the corporal.
'Not very good news, I'm afraid,' he said. 'The Germans are in Angerville.'
There was a pause. 'Bloody 'ell,' the corporal said at last. He said it very quietly, as if he were suddenly tired. 'How many are there there?'
Howard called back the enquiry to the peasant. 'A regiment,' he said. 'I suppose he means about a thousand men.'
'Come down from the north, like,' said the driver.
There was nothing much more to be said. The old man told them about the petrol. 'That's not much good,' the corporal said. 'With what we've got, that wouldn't take us more'n ten miles.' He turned to the driver. 'Let's 'ave the muckin' map.'
Together they pored over the sheet; the old man got up into the cab and studied it with them. There was no side road between them and the town; behind them there was no road leading to the south for nearly seven miles. 'That's right,' the driver said. 'I didn't see no road on that side when we came along.'
The. corporal said quietly: 'An' if we did go back, we'd meet the Jerries coming along after us from that other muckin' place. Where he picked up the nipper what they told him was a spy.'
'That's right,' the driver said.
The corporal said: 'Got a fag?'
The driver produced a cigarette; the corporal lit it and blew a long cloud. 'Well,' he said presently, 'this puts the lid on it.'
The other two were silent.
'I wanted to get home with that big Herbert,' the corporal said. 'I wanted to get that through okay, as much as I ever wanted anything in all my life.' He turned to Howard: 'Straight, I did. But I ain't going to.'
The old man said gently: 'I am very sorry.'
The other shook himself. 'You can't always do them things you want to most.' He stirred. 'Well, this won't buy baby a new frock.'
He got down from the cab on to the ground. 'What are you going to do?' asked Howard.
'I'll show you what I'm going to do.' He led the old man to the side of the great lorry, about half-way down its length. There was a little handle sticking out through the side chassis member, painted bright red. 'I'm going to pull that tit, and run like bloody 'ell.'
'Demolition,' said the driver at his elbow. 'Pull that out an' up she goes.'
The corporal said: 'Come on, now. Get them muckin' kids out of the back. I'm sorry we can't take you any farther, mate, but that's the way it is.'
Howard said: 'What will you do, yourselves?'
The corporal said: 'Mugger off cross-country to the south an' hope to keep in front of the Jerries.' He hesitated. 'You'll be all right,' he said, a little awkwardly. 'They won't do nothin' to you, with all them kids.'
The old man said: 'We'll be all right. Don't worry about us. You've got to get back home to fight again.'
'We got to dodge the muckin' Jerries first.'
Together they got the children down on to the road; then they lifted the pram from the top of the van. Howard collected his few possessions and stowed them in the pram, took the corporal's address in England, and gave his own.
There was nothing then to wait for.
'So long, mate,' said the corporal. 'See you one day.'
The old man said: 'So long.'
He gathered the children round him and set off with them slowly down the road in the direction of Angerville. There was a minor squabble as to who should push the pram, which finished up by Sheila pushing it with Ronnie to assist and advise. Rose walked beside them leading Pierre by the hand; the dirty little stranger in his queer frock followed along behind. Howard thought ruefully that somehow, somewhere, he must get him washed. Not only was he verminous and filthy, but the back of his neck and his clothes were clotted with dried blood from the cut.
They went slowly, as they always did. From time to time Howard glanced back over his shoulder; the men by the lorry seemed to be sorting out their personal belongings. Then one of them, the driver, started off across the field towards the south, carrying a small bundle. The other bent to some task at the lorry.
Then he was up and running from the road towards the driver. He ran clumsily, stumbling; when he had gone about two hundred yards there was a sharp, crackling explosion.
A sheet of flame shot outwards from the lorry. Parts of it sailed up into the air and fell on the road and into the fields; then it sunk lower on the road. A little tongue of fire appeared, and it was in flames. Ronnie said: 'Coo, Mr Howard. Did it blow up?' Sheila echoed: 'Did it blow up itself, Mr Howard?'
'Yes,' he said heavily, 'that's what happened.' A column of thick black smoke rose from it on the road. He turned away. 'Don't bother about it any more.'
Two miles ahead of him he saw the roofs of Angerville. The net was practically closed on him now. With a heavy heart he led the children down the road towards the town.
Chapter 6
I broke into his story and said, a little breathlessly: 'This one's not far off.'
We sat tense in our chairs before the fire, listening to the rising whine of the bomb. It burst somewhere very near, and in the rumble of the falling debris we heard another falling, closer still. We sat absolutely motionless as the club rocked to the explosion and the glass crashed from the windows, and the whine of the third bomb grew shrill. It burst on the other side of us.
'Straddled,' said old Howard, breaking the tension. That's all right.'
The fourth bomb of the stick fell farther away; then there was a pause, but for a burst of machine-gun fire. I got up from my chair and walked out to the corridor. It was in darkness. A window leading out on to a little balcony had been blown open. I went out and looked round.
Over towards the city the sky was a deep, cherry red with the glow of the fires. Around us there was a bright, yellow light from three parachute-flares suspended in the sky; Bren guns and Lewis guns were rattling away at these things in an attempt to shoot them down. Close at hand, down the street, another fire was getting under way.
I turned, and Howard was at my side. 'Pretty hot tonight,' he said.
I nodded. 'Would you like to go down into the shelter?'
'Are you going?'
'I don't believe it's any safer there than here,' I said.
We went down to the hall to see if there was anything we could do to help. But there was nothing to be done, and presently we went up to our chairs again beside the fire and poured another glass of the Marsala. I said: 'Go on with your story.'
He said diffidently: 'I hope I'm not boring you with all this?'
Angerville is a little town on the Paris-Orleans road. It was about five o'clock when Howard started to walk towards it with the children, a hot, dusty afternoon.
He told me that that was one of the most difficult moments of his life. Since he had left Cidoton he had been travelling towards England; as he had gone on fear had grown on him. Up to the last it had seemed incredible that he should not get through, hard though the way might be. But now he realised that he would not get through. The Germans were between him and the sea. In marching on to Angerville he was marching to disaster, to internment, probably to his death.
That did not worry him so much. He was old and tired; if an end came now he would be missing nothing very much. A few more days of fishing, a few more summers pottering in his garden. But the children - they were another matter. Somehow he must make them secure. Rose and Pierre might be turned over to the French police; sooner or later they would be returned to their relations. But Sheila and Ronnie - what arrangements could he possibly make for them? What would become of them? And what about the dirty little boy who now was with them, who had been stoned by old women mad with terror and blind hate? What would become of him?
