Authors: John Gardner
Roy smiled and turned to face Suzie, looking up towards the church, as Suzie faced away from it. “I’m going to park somewhere over there,” he raised his left arm, pointing to what was Suzie’s right. “I’ll pick you up here, bottom of the steps as soon as I can get to you when you come out. You’ll be easy enough to spot with that cheeky red hat.”
Suzie nodded and smiled a thank you, grateful that he had not gone on with the old adage about red hats. Then she slowly turned and began the walk up those long wide steps towards the west door wondering what the next hour or so would bring.
It crossed her mind that she had always loved and treasured the run up towards Christmas.
Chapter Nineteen
SHE HADN’T BEEN inside St Paul’s since 1939 when she had been briefly attached to the Vine Street ‘nick’, and so had forgotten how its size hit you in the face, opened your eyes and gave you a sense of wonderment. The vastness of the interior, with the great pillars and the dome reaching up above the transept, made one feel puny and brought to mind the colossal disposition of God’s creation when set against the infinitesimal nature of mankind.
From a sidesman she took a leaflet containing the order of service, then settled in a place at the end of a row, some six seats from the back, the cathedral already starting to fill up.
Most of the congregation were in uniform and there was a buzz of expectation throughout, memories of peacetime Christmases flooding back, friends smiling and nodding to one another across the chairs, people arriving, senior military officers with their ADCs, many from the women’s services crowding in, ATS, WAAFs and WRENS looking smart and spry, faces shining some like children, some ‘other ranks’ girls being squired by officers. Civilians were in the minority and mainly middle aged or elderly. Since 1939 regular congregations at churches and chapels had grown: in times such as this people turned back to God as a rock in their lives, an anchor, an eternal hope.
The ARP, Fire Service, Police and Ambulance Services were also well represented, a whole cross section of life, she thought. When the war finally ended they would probably lose this feeling of a universal cause where all were, to use Shakespeare’s phrase,
truly a band of brothers
dedicated to defence and defeating the Nazi might. Suzie felt an extraordinary pang of sadness at the thought of this sense of common purpose filtering away, the world she knew returning to the daily round and common task of a peacetime existence. Immediately, of course, she felt guilty at not wanting to lose this
esprit de corps
that was inevitably welded to war. Did it mean that she didn’t really want the war to end? Even with all its attendant horrors. She looked around, with a shy smile on her face, as though to misdirect anyone who might read her mind.
There were two big Christmas trees standing near the chancel, candles were lighted and flowers decorated everywhere: holly, ivy, Christmas roses, even the pagan mistletoe. The whole church took on a paradoxical sense of normality, as though the war was a thing apart and nothing to do with the congregation or what they were about to celebrate here.
Suzie tried not to be furtive as she looked about her, glancing down at the Order of Service and then up again, each time in a different direction, trying to see if there was anyone she recognised. She thought she had glimpsed the bulky figure of Little Trevor Haines over to her right, but when she looked again he was gone. She saw no signs of Curry or the men from ‘Five’ or the Branch which she knew was good, for it meant they were skilfully hidden among the congregation. She searched among the backs of peoples’ heads to see if she could recognise anybody from the recent past, but the only familiar face was a girl she had been at school with, Janet ‘Eggy’ Eggmore, now a dark beauty in a WAAF officer’s uniform, unbelievably poised. Fancy, she thought, old Eggy grown up and confident with a Flight Lieutenant glancing at her adoringly.
As though spotting an old school mate wasn’t bad enough the organist now started to play ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring’ which was their favourite voluntary music back in the chapel with the good Anglican nuns at St Helen’s. So, in her head she slid away from the present back into the childhood past of schooldays when life was reasonably safe, Daddy and Charlotte were still alive and the centre of her world was warmed by happiness.
