Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

Donald lay full length along the extremely narrow upper side of the parapet, his face turned inward towards the stone, and one long arm extended above his head to grasp a projecting piece of decoration. His other arm was hidden. His legs were oddly twisted under him. He had obviously got himself into an awkward position and now dared not move for fear of rolling off the narrow ledge, which could not be more than about ten inches across. On the ledge close to Donald’s outstretched arm was balanced a white shining object which it took Mor a moment to recognize as a chamber-pot. This had evidently been destined to be placed on the topmost pinnacle as evidence of the climb.

Alarmed by the sudden illumination, Donald had moved slightly and shifted the chamber-pot. It oscillated for a moment, and then came toppling over the edge of the parapet, flashed downward, and broke into a thousand small pieces on the asphalt of the playground. A terrible shudder went through the crowd. Mor could hear one or two of the smaller boys beginning to cry.

Mor studied the tower. If only there were anything, any plan, which could help. Clearly something had gone wrong about the rope. Mor surmised quickly that the boys might have ascended from the roof of Main School on the adjacent side of the tower, helped by a drainpipe which went part way up at that point, far enough in all probability for them to get their feet on to the tiny ledge, while holding on to the parapet with their hands. Here they must have managed to reach over the overhang and fix the rope on to some projection on the base of the spire. They had then edged their way round to the front, drawing the rope with them, in order perhaps to get the extra help provided by the lightning conductor in getting past the overhang. At some point, however, perhaps when Donald was almost on to the parapet, the rope, which was drawn across the comer from the farther side of the spire, must have escaped and swung back again to its former position, out of the boys’ reach.

Was there any way of getting the rope back to them so that they could hold on to it? Unfortunately they had used only a very short section of the rope, some three feet of it, and even assuming that it was still securely fixed, it hung now on the blind side of the tower where there was no window and no way of getting at it. Someone might reach it by climbing the drainpipe as the boys had done - but then it would be impossible to bring it round again to the front of the tower without edging round the comer on the ledge - and the position of the two boys made any such move impossible. In fact, it was clear that to try to reach them by climbing, even if anyone was willing to attempt it, would be useless, and more likely to dislodge them than to bring them help.

Mor turned about to look for Mr Everard. He found that he was still gasping for breath. He ran into him almost at once, forcing his way through the mass of fascinated and now almost silent boys.

‘Is the fire-brigade -?’ Mor began.

‘They can’t come,’ said Evvy. They’ve all been called to a big fire on the railway. We rang through to Marsington, and the Marsington fire brigade are coming - but they’ll be about another twenty minutes.‘ Evvy was white, and his lower lip trembled. He held on to Mor as if to support himself.

Rigden appeared, pushing through frenziedly to Mor’s side. ‘The ladder from the pavilion,’ he said.

The boys laid it on the ground, the top of it lying at Mor’s feet. It was obviously far too short, that could be seen at a glance.

‘It’s no use,’ said Mor. He wrung his hands. Could the boys hang on for twenty minutes? It was a miracle that Carde had not fallen already. And if Carde fell, Donald would be panic-stricken, would try to move, and would fall too. Carde could be seen shifting slightly, trying to get his arm, which must be taking a great part of the weight of his body, a little farther on to the upper side of the parapet.

‘A sheet,’ said Mor. ‘Oh God, if only there was something for them to fall on to.’ He spoke aloud, and fell to tearing at his fingers with his teeth. He knew that the school possessed nothing like the professional fireman’s sheet.

‘Bedclothes!’ said Evvy. He was still holding on to Mor’s shoulder.

Mor did not understand him. But Rigden did. ‘School House!’ said Rigden, and turning about led his crew of followers at a run through the staring crowd.

As Mor looked round after them he saw that in the excitement the flood-lights had been switched on to all the other buildings as well. The entire school was floodlit. It was as bright as day in the playground. As he looked he saw a commotion near the opening that led out to the drive, and then an ambulance came backing in. The boys were scuffling and pushing to make way for it. A number of people seemed to have arrived with the ambulance, and a crowd of outsiders, attracted by the unusual spectacle of the lights, had come in from the road. One man was taking photographs. Mor turned his head away.

Below the tower a strange scene was developing. Rigden and his friends had rushed into School House and were now staggering out with piles of sheets, blankets, and pillows in their arms. They ran, with warning shouts, through the crowd and deposited these at the base of the tower. Then they ran back for more. Mor understood Evvy’s idea. He shook his head. It was no use. The drop was colossal. A few blankets on the ground would hardly help. Other boys were now rushing to assist Rigden. They crowded in a struggling mass into School House. Those who could not get in through the doors went in through the windows. Others could be seen running down the paths that led to the other houses. Small detachments set offin the direction of the hall and the Gym and could be seen returning bearing the curtains from the windows and from the stage which they had ripped down. The pile of stuff at the base of the tower grew higher and higher. Almost all the boys were now running to and fro, cannoning into each other, falling, getting entangled in the textiles, and finally struggling forward to climb on to the mounting heap in order to put their burden on the top, slipping, and rolling down again upon those that followed them. They ran now in silence, breathlessly, in their hundreds, vividly revealed, each with several shadows from the opposing lights of the four illuminated façades.

Mor still stood looking up, as if with the very force of his will he could keep his son from falling. The fire-brigade should be arriving now very soon. Only let their ladder be long enough! Suppose it were not? Or suppose — So intently was his gaze now fixed upon the motionless extended form of Donald, that it was not until he heard a gasp of horror from the crowd who had now stopped their racing to and fro, and were staring upward, that he transferred his attention to Carde. Carde was swaying. His head had dropped forward and his arm was very very slowly sliding off the parapet. As this arm supported gradually less and less of his weight, he gripped more and more frantically on to the lightning conductor, trying to pass the hand by which he held it through between the conductor and the stone. He had been spreadeagled against the wall. Now he began to swing slowly round, as one arm moved from the parapet and the other attempted to twine itself about the wire of the conductor. His feet, which had been perched sideways upon the tiny ledge, turned until he was gripping the ledge with his toes. Then Mor saw something terrible. The lightning conductor, now beginning to take most of Carde’s weight, was slowly parting company with the wall. But this was not what was, for Mor, the most dreadful. He saw that the conductor passed upward, over the parapet, across the wider ledge and under his son’s body. If the wire were ripped right away it would dislodge Donald from the ledge.