Read Online Shute, Nevil by What Happened to the Corbetts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: What Happened to the Corbetts
Ads: Link
sighed and the rain drove across the gardens; they stood in silence for a minute, listening. ‘I hear them now,’ said Corbett. ‘They must be at a tremendous height.’
‘Maybe that’s why there aren’t any searchlights,’ said the builder.
‘Searchlights wouldn’t be much good on a night like this. They’d only show them where the town was.’
‘I reckon they know that all right,’ said Mr. Littlejohn grimly.
Another salvo started to fall near at hand, and sent them hurrying to their trenches.
Corbett struck a match and looked at his watch; it was about one o’clock. He settled down on the chair opposite his wife in the narrow, muddy trench and took a child upon each knee. The baby, tired out with crying, had fallen asleep; the other two children slept intermittently.
Joan asked: ‘Peter, whatever shall we do if they start to drop gas-bombs? With Baby, I mean?’
‘I’ve been thinking of that,’ he said. ‘I think the best thing will be for you to stay here with the other two, and I’ll take her up to the nursery and stay there with her. With the windows open, right up at the top of the house like that, I don’t believe you’d get much gas. It’s fifty feet up from the ground.’
They thought it over for a minute. ‘I don’t like you being in the house, Peter,’ she said. ‘I think it’s much more dangerous there than it is here.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to leave Baby up there all alone?’
‘I’d rather she was all alone than have you with her in the house.’
He touched her hand. ‘I’ll take her up there if we think there’s any gas about. At present it’s all high explosive. There’s been no gas dropped yet, or incendiary, either.’
Slowly the hours passed. The rain pattered against the car, and trickled from the wet ground down into the trench. Corbett sat, cramped and stiff, one child upon each knee; they dozed uneasily, waking and crying when the detonations were near to them. The baby slept quietly on Joan’s lap undisturbed by the heaviest concussions; they were anxious about her. She seemed utterly exhausted. They got some relief by stuffing cotton-wool into their ears.
From time to time they heard the wailing of a siren on some ambulance or police car. The sound of distant gunfire was continuous, and very occasionally they heard the droning of aeroplanes. The wind sighed past them and the rain made little liquid noises; no other sounds shared the night with the shattering concussions of the bombs.
At last there came a long interval. Corbett looked at his watch; it was a little after three. He was dazed and stiff. ‘It lasted three hours last time,’ he said- ‘This may be the end.’
Joan stirred beside him. ‘How long ought we to wait?’
‘We’ll give it half an hour.’
Towards the end of that time he got out of the trench and went to the garden wall. Mr. Littlejohn was standing on his lawn, looking about him at the sky.
‘Seems as if it’s over,’ he said. ‘You’d think they’d give an “all clear” signal of some sort, wouldn’t you?’
‘They didn’t give any sort of “take cover” signal,’ said Corbett.
‘That’s so. Seems like they don’t know when it’s coming or when it’s over, don’t it?’
‘Do you think it’s over now?’
‘I don’t know. I believe I’ll get the missus indoors, and chance it.’
Corbett went back to Joan. ‘We’ll give it a few minutes longer,’ he said. He got out the basket of provisions and gave her a drink of whisky; the children drank a little milk and nibbled a sponge-cake.
Presently they got out of the trench, and went back into the house.
Apart from the windows, no more damage seemed to have been done to the house. Corbett helped Joan to put the children back into their beds in the darkness; they fell asleep almost instantaneously. They did not go to bed at once themselves, being hungry; instead, they went down to the kitchen, lit the Primus stove, and fried a little meal of
‘Maybe that’s why there aren’t any searchlights,’ said the builder.
‘Searchlights wouldn’t be much good on a night like this. They’d only show them where the town was.’
‘I reckon they know that all right,’ said Mr. Littlejohn grimly.
Another salvo started to fall near at hand, and sent them hurrying to their trenches.
Corbett struck a match and looked at his watch; it was about one o’clock. He settled down on the chair opposite his wife in the narrow, muddy trench and took a child upon each knee. The baby, tired out with crying, had fallen asleep; the other two children slept intermittently.
Joan asked: ‘Peter, whatever shall we do if they start to drop gas-bombs? With Baby, I mean?’
‘I’ve been thinking of that,’ he said. ‘I think the best thing will be for you to stay here with the other two, and I’ll take her up to the nursery and stay there with her. With the windows open, right up at the top of the house like that, I don’t believe you’d get much gas. It’s fifty feet up from the ground.’
They thought it over for a minute. ‘I don’t like you being in the house, Peter,’ she said. ‘I think it’s much more dangerous there than it is here.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to leave Baby up there all alone?’
‘I’d rather she was all alone than have you with her in the house.’
He touched her hand. ‘I’ll take her up there if we think there’s any gas about. At present it’s all high explosive. There’s been no gas dropped yet, or incendiary, either.’
Slowly the hours passed. The rain pattered against the car, and trickled from the wet ground down into the trench. Corbett sat, cramped and stiff, one child upon each knee; they dozed uneasily, waking and crying when the detonations were near to them. The baby slept quietly on Joan’s lap undisturbed by the heaviest concussions; they were anxious about her. She seemed utterly exhausted. They got some relief by stuffing cotton-wool into their ears.
From time to time they heard the wailing of a siren on some ambulance or police car. The sound of distant gunfire was continuous, and very occasionally they heard the droning of aeroplanes. The wind sighed past them and the rain made little liquid noises; no other sounds shared the night with the shattering concussions of the bombs.
At last there came a long interval. Corbett looked at his watch; it was a little after three. He was dazed and stiff. ‘It lasted three hours last time,’ he said- ‘This may be the end.’
Joan stirred beside him. ‘How long ought we to wait?’
‘We’ll give it half an hour.’
Towards the end of that time he got out of the trench and went to the garden wall. Mr. Littlejohn was standing on his lawn, looking about him at the sky.
‘Seems as if it’s over,’ he said. ‘You’d think they’d give an “all clear” signal of some sort, wouldn’t you?’
‘They didn’t give any sort of “take cover” signal,’ said Corbett.
‘That’s so. Seems like they don’t know when it’s coming or when it’s over, don’t it?’
‘Do you think it’s over now?’
‘I don’t know. I believe I’ll get the missus indoors, and chance it.’
Corbett went back to Joan. ‘We’ll give it a few minutes longer,’ he said. He got out the basket of provisions and gave her a drink of whisky; the children drank a little milk and nibbled a sponge-cake.
Presently they got out of the trench, and went back into the house.
Apart from the windows, no more damage seemed to have been done to the house. Corbett helped Joan to put the children back into their beds in the darkness; they fell asleep almost instantaneously. They did not go to bed at once themselves, being hungry; instead, they went down to the kitchen, lit the Primus stove, and fried a little meal of
Similar Books
