In the late afternoon, they stopped for a meal in a lane, a little north of Newark. The day had been cloudy, but was now brilliantly blue and sunlit, with a mass of cloud, rolling away to the west, poised in white billows and turrets. The fields on either side of them were potato fields planted for the hopeful second crop; apart from the bareness of hedge-rows empty of grass, there was nothing to distinguish the scene from any country landscape in a thriving fruitful world.
The three boys had found a bank and were sliding down it, using for a sleigh an old panel of wood, discarded probably from some gipsy caravan years before. Mary watched them, half envious, half scornful. She had developed a lot since the hill climbing in the valley of fourteen months before.
The men, sitting in Pirrie’s Ford, discussed things.
John said: “If we can get north of Ripon today, we should be all right for the run to the valley tomorrow.”
“We could get farther than that,” Roger said.
“I suppose we could. I doubt if it would be worth it, though. The main thing is to get clear of population centres. Once we’re away from the West Riding, we should be safe enough from anything that happens.”
Pirrie said: “I am not objecting, mind you, nor regretting having joined you on this little trip, but does it not seem possible that the dangers of violence may have been over-estimated? We have had a very smooth progress. Neither Grantham nor Newark showed any signs of imminent breakdown.”
“Peterborough was sealed off,” Roger said. “I think those towns that still have free passage are too busy congratulating themselves on being missed to begin worrying about what else may be happening. You saw those queues outside the bakeries?”
“Very orderly queues,” observed Pirrie.
“The trouble is,” said John, “that we don’t know just when Welling is going to take his drastic action. It’s nearly twenty-four hours since the cities and large towns were sealed off. When the bombs drop, the whole country is going to erupt in panic. Welling hopes to be able to control things, but he won’t expect to have any degree of control for the first few days. I still think that, providing we can get clear of the major centres of population by that time, we should be all right.”
“Atom bombs, and hydrogen bombs,” Pirrie said thoughtfully. “I really wonder.”
Roger said shortly: “I don’t. I know Haggerty. He wasn’t lying.”
“It is not on the score of morality that I find them unlikely,” said Pirrie, “but on that of temperament. The English, being sluggish in the imagination, would find no difficulty in acquiescing in measures which—their common sense would tell them—must lead to the death by starvation of millions. But direct action—murder for self-preservation—is a different matter. I find it difficult to believe they could ever bring themselves to the sticking-point.”
“We haven’t done so badly,” Roger said. He grinned. “You, particularly.”
“My mother,” Pirrie said simply, “was French. But you fail to take my point. I had not meant that the English are inhibited from violence. Under the right circumstances, they will murder with a will, and more cheerfully than most But they are sluggish in logic as well as imagination. They will preserve illusions to the very end. It is only after that that they will fight like particularly savage tigers.”
“And when did you reach the end?” Roger asked.
Pirrie smiled. “A long time ago. I came to the understanding that all men are friends by convenience and enemies by choice.”
Roger looked at him curiously. “I follow you part of the way. There are some real ties.”
“Some alliances,” said Pirrie, “last longer than others. But they remain alliances. Our own is a particularly valuable one.”
The women were in the Buckleys’ car. Millicent now put her head out of the window, and called out to them:
“News!”
One of the two car radios was kept permanently in operation. The men walked back to see what it was.
Ann said, as they approached: “It sounds like trouble.”
The announcer’s voice was still suave, but grave as well.
“… further emergency bulletins will be issued as they are deemed necessary, in addition to the normal news readings.
“There has been further rioting in Central London, and troops have moved in from the outskirts to control this and to maintain order. In South London, an attempt has been made by an organized mob to break through the military barriers set up yesterday following the temporary ban on travel. The situation here is confused; fresh military forces are moving up to deal with it.”
“Now that we’re clear,” Roger said, “I don’t mind them having the guts to break out. Good for them.”
The announcer continued: “There are reports of even more serious outbreaks of disorder in the North of England. Riots are reported to have occurred in several major cities, notably Liverpool, Manchester, and Leeds, and in the case of Leeds official contact has been lost.”
“Leeds!” John said. “That’s less good.”
The Government,” the voice went on, “has issued the following statement: ‘In view of disturbances in certain areas, members of the public are warned that severe counter-measures may have to be taken. There is a real danger, if mob violence were to continue, that the country might lapse into anarchy, and the Government is determined to avoid this at all costs. The duty of the individual citizen is to go about his business quietly and to cooperate with the police and military authorities who are concerned with maintaining order.’ That is the end of the present bulletin.”
A cinema organ began to play “The Teddy-Bears’ Picnic”{86}; Ann switched the volume down until it was only just audible.
Roger said: “If we drove all night, we could reach the valley by the morning. I don’t like the sound of all this. It looks as though Leeds has broken loose. I think we’d better travel while the travelling’s good.”
“We didn’t get much sleep last night,” John said. “A night run across Mossdale isn’t a picnic at the best of times.”
“Ann and Millicent can both take a spell at the wheel,” Roger pointed out.
Ann said: “But Olivia can’t drive, can she?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Roger said. “I’ve brought my benzedrine{87} with me. I can keep awake for two or three days if necessary.”
Pirrie said: “May I suggest that we concentrate immediately on getting clear of the West Riding? When we have done that, we can decide whether to carry right on or not.”
“Yes,” John said, “we’ll do that.”
From the top of the bank, the boys called down to them, waving their arms towards the sky. Listening, they heard the hum of aircraft engines approaching. Their eyes searched the clear sky. The planes came into view over the hedge which topped the bank. They were heavy bombers, flying north, at not more than three or four thousand feet.
They watched, in a silence that seemed to shiver, until they had passed right over. They could hear the engines, and the excited chatter of the boys, but neither of these affected the sharp-edged silence of their own thoughts.
“Leeds?” Ann whispered, when they had gone.
Nobody answered at first. It was Pirrie who spoke finally, his voice as calm and precisely modulated as ever:
“Possibly. There are the other explanations, of course. But in any case, I think we ought to move, don’t you?”
When they set off, Davey had joined Steve and Spooks in the Citroen, which was leading the way at this point. The Ford came second, and John’s Vauxhall, carrying now only Mary and Ann in addition to himself, brought up the rear.