The brigandshaw chronicl.., p.140
The Brigandshaw Chronicles Box Set 2, page 140
part #4 of The Brigandshaw Chronicles Series
William Smythe had gone to his flat on the Bayswater Road before going to his Fleet Street office to find the Germans had put a bomb through the roof of the building. There was nothing left that resembled it. The broken bricks that had made his home for so many years were dripping wet from the rain. The place was a shambles. The ARP wardens had long ago left the bombsite of rubble. There was no point in trying to clear it away. Each morning there were new piles of rubble.
“Lucky you were away,” said the taxi driver. “Where’ve you been, guv? Nice navy duffel coat. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself. Anything you want to look for?”
“Just my old life.”
“Where you want to go now?”
“Fleet Street. I’ve still got an office.”
“You can sleep on the floor. Got your navy bag and your duffel coat. You in the Royal Navy?”
“I’m a reporter. Freelance with the BBC. My name’s William Smythe.”
“Blimey. Remember you from the BBC Empire Service. Before the war.”
The taxi driver went on talking as William tried to think. There was so much of his life lost in the rubble he would never find again. Familiar things, however trivial, were important to remember in life. No one ever collected bad memories to remember.
“I’ve been bombed out, Betty.”
“Oh, good. You can come and stay with me. Who gave you that duffel coat?”
“The captain of the ship as a matter of fact. Don’t I get any sympathy? There were six years of my life in that flat.”
“I can give you a kiss if that will help? Welcome home, William. It’s lovely to see you. Sorry about the flat. It must be awful to lose your possessions. Do you want to go through everything now? It’s all up to date. The banking. Letters replied to. I’m good at forging your signature. On the letters, William, not on the cheques. Oh, one bit of news I heard last night, your old friend Genevieve is getting married.”
“Who to?”
“Young Tinus Oosthuizen. They’ve grounded him. My informant says his nerves are shot to ribbons.”
“Who’s your informant?”
“We won’t go into that, William. While the cat’s away the mice will play. How was Singapore?”
In less than half an hour both parts of his life were shattered. His home and his dreams. Any other man’s name would have meant nothing to William. Now it was finally over. Writing novels in Cornwall with Genevieve by his side could no longer even be a dream.
“Why are you looking so damn happy, Betty?”
“Sometimes the people you least expect do you the biggest favours.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The Germans… Thank God you weren’t at home.”
To William’s surprise his secretary broke into uncontrollable sobs. Going across to her, William pulled her face against his chest. When it was over a tearful face full of love looked up at him. It was the same way Cherry Blossom looked at his cousin Joe in Singapore. Sergeant Joe Smythe, Royal Engineers. The look that back in Singapore had made him jealous of his cousin, something he had never been before.
The name Cherry Blossom sounded better in Chinese, a word William had been unable to get his tongue around much to the girl’s amusement. Marrying a local and having two kids had made sure Joe stayed a sergeant. Joe had been in Singapore since 1937, on his second tour with the British Army, not bothering to go home on leave. His family in England were dysfunctional so there was nothing to come back for now his parents had sold their family home in Wimbledon where Joe had grown up with six siblings. The whole family had fought with each other.
“You’re better off staying in Singapore.”
“You don’t think the Japs will enter the war? Have you seen my parents, Will?”
“Not recently, no. I’m not very good at visiting, sorry. You’ve got a beautiful life where you are.”
“I don’t suppose they approve, of course. The establishment. The Raj. Bloody stuck up, the lot of them. What makes me laugh is the hypocrisy. Half of them have Chinese or Malay mistresses. There’s a whole damn school for their kids. They just don’t mention their Asian family in polite company. One of the officers married his Chinese girl like I did. Threw him out of the Singapore Swimming Club. Don’t be put off by that mundane name. The club’s the place for the British. Only officers. No Chinese, Indian or Malay, of course. I often wonder if we know what we really look like. So you like my Cherry Blossom, Will?”
