So Long At the Fair (63 page)

That afternoon journalists came to interview some of the survivors. One reporter, a middle-aged, sandy-haired man from
The Times
, told Abbie that another dozen or more bodies had been recovered from the river at slack of ebb and laid out with those lying in the boardroom of the Steamboat Company’s offices. Still more bodies, he added, had fetched up at Erith and Rainham. To her relief, he said that to facilitate identification all the bodies were to be taken to one central point – the dockyard pier at Woolwich – and that the removal of them would be made by military ambulances that night under cover of darkness. The man went on to say that an inquest was being opened that afternoon at the Woolwich Town Hall.

Apart from the journalists who came seeking sensational stories of courage and escape, there came many friends and relations of those still missing, all with the desperate hope that those they sought would be among the few lying in the wards of the infirmary.

The inmates of the infirmary were a varied gathering, and in various states of health, ranging from those suffering from shock to others who had been quite severely injured in different ways. The elderly woman, Abbie learned, was a Mrs Childs. Over sixty years of age, it was a miracle that she had been saved from the water. She was, however, now suffering from acute bronchitis, brought on by her immersion. She lay in her bed, eyes closed all the while, her breath rasping in her lungs.

In the males’ section of the infirmary, Abbie learned from Arthur, the little dark-haired boy had still not spoken a single word, neither spontaneously nor in response to anything that was said to him. His rather sallow skin had led some to believe that he might be foreign and the doctor had tried speaking to him a few words of French. The little boy had responded by bursting into tears.

Not every story appeared so tragic, however. Abbie witnessed a moving scene that afternoon as a young man came into the ward and, seeing there a middle-aged woman, a newcomer, cried out, ‘Mother – oh, Mother!’ and ran to her and wrapped her in his arms. To add to the woman’s joy, he had brought with him a letter from his father telling her that he too had been saved. There, at least, Abbie observed, was one story with a happy ending.

That night Abbie lay in the quiet of the infirmary ward. Turning her head, she looked to the right and in the faint glow of the gas lamp saw Jane lying in the next bed. She appeared to be sleeping, albeit fretfully. Arthur had been given a bed in the men’s ward. Tomorrow, he had told Abbie, after making arrangements for the removal of Emma’s body, he and Jane would be going home.

Earlier in the day, while Arthur had been out trying to deal with official matters concerning Emma’s death, Abbie had spent time with Jane. But there had been nothing that she had been able to say that could give comfort.

In the morning, at the first opportunity after breakfast, Arthur was there to see Jane again. The bruising she had suffered still gave her a good deal of discomfort and the doctor advised that she should remain in the infirmary for another two or three days. However she was adamant that she wanted to leave. Abbie could not blame her; she herself could not wait to get away from the depressing environs of the workhouse with its ambience of grief and loss.

Abbie was ready to leave soon after Arthur’s arrival in the ward and, having borrowed a sum of money from him to cover expenses and other necessities, left the building. Outside she bought a copy of the
Morning Post
and stood reading it while waiting for a fly to take her into Woolwich.

According to the newspaper fewer than a hundred souls had been saved. A list was given of their names along with the names of those bodies so far recovered and identified. Confirming what
The Times
journalist had told her, the newspaper reported that all unidentified bodies could, from Thursday morning, be viewed in one of the drill sheds at the North Woolwich dockyard pier. It was also stated that photographs were to be taken of bodies recovered that had so far remained unidentified; with decomposition proceeding apace they needed to be buried, whether or not they had been named.

The driver of the fly was the one who had driven her on her outward journey on the previous day and she took a morsel of comfort from seeing his kind face again. She got him to take her directly to the Woolwich pier, and found it once again besieged by hundreds of people seeking lost friends and relations, as usual their numbers added to by those who had come merely out of morbid curiosity.

