by Vance Huxley
Harold came round the corner into Orchard Close and stopped. Fourteen women were lined up at the front of the girl’s club houses and none were laughing. Harold didn’t even know the names of two. Many were dirty or dishevelled and some were wounded. Casper spoke up. “We thought you needed the hug this time. Sort of thank you and sympathy all combined.”
Harold walked up the road trying to work this out. Were they serious? What he wasn’t prepared for was one of Casper’s arms round him and a quick hug. “Well done, mate.” Then Casper smiled. “Liz is right, you are scrawny.” Harold felt a little smile form.
Bess was next. “This is your first and last, soldier boy. You missed your chance.” Matthew was stood nearby with a bemused smile so Harold didn’t need an explanation.
Harold received thirteen more hugs without any of the usual teasing. They all murmured things like ‘well done’ or ‘thanks, Harold’ and there were eleven little kisses. Though several couldn’t resist pointing out that they would need a proper soggy-hug at some time. Holly was next to last. She blushed a little bit, but still hugged Harold firmly and gave him a gentle kiss.
Liz was last. Her hug was thorough. “I know you feel like crap,” she whispered, “but we, Orchard Close, survived. As a mouse I am very grateful, and even the ferocious ones feel the same. Now go and sleep, wimp.” A firm kiss was applied to Harold’s lips. “I’ll need to wash that off, but it’s a small price.” She pushed Harold towards home.
Two steps inside the door and Harold had two more hugs, from Sharyn and then Hazel. Hazel’s was very teary and she definitely needed some hugging back. Then Harold’s leg bandage was inspected by Daisy. “I want an Uncle-Harold story about that. Are the bangs all finished?”
“Yes Daisy. All done.”
“So why is everyone crying?” Harold was still trying to come up with an answer to that when Daisy moved on. “I’ve got some new friends. Georgina is seven and she’s got a real Cindy doll. She says I can play if I’m careful.”
“Good. Now I’m going to go to bed, because I forgot to sleep last night. I’ll be awake in time for stories.” Daisy headed for her Mum, and Harold went upstairs and more or less passed out on his bed. He roused later, enough to get a shower, and eat a meal, and read Daisy a story that wasn’t about leg wounds. Then Harold taped the replacement pad over his leg wound, climbed into the bed and went to sleep. The sleep was helped by reports that Army vehicles were still going back and forth past the entrance. That was very reassuring.
Though according to those who watched, the evening TV didn’t give any close ups of that type of action. The pictures of the night’s fighting were from far overhead. The lines of fire were shown striking the boundary and spilling out sideways into huge swathes of destruction. The reports didn’t mention actual fighting, but none of the rivers of fire passed over the boundary. There was certainly no hint that the conflagrations were being stoked by artillery and napalm.
The morning TV went back to showing two hours of repeats of children’s programmes. The later news reports showed very little of the city because, it was claimed, the cloud and smoke obscured the view. Harold was damn certain that the cameras would get plenty of pictures if they came a bit lower. The remaining inhabitants of the city were true mushrooms now. Kept in the dark and periodically fed manure. His mind skipped quickly around mushrooms being cut and removed, diced and fried.
* * *
Harold was still hesitating at lunchtime. “What do you think? Will his Mum object? Is she still mad at me?”
“Go and see her, dummy. She’ll go one way or the other. Karen and a few of the others have been talking to Faith, and she’s accepted that Toby was where he wanted to be. Strangely enough the two killed by the Army helped. Sort of proved it could happen anywhere. Especially with Susie and
Sukie losing their house, and Sue.” Sharyn looked at Harold and his burden.
“Won’t you need them anymore?”
“No, I’m Orchard Close’s soldier now.”
“Well get off then, or I’ll get Liz to come and beat sense into you.” Sharyn smiled. “I’m glad one woman has sense. I had to close the door to protect Hazel from the sight of you coming up the street and those shameless hussies.” Sister-love. Just the right thing to get Harold back on his feet and sort out his head.
