The Empire Trilogy Part 63

It was hard to see what was going on. The road appeared to be full of shambling, cursing figures, some going one way, some going another. A military policeman was shouting hoa.r.s.ely at drivers from the middle of the road beside the storm-ca.n.a.l. Beyond the ca.n.a.l an occasional flicker of light betrayed another vast military column on Dunearn Road struggling in the opposite direction. Someone flashed a torch in his face and shouted at him hoa.r.s.ely: 'You're going the wrong b.l.o.o.d.y way, mate. That's the way to the war!' There were no further roadblocks and n.o.body tried to stop him, but all along the road men and vehicles continued to thrash in the obscurity like the limbs of some stricken, fettered giant.

Matthew soon became skilful at directing his motor-cycle into narrow gaps between the labouring vehicles but his progress was slow, nevertheless. Near the racecourse a huge fire was flaring a hundred feet into the sky: this was the reserve petrol dump which General Percival had ordered to be set on fire an hour before dark. Against its glare Matthew could see the long-shadowed silhouettes of men and guns, for the most part struggling in the direction of Singapore Town but constantly being arrested by traffic breaking into the stream or forcing a way through it. He, too, soon found it difficult to make any progress, wedged in now between two lorry-loads of silent, apprehensive Indians. Meanwhile, desperate-looking figures continued to pour in the opposite direction, their faces transfigured by the glare. One of these men staggered against him, breathing whisky fumes into his face. 'What's going on?' Matthew asked anxiously. 'Are we retreating?'

'You're d.a.m.n right we are, sport!' And the man heaved himself away, laughing hysterically.

Even by the light of the burning petrol dump it was impossible to see clearly enough to recognize someone. 'How will I ever find Vera in all this?' Matthew wondered hopelessly. From time to time, among the soldiers fleeing from the direction of Bukit Timah village, there were little pockets of civilians with bundles on their backs or dragging hand-carts; at the side of the road he could see the shadows of men jogging with poles across their backs from which hung boxes, suitcases or other burdens, but they all slipped by, heads averted: only by their clothes could you make a guess as to whether they were Indian, Malay or Chinese. Yes, it was hopeless. He considered turning back, but by now he had pa.s.sed the racecourse on the right and Bukit Timah itself could not be more than half a mile up the road, so he decided to press on a little further. He rode on in a daze, travelling more freely the further he went. He pa.s.sed a road junction to the left. This road was quiet and tempting but he ignored it and presently, as the ground rose on either side, he knew that Bukit Timah and the junction with the Jurong Road must lie just ahead in the obscurity.

Suspended between two rows of houses above the wide road a bundle of electric cables spluttered a cascade of white sparks over a scene of such confusion that Matthew's heart sank. Lorries and turreted Quad cars were wedged together at all angles with a tide of men flowing by on each side of them; military police, bawling at drivers and at each other and at the same time trying to marshal a squad to drag away an abandoned or broken-down vehicle, seemed unable to make any impression on the jammed traffic. In the very middle of this chaos, four brigadiers in an open staff-car were trying to read a map by torchlight and occasionally peering about them into the seething darkness as if wondering where they were.

Matthew turned the motor-cycle and allowed himself to be swept back the way he had come for some distance in the middle of a cantering mob of Indian troops, some of whom had discarded their rifles and boots and were running barefoot, jabbering to each other hysterically as they ran. Matthew, infected by their alarm, kept looking over his shoulder as if expecting to find the j.a.panese at his heels. Abruptly he found himself at the quiet road he had seen before; he accelerated out of the chattering Indians and turned into it. For some distance after he had left them he could still hear them calling and chattering as they pa.s.sed on down the road towards Singapore Town.

The road he had turned into was Reformatory Road which led down to Pasir Panjang on the coast. He could not be sure that it would not lead him into the j.a.panese lines ... for where were were the j.a.panese lines? However, provided the road did not turn towards the thud and flash of the guns on his right, he was prepared to follow it, though cautiously. A few tepid spots of rain began to fall. the j.a.panese lines? However, provided the road did not turn towards the thud and flash of the guns on his right, he was prepared to follow it, though cautiously. A few tepid spots of rain began to fall.

