The Man who Missed the War (40 page)

When she got him to the bank she found to her distress that he was no longer breathing, so, as soon as she had got her own breath back, she tried artificial respiration. It was now almost dark, and, seeing no signs of revival in her patient after ten minutes’ hard work, she decided to carry him up to the Palace where with Philip’s help and warm blankets it was possible that his life might yet be saved. The small body was much heavier than it looked, and the Palace over a mile away, but half an hour later she staggered in with it. As she put the body down she discovered to her surprise that the drowned man’s companion had followed her home and was standing just behind her. He was
the first of the Little People to have entered the Palace enclosure since Gog and Magog and the rest of the staff had left it nearly seven months before.

For over an hour Philip and Gloria worked on the body until their efforts were crowned with success. When he came to their patient showed considerable fright at the situation in which he found himself, but, on being reassured by his small friend, he allowed himself to be fed with hot milk and tucked up in a llama’s skin to sleep near the fire.

When Gloria woke next morning he had vanished, but soon after midday he returned, accompanied by Gog, Magog and a number of friends, several of whom proved to be ex-members of the old staff. They all prostrated themselves and banged their foreheads on the ground as they had been accustomed to do before the Prince, but Philip and Gloria raised some of them up and made signs to them to tell the others to stop. There was then a great presenting of gifts, as it transpired that all of them had brought something for the Palace larder or store-room, and the little man whose life Gloria had saved produced as a thank offering to her a live, fully grown llama. The all too brief wintry day ended in a great feast cooked in the Palace kitchen, and when most of the revellers left for their homes late in the afternoon Gog and Magog and the rest of the original Palace staff made it quite clear that they intended to take up their old posts again permanently.

Now that Philip and Gloria were in regular communication with the pigmies they began to try to learn their language. They found it far harder than they had expected, and for a time felt that the Prince must have been a quite exceptional linguist to have mastered it so well in a matter of some nine months; but later they realised that he had not really mastered it in the sense of being able to converse on abstract matters. His only interest had been to get anything he wanted brought quickly, and for that purpose the learning off parrot-fashion of the names of the principal physical objects had no doubt been quite sufficient. Philip and Gloria, too, soon acquired a useful vocabulary of nouns, but they were still a long way from being able to ask many of the things they badly wanted to know—such as the origins of the Little People and how often the Dog paid one of
its terrifying visits to the valley—by the time that Gloria was due to have her baby.

At this anxious time Philip would have cheerfully given all his engineering knowledge for even a week’s course in midwifery, but when the time actually came all his fears proved groundless. Four of the fat, brown-faced little farmers’ wives drove him from the house and took charge of the situation. Next morning Gloria presented him with a fine, healthy son.

Later in the day, however, there occurred a disquieting episode. Philip thought Gloria was sleeping when he heard her call to him: ‘Boy, quickly! Quickly! Two of them have taken my baby!’

Hobbling swiftly from the little house in which he had set up a workshop, he was just in time to see the two pigmy women hurrying down the road. With a shout of reassurance to Gloria he set off after them as swiftly as he could while calling loudly on them to stop. They obeyed him, but they were obviously surprised at his anger and only handed over the child with marked reluctance.

Gloria had often remarked upon the curious fact that she had never seen one of the Little People’s babies, or, for that matter, any young child of their race. Yet, there could be no doubt that they reproduced themselves just like other human beings, and quite a number of older children, who gave the impression of being from about twelve years upwards, lived quite normal lives with their parents. Philip had advanced the theory that they took their infants to some secret place and brought them up there, either in conformity with some ancient tribal custom or in order to protect them from such dangers as a visit from the Dog. This attempt by two of the midwives to remove his own son, coupled with the fact that quite clearly no trace of malice had inspired the act, confirmed him in his view.

