December, 1944: The End of Term

by D. Edward Bradley

A feeling of unreality descended upon Harry as he watched the last busload of boys leave Hutchison’s House at the end of term. Mr. Hutchison had given him permission to stay on for one more night before catching the train to Edinburgh, where he would spend a romantic Christmas with his girlfriend, Jenny. He turned and went back into the building.

“Since you’re here, you might as well make sure that everyone’s gone,” the Housemaster had said earlier, so Harry set about the task. The place was empty of course, and more or less silent, yet the building creaked and groaned unexpectedly from time to time as he prowled the corridors. The house seemed to be full of ghosts. He shuddered.

The kitchens were closed and the Hutchisons were busy packing for a Christmas holiday, so it had come as a pleasant surprise when Matron invited him to have tea with her. There was a small gas ring in her flat. “Good enough for an omelette,” she had said. But this was hours away—it was now a little after eleven o’clock in the morning. Harry packed his two small suitcases, which he put on the bed in the dorm cubicle opposite, but left out some pyjamas. By then he was feeling hungry and decided to walk to the nearby village of Markham Cross and have lunch at the community restaurant.

I’ll probably have baked beans, he thought. For old time’s sake.

The place evoked floods of Jenny memories, one of which reminded him he should say “Happy Christmas” to the sweet shop owner, and also to the lady at the book store, who he’d come to know quite well.

The morning stretched into early afternoon, and there was nothing to do except go back to Hutchison’s and read the book he had just bought. The landscape was bathed in low December sunlight and it was almost warm, so Harry returned the long way, which took him through a large picturesque meadow.

He was walking along the last section of driveway in sight of Hutchison’s front door when, without warning, the tranquillity was shattered by the sound he had secretly dreaded for months. The almost deafening double sonic boom of an incoming V2 rocket that smashed into his ears had hardly registered in his brain before there was a mind-numbing explosion. As if by a giant hand, he felt himself lifted into the air and slammed into the soft earth of a flower bed, the breath knocked from his body. Still conscious, he lay motionless with his face in the dirt as bits of debris spattered down all around him. Harry waited for something else to happen, but there was only silence.

A distant rumble of falling masonry brought him to his senses, and head swimming, he struggled to a sitting position. To his surprise, he seemed uninjured. Then he saw blood on his clothes, yet felt no pain. He could taste blood as it seeped into his mouth and put a hand to his face, but it was only a nosebleed. Pulling out a handkerchief, he surveyed the facade of Hutchison’s House. There seemed to be no damage until Harry realized there were no windows. Then he stood and looked back the way he had come, swaying a little on his feet. Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of Gillespie Hall, the gray monstrosity that was the heart of Markham College. It was like the ruin of an old castle, a hollow shell of walls, smoke rising slowly from the rubble somewhere in the rear.

“It looks like the V2 scored a direct hit,” he said quietly. “And I walked right past Gillespie Hall a couple of minutes ago…”

Instinctively, Harry continued to Hutchison’s House, and opened the front door. Its glass panels had been shattered by the blast, covering the hardwood floor of the hall with razor-sharp shards.

Mr. Hutchison was standing in the center of the room, his eyes glazed and his face pallid. In his years at Markham College, there had been numerous opportunities for Harry to study the many faces of this strange, complex, enigmatic man, but this was a new experience. Mr. Hutchison seemed almost pathetic as he stood there, swaying a little, the tidy moustache twitching. A few moments passed before the Housemaster could bring himself to speak. When he did so, the sound was more like a croak than the firm, authoritative voice Harry had come to know so well.

“The school has been destroyed, Lockwood. Its heart has stopped beating, and the traditions of more than a century are nothing.”

Harry’s first instinct was to seek help from Matron. He didn’t see her as she quietly opened the door at the back of the hall—by that time the room had faded into blackness and he had lost consciousness.

Harry coughed and felt tears in his eyes. When he opened them, he found he was lying on the floor. Matron was bending over him, a bottle of smelling salts in her hand.

“Harry, you’re covered in blood. Let me have a look at you.”

He managed to sit up. “It’s only a nosebleed, Matron. Have I been out for long?”

“Just a minute or two. You fainted when I came in, and I had to go and find the smelling salts.” Matron turned to Mr. Hutchison. “Is Mrs. Hutchison all right?”

Mr. Hutchison seemed to be regaining his senses. “She’s in our sitting room and wasn’t hurt. But she’s shocked, like the rest of us.”

“I’ll go and see her,” said Matron.

“Sir, I’m worried about Gillespie Hall,” Harry continued. “There must be casualties. Shouldn’t we phone the police, or something?”

