The brigandshaw chronicl.., p.138
The Brigandshaw Chronicles Box Set 2, page 138
part #4 of The Brigandshaw Chronicles Series
“Keep clear of Craven Street,” he was calling.
“Thanks for the whisky, Harry.”
“My pleasure, Fred.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“My secret. Thanks for the sandwiches, Mrs Coombes.”
As usual, Katherine arrived at the office a minute after he arrived.
“Mr Bell wants to see you.”
“Good. Send him in the moment he comes. No, go down to his office. I had a bloody nightmare last night. Then I woke in a cold sweat.”
“I’ll get him. Enjoy your coffee.”
Ding-a-ling Bell arrived in the office before Harry had time for his morning bath. The Tube station smoke from the cigarettes had been thick enough to cut. Harry did not smoke despite Elephant Walk being now largely a tobacco farm. With the war, everyone wanted to smoke.
“They’ve gone, Harry. All twelve of them. Along with our friend’s suitcase.”
“Find out Mrs Leadman’s telephone number.”
“I have it here.”
“Katherine! Try and get through to this number. Tell the operator I’m in a hurry. Ding-a-ling, for goodness sake sit down. You look absolutely worn out. No sleep again?”
“Couldn’t sleep when I got home.”
“You’ll have to find him, Vic. Then you’ll have to follow him.”
“I’ve got your call, Mr Brigandshaw.”
“Mrs Leadman? This is the police. Your tenant Hirst-Brown. Where has he gone?”
“Brighton,” she said. “Paid me a week in advance. What’s he done?”
“A close relative died in the bombing last night, we want to inform Mr Hirst-Brown.”
“Didn’t know he had any relatives.”
“We all have relatives, Mrs Leadman.”
Harry put down the phone. People were strange when it came to authority. Mrs Leadman hadn’t asked how he knew Rodney Hirst-Brown was her tenant.
“Get down to Brighton with his photograph. Ask the police to check all the hotels.”
“What’s he up to, Harry? Why Brighton?”
“The Chain Home stations, radar, along the south coast. There are twelve of them. If the Germans can jam our radar before our boys get in the air, they’ll have a clear run into London during the day. We won’t be able to scramble the fighters knowing where and when to intercept.”
“Do you think a radio device would work?”
“I don’t know. Find those radios, Vic, and we’ll soon find out.”
That night and the next day, the radar screens at RAF Poling were snowed over, stopping the radar supervisor from giving his report to the Fighter Command operations room at Tangmere. There was a hole in the radar cover that was not due to bomb damage or any malfunction of the equipment. RAF Poling were out of commission.
When Vic Bell called Harry from Brighton, Harry was certain Hirst-Brown was involved.
“Get the RAF police to surround Beachy Head but wait for him. He’s knocked out Poling. Beachy Head is the next VH unit down the coast. We’re going blind, Vic. Catch the bastard and find those radios. What they do with him after that I don’t damn well care. And it’s all my bloody fault. Teach me to fraternise with the enemy.”
“It’s his cousin. Not your friend. We all have our jobs to do in a war. Can’t they trace that radio at Poling and pick it up?”
“Probably.”
“Then we don’t have a problem. If it’s jamming the radar, it’s sending out a signal they can follow back to the source. Aren’t radio signals two-way traffic?”
“Don’t ask me. They’ll have to search the surrounding area in my logic. It’s got to be above ground to do the jamming. Did you get any sleep?”
“Last night as a matter of fact. Not one bleep from the air-raid sirens down here. Why do people turn traitor?”
“There’s usually a personal reason. He thinks he lost his job at Rosenzweigs Bank unfairly. Some people can carry a grudge for years. He hates the Jews. The Nazis hate the Jews. Your enemy is my enemy. That sort of crap.”
“We should have picked him up at the start.”
“Can’t arrest a man for doing nothing. We do that and we’re as bad as them. Now we can hang Rodney Hirst-Brown for treason when you find him.”
“You think they’ll hang him?”
