Stephen Booth - The kill call

‘Mr Massey, I’ve been hearing about Jimmy Hind,’ said Cooper. ‘How he was killed, in the accident.’

‘The accident. Oh yes, that.’

‘It must have been terrible for you.’

Massey’s face remained impassive. ‘What would you know?’

‘Jimmy Hind was your friend, wasn’t he?’

The farmer turned away, and Cooper followed him as he walked towards the field gate. Cooper had his leather jacket on, but the rain was wetting his face and hair. It wouldn’t do to go back for a waterproof. That would mean showing weakness.

‘You were there, Mr Massey. You must remember it. I bet you remember it very clearly.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘The siren fell when you were dismantling the equipment. It was an accident.’

‘So they say.’

Cooper had to walk more quickly to get in front of him, to see Massey’s face. The farmer stopped, his way blocked.

‘What is it you want?’ he said.

‘To hear it from you. How did it happen?’

Massey’s face contorted then. ‘Jimmy never uttered a word when he saw it falling. None of us did. When something like that happens, when you know it’s inevitable and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, you just freeze. That’s the way we all reacted. Just in those few seconds, you know.’

‘I understand.’

‘Jimmy wore these thick lenses in his glasses. When he looked up at us, they made his eyes look all distorted and out of proportion. Like smooth stones lying in deep water.’

He leaned against the dry-stone wall, looking towards the tower of the church at Birchlow, square on the horizon. Cooper had a sudden recollection of the stained-glass window, depicting the death of a saint. He had an image of a pale face, turned up to the sky as the saint died. A calm, wordless appeal, addressed to the clouds.

‘I didn’t know for certain,’ said Massey. ‘I didn’t know for certain which one of us failed to tie the knot properly.’

‘Tell me about that knot.’

‘It was on the rope that we were using to haul the siren out of the shaft. One of the knots came loose, and that was why the siren fell. I thought it might have been me. But we told it all to the inquest, and they said we weren’t to blame. Well, that’s what they said. The official verdict.’

‘And what did Jimmy do? Did he try to avoid it?’

‘Not really. He didn’t panic or anything when he saw the siren falling. He was dead calm. Calm as a freshly dropped calf.’

He took off his cap, a gesture that came close to an expression of emotion. His sandy, Viking hair gleamed briefly in the rain. Then he began to walk on, and Cooper was obliged to follow.

‘What was Jimmy Hind like?’ he asked.

‘He was a good lad. Clever. And dead keen.’

‘Keen on…?’

‘The job. The ROC, you know.’

‘Yes, I know about the ROC and the observation posts.’

Massey grunted. ‘You know, you couldn’t sign up for the ROC until your fifteenth birthday. But Jimmy was mad on aircraft spotting and modelling, and he joined up the minute he could. It was one of the great things about the ROC — you were among people who talked about planes. There was a monthly magazine that was full of planes, too. So, yes, Jimmy was keen. He was the sort who was desperate to take the master test on a Sunday to get some badges on his uniform. Trouble was, his age. He was only seventeen when he was killed.’

‘Why was his age a problem? He was old enough to join, wasn’t he?’

‘I just said, you could join when you were fifteen. No, it wasn’t that.’

‘What, then?’

‘We used to have post meetings every week. Ours were on a Wednesday evening, seven thirty until nine thirty. In the summer, we met at the post, but during the winter we went to the pub.’

‘The Bird in Hand?’

‘Of course. It was the only one in the village, even then.’

‘And Jimmy wasn’t old enough.’

‘The landlord wouldn’t let him in until he was eighteen.’

‘So he missed some meetings.’

‘He hated that. But there was another problem.’

Massey speeded up his pace, as if to leave Cooper behind. Cooper slithered on the wet grass as he tried to keep up.

‘Mr Massey?’

‘Shirley,’ he said.

Cooper thought he’d misheard. ‘What?’

‘It was Shirley. Shirley Outram.’

‘What was?’

‘The problem.’

Cooper ran and put his hand on the next gate to prevent him opening the latch.

‘Tell me, Mr Massey. Please.’

Massey looked at him, with a searching gaze. Cooper seemed to pass some kind of test, because Massey dropped his hand.

‘Shirley was our only female observer. Yes, we just had the one in our section, and that was quite an innovation at the time, I can tell you. Somehow, she managed to make the uniform look good. A tight mini-skirt and kinky boots. I don’t know how she got away with it. Most of the observers were middle-aged men, you see, and she was a real breath of fresh air. There was quite a social life in the Corps — as well as the pub, there were parties, dances, and so on. You can imagine she was in demand.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that was something else Jimmy was mad keen on — Shirley Outram.’ Massey sighed. ‘It could get pretty tedious on a long exercise. We took radios down, cards, dominoes. But a lot of the time, we just sat around and chatted. You found out a lot about people, sitting down there all night. When you’re frozen solid at two o’clock in the morning on an all-night exercise, on the graveyard shift, it makes a difference who you’re stuck down there with.’

‘You had Jimmy. And you had Leslie Clay.’

He nodded. ‘Les Clay worked in the engine shed at Rowsley until it shut in ’66. He was made redundant in the October, transferred to Bakewell as a porter and got made redundant again five months later, when the line closed. Dr Beeching — there’s a man whose name lives on.’

Cooper recalled that there was a little woodland station not far from here, at Great Longstone. The last stop before the crossing of Monsal Dale viaduct. Now the station was passed only by walkers and cyclists.

‘What age are you?’ asked Massey. ‘I suppose you think this was all a different century?’

‘Well, strictly speaking, sir…’

Massey laughed sourly. ‘Yes, all right. The twentieth century, damn it. Consigned to the history books now.’

‘I heard about the closures,’ said Cooper.

‘The 1968 reorganization came as a jolt. We thought the ROC was safe. It ought to have gone on for ever. But we were called to a special meeting at Group HQ in Coventry, and we went like lambs to the slaughter. The commandant got up and read out a list of posts that would close. Alpha One, Bravo Two… we were devastated. There was a lot of antagonism and bad feeling. They asked the older ones to retire, said they couldn’t go up and down the shaft any more. Some they wanted to transfer to other posts miles away, but that wasn’t the same at all.’

Cooper was glad to see they were walking back towards the house now. His hair was sticking to his head, and the water was running down his neck.

‘Do you know Michael Clay, Mr Massey?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Les Clay’s son.’

Massey shook his head. ‘I’ve heard his name mentioned. I never met him.’

Cooper watched him for a moment. It sounded like the truth. And Peter Massey just didn’t seem like a man who could tell a lie so convincingly.

‘What about Patrick Rawson? Do you know him?’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Michael Clay’s business partner.’

‘Wasn’t that the man who died up the way there? You asked me about him before.’

‘So I did.’

Cooper showed him the photograph of Rawson. But Massey shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen him.’