Nicholas shouted, ‘Keep well away from the skylight. Come right in close to the window.’
The girls crowded into the lavatory space. Jane and Joanna, being the largest, stood up on the lavatory seat to make room for the others. Nicholas saw that every face was streaming with perspiration. Joanna’s skin, now close to his eyes, seemed to him to have become suddenly covered with large freckles as if fear had acted on it like the sun; in fact it was true that the pale freckles on her face, which normally were almost invisible, stared out in bright gold spots by contrast with he skin, which was now bloodless with fear. The versicles and responses came from her lips and tongue through the din of demolition.
Yea, the Lord hath done great things for us
already: whereof, we rejoice.
Turn our captivity, O Lord: as the rivers in the
south.
They that sow in tears: shall reap in joy.
Why, and with what intention, was she moved to indulge in this? She remembered the words, and she had the long habit of recitation. But why, in this predicament and as if to an audience? She wore a dark green wool jersey and a grey skirt. The other girls, automatically listening to Joanna’s voice as they had always done, were possibly less frantic and trembled less, because of it, but they turned their ears more fearfully and attentively to the meaning of the skylight noises than they did to the actual meaning of her words for Day 27.
Except the Lord build the house: their labour is but lost that build it.
Except the Lord keep the city: the watchman waketh but in vain.
It is but lost labour that ye haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.
Lo, children …
Any Day’s liturgy would have been equally mesmeric. But the words for the right day was Joanna’s habit. The skylight thudded open with a shower of powdery plaster and some lop-sided bricks. While the white dust was still falling the firemen’s ladder descended. First up was Dorothy Markham, the chattering débutante whose bright life, for the past forty-three minutes, had gone into a bewildering darkness like illuminations at a seaside town when the electricity system breaks down. She looked haggard and curiously like her aunt, Lady Julia, the chairman of the club’s committee who was at that moment innocently tying up refugee parcels at Bath. Lady Julia’s hair was white, and so now was the hair of her niece Dorothy, covered as it was by falling plaster-dust, as she clambered up the fire-ladder to the sloping tiles and was assisted to the safe flat roof-top. At her heels came Nancy Riddle, the daughter of the Low-Church Midlands clergyman, whose accents of speech had been in process of improvement by Joanna’s lessons. Her elocution days were over now, she would always speak with a Midlands accent. Her hips looked more dangerously wide than they had ever noticeably been, as she swung up the ladder behind Dorothy. Three girls then attempted to follow at once; they had been occupants of a four-bed dormitory on the third floor, and were all newly released from the Forces; all three had the hefty, built-up appearance that five years in the Army was apt to give to a woman. While they were sorting themselves out, Jane grasped the ladder and got away. The three ex-warriors then followed.
Joanna had jumped down from the lavatory seat. She was now circling round, vaguely wobbling, like a top near the end of its spin. Her eyes shifted from the skylight to the window in a puzzled way. Her lips and tongue continued to recite compulsively the litany of the Day, but her voice had weakened and she stopped to cough. The air was still full of powdered plaster and smoke. There were three girls left beside herself. Joanna groped for the ladder and missed. She then stopped to pick up the tape-measure which was lying on the floor. She groped for it as if she were partially blind, still intoning:
So that they who go by say not so much as, The Lord prosper you: we wish you good luck in the Name of the Lord.
Out of the deep have I called …
The other three took the ladder, one of them, a surprisingly slender girl called Pippa, whose non-apparent bones had evidently been too large to have allowed her escape through the window, shouted back, ‘Hurry up, Joanna.’
‘Joanna, the ladder!’
And Nicholas shouted from the window, ‘Joanna, get up the ladder.’
She regained her senses and pressed behind the last two girls, a brown-skinned heavily-sinewed swimmer and a voluptuous Greek exile of noble birth, both of whom were crying with relief. Joanna promptly started to clamber after them, grasping in her hand a rung that the last girl’s foot had just left. At that moment, the house trembled and the ladder and wash-room with it. The lire was extinguished, but the gutted house had been finally thrown by the violence of the work on the skylight. A whistle sounded as Joanna was half-way up. A voice from the megaphone ordered the men to jump clear. The house went down as the last fireman waited at the skylight for Joanna to emerge. As the sloping roof began to cave in, he leapt clear, landing badly and painfully on the flat roof-top. The house sank into its centre; a high heap of rubble, and Joanna went with it.
9
The tape-recording had been erased for economy reasons, so that the tape could be used again. That is how things were in i945. Nicholas was angry in excess of the occasion. He had wanted to play back Joanna’s voice to her father who had come up to London after her funeral to fill in forms as to the effects of the dead. Nicholas had written to him, partly with an urge to impart his last impressions of Joanna, partly from curiosity, partly, too, from a desire to stage a dramatic play-back of Joanna doing The Wreck of the Deutschland. He had mentioned the tape-recording in his letter.
But it was gone. It must have been wiped out by someone at his office.
Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread, Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Nicholas said to the rector, ‘It’s infuriating. She was at her best in The Wreck of the Deutschland. I’m terribly sorry.’
Joanna’s father sat, pink-faced and white-haired. He said, ‘Oh, please don’t worry.’
‘I wish you could have heard it.’
As if to console Nicholas in his loss, the rector murmured with a nostalgic smile:
It was the schooner Hesperus
That sailed the wintry sea,
‘No, no the Deutschland. The Wreck of the Deutschland.’
‘Oh, the Deutschland.’ With a gesture characteristic of the English aquiline nose, his seemed to smell the air for enlightenment.
Nicholas was moved by this to a last effort to regain the lost recording. It was a Sunday, but he managed to get one of his colleagues on the telephone at home.
‘Do you happen to know if anyone removed a tape from that box I borrowed from the office? Like a fool I left it in my room at the office. Someone’s removed an important tape. Something private.’
‘No, I don’t think … just a minute … yes, in fact, they’ve wiped out the stuff. It was poetry. Sorry, but the economy regulations, you know… . . What do you think of the news? Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?’
Nicholas said to Joanna’s father, ‘Yes, it really has been wiped out.’
‘Never mind. I remember Joanna as she was in the rectory. Joanna was a great help in the parish. Her coming to London was a mistake, poor girl.’