“Not for us to decide. We all prefer fighting an enemy we can see. I’m tired, Vic. You and I have been through all this once before. It’s all so pointless. You see, no one will be a winner in the end. They never are. Just find the bastard.”
3
Seven days later, while Harry was waiting to greet his eldest son at Southampton, the Luftwaffe attacked the convoy from South Africa as the ships came round the Isle of Wight, just over forty miles from the radar station of RAF Poling. The South African Navy escort put up a blanket of shellfire as the Stuka dive-bombers came down to attack the ship carrying the newly trained pilots. Many were standing on deck in battledress uniform, life jackets strapped to their chests, berets on their heads, taking in their first close-up sight of home for months. Anthony watched, mesmerised, as his baptism of fire came straight at him, not sure whether to jump over the side and swim to the shore. One of the Stukas blew apart, a direct hit on one of the aircraft’s bombs by the South African Navy. The ship’s captain had turned his ship away from the flight of bombs that exploded in the water. As the Germans pulled out of their dive the pilots at the rail began to cheer. There was a different engine noise in the sky.
“Spitfires,” said Felix Lombard, pointing to three aircraft coming out of the sun.
“How the hell did they know who we were?” said Andrew Bathurst, a fellow passenger. “They only went for our ship.”
“There are people in South Africa who don’t like the British,” said Anthony, his fear subsiding. “My cousin Tinus who’s at Tangmere had his grandfather hanged by the British for treason in the Boer War. Many of the Afrikaners still hate us British. Someone told the Germans we were coming in one ship. Poor sods. Don’t stand a chance. They are good in a dive. Worthless everywhere else, according to Tinus. Up there just could be my cousin.”
“I’ll be glad to step on firm land. Why do they call it the Solent?”
“Don’t ask me. The aircraft look so small up in the sky.”
When Anthony saw his father half an hour later, standing by the dock, he was only mildly surprised. With Anthony in uniform they shook hands.
“Ding-a-ling Bell saw the roster. You’re posted to RAF Boscombe Down. Near Middle Wallop. We have an hour before you get on the train. How’s your mother?”
“Crying, last time we spoke. Beth’s in love with Felix. Felix Lombard, my father, Colonel Brigandshaw. Don’t be blindsided by the rank of colonel. Dad flew with the Royal Flying Corps.”
“There’s a cafeteria at the station.”
“Did you see the attack? Not a scratch.”
“Let me carry your duffel bag. Did it frighten the shit out of you? At least our radar was working. The Germans took it out for a couple of days but it would take more than a couple of souped-up radios to bring down those masts. Shows how desperate they are. The last thing they want is reinforcements of pilots. We’re going to win. Last September was the turning point. Should have kept up hitting the airfields and radar. Hitler was a corporal. Churchill says it shows, that when he’s in real trouble he can rely on Corporal Hitler to get him out of the mess. Makes the Führer as mad as hell so he attacked our cities to teach us a lesson. You’d better have breakfast with us, Felix. My daughter’s a bit young for love. Nothing like a uniform! Did you stay in the house at Bishopscourt? When you get some leave you will be welcome at Hastings Court despite the holes in the clock tower.”
“How are you, Dad?”
“Bored stiff. Little excitement last week but generally bored. They don’t want me to fly again. You young chaps are in charge. At least it isn’t raining. This island has the worst climate on earth.”
Anthony smiled, watching his father swing the duffel bag. They all walked to an official-looking bar, with Andrew Bathurst following.
“Do you mind if a cadge a lift, sir?”
“Be my guest. I was lucky to get the car and luckier to get the petrol. We had a chap buggering around with our radar. Combined business with the pleasure of seeing my son. I want a full report on Elephant Walk when you get some leave, Anthony.”
“The dam really is beautiful.”
“That much you did tell me in a letter. Since you wrote, the price of tobacco has doubled. How is it some of us make money out of other people’s adversity? The Tender Meat Company I bought in America. Half of it anyway. Best investment in my life. The Yanks are making a fortune out of this war. The radios we picked up to jam our radar we think were made in America. Shipped straight to England into the wrong hands. They didn’t know, of course. The sooner the Americans realise which side of their bread is buttered the better. Cousin George thinks it’s criminal letting us fight the war alone. That second farm in Virginia’s making money. There’s money in food and tobacco. Everyone get in the car. Good to see you, son. You’ve grown. Makes me feel as old as the hills seeing my eldest son in uniform. How’s the rest of my family? Frank still a pain in the arse?”