Though he was still hesitant about the battledress. Eventually Harold left the clothing with Faith and told her that was her decision.
* * *
There’s still plenty of wood in there.” Casper was looking out at the ruins, which were still smouldering in places. That was despite a rainy night. “A lot will be charred but that won’t matter for a pyre. Quite a bit will be wet though because most roofs have gone.”
“We’ll use some petrol or diesel if we have to. This is a better use than swanning about in a car.”
“Fair enough. We’ve got out a gas-fired barbecue and Liz will be cooking bacon to supply butties for the mourners.”
Harold stared. “Why on earth is she doing that?”
“A couple of people reckoned it was a way to cover the smell. If someone is burning bacon, your head will blame that and not the pyre.” Casper wasn’t totally happy with the bacon, but perhaps he was right.
“Practical, in a somewhat gross way. How many do you think will eat?” Bacon butties were popular usually, but maybe not at a funeral.
“Not many. She’s going to burn a lot of the bacon deliberately. To cover any smell blown from the pyres?” Which was a waste, but nothing like the waste of good people on the pyres. “Is the Army square with this?”
“They should be, considering their version of a pyre is still burning and the smell will probably overpower anything from ours.” Harold sighed. “I’m just going up there to talk to whoever is in charge. We will burn our dead but I’m being polite. I’m letting them know, not asking permission. Has the beer gone down the road?”
“Yes, Berry helped take four dozen pints down herself but kept the crates covered. So only the armoured lot get it, for clearing the approach road. Pity they won’t trade beer for medicine.” Casper looked up at the bypass. “It’s not like they need bloody bandages and there must be heaps on those armoured vehicles.”
“I’ll try, but I reckon the armoured type was as helpful as we’ll get and he was a no. He reckoned it’s forbidden under the rules of engagement.” Harold frowned in thought. “Those must be a new set of rules.”
* * *
“Stand very still until you have been searched.”
Too damn true he would. Harold had seen the weapons on various types of armoured vehicles plenty of times. He’d never had them pointed at him. The various sized black holes he was staring into weren’t at all reassuring from here.
“Come ahead.” The captain looked at a paper in his hand “Harold Miller, ex-Army, running Orchard Close. Is that you?”
“It is.”
“Right, what do you want and no, nobody can leave.”
Harold stood up very straight and bit back a snide reply. “I came to let you know we will be lighting ten pyres this afternoon. To send our dead on.”
“Are you lot Pagans?”
“No. We don’t fancy some hopped up cretin pissing on our gravestones sometime in the future. Though we would appreciate being able to spread the ashes in the exclusion zone. Nobody will be pissing there, and the victims might not mind if a few assholes bleed on them.” Harold took a breath.
He’d let the bitterness show for a moment and the captain looked decidedly frosty. “If you can spare a padre that would be a big comfort to the relatives and friends.” Already Harold wasn’t feeling hopeful about the medication.
Though the first sign of any softening of tone followed the request. “Ah. No, sorry, we aren’t allowed to do that. Aren’t there any priests?”
“Not here.”
“How do you manage?” That seemed to be prompted by genuine concern.
“Those of the same religion say a few words, an
d I light the fire.” Harold sighed. “I actually had to take confession from one lass. I’m not religious let alone a Catholic. She was past knowing who was there and just wanted to get square with God. Are you sure there’s no way?”
“Sorry. Really sorry. That is specifically forbidden in the fraternisation rules.”
Harold skipped the first question that came to mind, what fraternisation rules? There shouldn’t be any with English citizens. “What about medication? We’ve got bullet and arrow wounds and some nasty cuts from machetes and shrapnel. Our nurse is a trainee and we’ve no proper medication. She lost one patient overnight.” The captain blinked at the shrapnel part, but shook his head. “Also specifically forbidden.” He hesitated. “There is something I can do for those needing regular specialist medicines or treatments.”
“There is?”