Some way ahead in the darkness he saw the flash of a torch. He stopped the motor-cycle immediately and held his breath, his heart pounding. The torchlight reappeared a moment later, shining on the front of a car. It did not seem to be coming any closer so he left the motor-cycle and adavanced stealthily on foot. As he approached he saw the shadow of a jeep with a man in uniform peering under the bonnet; after a moment he slammed down the bonnet, said something to another man in the back and then began to jog away down the road in direction of Pasir Panjang, evidently to summon a.s.sistance.

Matthew moved forward cautiously, listening to the diminishing sound of the driver's boots on the metalled surface of the road: he did not want to be shot by mistake. When he was within a few yards of the stationary jeep the torch was switched on again and its glow revealed a portly little man with a moustache wearing a general's uniform; he, too, was consulting a map. Surely there was something familiar about that round, discontented face with its bulging eyes! This plump little fellow sitting abandoned in the darkness with raindrops beginning to patter on his red-banded hat and on the map he was holding was surely General Gordon Bennett, the Australian Commander! Matthew had seen a photograph of him in a newspaper inspecting troops. And now here he was, stranded in a broken-down jeep at what might be a crucial moment in the battle for Singapore. Perhaps he, Matthew, thanks to his motorcycle, might be able to bring help to the General at a vital moment. He hesitated, wondering whether to spring forward and offer his services.

Gordon Bennett, sitting in the jeep, had not heard Matthew's approach. He had been too preoccupied with other, desperate matters. These last few hours had been among the worst he had ever experienced in his life. He had been shaken that morning when he had heard the news that the j.a.panese had broken through his Australian troops on the north-west coast, a failure that had earlier seemed to him inconceivable. Then there had been the bombing of his headquarters while Wavell and Percival had been visiting him. As if that had not been enough he had later been made to look a fool in front of Wavell by not knowing what Maxwell had been up to in his sector at the Causeway. No, things had not been going well in the past few hours. Perhaps the only crumb of comfort was that earlier in the campaign the Sultan of Joh.o.r.e had taken quite a liking to him and behaved most generously. He had even been given to understand by the Sultan that in the event of a total British collapse some help with an escape to Australia might not be altogether out of the question.

Yes, Gordon Bennett had recognized in the Sultan a really high-cla.s.s person, and the Sultan, for his part, he felt sure, had not altogether failed to notice his own qualities of good breeding. Not long before, so he had heard, a guest of the Sultan, a t.i.tled English lady, had expressed a caprice to swim in the shark-infested Strait of Joh.o.r.e. For many a host this would have been too much, but not for the Sultan. What had he done? He had instructed several hundred of his palace guards to enter the water and link bands to form a shark-proof enclosure in which the lady could safely bathe. That, Bennett knew, was cla.s.s. He could tell a cla.s.sy act a mile off. He sighed and reluctantly returned his thoughts to the map. It was just at this moment, as if the breakdown itself were not bad enough, that some wild-eyed civilian sprang out of the darkness at him like a werewolf. As Matthew emerged from the surrounding darkness Bennett shrank back with a gasp of alarm, showing the whites of his eyes.

'Who the devil are you and what d'you want?' he demanded furiously.

'I have a motor-cycle,' said Matthew, taken aback by this hostile reception. 'I just wondered whether you might like a lift... But I expect you don't,' he added as the General's cheeks grew purple. With an embarra.s.sed cough he sank back again into the darkness. Presently a motor-cycle engine roared not far away and grew fainter. The General was left alone to the rain and the night.

When Matthew reached the Mayfair he learned that Vera, unable to get through to Bukit Timah, had returned to the Mayfair but had almost immediately set off again, n.o.body knew where.

68.

Walter had long since ceased to believe that the surrender of Singapore to the j.a.panese could be averted. If it had not been possible to stop, or even delay, the j.a.panese up-country with the help of prepared defences and relatively fresh troops, it was improbable that they would be stopped now at the gates of the city. Curiously, he gave little thought either to escaping or to rejoining his family. After all, they were safe. His wife and Kate were in Australia. Monty was heaven knew where ... India perhaps. Joan and Nigel should soon be in Bombay. Joan's capture of Nigel, certainly, was a cause for satisfaction and boded well for the future of Blackett and Webb. In that respect everything had turned out even better than if she had got Matthew Webb in her grip: once the two companies had merged, any attempt by Matthew to use his stake in the company to influence its policy could be comfortably out-voted.

