Caryl Phillips - Crossing the River

Tonight I saw Len, sitting in the pub with his mate, Terry the Farmer. Len was always lecturing me. You don’t mix with anybody. It’s all right, you know. You can come into the pub for a drink with us. We won’t harm you. How do you expect anyone to get to know you if you won’t show your face out? I’d generally look at him, but say nothing. And off he would go to the pub and leave me sitting by myself, listening to ITMA on the wireless. But tonight I went to the pub. I put on my coat and walked up the road. He was sitting in the corner with the man Sandra’s husband should have shot. Mr bloody Farmer perched there like Lord Muck, everybody knowing it was him who’d done it to her, sipping a pint like nothing was the matter. What’ll you have? asked Len. I’ll be having nothing, I said back to him. Nothing as long as you’re sitting here with this slack bastard. I could see it in Len’s eyes that he was ready to belt me one there and then, in front of everybody. If he wasn’t so vain, he’d have done it. I think you’d better go home, was the best he could come up with. Why? I asked. Because I said you’d better. So I turned and left. I didn’t have any desire to argue with him. And I didn’t want to sit in the same place as him as long as he was with that bastard. So I turned and walked back out and into the night. It was so quiet. It was like the whole world had stopped because of this bloody stupid war. And what about Tommy? I supposed they’d find a good home for him. I walked back to the shop, went upstairs, took off my clothes, and climbed into bed. I didn’t want Len near me. Not now, not ever. And I didn’t want him to see me crying.

All I could think of this morning was that a whole month has passed since Sandra died. And then the inspector showed up. I was standing in the shop with Len, going through the books for the week, when suddenly we heard a van pull up. Len went to the window and fingered the curtains. Then he turned to me and shouted in a whisper that I’d got to go out the back with the eggs and get rid of them. I didn’t need telling twice. He doesn’t tell me much, doesn’t Len, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I work in the shop with him. I’m married to him. I know his game. I dashed into the back of the shop and started to push everything into a flour sack. Hurry up, you silly cow. Why should I hurry up if this is the best he can call me? I heard the doorbell ring, and then there were voices. Me, I took the sack and went out the back. Then I was away through the woods and down the hill, laughing all the way like a crazy bugger. When I got to the stream, I opened the sack up wide. There was nobody around. I was standing by myself. That bastard Len. I knew it was a crime. It was madness. It was the sort of thing that somebody who was plain bloody daft would do. I knew all of this. But I did it anyway. I just threw everything into the stream. Egg after egg. Let the fish or whatever have them. Len said to get rid, so I was getting rid. I’d just pretend that I didn’t understand what he meant. I thought, it’s a hell of an expensive way to spite somebody, but he bleeding well deserves to be treated with spite. When I’d finished, I sat on the bank and laughed. I didn’t know what the bloody hell I was doing in this place. With him. I couldn’t be any worse off in a factory or in the WAAF. I must have been mad. It was mad. To have come to this place at all. I picked up the empty flour sack. Then I looked at the stream. I threw the sack in after the eggs. I didn’t want any of it. What did I need with an empty sack? I didn’t want any of it. By the time I got back from the stream he was in the pub. It was night. I was asleep when he came in. Or at least I was pretending to be. He asked me, so I told him that I’d done what he wanted me to do. I’d got rid of them. He laughed. Then he reminded me that tea and margarine were now on coupons. Then he went to the bathroom. When he found out that it was the truth that I’d told him, I knew he’d want to take a strap to me. But until then he laughed. I think he liked me for a minute or so. He thought I was funny.

Apparently, London is still getting it bad. It’s their turn every night. I’ve been reading about it. It’s all in the papers. ARPs can get no sleep. They’re working hand in hand with the police force around the clock. UXB means unexploded bomb. They say if a bomb’s got your name on it, you hear a whine, then a silence before the explosion. This is because it’s travelling faster than sound. Those who’ve dug in their shelters stand a better chance. There’s those that will take your bolts, spanners and sheets, and put your Anderson into the ground for you. But it will cost you a few bob. There’s money to be made out of misery. Torches, batteries, firemen’s axes, chemical fire extinguishers, whistles, you name it. You can even buy ARP-approved bomb removers. Top of the line is ‘The Gripper’ — ‘grips bombs from any position only 10/6’. Ifit got a bit lively outside, I’m not sure if I’d want to get into a shelter. They say you’ve to take food, warm clothing and blankets to make yourself as comfortable as possible, and sing songs like ‘Me and My Girl’ and ‘Swanee River’. It doesn’t sound like me. Today Len caught me reading the papers. He asked me why I’m always reading, reading, reading. I didn’t say anything. Then he said we might lose the war. He reckons being up here, we don’t really understand how bad it is. We get a rosier picture. The war’s still a bit of a joke to us. I thought, he’s changed his tune. But I said nothing. The Star has started to run a competition called Hitler-Hits. They give you the first line and whoever sends in the best second line gets £10.

If you listen in Hamburg you may hear Lord Haw-Haw say, We’ve killed 10,000 Englishmen — one less than yesterday.

I wish I’d have thought of that one. Today’s first line is a hard one,

On every hand in Germany it’s very plain to see…

That silly brummie bugger Chamberlain’s dead. Almost exactly six months after stepping down. Common opinion is that the strain of holding the highest office killed him. Our blackout curtains need to be fixed. The bobby told Len that last night he saw light. I went into my sewing box to find a needle and thread. I thought, they’re a blessed nuisance. The curtains, that is. Then I saw a rag doll I’d been making for Tommy out of old stockings. I’d only to sew on the buttons for eyes. That was all I had left to do.

Thursday was always a popular going-out night, in town. I wonder if Hitler knew this. Maybe it was simpler than this, maybe he just knew it was going to be a full moon. It was the clearest night I’d ever seen. I could hear the town sirens in the far distance, wailing their warning, and then I heard the queer engines of German bombers, all out of tune. They sounded different from ours, uglier. And then, away on the horizon, our boys; the ripping sound of anti-aircraft batteries. Everybody knew they were after the steelworks. Firth Brown and Co., J. Arthur Balfour and Co., Vickers. All of them. But there were too many Jerry planes and I knew we were going to get a pasting. It was a real bomber’s moon, and from up there in the sky our roads — must have looked like frosty white ribbons pointing the way to the target. First flares, then incendiaries, then the heavy bombs. We all stood shivering on the hillside and looked down. The town soon looked like a thousand camp fires had been lit on it, beautiful little fairy lights, everywhere blazing. You couldn’t look anywhere without seeing fire. Len slipped a blanket around my shoulders, and the vicar started singing ‘Nearer my God to Thee’. I gave him a dirty look, but he didn’t stop. In between the verses, I heard somebody whisper, The town’s on fire. There was a huge celestial glow, as though the sun were about to rise out of the heart of the town. And then the vicar stopped. He pulled a piece of paper from his frock pocket and announced, ‘Repose.’ There were maybe two dozen of us. We all turned from the town and looked at him.God is our Refuge — don’t be afraid,He will be with you, all through the raid;When bombs are falling and danger is near,He will be with you until the ‘All Clear’.When the danger is over, and ev’rything calm,Thank you Redeemer for courage and balm;He’ll never forsake you, He’ll banish your fear,Just trust and accept Him, and feel He is near.