The organist moved smoothly into ‘Sheep may safely graze’, another piece of magic, holy music from the past, but suddenly someone stood beside her chair. Her stomach turned over, dragging her back into the present as she looked up to see a tall, RAF officer, a Squadron Leader with pilot’s wings on his left breast above a strip of medals, including a DFC and bar, visible through his unbuttoned open greatcoat. He smiled and indicated the chair next to her, asking quietly if it was empty. She nodded and hunched back to allow him in.
If he was Cyclops’ messenger, she thought, he was nobody she’d seen before. Then she realised that he had, in fact, been in the officers’ mess at Brize Norton. Not the doctor who’d been in to see them after the car explosion, but someone else. The GPR Mess at Brize, as they were leaving. She remembered him now with his corn hair and flourish of a moustache, and a basso profundo voice that gave her a tiny attack of goose pimples as she stood waiting to get into the car, after the bomb, when they were waiting to be driven up to London on their way to see Elsie Partridge. Yes, of course.
What a good choice, she thought. Cyclops may well be a bit of a clot in some directions – taking pot shots at them, trying to blast them to eternity with a car bomb – but he couldn’t have picked a nicer looking fellow who now moved past her and began settling himself into the seat close to her. So close that at one point his left knee briefly touched her right knee as he was fiddling with a large and bulging brief case. No doubt, she decided, the brief case carried whatever was to be passed over to her.
It was an old and smooth leather job, like a large music case complete with straps, handles and buckles, little straps pulling the soft leather cover over and into place. He fiddled with the case on the floor, then pushed it under his chair, the top part of his body swinging round in a series of exaggerated movements. Maybe he wasn’t going to get the package out yet. No, stood to reason, he’d go for it towards the end of the service. All she had to do was wait. Piece of cake.
At that moment the organ burst into a series of fanfare chords and the procession began. She had thought it would all start with ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ so it rather took her by surprise that the processional was the Advent hymn, ‘O Come, O Come Emmanuel, to free thy captive Israel’. A tenor sang the first two lines in a rich deep brown voice and when they all joined in she was thrilled to hear the RAF officer’s bass profundo voice next to her rejoicing in the Christmas words.
Led by an acolyte carrying the cathedral’s processional cross, the choir, in their red cassocks and snow white surplices came swaying down the aisle, the boys singing their hearts out, all looking like little angels with the men following them, the delicious sound swallowing Suzie and again directing her towards the past and memories of life when her father still lived and life was comparatively straightforward.
The clergy followed the choir, the Dean of St Paul’s and other Cathedral clerics, then, tonight, the Bishop of London and his chaplain. And it was the bishop who said the Bidding Prayer before they began to sing again, an abundance of carols pointing the way towards the meaning of Christmas. They sang ‘Away in a Manger’ that so reminded Suzie of the days at school when they would listen to the very small girls singing that carol and smiling at the way they bobbed at each mention of Our Lord’s name; then ‘In the Deep Mid-Winter’ which always made her smile as it had been her favourite carol as a tiny child and she couldn’t pronounce ‘snow.’ In later years her father had done an imitation of her rendition which, after the first verse went –
‘No had fallen ‘no on ‘no. ‘No on ‘no
In the deep mid-winter, long ago.
There was the first lesson – the lovely one from Isaiah with the hugely comforting prophecy, written hundreds of years before the birth of Christ and containing the words:
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
Suzie would freely admit that she could be an emotional woman at times, and also that this passage from the Bible with its world of hope always made her want to hug herself with the joy of it all at Yuletide. It happened every year when she heard those words, and the line in ‘Hark the Herald Angels’ that went …
And Christmas Comes Once More.
These were triggers of happiness and she really didn’t care if anyone thought her sentimental or even silly. For her they underlined the great and eternal wheel of praise that is the Christian year. That’s how she had been brought up, and she rejoiced in it.
