elevated nooks and crannies was to be like a rat or mouse. A door gave them access to the Ringing Chamber from which the peal should have been rung. She shone a torch into the cobwebby vaulting above the choir. At the very least, they were disturbing sleepy jackdaws and pigeons.

  They were in the shadow of the massive ‘Great Peter of Gloucester’. Where better? But tonight it hung silent over the city, waiting for the day of final victory when, as the largest medieval bell in England, it would once more ring out for joy at last?

  The clock, too, had stopped working inside its glass case, as if time stood still.

  She huffed and puffed with her stirrup pump, hose and a bucket of sand.

  John took a breather before going on.

  ‘You still doing all those backstrokes to stretch your pectoral muscles with “The Women’s League Of Health And Beauty?”’

  ‘You going to that gym yet?’

  ‘It’s a scientific fact that men have more fat cells at the sides of their bellies – it’s where we store excess weight in our love handles.’

  ‘By the sound of it, you’re not long for this world.’

  ‘And it’s your business, how?’

  ‘I worry about you, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s pregnant.’

  ‘Me and 100,000 others.’

  ‘Nice to see you’re in your customary bad mood tonight – like a grumpy bear.’

  ‘I’m losing the battle of rats and roaches at home.’

  Ascending as far as the next chamber, they arrived at the peal of ten bells and the accompanying machinery by which the chimes were set in motion at one, five and eight o’clock.

  ‘No one forced you to move into that lousy old house in Edwy Parade, Jo. Besides, you bought a humane rat trap, remember.’

  ‘Those devilish rodents have learned how to avoid it.’

  ‘Can’t you creep up on them and squish them?’

  ‘They post sentries.’

  ‘Isn’t Bella a ratter?’

  ‘She’s doing her best, I suppose.’

  Precisely, thought Bella, carrying her bone. John might try to accuse her of slouching, sleeping or scrounging sausages, but he should never question her willingness to go for the kill. It was not her fault if those damned rodents kept popping out the drains by the dozen.

  ‘So move back in with your parents,’ said John.

  ‘And you can go to hell.’

  The view from the roof of the tower was all moon and stars. There was not a Heinkel He III or Junkers 88 bomber in sight, as Jo placed her bucket of water at the base of one of the tower’s four knobbly stone pinnacles. John did the same. Directly below them stretched the cathedral’s gardens and residential houses, while to the north-west the Malvern Hills arched their dragon humps along the horizon. Elsewhere, the River Severn glinted silver in the moonlight as it snaked towards Wales, the Forest of Dean and Herefordshire Hills. It was all very beautiful, not like a world at war at all – except not a single light shone anywhere in the blacked out city that lay before them.

  Meanwhile Bella chewed the old fibula that she had recently disinterred. Any other dog might question why pets had to endure human small talk at all. Jo and John should have been kindred spirits, but they had an insatiable need to be rude to each other, apparently. Should she worry? It was just a silly habit. Not dog-like at all. That’s not to say she didn’t need to keep an eye on him and his indelicate ways.

  Jo gave John a precious cigarette.

  ‘You don’t mind spending nights up here alone with a fallen woman, then?’

  You see my point, thought Bella.

  Surprised, John scanned the horizon through his binoculars.

  ‘It would take a polar bear to feel amorous in these temperatures.’

  ‘The whole world has grown cold. I don’t think I’ll be able to truly love anyone else ever again.’

  ‘So it’s GI Joe or nobody for you, then?’

  ‘Shut up and make yourself useful.’

  ‘There’s a new film on at the flicks called “Outlaw”. We should go and see it some time. It stars Jane Russell.’

  ‘More to the point, did you get to Bristol all right?’

  ‘I took a Midland Railway train, which reminds me…’

  ‘Put it on the bill.’

  John cupped his cold hands together and blew hard on his knuckles.

  ‘I did a tour of the St Paul’s area.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s as we thought. James and Tia Boreman own many a decrepit house there – those that haven’t been obliterated by German bombs, that is. They’re landlords to one of the five most dangerous streets in the city. It has it all. Lots of black market dealing. Violent crime. Whores. There’s a hostel at one end of it that caters for men fresh out of jail. But here’s the thing: some ex-cons go on to work as labourers for Boreman Properties.’

  ‘How convenient. Many prisoners won’t know which way to turn when they finish their sentences. So James rides to the rescue. Hurrah.’

  John paused to give Bella a friendly nudge with his toe. She growled. People should know better than to disturb a dog when they have a bone. Even a human one.