He had lived in the valley for less than a fortnight before the injury to his leg had crippled him to an extent which made long walks impossible, so there were large sections of the eastern end of the valley that he had never explored. Yet, the pigmies possessed iron implements and utensils, such as cauldrons and cooking pots, and they also worked in stone; so it seemed certain that they had primitive mines and quarries in the bases of the mountains somewhere beyond the woods. It was also possible
that they had a kind of crèche there where all their young were reared together, but Philip’s knowledge of their language was still too limited for him to make satisfactory inquiries about it.

The baby had been born on November the 21st, and Gloria was doing well, so they were soon able to enjoy the long sunny days out in the open. They called the baby John Alphonse, the first after Canon Beal-Brookman, the second after Gloria’s father. Philip did not like the Alphonse part at all, but he was far too fond of Gloria seriously to oppose her wish, and it seemed that the chances of his one day being able to send his son to an English Public School, where he might be ragged about his middle name, were for the moment decidedly remote.

The wound in his leg had long since healed, but had left it malformed and nearly three inches shorter than the other. He could hobble awkwardly about the house on it but could not run, and to cover any distance he still had to use crutches. This meant that any attempt to reach the MacKenzie Sea would prove a far longer and more hazardous project than it would have before he was wounded. Yet, he had by no means abandoned his intention of getting to the whaling station if he could.

He would have made the attempt in mid-December, when the weather was at its warmest and they had the benefit of the midnight sun, had it not been for the great event in the latter part of November. Obviously, it was quite out of the question to make the attempt until Gloria was fully recovered and her child at least three months old. However, Philip had an idea that the whaling season did not close till mid-March, so he was still in hopes that they might yet accomplish the first stage of their journey home that spring.

Christmas, and the New Year of 1943, came and went. The Antarctic summer proved a pleasant, happy season now that they were on such good terms with the Little People, and very different from the summer before when they had been both desperately ill and outlawed by their neighbours. John Alphonse was rapidly becoming a sturdy little man who smiled, crowed and kicked to the delight of his parents, and, indeed, of the whole household.

Gloria had feared that the child would prove a great tie to her and that for a long time to come she would never be able to
leave the house unless she took him with her. But this proved far from being the case. Gog and Magog were absolutely devoted to him, and these strange, ugly, little men seemed to understand his needs far better than his mother. They handled him with the greatest gentleness, seemed able to send him to sleep, and he never cried when they were present; so the fortunate Gloria had all the fun of motherhood and little of its drudgery.

It was on February the 21st, when John A. was just three months old, that Philip said to Gloria, apropos of nothing:

‘Well, what about it?’

She knew at once what he meant, but sat silent for a moment before she replied: ‘Is the urge to get back as strong in you as ever? The war may be over by now, you know.’

‘Even if it is we must try to get home. We’ve the boy to think of now as well as ourselves.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be worrying yourself about him.’ She shrugged. ‘He’d be happy here all his life because he’s never known anything different. It’s what we’re wanting ourselves and how much, is the question.’

‘Do you think you’d be happy to remain here always?’ He took her hand and went on: ‘I want you to be absolutely honest with me, darling. For a long time I clung to that vision I had and the promise that I should play a bigger part than any other man of my generation in helping to defeat Hitler, but it doesn’t seem remotely possible any more. The war has been on for three and a half years, so even if it’s not all over, the British Empire, with American supplies and the good old Navy maintaining the blockade of Europe, must be getting Hitler pretty worn down by now. And here am I, thousands of miles away in the Antarctic with only one good leg and another that it’s too late for even the most brilliant surgeon to do much about; so I think we can cut out all ideas of V.C.s. Still, there are other things. We could have a real home, friends of our own kind and lots of pretty clothes for you. But I won’t go into all that. I’ll simply tell you for the umpteenth time that I love you, and that more than anything in the world I want you to be happy; so I’ll be quite content for us either to go or stay, just as you prefer.’