Mr. Hutchison seemed to drift into incoherence again. “A lifetime lost, so many lifetimes lost…”

Without waiting any longer, Harry got to his feet and walked carefully through the broken glass to the Housemaster’s office. Amazingly, when he picked up the phone it worked, and he was connected to an operator.

“Number please.”

He didn’t know exactly what to say. “I’m…I’m calling from Markham College. A V2 just hit the school. Please send help.”

“Thank you, sir, but help is on the way from the base at Beckley Wood and the Fire Station. Someone will be with you any minute.”

“Thanks.” Harry replaced the receiver and turned to see Matron standing in the doorway.

“Help is on the way, Matron.”

“Good, but I shall still be needed at Gillespie Hall. However, you, young man, are clearly in shock and should rest. Clean yourself up, and come back here for Mr. Hutchison’s instructions.”

She’s unstoppable, thought Harry as he went to the nearest bathroom and washed the caked blood from his face. His clothes were a mess, but that didn’t matter. The next thing to do was to find out where Mr. and Mrs. Hutchison had gone, but they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they too were helping at Gillespie Hall, in which case that’s where he should be. After all, he had passed First Aid in the Scouts.

As Harry emerged onto the driveway he heard the sound of heavy vehicles, voices shouting orders and a distant ambulance bell. Help had indeed arrived, but even so, he might still be needed. He started on his way, but after a few steps stopped in surprise. Matron was walking toward him, returning to the house.

“They don’t need us, Harry. The officer from Beckley Wood was very courteous, but he said he had half the base on hand and we’ve been through enough already.”

“He’s right, Matron. Maybe the gas is still on so we can make some tea.”

“Wonderful idea.” Matron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. For no apparent reason, she seemed a little smaller. “If there is gas, we can have our omelette, you know. There’s no sense in going hungry.”

Not only was there gas pressure, albeit a bit weak, but also Matron’s windows were intact, her flat being on the side of the house away from the blast. She was in the process of cooking the eggs when there was a knock on the door. Harry opened it, and there stood an army major who looked vaguely familiar. Then Harry remembered. Almost a year ago, he had been questioned by the same officer. It was about a German spy that he and his best friend, the Captain, had encountered in the woods.

“My goodness,” said an astonished Major Cartland. “It’s Lockwood, isn’t it?”

“You remember me, sir?”

“Never forget a face, even though it’s a bit older.”

Matron seemed surprised.

Cartland turned to her and said, “I see you’re looking after yourselves.” He glanced at the steaming omelette. “You’re lucky the gas is back on. The line at School House was ruptured, but our engineers soon shut it off. I’ve just been checking up on people at Hutchison’s. This side of the building seems safe enough, in case you haven’t anywhere else to go for the night. Otherwise, we shall be happy to provide transport to the railway station.”

Matron filled a kettle at the small sink. “That’s very kind, Major. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No thank you, ma’am, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Sir,” asked Harry, “were there…were there many casualties?”

“Several injured, none too seriously. But I’m afraid two people died. One was RSM Wright—I gather he ran your Army Cadet Unit—and the other was the librarian.”

“We must be thankful to the Almighty that school broke up today,” Matron commented.

“You mean it was only this morning when everyone went home?” the Major asked softly.

“Yes, sir,” answered Harry, appalled at the implication. “Just a few hours ago.”

Matron turned to the Major. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer of a ride to the station. I have a sister in London and can stay with her. It’s not very nice here, is it? And Harry, have you somewhere to go?”

“I had planned to travel to Edinburgh tomorrow, Matron. But perhaps I can catch the night train this evening. There’s plenty of time.”

“Are you sure you’re up to a long journey like that? Will you be all right?”

“I can sleep on the train. I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“What about the Hutchisons, Major? Have you seen them?”

“They’ve already left, ma’am. They drove off about ten minutes ago.”

That’s funny, thought Harry. They should have made sure Matron was okay.

“We’ll be ready within the hour, Major. Where shall we find you?”

“In School House. We’ve set up an operations desk in the hall. You can’t miss it. I think you’re both wise to leave.”

When Major Cartland had gone, Harry asked Matron if he could phone his mother. The call went through immediately and Freda Lockwood answered. He managed to make light of the whole incident. Satisfied she wasn’t worrying, he was about to call Jenny when he realized he didn’t have the name or number of the relatives she was visiting in Aberdeen. The best he could hope for was that the Markham V2 wouldn’t make the newspapers before he contacted her. All things considered, it seemed a good bet so he headed for his dorm cublicle to get his luggage.