  ‘Nothing suggests the hostel is in any way involved in anything illegal. The workers sign up to work for James voluntarily. Only then does it get dodgy. Nobody will even think of going to the police, though. I only learnt what I did by buying one or two people a lot of beers in the local pub. Which reminds me…’

  ‘I know, I owe you. So it’s exactly as Noah says? The authorities turn a blind eye to Boreman or even encourage him, because they want ex-criminals, ex-soldiers and anyone else seriously down on their luck to find jobs? Any jobs. Also, he gets them to do vital war work such as building that new army base at Ashchurch. In some very important people’s eyes James is doing us all a big favour by hiring ‘slave’ labour?’

  ‘You said it. He’s untouchable. No questions asked. It’s a matter of national pride.’

  ‘By taking human eyesores off the streets?’

  John held out a few potato chips in a fold of greasy newspaper.

  ‘Want some?’

  ‘Please,’ said Jo. After all, from now on it was her duty to eat for two.

  ‘Noah was right about a few other things as well. I can confirm that James plies his recruits with
just enough drink, cigarettes and false promises to keep them pliant. Most of all he exerts the constant threat of violence. He also confiscates their ID and Ration Cards. The result is a degree of secrecy that amounts to total and profound silence.’

  Jo grew thoughtful as she poured coffee and whiskey from her flask. She was listening out for the sound of heavy guns. Midnight was peak time for bombers as they flew up the River Severn as far as Chepstow and then turned for the short run from north to south towards Bristol’s dockland and city centre. All that pretty moonlight was not quite as idyllic as it seemed – German pilots used the glint on the water to navigate their way to their target just thirty miles away.

  ‘Looks like we’re in for another quiet night.’

  John listened out, too.

  ‘I don’t like it. I feel something is brewing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, the Luftwaffe hasn’t hit Gloucester for months now.’

  ‘Perhaps all our bombing of their cities is paying off?’

  Confident or not, Jo did not risk lighting any more cigarettes.

  ‘Okay, so we’re getting somewhere with James Boreman, but we have yet to find any obvious chink in his armour? Here’s what we’re going to do. First thing tomorrow morning, we go back to Bruno. I don’t think our widower has been entirely honest with us about Sarah.’

  ‘The Dean wants to talk to me about the Free Children’s Christmas Trail. It starts December 16. He wants the kids to collect stars hidden in the cathedral. Each star will tell part of the Christmas Story all the way to the altar. He thinks we should discuss whether or not any part of the building should be closed off on grounds of safety…’

  ‘Not to disappoint Dean Drew but perhaps right now is not the best time.’

  ‘By the way, where did Bella find this bone?’

  ‘Don’t even ask.’

  *

  It was early afternoon before Jo set eyes on John again outside the cathedral, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

  ‘What time do you call this?’

  ‘Your point is?’

  ‘I said twelve. Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Sorry. I couldn’t escape Dean Drew, after all. Did you know that he’s writing a book called “The Dean’s Handbook To Gloucester Cathedral”? He says it’s going to be a definitive new guide to everything of real beauty and historic interest within its walls.’

  ‘Who for? The Germans?’

  ‘He wanted my opinion on some floor tiles in the quoir, no less.’

  Jo paced up and down beside her Brough combination in front of the South Porch. She was furious. She hated delays of any kind. They’d wasted a whole morning, damn it.

  ‘Jump in.’

  John peeled back the snowy covers on the sidecar.

  ‘I said sorry, didn’t I?’

  ‘At this rate it will be dark before we even get there.’

  To ride out of Gloucester this way was to skirt its prison, docks and the remains of an old priory. Everything was overshadowed by the fickle presence of the River Severn which still defended the west side of the city with its three muddy channels. Soon they were high on the road above the low-lying meadowland of Alney Island where their medieval forebears had attended fairs and bet on racehorses.

  ‘What are the chances that this turns out to be a waste of precious petrol?’ asked John, holding on tightly to his hat. ‘We don’t even know if Bruno’s at home.’

  Bella barked in agreement. She sat on his lap and held her head out round the sidecar’s small windscreen. To have the wind whistle in her teeth was to feel both free and alive. Exuberant. It brought tears to her eyes.

  Jo peered through her goggles as she changed gear and steered fast past Highnam.

  ‘Then we’ll just have to wait for him.’

  ‘Don’t act the innocent with me. Have you thought this through?’

  ‘….’

  ‘Have you thought about this at all?’

  ‘On the day of his wife’s funeral Bruno was the perfect, grief-stricken mourner, but actually we now know Sarah wasn’t the angel she seemed. She was plotting something.’

  Bella barked again. Gave a snarl. That’s because John was nodding but not really listening. He was screwing up his eyes at something. Suddenly he raised his arm to the vehicle ahead and pointed.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Does that say what I think it does?’