‘Oh, Boy, I love you so much!’ She leaned forward and kissed him. ‘I could be happy anywhere with you. We could be happy
here—I haven’t a doubt of it, but maybe the sameness would pall a bit later on. We’re both young yet, and in the great world there’s still so much to see and do. I’m as fit now as ever I’ve been and John A. is only waiting to get to Europe to push down the houses. Let’s start our preparations and try to reach the coast by early March.’

So the great decision was taken, and next day Philip set about the preparations for their journey. He had made a new bivvy of llama skins with the warm fleece inside, and began drying a considerable quantity of llama’s meat as the most economical article they could take to form their staple diet. The collection of other things could be undertaken at a few hours’ notice, and he planned to leave on the 26th, but John A. delayed their departure for several days by developing a slight chill.

They said as little as possible of their intentions to the Palace staff, partly because they feared that the Little People might create some sort of scene and partly because they had a vaguely guilty feeling that by leaving the valley they were in some way letting them down.

By March the 3rd John A. was completely recovered, and on the morning of the 4th, having loaded up the sledge, they said good-bye to their retainers just as though they were going off on one of those hunting expeditions on which the Prince used to absent himself when he was master of the Palace. John A. rode on a flat wooden basket which was securely tied on top of the sledge. One of the ropes which pulled it was attached to a leather belt round Philip’s waist. Gloria walked beside him with the other rope over her shoulder. They set off at an easy pace and by midday were standing on the edge of the plateau taking a last look down into the valley, where they had suffered so much distress but known such great happiness.

Gloria was feeding John A., and they had taken rations for themselves for thirty days. Apart from his permanent disability Philip was extremely fit, and by this time the use of crutches had become a second nature to him, so, even making the journey in easy stages, they hoped to reach the MacKenzie Sea in eight days. If they allowed three for the march along it before they found the whaling station, and another eleven for the return journey—should there after all be no ship or people at the
station—they would still have eight days’ rations in hand as a precaution against being held up by any unexpected mishap.

On the further side of the mountains they once more entered the region of eternal snows, and there were times during the first six days when they heartily wished that they had never left the valley. The strange fantastic beauties of the Antarctic still filled them with awe and wonder, but the cold was a terrible enemy, and they had constantly to be on the watch against frostbite. This was the season of unbelievably lovely sunsets which lasted up to five hours, but it was also autumn and the sun was above the horizon for a lesser time each day. Nevertheless, the weather continued good, and on the seventh evening they made camp on a low ridge from which they could see the sea. Two days later, after crossing a small headland about fifteen miles further up the coast, they suddenly saw a group of long, low huts clustered about a small inlet from the bay.

To their great disappointment no ship was lying there, but there was still a possibility that part of the crew might be at the station while the whaler was out hunting.

‘Go on, darling,’ Philip cried; ‘you run on ahead. I can manage to pull the sledge myself if I take it slowly.’

After only a momentary hesitation, Gloria did as he suggested but he had barely covered another ten yards before he noticed that there was no smoke curling up from any of the tin chimneys of the huts, and so was prepared for the bad news that she brought when she came running back to meet him twenty minutes later. The whaling station was deserted.

Later they made a full tour of the place, and it was obvious that people had been there quite recently. The whole camp stank with the awful stench of decaying fish, and great lumps of waste product from a dead whale were still rotting by the wooden wharf. Apart from machinery connected with the whaling industry, the huts held only wire-netting bunks and wooden messing tables, except for one, on the door of which there was stuck a notice: ‘Stores for distressed Mariners’, and another that was furnished as a cookhouse.

Their only important find was some dirty sheets of newspaper spread out as a makeshift tablecloth in one of the mess-rooms. These proved to be editions, or bits of editions, of various
Australian papers all published during the latter part of the previous October. Although they were four and a half months old, the news they carried was twenty months ahead of the last broadcasts that the Prince had heard before leaving this same whaling station in February 1941, so Philip and Gloria, their eyes darting from one sheet to another, began to read scraps here and there with frantic eagerness.