Leaving the cab, she joined the crowd. As she did so an ambulance wagon drew up and two bodies, covered and borne on stretchers, were lifted out. Their arrival caused a great stir and Abbie could see that several women looked near to fainting. With police officers clearing a path, the stretchers were carried up onto the pier and into one of the drill sheds, though the people were packed so densely that the stretcher-bearers had difficulty getting through. A shout went up some yards to Abbie’s right as an altercation broke out, and although the crowd prevented her from seeing what was happening it was clear from the sudden movement and the drawing back of the people that a struggle had ensued. There came shouts for the police and a murmur reached her ears that a pickpocket had been apprehended. She felt sickened – not least by the knowledge that the thief would be neither the first nor the last to take such cruel advantage of the situation.

Going into the drill shed she saw that the bodies had been laid out on straw in two rows on either side, and it was clear at once that many more had been recovered since the previous day. Joining the line, Abbie slowly filed past them, as she did so recognizing by their clothes some that she had seen previously lying in the Town Hall, the Steamboat Company’s offices and the public houses in Woolwich and Rainham. Those that had already been identified had been covered with blankets. With the others, she noticed, an attempt had been made to clean them up, and the blood and mud that had previously stained many of the faces had been washed away.

As she slowly made her way along the lines of corpses there would come every now and again a heart-rending shriek or groan as someone’s search came to an end with the recognition of one of the bodies lying there. For herself there came no moment of recognition, and eventually she left the shed and went back out into the crowd.

Moving on into the courtyard of the docks, she found that in one section a number of army service wagons had been placed, in each of which three or four clerks were taking descriptions of anyone thought to be missing. Clearly such a monumental task had swiftly outstripped the limited manpower of the officers of the local police station. As Abbie approached, one of the clerks stood up at the front of a wagon and began to read out to the crowd the names of those saved. She heard her own name and those of Jane and Arthur, but there were no others that she knew. There was nothing more she could do for the present.

It was just after twelve by the time she got back to the infirmary. As she made her way along the corridor towards the main females’ ward she was met by Arthur.

‘I saw you arrive in the yard,’ he said. ‘I gather you have no – no news.’

‘No, nothing.’

He gave a groan. ‘Oh, Abbie, this is all so dreadful. And as terrible as it is, I know that Jane and I are not the worst off. But – oh, it’s so hard.’

Briefly she touched his hand. ‘I know. I know.’

He looked off into the distance. ‘They say everything passes. I suppose it does. It must be true that grief lessens in time . . .’

She gave a little nod, thinking of her own experience. It was only weeks ago that Oliver had died and she, Abbie, was still here – perhaps proof that one did not die of a broken heart.

‘I so want to take Jane home,’ Arthur said. ‘And in spite of what the doctor says, I’m still hoping that it might be possible tomorrow. She seems a good deal better today – even with the news about Emma.’ He paused. ‘What will you do?’

‘I’m not sure. I can’t stay here.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I’m not ill – and I feel a bit of a fraud taking advantage of all the kindness.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t go far.’

‘You could come back with us to Ladbroke Grove.’

‘Thank you, but – I think I’ll try to find a room at a hotel in Woolwich. I need to stay somewhere close by while I’m searching and waiting for news. After that – well –’ She gave a little shrug.

‘I hope you’ll be here anyway until I take Jane home. It’s so good for her – so comforting to have you near.’

‘Oh, I shan’t be far away, Arthur, don’t worry. But in any case, she’s got you. You’ve got each other.’

‘Yes.’ Solemnly he nodded. ‘Thanks to you.’ The thought came to her that there was no awkwardness between herself and Arthur. After what had taken place between them, culminating in their encounter on the boat, one might have expected that they would have known such constraint that they would have been unable to find any meeting point. But it was not like that. That had all been made as nothing by the horror they had so recently gone through.

And now, looking at Arthur in the cold light of this dreadful day, it came to her once again, without the shadow of a doubt, that she had never loved him.

‘What will you do for money while you’re – looking?’ Arthur said, breaking into her thoughts.

She gave an ironic little smile. ‘I’m hoping you’ll lend me some more, will you?’