  Jo squinted, too. The rear number plate on a green Vulcan lorry right in front of them said 442.

  ‘No wonder Bella’s so agitated.’

  Don’t mention it, thought Bella.

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘We keep a safe distance.’

  ‘What about Bruno?’

  ‘Forget about Bruno.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘You’re about to do something really stupid, aren’t you?’

  Jo kept the dropside truck firmly in view. Otherwise she said nothing.

  *

  Fifteen miles later they were cruising past rows of identically built, red-brick terraced houses in the little coal mining town of Cinderford. She knew how this looked, thought Jo, but sometimes you just had to go with the flow. The short winter day was drawing in fast and streets were busier than expected. That was because although the biggest mine at nearby Lightmoor had closed in 1940, the deep mine at Northern United and a host of smaller collieries were working doubly hard to hack out coal for the war effort.

  ‘This it?’ said John, seeing the lorry turn off the road.

  Jo slowed the combination to a crawl.

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘There, between those parked cars.’

  ‘Looks like the entrance to some sort of yard. It says Forest Scrap Metals.’

  ‘We’ll stop at the crossroads and walk back.’

  ‘Try not to look too self-conscious. In these quiet streets the locals will soon pick us out as strangers.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re just a loving couple going for a stroll.’

  ‘Easy to say.’

  ‘That trip to the flicks still on?’

  ‘….?’

  ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Stay where you are, Bella. Don’t let anyone near.’

  Not this again, thought Bella. No dog liked to see their owner walk away and leave them behind. There had been a time when she would have torn the sidecar’s seat to pieces to register her anxiety. But not now. Now she’d make do with shredding today’s newspaper with her teeth and claws.

  After that she’d stare unforgivingly down the street for the first glimpse of Jo’s return.

  She’d do her lost toddler impersonation.

  ‘If anyone asks, we’re here to find a replacement headlight rim for my motorcycle,’ said Jo.

  ‘…!’

  ‘No, actually, I really could do with one.’

  He was still smarting at her apparent rebuff.

  A high steel gate on wheels stood half open to a cobbled yard.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be anyone about.’

  ‘Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘Do we have a choice?’

  ‘After you.’

  They walked in past the hulks of old cars, two steamrollers and a grey, double-decker electric car from Gloucester Corporation’s redundant tramways that awaited scrapping. Each wreck propped its neighbour somewhat alarmingly. Beyond it stood some sort of brick-built office and the five-tonner.

  ‘We need to go closer.’

  John took a good look round.

  ‘I don’t see any guard dogs.’

  But there was no time to take stock, Jo was already on the move. She ducked her head, ran across the yard and crouched in the lee of the truck. John swore to himself and followed suit.

  She was already passing her hand over the vehicle’s green bodywork.

 
Nothing on that.

  Not a blooming thing.

  She just didn’t get it.

  Unless.

  That had to be it?

  ‘See here. This lorry has had a new radiator grill fitted.’

  John screwed up his face.

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘And I’d say the wheel arch on this side of the cab has been hammered flat, too, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That’s still not a lot to go on,’ said John, sidestepping iridescent puddles of oil. ‘So what if it has had a recent repair and repaint? Nothing ties it to Sarah’s car crash as such.’

  ‘They must link somehow. I feel sure of it.’

  Next moment someone emerged from the office. The cold eye of a torch lit the remains of windowless and doorless vehicles; each yellowish flash dispelled the winter gloom to bathe sorry remnants of glass, metal and rubber in the full glare of untimely illumination. With it came the sound of gruff voices.

  Jo beat a hasty retreat. John waited a few seconds and then darted after her – they met up again among the teetering pyramids of metal.

  ‘Damn and blast. Now what do we do?’

  ‘I reckon more timber will be collected tonight from the Forest. What better place to hide their lorry than in a scrapyard? Time to go. Somebody’s climbing into that mobile crane.’

  Sure enough, the crane rolled into action on its noisy caterpillar tracks. Its ugly metal hooks made a grab for something like greedy fingers – they clawed the cab off a steam roller and dropped it onto a pile of loose scrap with a loud bang. It was picking at wreckage to feed its hunger.

  John pulled Jo back by her oilskins.

  ‘Wait.’

  Although they could see their way clear to the street, that crane driver might notice them at any moment from his high cabin. He could knock them down with his hydraulic claws if he chose to.

  ‘We have no choice, said Jo. ‘We have to make a run for it.’

  ‘What happened to your headlamp ruse?’

  ‘I still want to look round.’

  ‘Not now we can’t. See. That man is shutting the gate.’

  Well, they had to do something.

  There had to be another way.

  So they hoped.

  Okay, which?