“Dorian can’t wait to farm in Rhodesia. There’s a girl called Eleanor Botha.”
“There’s always a girl at your age, Anthony. Is she pretty?”
“A body to kill for. Played beach bats with her on Clifton Beach.”
“Memories. Sweet memories.”
“Yours or mine, Dad?”
“Mine, I’m afraid. It seems impossible for you now but once I was your age.”
“What was her name?”
“Jennifer. Her name was Jennifer. We were both still at school. Oh yes. Clifton Beach. That place was something. Is the water still icy cold?”
“Freezing. Nobody cares. I love South Africa.”
“They’ve given your Cousin Tinus a spot of leave. Ordered him actually. During the height of the battle they were taking Dexedrine pills to keep them alert. Not good for the long-term health, ingesting chemicals. He doesn’t know but they’ve taken him off the active duty list. Don’t want him and the others who flew at the start of the war to burn out. When his leave’s up he’s going up to Scotland to be an instructor. I suggested Gwelo to a friend of mine at the Air Ministry. They don’t want the veteran pilots that far away. They gave him a bar to his DFC.”
“Are his fighting days over?”
“Depends on how long the war lasts.”
“When do we go on active duty, Dad?”
“When you get to Boscombe Down, weather permitting. Lancasters. But you all know about Lancasters. Best bomber we have.”
4
For the first time in her life Genevieve was perfectly content. The green Morgan with the top down was still the best way to travel on an evening in late summer. They had both begged and borrowed the petrol coupons. Now, for both of them, the war did not exist. No one existed other than themselves. All their thoughts were in the present, driving the country lane, holding hands, Tinus with one hand on the wheel, the two-seater the only car on the road.
“Are you hungry, darling?” she asked.
“Only for you.”
“We have to eat as well.”
“I used to come here with Uncle Harry. There was always a pretty barmaid at the Running Horses. Never did I think I’d take a famous American actress to dinner.”
“I’m English.”
“I was going to tell you before we were interrupted for so long. You have an American accent. Do you know how long I’ve loved you?”
“Tell me again.”
“Since the moment our eyes first met.”
“What was her name?”
“Minnie. I think it was short for Minerva. Christmas 1933. That was the time I saw you first. At the Mayfair. I found out you were really nineteen. You said you were twenty-one. Something to do with attending the Central School of Speech and Drama when you were too young to be eligible. I was sixteen but our eyes said we understood each other. You were going to be famous then. I was just a schoolboy. Then those lovely years we kept meeting at Oxford. The three musketeers. I’m going to miss André for the rest of my life. You never make friends like that again. He was a year older than me. Same cricket team at Bishops in his last year. Watched him score 112 runs for Oxford against Cambridge at Lord’s. You remember that time you came to visit me at Oxford with Gregory L’Amour. What is his real name?”
Tinus had found it better not to talk about André after he was shot down six months earlier over the hop fields of Kent, his aircraft exploding on impact. They were both silent for a long time thinking of André.
“Joseph Pott,” said Genevieve after Tinus had wiped away his tears and blown his nose.
“Before we made love I was bitterly jealous of Joseph Pott. Wouldn’t admit it to myself. You, my darling Genevieve, were beyond my reach. Now we will always be touching each other. With you it was the first time I ever made love. Before I was satisfying lust.”
“I hope you satisfied that as well.” She was smiling up at him, the moment with André in the past.
“I will never satisfy my love for you if I live to be a hundred.”
“Two days in bed, Tinus!”
“Everyone left us alone. Wasn’t that just marvellous? Uncle Harry knew you were coming down with me to Hastings Court. He drove past to go to Southampton to meet Anthony. Left us alone. How does he know so often how to behave?”
“All we’ve eaten was bread and jam.”
