Read Online Shute, Nevil by What Happened to the Corbetts - Free Book Online

in the hall. Then they went up to bed.
    In the dark, rainy night they woke to a shattering concussion, near at hand.
    Corbett did not hear it consciously. He found himself suddenly awake and standing near the door of his bedroom, his hands pressed to his ears which were aching with pain. In the nursery upstairs he heard the children begin crying; he ran up to them, to help Joan.
    As he opened the door there was a blinding flash outside that lit up the room through the green curtains, and another concussion. The glass from the nursery windows fell tinkling to the floor; the children redoubled their screams. Joan was busy with the baby; he moved forward and touched her on the shoulder. ‘Get Baby out into the trench,’ he shouted through the din. ‘Stay there yourself. I’ll get the others dressed and bring them out.’
    There was another concussion, this time farther off. Joan slipped on shoes and a raincoat over her pyjamas, picked up the child and wrapped it in a shawl, and ran downstairs. Corbett turned to the other children.
    ‘Come on, Juggins,’ he said gently to his screaming three-year-old son. ‘Be a brave soldier and get dressed. Big men like you aren’t frightened of a few little bangs. Where did they put your combinations?’
    Another bomb fell near at hand; he touched both children, thinking to quiet them. Then he picked up a woollen garment from a chair. ‘Come on, old matt,’ he said. ‘Get into this, and we’ll go and find Mummy.’
    Phyllis, his six-year-old daughter, stopped crying instantly. ‘That’s my combies that you’re giving John,’ she said, snivelling indignantly.
    Corbett forced a laugh, ‘I’ll give him all your clothes unless you put them on yourself,’ he said. ‘Then you’ll have to wear his.’
    He got the children dressed without much trouble after that. Bombs continued to fall in the more distant parts of the city; he hurried the children down through the house and into the garden, only stopping to get a pair of shoes and a coat for himself. Joan was in the trench; he passed the children down to her.
    ‘This is a bloody picnic,’ he said sourly.
    She laughed shortly. ‘You’re right. It’s terribly muddy here, Peter. If you could get a couple of chairs it might be better.’
    He went back to the house and got the chairs, slid them down into the trench beneath the car, and followed them. Then he took the baby from Joan and sent her back into the house to dress; the child was crying steadily, confusing his thoughts. While Joan was away one or two more salvoes fell, not very near at hand, towards the centre of the city. Presently she returned, bringing with her the children’s mackintoshes and gum-boots.
    Corbett gave the baby back to his wife, went back into the house and dressed himself. Then he went round the house opening what windows still had glass left in them; the wind and rain blew freely through the rooms, soaking beds, furniture, and carpets. He tried the wireless set, but found it dead; evidently the current had failed again, or was cut off from the city.
    He went back to the garden. Before getting down into his trench he went and looked over the garden wall; in the dim light he could see the bulk of the Littlejohn’s car standing above their trench. ‘Littlejohn!’ he called. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘Oh, aye,’ said Mr. Littlejohn. He climbed up out of his trench and came over to the wall. ‘Is everything all right with you?’
    ‘So far,’ said Corbett. The bombs were still falling in the city; away to the south they heard the sharp crack of guns.
    ‘It’s a terrible thing, this,’ said the builder. ‘There don’t seem to be any of our own aeroplanes up, do there? Or searchlights, neither. I suppose them guns are antiaircraft guns.’
    ‘I suppose so.’ They surveyed the sky. ‘I can’t hear any aeroplanes at all,’ said Corbett.
    ‘Wait a bit,’ said the builder. ‘I can hear some now. Listen-very faint. Hear them?’
    The wind