Yet what a lot had been lost for Blackett and Webb in the past few weeks! It would be a long time (he himself might even be an old man, a grumpy old figurehead to whom the young executives took it in turns to make polite remarks at garden-parties!) before Blackett and Webb was again the commercial force in the Far East that it had been over the past thirty or forty years. All Malaya's rubber, tin and palm-oil were already in j.a.panese hands; in Java and Sumatra they probably soon would be. All the agencies ... the shipping, the insurance, the import-export and entrepot, the engineering and banking, were either in suspended animation or had been withdrawn to Australia or Britain, their management and staff scattered to the winds. Something on that scale is not built up again overnight! In so far as these enterprises had a physical presence (G.o.downs, goods and produce in stock, engineering plant, vehicles and so forth) it was being demolished with equal enthusiasm by j.a.panese bombers and British demolition teams. Perhaps it was this single-minded approach to the demolition of everything that had gone to make up the presence of Blackett and Webb in Singapore, amounting almost to collusion, it seemed to Walter, that he found so disorienting.

His family had left Singapore. He no longer had any responsibilities, except to the people who worked for him ... but even his duty to them had grown nebulous under the bombs. In any case, he could no longer exert any real influence to help them. He pa.s.sed these few days, therefore, roaming the city aimlessly and alone, almost as he had done in his youth when he had lived in a mess run by one of the big merchant houses, with a lot of other young lads. So Walter drifted about the city like a shadow or brooded alone in the store-keeper's office in the G.o.down on the river which he had made his temporary home. Once or twice, rather than walk or use a car, he hailed a sampan sampan from where they cl.u.s.tered several deep with the from where they cl.u.s.tered several deep with the tongkangs tongkangs at the Blackett quay and had himself conveyed downriver to the Club. But the Club itself was unrecognizable, crammed with refugees, sick and wounded, and he left again immediately without speaking to anyone. On the Wednesday afternoon he made a sudden appearance at a bonded liquor warehouse where the same demolition team which had destroyed Blackett and Webb's stocks had now begun work. Without a word he took off his jacket and set to work with them. They were grateful: they needed all the help they could get. Walter smashed bottles doggedly until it grew dark and then retired once more to brood alone in the G.o.down on the river. at the Blackett quay and had himself conveyed downriver to the Club. But the Club itself was unrecognizable, crammed with refugees, sick and wounded, and he left again immediately without speaking to anyone. On the Wednesday afternoon he made a sudden appearance at a bonded liquor warehouse where the same demolition team which had destroyed Blackett and Webb's stocks had now begun work. Without a word he took off his jacket and set to work with them. They were grateful: they needed all the help they could get. Walter smashed bottles doggedly until it grew dark and then retired once more to brood alone in the G.o.down on the river.

As he wandered along the narrow corridors between the bales of rubber he tried to explain to himself what had happened. If he succeeded in understanding what had gone wrong then perhaps he would once more be able to gain control of events instead of drifting helplessly, now this way, now that. It was surely not the j.a.panese alone who were to blame for the way things had gone. One of the first signs, undoubtedly, that Blackett and Webb's. .h.i.therto secure grip on its own destiny was beginning to loosen had come with the labour unrest on the estates five years ago ... not just his, but other firms', too, of course. Could the j.a.panese be blamed for that? Well, perhaps they could. They had certainly been behind a number of strikes in Shanghai against British firms. The strike in 1939 at the China Printing and Finishing Company in Pootung which had gone on for six months and for which British marines had had to be landed to keep order had certainly been engineered by the j.a.panese. One had only to look at all the anti-British propaganda that had accompanied it, the wall-posters, the demonstrations, the pamphlets, the slogan-shouting ... even the sympathy strike organized at the British-owned Yee Tsoong Tobacco Factory. And then there had been a rash of strikes against other British concerns: the China Soup Company, the Asiatic Petroleum Company, Ewo Brewery and Ewo Cotton Mills, Ewo Cold Storage (Jardine Matheson had been a favourite target) and Paton and Baldwin's wool mill. But there was a difficulty here that Walter had to acknowledge. Although it was most likely that some, if not all, of these strikes were j.a.panese-inspired, it was extremely difficult to argue that they would not have broken out spontaneously, even without j.a.panese encouragement.

In a sense it did not matter whether these strikes had been encouraged for political reasons by the j.a.panese, or by the Communists, or had sprung up independently among disgruntled workers who happened to identify all employers with the British. Because given that huge reservoir of cheap labour with attendant 'exposed corpses' pour encourager les autres pour encourager les autres a mixture of the two extremes of submission and resistance was about what you would expect, in Walter's view. Thus the disadvantage of labour unrest was bonded indissolubly to the advantage of cheap labour. a mixture of the two extremes of submission and resistance was about what you would expect, in Walter's view. Thus the disadvantage of labour unrest was bonded indissolubly to the advantage of cheap labour.