“And love, Genevieve. Maybe I am hungry. Please God, Anthony comes through the war. So many friends. So many dead.”
“Please, Tinus, no more war. Stop the car. I want to sit on that four-bar gate and listen to the birds. We can wait ten minutes more for our supper.”
“I could wait for ever sitting with you on a four-bar gate listening to the birds. Will you marry me, Genevieve?”
“You’ll have to ask my father for my hand. Mother likes you.”
“I’m glad. So, what do you say? Not them.”
“Have we got enough petrol to drive down to Dorset? My grandmother is going to love my marrying you, Tinus Oosthuizen.”
“So it’s a yes?”
“From that first look in the Mayfair it’s been yes.”
“I’d never seen a girl with eyes of different colours. Will our children have mismatched eyes?”
“I hope so. You will be careful, won’t you, Tinus?”
“Stop crying. Everything is going to be just fine. The Americans will be forced to come into the war with all the noise from Japan about America stopping their supply of oil. You forget, Gregory sent me this rabbit’s foot he found in the graveyard of my ancestors at Hastings Court. Had it put on this chain by a jeweller. I only wear the rabbit’s foot around my neck in combat. I hope he finds someone to love him.”
“He’s a pilot now. We are friends. Good friends. Can you understand that?”
“When Harry gave me this talisman from Gregory I knew he understood I loved you. It was you I thought beyond my grasp. Do you want a leg up onto the gate? It’s quite tricky balancing. You need to wind your legs behind one of the wooden bars. I never knew it was possible to be so happy.”
“Neither did I.”
Faintly on the wind from the direction of Leatherhead came the sound of the air-raid siren.
“It’s back again,” Genevieve said.
“It’s never far away. The Germans are early tonight. Look. My hands are trembling. You’d think I was used to it.”
“The birds are still singing.”
“To them all the noise is just man. They don’t hear the threat. We were lucky they didn’t knock Hastings Court to the ground. Just the horses. The head groom had gone off into the army. I want this damn war to be over. Now I’m trembling all over. My nerves are shot to ribbons. It’s not just me. Most of us are scared.”
“Come here.”
“I can’t. I’ll fall off the gate.”
Then they were laughing. When they got down to drive on to the Running Horses, Tinus had stopped trembling. Far away they could hear aircraft in the sky. A breath of wind brought the sound of machine gun fire. As they got into the car they could hear the sound of bombs falling followed by the explosions.
“I’m all right now. We’d better spend tonight in the shelter. Harry’s very proud of his shelter.”
“Caught in the spider’s web.”
“Something like that.”
“Let’s get back on the fence.”
Sitting on the fence proved difficult. It was not possible to grip the slat of wood and hold hands. They got off into the farm’s field and went for a walk. Holding hands was easy. The idea of sitting down in a restaurant while people were being killed had put them both off their food. The Morgan was left in the road with the top down. No one drove cars during an air raid. Near the elm trees they felt the dusk. Together they were happy. What the world did to itself was no longer their business while they held hands.
Tinus was now quite calm. He only let his mind stay in the very present. The bombing north of Leatherhead was not part of his present. Or flying aeroplanes. If his life stopped now it had been fulfilled. They were joined in mind, body and spirit.
The birds in the trees and hedgerows went on calling in the dusk. The smell of wild flowers had become stronger. They walked right round the field and back to the car where Tinus had left it to get on the four-bar gate the first time. There was dew on the leather seats. Backing in towards the four-bar gate, Tinus turned the car around.
Back at Hastings Court they found a tin of baked beans in the kitchen cupboard and a bottle of Uncle Harry’s best wine in the cellar. They ate the beans with a spoon out of the tin. Not finding the can opener Tinus had hacked the can open with a carving knife.
With the bottle opener he found in the cocktail cabinet in the lounge, Tinus pulled the cork from the bottle of Hock. The Hock was from Germany. From 1937. The wine poured into crystal glasses tasted good. By the time they finished the wine by candlelight outside on the back lawn they decided to sleep in the house. The lawn had not been cut all summer. There was no petrol for the lawnmower.