“She’s gorgeous in more than looks. Your kids are as bright as buttons. If I could find a girl to love me the way you all love each other I wouldn’t be such a miserable sod.”
“Still no luck with Genevieve?”
“Don’t be silly. She’s a star. Film stars don’t marry old has-beens like me. She’s famous.”
“So are you, Will.”
“We’re just friends. That’s what she says.”
“Horrible.”
“So they won’t let me take you both to the Singapore Swimming Club tonight to meet the rest of the press?”
“Don’t be daft. They won’t let me in, let alone my Chinese wife. I’m a sergeant. This is the British Raj, Will. Warts and all. Just don’t mention you have a cousin here in the Royal Engineers. They’ll want to know his name, rank and number and look down their nose when you tell them. Don’t you want to stay with us while you are here?”
“Of course. Can’t of course. Business comes first. We’ll see a lot of each other, Joe, while I’m in Singapore. Why’s the climate so sticky?”
“They say you can set your clock by the afternoon rain. Four o’clock. It rains every afternoon in Singapore at four o’clock.”
“You’re a lucky bastard, Joe Smythe. What you going to do after the war?”
“Stay out East with Cherry Blossom and the kids. Sounds terrible in English. I’m going to be a trader of some sort.”
“Not coming back to England?”
“How can I? Imagine what the neighbours would have to say. British aversion to anyone not British isn’t confined to the officer class. I’m going to be an expat for the rest of my life.”
“Sounds good to me. The buggers at the Club have missed the point. The Chinese were civilised when we were living up trees. Quite rightly, they think us the savages. How’s your Mandarin coming along?”
“Not bad. We want the children to be completely bilingual. English and Chinese. Stand them in good stead for the future. They’ll never want to live in England if the empire lasts another thousand years.”
“It won’t. Mark my words. My sources say the Japs are up to something.”
“Against the British?”
“Against the Americans.”
“You’ve given us both the cold shivers. Cherry Blossom hates the Japs for what they are doing in China.”
“Singapore will be all right. It’s an impregnable fortress they all tell me.”
“We can only hope. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Joe. Good to see you so happy… Why did they give it such an ordinary name? Singapore Swimming Club. Kind of thing you’d find in Battersea.”
“Not when it was founded during the time of Governor Raffles. First swimming pool on the island. Very snooty. Couldn’t have plebs in the same water, now could we?”
“There’s a causeway now so it isn’t an island.”
“It’s the longest one in the world, joining Singapore with Malaya. Railway line. Water pipes. Roads. Great feat of engineering.”
“Couldn’t the Japs invade over the causeway?”
“Not through the jungle.”
“Better not. All the big guns are encased and pointing out to sea. The other way.”
“You journalists have too vivid an imagination. Have a nice swim for me, cousin William.”
“I’m just going to talk and drink.”
The only person William knew to talk to was Harry Brigandshaw. Having moved into his secretary’s flat in North Kensington and made himself comfortable with his few possessions, William made an appointment with Katherine at the Air Ministry. Happily for a man with too many stories going through his head at the same time, Betty was as organised in her flat as she was in the office. Living with her would smooth out his entire day, not just the hours at the office. There was no argument when the lights went out and no complaints from William. There had been no women on board the fighting ships of His Majesty the King.”
“Is it urgent, Mr Smythe?”
“It could be, Katherine. Hard to tell in the fog of war and diplomacy. More of a sinking feeling. I got back to Portsmouth last afternoon and found my flat a heap of rubble.”
“Where are you staying?”
“With my secretary.”
“Convenient. I’ll go and ask Colonel Brigandshaw. Hold the line.”
William was having a late breakfast now he could work with Betty and not have to rush to the office. The telephone in her flat was for business and paid for by himself. Betty said being on call twenty-four hours a day was not worth a free phone.
“William? Harry. Come right on over. Sorry to hear about the flat.”