In Malaya, however, which had lost its pool of cheap labour when immigration was curtailed as a result of the Depression, there were no 'exposed corpses' on the streets in the morning and the extremes to which the labour force had been driven were less stark. In Malaya it was clearly unrealistic to blame the j.a.panese for the growth of labour unrest. Purely political agitation by Nationalists and, above all, Communists against the British had caused a number of strikes which, because they were not based on genuine labour grievances, would not otherwise have occurred. Walter sensed that it was here that Blackett and Webb in common with other British firms had begun to lose its grip on the country and on its own destiny. A worker with a genuine grievance you can do something about. You can give him more pay, or sack him, or improve his living conditions. But what can you do with a worker who wants you to leave the country or, just as bad, wants to run the business himself?

'I suppose they expect me to dye my face brown and wear a sarong sarong!' grumbled Walter aloud, pausing to lean wearily against a bale of the 'ribbed smoked sheet' that had made his fortune. He groaned. He had no difficulty in recognizing what it was that he had been up against. It was 'the spirit of the times' which had stolen up on him again.

Presently, feeling hungry, Walter went out into the streets again. He did not eat, however, but instead went to the Cricket Club for a shower. His clothes were filthy but so were everyone else's he met: n.o.body seemed to find anything remarkable about his appearance. He was shocked, however, to see what he looked like in a mirror and while he was taking a shower sent someone to fetch Mohammed from Tanglin with some clean clothes. He felt better then and ate a sandwich.

Mohammed, waiting for him outside in the car, wanted to drive him back to Tanglin but Walter told him to go to the G.o.down on the river. He was very tired. To reach the storekeeper's office he had to climb the swaying ladder some forty feet up into the shadowy vault of the building to the ledge which formed a rudimentary loft some way out from the wall. Two-thirds the way up the ladder he dropped the electric torch he was holding. He saw its light revolve once in the air as it fell. Then it went out and he could see nothing at all. Fortunately, Mohammed, concerned for his safety, had been watching his unsteady ascent from the entrance to the G.o.down. He shouted up to him not to move and hurried away to fetch another torch from the car.

While he waited on the gently creaking, bending ladder, too unsure of his balance to go either up or down in the almost total darkness, he nevertheless thought how easy it would be to let go, to allow himself to pitch out from the ladder and plunge into the silent, peaceful depths beneath. Mohammed was taking a long time. So much rubber! It was all around him. He could not see it but he knew it was there. He thought of oil palms again but no, that was merely a detail ... A man must move with the times, otherwise he is done for. Clinging to the ladder in the darkness he began to muse on this business of moving with the times. In Shanghai he had managed to do so with skill, why had he not succeeded in Malaya? In Shanghai it should have been more difficult. Surely no commercial city could have undergone so many drastic changes in such a short time as had Shanghai in the past five years: the j.a.panese war on the mainland, their blockade of the coastal ports, the ending in consequence of the Open Door policy and the decline of the Chinese Customs, not to mention all the deliberate j.a.panese attempts to strangle British trade with restrictions and monopolies. Yet he had not only moved with the times and managed to survive in that beleaguered, monstrously over-populated city, he had positively thrived.

Ah, but he could be objective about Shanghai. It was difficult with Malaya. Malaya he regarded as his own country. He had lived here most of his life, had raised a family here. He had a preconceived idea of what the place should be like. He did not want it to change. He liked it the way it used to be. 'I'm beginning to sound like old Webb,' he thought. Well, he had accommodated himself as best he could to the new labour disturbances. Perhaps he had not done so badly, after all.

Mohammed returned and Walter pursued his way upwards among the tiers of rubber bales by the light of the torch-beam from below. When he had reached the top Mohammed followed him up, carrying a basket with some provisions he had brought. Walter thanked him, took out his wallet and gave him a few dollars, adding that he would not be needed for some time, that he should lay the car up wherever he found convenient, preferably immobilized and concealed, and that he would be well advised to return to his own kampong kampong until the situation became normal. until the situation became normal.

'A man must move with the times, Mohammed,' he said with a faint smile. Then he conducted him back to the ladder and held the light for him while he descended.

'Goodbye, Tuan Tuan.'

