by John Wilson
He took down a paperback to read on the tube, then left the room. Closing the door behind him, he edged down the stairs. The blackout had been in force for over a year and no gas lamps were lit to guide him. It had been difficult at first to find his way but by September he could have walked to Temple tube with his eyes shut. Then the bombs started to fall and familiar landmarks disappeared or were reduced to splinters and broken stone. In mid-September the clock tower of the Library was hit by high explosive and the tower and staircase were almost completely destroyed. The Benchers’ Smoking Room and the Treasurer’s Room were badly damaged, as were the Committee Room and the Ladies’ Room. A few days later the west end of Inner Temple Hall was hit. A high explosive bomb fell through the roof and musician’s gallery and burst outside the door of the Buttery. The whole of the interior was badly wrecked and enormous damage was done to windows, panelling, furniture and the pictures on the walls. Adam and his colleagues, who had taken lunch there for many years, were forced to move on to Lincoln’s Inn and then to Niblett Hall, behind the Alienation Office.
That same night Crown Office Row was badly damaged and a gas main outside was shattered. He had watched the escaping gas blaze furiously for a time before it was tamed. And so the war edged closer, moving from the East and into the City and the Temple. 13, King’s Bench suffered damage, and then, on the 16th October, a night Adam would never forget, incendiaries fell by parachute onto Elm Court and exploded on the roof. Adam and a few others had taken cover in the shelter under nearby Hare Court. The dark room shook and they felt the air being pulled from their lungs and a rush of intense heat, and they prepared to die. Instead they lived and emerged blinking and hungry after the “all clear”, into utter desolation.
The blast and fireball had destroyed Fig Tree Court and Crown Office Row completely. Adam’s room had overlooked the former, and in idle moments he would look out at that beautiful little seventeenth century building, flat-fronted and serene, and see in it timelessness. All gone. Later that morning he saw familiar faces, drawn and desolate, picking through the rubble for books and briefs, their practices as shattered as their buildings. He had thought of all the colleagues of similar call, fit enough to fight and away on active duty, and was thankful for them that they did not have to see this.
As the year moved on, more buildings were destroyed, more men picked through the rubble and more craters opened up in what had been to him so comforting and familiar. Barrage balloons loomed out of the darkness above. His journey to Temple tube followed a similar route to before but now he had to pick his way past broken stone and splintered timber, sometimes still smouldering. And the sadness that had been growing in him for eighteen months grew greater. A spiritual darkness had descended upon him well before the order for “lights out” was given, and month by month the familiar landmarks of his inner life were being destroyed. He had lived, relatively comfortably, with his comparative failure as a barrister. But when the call-up came and he was rejected on health grounds whilst those who had always bettered him professionally moved with ease into the ranks of officers a greater gloom had entered. His civilian clothing marked him out from the soldiers as someone who had chosen not to fight. He saw disdain in the uniformed eyes around him. The fact that Arthur was now obliged to give him more work provided only a little comfort.
Reaching the tube, he picked his way past the sandbags and the touts selling shelter, and made his way to the platform. He was meeting Catherine at a pub off Sloane Square. She didn’t want to go to the Pembertons’ party as she didn’t like Pemberton or his wife, or, for that matter, the other members of his Chambers. Their wealth and success left a stain for her on Adam. No doubt, also, she would bring up the cat and call him a murderer again.
The pub was already crowded by 6.30. People looking for a skinful of weak beer to see them through the raids that would almost inevitably follow. Adam hoped they had shelters with toilets. Many did not, and one had to make do with “piss buckets”. Alongside the civilians there were soldiers in a medley of uniforms, Polish, Canadian, Free French, and a fug of black-market cigarettes hung blue over everything. Catherine was sitting by the bar in her blue dress, her dark brown hair pulled up. She was holding a half of mild, her gas mask by her feet. He kissed her hello and got himself a beer.
– I tried to call you earlier but Arthur said you were in the church again.
– I was only there about fifteen minutes and then it was straight into my con. Sorry.
– Since when have you become so religious?
Adam had been making regular visits to the church for over four years but it only seemed to have come to Catherine’s attention in recent months.
– It’s a lovely old building even after the Victorians ransacked it and filled it with modern rubbish. We’ve lost so many good buildings and that is one to cherish.
– It’s funny. You always talk about the building and never about the God whose supposed to be inside it.
– Enough people go there for God. I go there because it’s quiet. To be away from everyone for a while.
– I was ringing to say I didn’t want to come tonight and you should go on your own. But as I couldn’t get hold of you …
– It’ll be all right. Makes a change from suburbia and there should be some good food and drink, and it’s not often that he has bothered to invite us. They know how to entertain and Pemberton gives no sign that there’s a war on at all. He and Arthur have some sort of thing going on.
Catherine winced at the mention of Adam’s clerk. She had heard all Adam’s tales of the contraband that Arthur regularly brought in and left on Pemberton’s desk.