“We had a memo saying that there is a facility in the Derbyshire Peak District. If someone is suffering because they can’t get their prescriptions, diabetes or something similar, there’s a concession. We, the Army, can accept their surrender. The patients will be picked up by ambulance and taken to the facility.” The captain frowned. “I have no first-hand knowledge of the facility but presumably they have the drugs and staff.”
“I will ask because there are people down there in real need. It will be their choice. Will they be able to write to those back here?” Harold couldn’t see Mary, Finn’s Mum, leaving under any other circumstances.
“I don’t know but I doubt it. Normal services don’t exist anymore, and might not for some time.” The captain looked past Harold, down at Orchard Close. “Please pass on my condolences and regret, though they aren’t official I’m afraid. I’ll let the men know there’s a service, and they will keep quiet while you deal with your dead. Was there anything else, Mr Miller?”
There was a huge list that was needed, but Harold went for generalisations. “Food, hospitals, schools, all that sort of thing? Do you have any idea when one or all might come back?”
“We’ve been told that steps are being taken. Once the armour comes back from the city centre the authorities will regularise the situation. No, I don’t know what it means but the Army will stay here. That means that the exclusion zone remains in force, as does the ban on firearms.” The captain looked at the paper. “Was it you using the cannon?”
Harold stared. Cannon? The Army were using cannon, not Orchard Close.
“Sorry, I meant a heavy rifle, one with a magazine.” He gave the ghost of a smile. “Some of the more cautious thought it was an automatic but those of us with sanity opted for fast bolt action.”
“Five rounds rapid fire. 1914-18 style as is the weapon. I’ve no idea what happened to it in all the chaos. All the ammunition was used up anyway.” Harold couldn’t do much if this bloke decided to come and search the place, except hope to warn everyone to hide the weapons.
“Of course it’s missing, silly of me to think otherwise.” The captain wasn’t smiling now. “It’s just that we aren’t supposed to allow any weapon that can reach us accurately, and a Lee-Enfield three oh three will certainly do that.” There was a real question there and Harold didn’t know what it was.
“We consider the Army to be our protection, so if it turns up it won’t be aimed this way.” Harold remembered what he’d said about using up. “Even if someone finds ammunition.”
“Good enough I suppose, since you left us on good terms. If you get hold of an automatic weapon, please turn it in. You saw what happens if some fool uses one.”
“Christ yes.”
“Good. I won’t keep you any longer Mr Miller. I see some of your people are looking anxious.” The captain gestured down towards Orchard Close.
“Right. Thank you.” When Harold turned there were half a dozen women in the back gardens in plain view. He smiled to himself on the way back down. The residents were reminding the Army who lived here and this time it hadn’t been planned.
* * *
“You can’t resign, you lummox. A third of the people here joined under the assumption you ran the place, but the rest are volunteers. Anyway, you aren’t a dictator or gang boss. If you started that we’d throw you out on your ear.” Sharyn raised a hand and lowered it. “I’ll send for Berry.”
Harold shook his head. “All the planning and they got over the wall, Sharyn. Twice, and once was because I was chasing off down the road instead of defending the building I was in.”
“While you’ve been running about I’ve had visitors. People coming to point out that they wanted to apologise. For grumbling about losing the gardens to give us that clear strip. For complaining about the time spent building the wall. About sealing off the roadway. About the practice and the time spent making up squads and practicing running to positions. People who weren’t happy about looting, or rationing what they found.” Sharyn hugged Harold.
“Now they are all very pleased you did those things Harold. You can’t give the job away. As long as you listen to your big sister, and various other people with two brain cells, you’ll be fine. Even those hussies in the girl’s club have their good moments. What do you think that exhibition was about? It wasn’t your manly body.” Sharyn nudged him. “We’ve even got people who like paperwork so you don’t have to do any.”
“So I’m the figurehead. You lot run it all, and if it goes wrong I get the blame?” Harold tried for indignant but the relief probably showed through. He could beat on people if necessary, and hug, but organisation wasn’t his strong point.