‘Of course. I’ll go to the bank this afternoon.’

‘I’ll pay you back just as soon as I – as I get things sorted out.’

Later, in the infirmary ward, Abbie went to Jane’s side where she sat next to her bed.

‘Arthur tells me he’s taking you home tomorrow.’

Jane nodded. ‘Yes.’

They fell silent. Turning, looking around, Abbie became aware that the bed behind her was empty. There was no sign of the elderly woman, Mrs Childs. As she looked at the empty bed Jane’s voice came quietly: ‘She died. Mrs Childs. While you were out this morning.’

After lunch Abbie went to the nurse and told her that she too hoped to be leaving the infirmary the next day.

‘Are you sure you feel well enough to go?’ Miss Wilkinson asked.

Abbie assured her that she did, adding, ‘And you’ve got enough to do without having people around who aren’t ill.’

Miss Wilkinson looked at her judiciously. ‘You’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, Mrs Randolph. And apart from its physical impact you mustn’t underestimate the effects of the shock. And there’s also the matter of your other trouble – your miscarriage.’

‘I realize that,’ Abbie said, ‘but I shall be all right, truly.’ She went on to say that she would move to a hotel close by, so that she could keep on with her searching as long as was necessary. “There seems to be such confusion everywhere,’ she added. ‘It probably isn’t so in reality but it appears that way with so many people wandering around not knowing where to go or what to do next. I know the authorities are doing everything they can, but how does one begin to cope with such a thing? No one has experience of such a disaster.’

The nurse gave a deep sigh. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘New difficulties are being thrown up all the time. As one problem is solved so another arises. And one hears so many tragic stories.’

It was true. Since Abbie’s arrival at the infirmary she had heard of the experiences of other survivors who had been brought in. But none of them had spoken with any kind of sensationalism; on the contrary, their stories had been delivered in a straightforward, matter-of-fact manner. There had been no need to embellish them, for the reality had been horrific enough. Neither had there been any effort to impress – for as often as not the listener’s own experiences had been as bad. Also, in telling the tales there were never manifestations of self-pity and rarely any emotion shown over the shock, the experience itself, or physical hurts suffered. It was only when speaking of loved ones still missing that the emotions sometimes came to the surface and tears were shed. But not always. In some cases there was still that barrier, that shell – and behind it the survivors continued in a dull, stunned, detached way, almost as if they were untouched by the calamity that had taken place.

That night Abbie lay awake in her bed. In the distance a clock chimed the hour of ten. On soft, silent soles a young nursing assistant passed through the ward checking that all was well, then moved out again to continue on her rounds. All was quiet. Arthur, who had sat with Jane as long as he had been permitted, had long since returned to the men’s ward. Also, there were fewer patients now. Two had left during the day, sufficiently fit to be discharged, going off in the care of friends or relations, facing lives shattered by loss. Tomorrow, Abbie reflected, she herself would be gone, as also would Arthur and Jane; they to their home in Ladbroke Grove and she to a nearby hotel. She couldn’t wait to get away. And, please God, she would soon learn some good news – though with each minute that passed the chances of such a thing happening were vanishing like smoke. She felt very restless. The day just past seemed to be as unreal as the one preceding it, and she had gone through the hours as if in a dream.

‘Abbie . . . ?’

At the whispered sound of her name Abbie looked to her right. In the shadows cast by the gas lamp Jane’s face was a pale blur.

‘Yes? What is it?’

‘I – I wondered whether you were still awake.’

Abbie turned on her side, the better to direct her whispered words. ‘Yes. But you should be asleep. If you’re going home tomorrow you’ll need all your strength.’

‘I was asleep, but I woke up.’

‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ A pause, then Jane said, ‘Abbie – come and be with me for a while, will you?’

Abbie hesitated for only a second, then crept silently out of bed. Jane moved over and Abbie got in beside her. Jane gave a little sigh of contentment. ‘That’s better. You probably think I’m a goose but I just felt – oh, I want you with me tonight.’