'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?
The old man suffered a good deal.
There was nothing to be done but to walk straight into Angerville. The Germans were behind them, to the north, to the east, and to the west. He felt that it was hopeless to attempt a dash across the country to the south as the Air Force men had done; he could not possibly out-distance the advance of the invader. Better to go ahead and meet what lay before him bravely, conserving his strength that he might help the children best.
Ronnie said: 'Listen to the band.'
They were about half a mile from the town. Rose exclaimed with pleasure. 'Ecoute, Pierre,' she said, bending down to him. 'Ecoute!'
'Eh,' said Howard, waking from his reverie. 'What's that?'
Ronnie said: 'There's a band playing in the town. May we go and listen to it?' But his ears were keener than the old man's, and Howard could hear nothing.
Presently, as they walked into the town, he picked out the strains of Liebestraum.
On the way into the town they passed a train of very dirty lorries halted by the road, drawing in turn up to a garage and filling their tanks at the pump. The soldiers moving round them appeared strange at first; with a shock the old man realised that he was seeing what he had expected for the last hour to see; the men were German soldiers. They wore field-grey uniforms with open collars and patch pockets, with a winged eagle broidered on the right breast. Some of them were bare-headed; others wore the characteristic German steel hehnet. They had sad, tired, expressionless faces; they moved about their work like so many machines.
Sheila said: 'Are those Swiss soldiers, Mr Howard?'
'No,' he said, 'they're not Swiss.'
Ronnie said: 'They wear the same kind of hat.'
Rose said: 'What are they?'
He gathered them around him. 'Look,' he said in French, 'you mustn't be afraid. They are German, but they won't hurt you.'