– I really don’t like that man. Who else is going to be there?
– The usual crowd from Chambers and there are one or two back on leave. And some of Jeremy’s friends from Belgravia, I suppose.
– And Julia, I suppose?
The repetition jarred. Adam looked into her face for any hidden meaning but her brown eyes gave away nothing.
– Yes, of course. She is his wife, after all. If her “war work” will allow it. She works irregular shifts.
– Her “war work”! I suppose the rest of us are doing nothing. We don’t all have servants and it’s not as though she has to worry about the children. All packed off to the Cotswolds for the duration.
– I know. I’m not saying she makes a big thing of it. She works irregular shifts.
– And at least she has her cats to keep her company.
Adam had wondered how long it would take her.
– I’m sorry about Socks.
– Saying sorry all the time won’t bring her back.
– We made a decision about it together.
– You told me I had no choice. Our “contribution to the war effort” – she added bitterly.
– It seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. I’ll get you another one.
– You can’t bring Socks back.
Adam lapsed into silence. It was almost a year since they had their cat put down. Catherine had been very distressed about it, as had their daughter, and it was right to say that he pretty much forced her into doing it. Although it wasn’t as if he was acting in isolation. At the outbreak of war the government had advised Londoners to have their pets destroyed on the grounds of economy. Four hundred thousand cats and dogs – but mainly cats – across London had been killed and incinerated in the first few days. The furnaces of the RSPCA had to be damped down at night, because of the blackout, and could not cope with the demand. Then it was decided that this was all something of a mistake. And Catherine did not let him forget that. She returned to the party.
– I suppose Preston will be there?
– Probably
– And his wife.
– Inevitably.
Preston was the new silk. He had been made up to KC only that spring. Just a little older than Adam, he was known for his driving ambition. His wife, Cara, was a good twelve years younger than he. Most people ne
ver knew what he truly thought; Adam, however, had learnt long ago not to listen to what he was saying but to watch the reactions of his wife. Less political than he, her face or the odd comment mirrored Preston’s inner thoughts. As a result Adam was pretty sure that he always knew exactly what Preston thought of someone by watching his wife by his side. Catherine prickled:
– He thinks we’re all fools but he’s not the only one with a university education.
– He respects you, sweetheart. He knows you’re not stupid.
– He didn’t need to use his hands to show respect for my intellect!
– You made sure he got the message.
– At least he’s got himself a decent war job, I suppose. Why couldn’t you get something in Whitehall?
– I didn’t get asked.
– Anyway, don’t let me get stuck with them, please.
– I’ll do my best.
– And please can we go at a relatively early hour? They are all far too relaxed about this blitz. I’d like to try and get the 10.08 at the latest.
– The bombing’s eased over the last month … but of course. We’ll leave early.
They finished their drinks and headed out into the street. Sandbags were everywhere around them and they had to make their way by what light the moon afforded. Bands of white paint had been applied to kerb stones, trees, pillar boxes and lamp posts as an aid to getting about in the dark.
– You’ve forgotten your gas mask again.
– I don’t think it would be much help. I have enough trouble breathing without shoving one of those over my head.
– I think you’re just trying to be fashionable. Because it’s not the done thing to carry them anymore. Either that or you don’t particularly want to live.
– Maybe the latter.
Adam said this under his breath, stifling another coughing fit.
Chapter Three
They made their way slowly to Eaton Square. The further to the west of London one went the less seriously the blackout was taken and progress became easier. Partly because the richer people had less concern about offending the ARP officers. Partly because either they were also the magistrates charged with enforcing the law or they knew the people who were. Half the houses were now empty, their owners having fled to country estates. Many of them were on the market for sale but it wasn’t a sellers’ market. The Pemberton home was on the north side of the Square. Light seeped from the blackout curtains across the ground floor. It was darker on the upper levels. Samuels, the butler, opened the door to them and ushered them into the reception rooms. Light flooded in on them. All the chandeliers were alight and liveried servants were gliding around carrying silver trays laden with crystal glasses full of champagne. Canapés sat on trays placed strategically around the room.
Jeremy Pemberton KC came over to greet them, a tall man with silvering hair and lines of worry and age around his blue eyes. He wore black tie. Adam was nervous as to how he would greet them, but Pemberton gave nothing away. Perhaps things were not as he feared?
– Adam! Catherine. Very pleased you could join us. Have some champagne. Samuels will take your coats – and your gas mask, Catherine. Couldn’t let the Christmas season pass us by without at least trying to celebrate it. It would all be too ghastly if we simply sat back and let it happen.
– Good to see you, Jeremy. And thank you for inviting us. This is quite a bash. Glad to see you’re not letting the privations of rationing get to you.
– Just a matter of planning. Saw all this coming from a long time ago. “Reasonably foreseeable”, as we lawyers say. You know that the Inner set up an Air Raids Precaution Committee about eighteen months ago; I’d say I’d seen it coming from about a year earlier than that.