“All good systems of governance work like that. You’re a big tough soldier so you can stand the punishment, and might enjoy it.” Sharyn smiled. “Now write your speech.”
“Speech? Why do I need a speech?” The change of tack left Harold confused.
“We’ve survived. We lost a lot of people. Now the fearless leader gives a speech to pull us together and make the losses all worthwhile.” Sharyn wasn’t smiling now. “They were worthwhile, Harold, because we’re all still stood here. I was in that house on the boundary, and crossbow bolts weren’t stopping that lot fast enough. Then they were through the boundary and Matthew led five people down and out the door to deal with it.”
Sharyn gave a little giggle. “I’ll kill you if you ever mention it, but Bess wasn’t invited with them. Matthew was too chivalrous to take a woman. She said something about Matthew not getting away that easily and went after them. When they came back Matthew had his good arm round her and Bess had cream all over her chin, so to speak.”
Harold nodded soberly. “She went barmy. Matthew said she saved the day.”
“Oh yes, we heard that part. We didn’t hear what was said while they snuggled during the shelling. It wasn’t commentary on her shooting.” Sharyn put a pad and pen in front of Harold. “You’ve got three or four hours. I’ll give it a sanity check.” Harold opened his mouth and Sharyn interrupted. “I’ll get a couple more to do the same.” Harold picked up the pen. Paper and pens, he thought. We’ll need them. Then he tried to work out what to say. About Toby for starters.
Chapter 15:
Goodbyes
Harold wondered if this was now a tradition. Evening was coming, and the low cloud and occasional spatters of cold rain were a lot like Gabriela’s funeral. Though this time he had to do it ten times. Toby came out on his board and was put on his pyre and Harold had a big lump in his throat. The fifteen year old looked even younger in Harold’s battledress with the cuffs and trouser bottoms turned up. The beret covered his wound, and the lad looked as if he was asleep.
That settled which speech to use. Harold had tried to memorise both versions, but had the paper ready in case. When the last body was placed on the long pyre Harold stepped to the front. He raised his eyes to the bypass and the captain had been true to his word. No vehicles were moving and the men standing along the barrier were doing just that. Standing quietly.
“Toby wanted be a soldier. He is wearing an Army uniform because Toby made it, he became a soldier. A sol
dier is a person who puts their body between their homeland and the foe, and will stand and die to protect that homeland and people. It doesn’t need a uniform, or an oath. So everyone who lies here deserves a uniform, and a flag, and a military salute. Without their bravery and sacrifice, none of us would be here today.” Harold checked his paper, just to steady himself.
“Before armies, in times of trouble the farmer would bring his pitchfork and the butcher his cleaver. We are nearly back to that, so we have to live and if necessary fight as a community. Some will stand on the barricade, and others will make the cleaver, and patch up the farmer’s wounds, or look after the cook’s children.” Harold tried to look at the right people as he did that. He wanted them to understand that everyone wasn’t expected to be a fighter. That wouldn’t work.
“We have to do it together. We will argue, because all families do, but this family will hug and make up afterwards. Because out there is much, much worse, and our disagreements will be nothing compared to the alternatives. You have asked me to lead this family and I’ll try. But not on my own because I can’t. I’ll need help, advice, criticism, a Berrying now and then, and hopefully a hug or two.” Harold was relieved to see some little smiles, even if they were through tears.
Harold moved along the line of bodies and stopped opposite a young man, one killed by the artillery. “Now I’ll say a couple of words for Vince because there’s nobody to speak for him. He came in with others but they didn’t know each other. We don’t know Vince’s story, or his religion, or even his age. We know what is important. He stood with us when we needed him. Because we don’t know his religion, I’ll use something my Gran used to say. May your God go with you, Vince.”
Harold stepped back and the mourners stepped forward for the rest. Some were family, though very few. Others were friends or had become friends in the last few months or even weeks. There were prayers covering several faiths, and then the last one, Faith, stepped back. She picked up an unlit torch and waited.