Then they sang ‘In dulce jubilo’, a carol that taxed her memory and sentiment, for this was something she used to sing with her father, he doing the melody with her providing the descant. The recall of those things and the happiness that lay in her recollection brought tears to her eyes and she clung to the back of the chair in front of her in an attempt to calm herself and control her shaking body. It took a considerable act of self-discipline to bring herself back to the present and subjugate her physical reactions.
The carols continued, ‘O Little town of Bethlehem’, ‘Silent Night’ (No German sung here), ‘I saw three ships a sailing by’, ‘Angels from the realms of glory’, ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’.
The squadron leader next to her appeared oblivious to everything except the beautiful sound of his own voice which he obviously knew was magnificent.
The next lesson, the birth of Christ as told from St Luke’s Gospel, followed by ‘O Come All ye Faithful’, during which the bishop took up his position to read the collect for Christmas Eve (a little early of course, so she didn’t know what the nuns would have thought of that).
Then the final carol, ‘Hark the Herald Angels sing’, the organ booming away and everybody singing louder than ever as the service drew to a close and the Bishop gave his blessing – the one taken from the Book of Numbers –
The Lord bless you, and keep you:
The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you:
The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.
Amen.
She expected the Squadron Leader to make his move, but he simply buttoned his greatcoat, picked up his briefcase and stood patiently as she waited, watching for a convenient moment to move into the throng, already thickening in the aisle, heading towards the big west doors. Of course they had to wait for the good and godly to go first – Mrs Churchill, smiling, several high-ranking officers looking important, then the press of people. In the aisle the crush built up, with scores of people moving slowly towards the back of the cathedral.
Twice Suzie tried to get out but nobody gave way to her and eventually she lurched forward, for a moment convinced that the RAF officer behind her had pushed and crowded her into the slow snake of people moving steadily.
As she reached the doors and felt the cold air blowing into her face, she tried to push towards the right, the further right she could get, the better position she would be in to get picked up by Roy at the bottom of the steps. But the crowd pressed against her, preventing her from going where she wished, rather she was penned in, pushed to the left. She told herself to be calm, to take it gently, soon she would be outside in the open, perhaps then she would be able to move. At the same time she was concerned about Cyclops and the handover, after all this was the sole purpose of what she was doing – to catch their spy in the act and bring him down.
The RAF officer was still behind her, and as they came onto the steps she felt someone else press in on her back, a woman move quite close to her left side and the RAF man move to the right. She tried to look round to the right, but the Squadron Leader was so close that she couldn’t turn. Then she looked to the left, at the woman, who didn’t even glance in her direction. She was nobody Suzie had ever seen before and she felt herself being directed, like a sheep handled by dogs. The hell with it, she thought, taking a deep breath and preparing to break free and face whoever was close behind her.
The light was going, and below to the right, she was aware of a phalanx of cars picking up people and easing past each other in some confusion once their passengers were on board. Three redcaps seemed to be directing the traffic and she glimpsed the grey Vauxhall hemmed in by a couple of staff cars.
They were almost at the foot of the steps now. If she pushed away, then spun right round, quickly facing the road again, she might break free to duck and weave down the remaining steps, she might stand a chance of pushing through the crowd. It would be easy to yell at the redcaps from there. In any case she was sure Curry and the others must be close behind ready to break through the crowd and pull her free.
She took in another deep breath of air, her mind prepared. Then behind her someone quietly said, “The length of days is in her right hand.”
Automatically she replied, “And in her left hand riches and honour,” turning as the voice said, “I have something for you.”
She looked straight into Cyclops’ face, and heard him gasp and grunt, “No!” as he recognised her.
There were shouts from behind them, further up the steps and she realised she was momentarily alone with him.
She heard a jeep’s engine scream close behind her but she didn’t see his arm move, or the fist that slammed into her face, sending her spinning, shocked, with a galaxy of stars circling the blackness, a violent throbbing pain in her cheek and jaw, then darkness as she went backwards and he caught her, thrusting her into the front of the jeep as the driver pulled it out at speed and shot away, sashaying the agile little vehicle through people and other cars.