– Very good. But how did that help?
– Forewarned is forearmed as they say. Very simple when you think about it. And I had a lot of time to think about it. I remembered the last time this all happened and just asked myself what there were shortages of, then stocked up.
– But what about perishable things like eggs and milk? You can’t stock up on those.
– Of course not. I stocked up on things that last. Don’t drink anymore. And I’ve never smoked. Bad for the health in my view. Don’t care what they say in their advertising. But the last time around cigarettes were better than money. Filled the cellar with them. That and wine and champagne … silk stockings and brandy. Stretched the Exchequer at the time but it’s paying dividends now.
Catherine was far less tactful.
– So you give cigarettes and brandy to Arthur and he exchanges them on the black market for things that you want and then he takes a cut for himself? Is that it?
– Catherine!
– Don’t worry, Adam. Yes, Catherine. That is it. Arthur is a bloody barrow boy when it comes down to it. But he knows where the action is. You must have seen it over the years, Adam. If there was a pie Arthur had a couple of fingers in it.
Adam had seen it. When he was looking to find a house to rent in Dulwich, Arthur told him that he had a friend who could help out. Although initially disappointed when he discovered that Adam had gone ahead without him, he turned immediately to the task of fitting him out with curtains and carpets. He had friends who could supply both.
– You’re right. I remember telling him he would sell his own mother. Said there wasn’t a market for her.
– That’s Arthur. I think he clerks for us as a sideline for his real activities. Maybe we’re his “front”. He’s wealthier than any of us you know. And he knows everything. Speaking of which, I understand that you may be getting involved in the McKechnie case?
– He told you! He really shouldn’t have done.
– Well. I am sure no harm’s been done.
– How long have you been involved?
– A month or so. Perkins is my junior. And as I know about your conference this evening I’ll tell you that we met with Mr McKechnie a good three weeks ago. Nice man. I think you’re going to have big problems on this one. Still. All good money for us at a time of need.
Adam tensed. He knew Pemberton of old. If he had been on the case for that length of time it was inevitable that he would have put his snoop, Jackson, onto following Bateman. He was glad now that he’d told Bateman to watch his step.
– So you recommended to Arthur that I should have the brief?
– Wanted Bateman to have good representation. And there are few better, Adam. Eh? You could always bring Preston or Storman into lead you if you find me intimidating.
He couldn’t quite keep the disdain from his voice. But Adam didn’t react. He knew that Pemberton, as his Head of Chambers, held all of the cards. The burnt-out note was a serious warning.
– And anyway. I thought you needed some light relief from what’s left of your work on that Tribunal.
– Yes. Well, thank you for getting me on to it. I had a day of it today actually. And thank you, I suppose, for recommending me to Arthur. I’ve never been instructed by Jones before. Seems a nice chap.
It was Pemberton who had got him the job on the Aliens Tribunal. He treated it as his little joke. Adam wasn’t sure how much it was fellow feeling that had led him to make the gesture. He knew that Pemberton didn’t really rate him. He knew now, also, that Pemberton may have reason to hate him. War, and the threat of war, coupled with Nazi persecution of the Jews over a number of years had led to an influx of refugees from across Europe. The trickle that began in 1933 had turned into a deluge by the time of the declaration of war when there were almost thirty thousand enemy nationals of sixteen and upwards seeking sanctuary in London alone. It had always been very difficult to obtain licences to come to Britain. No one would be admitted without a guarantor, and, save for domestics or those with special expertise, all immigrants were precluded from employment. Those who came from Germany were not allowed to bring any of their assets beyond their personal luggage and furniture. Sometimes these were sprayed with acid by the German authorities to render t
hem worthless. Things were not often better when they arrived in England. They were not wanted and there was widespread antipathy, to the Jews particularly. When war broke out they were often regarded as the reason Britain was involved in an unnecessary conflict. Or worse, as spies and fifth columnists.
When, in September 1939 over a hundred tribunals were set up to consider whether, on the grounds of national security, Germans and Austrians in this country should be interned or, if not interned, subject to restrictions, Pemberton put Adam forward and he got one of the posts of chairman. In addition to deciding for or against internment he had to consider whether applicants should be exempted from the various restrictions placed on enemy aliens by the Aliens Order of 1920. Was the man or woman before him, usually poor and ill dressed, a “refugee from Nazi oppression”? A procession of stateless persons and those of dubious nationality – ten to fifteen cases a day at first – would come before him to plead their cases, from all parts of Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia. And from all walks of life. Some had been long settled in London and were married to British nationals.
By April of 1940, however, fear of a fifth column led the authorities to intern everyone anyway regardless of the decisions of Adam and his colleagues, so all that work was rendered pointless. Tribunal work was less time-consuming now and less remunerative accordingly. He was glad of it all the same.
– You haven’t asked me about Julia.
Pemberton’s eyes gleamed.