When William finished the call he finished his breakfast.
“I like that man. None of the usual bullshit about being busy to impress. Can we still get taxis, Betty?”
“The Tubes run during the day. They’re quicker. What’s the problem?”
“Japan. Japan’s the problem. My years at trying to be a journalist tell me the Americans are being complacent. They’re pushing the Japs on oil, to put a spanner in the works of the Japs’ war with China. The Americans are stopping oil shipments from the Middle East reaching Japan. The Japs are being cornered. Harry can’t do anything himself. He knows people. Can put a word in the right ear. I’m probably wrong but the Chinese I met in Singapore say the Americans are prodding the tiger.”
“How did you meet the Chinese in Singapore?”
“My cousin’s wife. Joe is married to a Chinese girl. Two kids. Never seen a happier family. The last thing we need is a war in our Far East possessions. India is politically vulnerable. Gandhi has stopped his nonsense for the duration of the war but it’s still dangerous. Gandhi’s just as frightened of the Japs now they’ve conquered half of China on his doorstep. Needs the British Army. It’s Singapore and Hong Kong I worry about. They are too isolated from help if the Japs attack.”
“You think the Japs are going to attack us!”
“Cherry Blossom’s father thinks they have no option. They can’t fight a war without Middle East oil.”
“Who’s Cherry Blossom for God’s sake?”
“My cousin-in-law. Her name sounds better in Chinese. Damn fine breakfast, Betty. You’ll make someone a good wife.”
“I hope so.”
“Kids always want their mothers to be good cooks above everything. You should have tried Cherry Blossom’s cooking. Got to go. Harry’s waiting.”
“I hope so,” said Betty with a smile after the door closed with William on his way to the Air Ministry in his Royal Navy duffel coat. Then she made the decision to beard the lion in its den and picked up the phone to book two tickets to the theatre. She wanted Genevieve to tell William in front of her when they went backstage after the show. She rehearsed her smile and what she was going to say while the phone rang at the ticket agent.
“Congratulations, Genevieve, on your forthcoming marriage to Flight Lieutenant Oosthuizen.”
She just hoped Genevieve would be nicely stunned and not ask who had told her the good news. Poor Colin. He’d never forgive her. Explaining to William how she knew Colin would scupper her campaign before it started. The breakfast was a good sign. Men liked being pampered. No wonder the cousin liked his Chinese wife. Right through history Chinese women were renowned for pampering their men.
Then she did the washing up, dressed in a suit and went to the office to start her day.
The worst part for Harry Brigandshaw was not knowing. Listening to the news left Harry in a state of panic. It was always the same at the end of the bulletin describing the RAF’s latest bombing raid on Germany. ‘Aircraft attacked the heart of Germany’s industrial might last night destroying factories and German morale. The raid was successful. Three of our aircraft failed to return.’ The last part caused Harry’s panic by failing to answer his question: ‘was Anthony flying one of our aircraft that failed to return?’ It was a BBC euphemism for ‘three of our aircraft were shot down. There were no survivors. The pilot, navigator, middle gunner and rear gunner. Families will be informed.’ It was always ‘missing’. As if the crew had landed other than at home base, or baled out of the aircraft. Sounded better. Better for British Morale.
By the time Harry finished listening to the ten o’clock news, William Smythe was shown into his office giving Harry something else to think about. They had known each other a long time, ever since the press came into his life when he returned to England from his journey out of the Congo, much of the trip still a blur. William had found him at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in Bloomsbury.
“Come in, William. Remembering how we first met at the hospital. Do you know, Will, that was ten years ago? Sit yourself down. For a chap who’s just found his home bombed out you look damn chipper. Like the duffel coat. Did you steal it from the navy or did they give it to you?”
“The captain gave it to me. How are you, Harry?”
“Worried stiff every time I listen to the news.”
“It’s not that bad. Not as bad as September 1940 when every fighter in the RAF was committed to the battle.”
“You’ve been away. Anthony’s flying a Lancaster over Germany with his squadron. It’s the bit at the end of the bulletin that gets me. Three of our aircraft failed to return. You chaps in the BBC have a way of putting everything so it doesn’t affect British morale. It was better in the last war. At least I knew what was going on. Now I just wait. What’s up, William? You never do anything without a reason. Do you know I sleep every night on a platform underground? Made myself some friends. You make your best friends in life in adversity. So, what’s up?”
“The Japs are getting up steam to attack America. No one will listen to me. Cherry Blossom’s father has a network of contacts in the Far East.”
“Who’s Cherry Blossom?”
“My cousin’s wife.”
“Start at the beginning, Will. I’m listening. What do you want me to do?”
“Tell someone in Whitehall who will listen.”
“They’ve got enough on their plate without worrying about rumours.”
“It’s not a rumour, Harry. The Japanese navy with aircraft carriers is getting ready to sail into the Pacific. If they haven’t sailed already. It’s been a long voyage from Singapore.”
“There’s Glen Hamilton in Denver. He’ll be interested.”
“The papers report, Harry. This is intelligence information. Why I came straight to you. No one else would listen to me in Singapore. They still drink cocktails and dress for dinner as if Japan isn’t at war with China right next to them.”
“Do you have specific proof? Other than this Chinaman’s word. Just because he’s somehow related to you won’t wash in Whitehall. There were three aircraft missing last night. Bomber Command is building up its strength. Now it’s the turn of the Germans to get a bit of their own medicine. I like telling them that at Charing Cross Tube station every night. You should come down and spend a night with us. Mrs Coombes makes me cheese sandwiches. Thinks I’m as poor as a church mouse.”
“What’s wrong with the Air Ministry shelter?”
“Wrong people. I’ve made some real friends in the underground. But I’m digressing. Don’t forget the Japs were on our side last time. The Russians are having a bad time. We’re sending them fighter aircraft through Murmansk when that part of the sea isn’t frozen. Round neutral Sweden. The route to Leningrad is in German control. Now the Russians are our Allies. Before the war, those that knew said Russian communism was worse than German fascism. At least fascism has a strong element of capitalism in how they run an economy. Any port in a storm, I suppose. Ha, ha. You’re meant to laugh, William Smythe. Before you start and I shut up I’ll have Katherine bring us in some tea. What would we British do without tea? Now if your Japs conquer India and cut off our supply of tea we’ll all be sunk… Katherine, my dear. Could you rustle us up a pot of tea? There isn’t any sugar, of course.”
After William left, to visit their mutual friend and William’s fellow journalist Horatio Wakefield, Harry got on the phone. After an hour it was clear no one was interested, or if they were, they showed no concern to Harry. Some of the people he spoke to were short with him.
“Nice of you to call, Harry. Aren’t you with the Air Ministry? There’s a real war right here in Europe.”
The inference was plain. It was none of his business. When Ding-a-ling made his daily report he heard William’s Japanese story.
“Why would they want to warn the Americans, Harry? Even if it was anything to do with us. The Civil Service likes to keep it in compartments. Even in wartime. You only worry about your own house burning down. They’ve decided not to hang Hirst-Brown. The bit about the thirty-two shillings must have got to someone.”
“What are they going to do with him?”
“Leave him in jail.”
“How long for?”
“Who knows. If the Japs attack the American fleet they’ll have to declare war. Then they’re in. They’ll declare war against Japan’s ally Germany. No wonder they’ve been giving you the cold shoulder. They’re all hugging themselves, hoping the Japs go in. When Hitler did it for us in Russia by breaching their non-hostility pact and attacking the Soviets, Churchill did a jig. If you can imagine that. He won’t cry if the Japs bring America into the war. I didn’t realise until the other day Churchill’s mother is an American. Roosevelt says he drinks too much.”