'Goodbye, Mohammed.' And the syce syce departed, feeling more concerned than ever. It seemed to him that only a madman would want to stay in this place by the river where rats fidgeted in the darkness and mosquitoes settled on you in clouds. And then, of course, there were the bombs. departed, feeling more concerned than ever. It seemed to him that only a madman would want to stay in this place by the river where rats fidgeted in the darkness and mosquitoes settled on you in clouds. And then, of course, there were the bombs.

From the little window of the store-keeper's office Walter had an un.o.bstructed view, thanks to the river, for a considerable distance to the east and south-east in the direction of Raffles Place. Over the low roofs on the far bank some of the taller buildings around Raffles Place stood out in silhouette against other buildings on fire behind them. The looming shape of the Fullerton Building was visible, too, thanks to some vessel burning furiously in the inner roads behind it. Searchlights swept the sky, criss-crossing with each other; occasionally he could see the flashes of guns. Of the docks nothing was visible but it was clear from the pink-tinged clouds above them that they were still burning in several places. Nearer at hand yet another great conflagration had started in the G.o.downs which lined the river between Clark Quay and Robertson Quay and on the opposite bank, too, between Magazine Road and part of Havelock Road where it ran beside the river. Walter, sometimes muttering something to himself, more often in silence, stood leaning against the side of the window for most of the night watching the progress of these fires.

69.

It was to this fire beside the river that the Mayfair unit had been directed by the Central Fire Station. They sped towards it through a corridor of fire; on every street they pa.s.sed through there seemed to be buildings ablaze. The major hunched wearily over the wheel, listening anxiously to the Lagonda's motor and sniffing the odour of petrol that was leaking somewhere. The Lagonda had broken down once or twice but somehow had been restored to the road; it now bore a jagged tear along one side from a piece of shrapnel and the paint on the bonnet was blistered in several places by the heat of previous fires. It had done good service, certainly. All the same, perhaps it was not wise to go to a fire in a car that was leaking petrol.

In spite of the curfew the streets were full of people, many of them refugees from the threatened area. The Lagonda raced past figures struggling with bundles and belongings, crashed and slithered over rubble strewn in the street, pa.s.sed a crowd of looters dragging goods out of a shop window like entrails out of a dead animal. Matthew, beside the Major, turned to see a shadowy battery of guns pointing skywards which flashed and gulped one by one as they went by. Evidently another air-raid was in progress.

It was a relief to arrive at the fire by the river and set to work. This, at least, was familiar: the search for a water supply, the laying out of the hose, the starting of the pump. While they were busy looking for a convenient place to drop the suction hose into the river a dog came dashing up, inspected them and hurried away again. 'Adamson must be here somewhere!' And they all smiled, for this was comforting and familiar. And sure enough, presently Adamson appeared; he was still limping and walking with a stick; his manner was as casual as ever but for once even he looked tired. He said: 'I'd knock down that fence if I were you and do it from there. If you get in any closer you'll have one of these walls come down on top of you.' Presently he limped away again, vanishing into a trembling haze of heat and light with the dog at his heels.

Kee, Turner and Cheong were left to get the pumps ready, the others set off for the fire unreeling hose as they went. Evidently it had been burning unchecked for some considerable time for at its centre it was no longer possible to distinguish the individual riverside G.o.downs: these had now become the fuel of a gigantic furnace. As they approached, they converged with other men, heads lowered into a glittering blizzard of sparks, dragging their hoses towards the fire's heart. Matthew was among the helmeted figures struggling through this brilliant storm, his pulse pounding with excitement and trepidation as it always did when he went to a fire. Had he touched wood? Yes. Or was that yesterday? He had lost his hold on the pa.s.sage of time; events telescoped into each other. Soon the water was crackling through the hose and they were directing their branch against the outer walls of a vast arena of heat and light. For beyond the burning buildings which they were trying to contain, the fire possessed an inner core of other buildings which seemed to stretch over several acres and which by now could hardly be looked at with the naked eye.

Time pa.s.sed. It could have been a few minutes but, looking at his watch, Matthew saw that two hours had elapsed since their arrival. Occasionally, hurrying back for another length of hose, he glimpsed the glowing inner core as he crossed a street leading into it. Then he would be buffeted suddenly by a wave of heat until he reached the shelter of the next wall. Once, as he hurried across one of these rivers of light, arm raised to shield his face, he saw two lamp-posts, whose elongated shadows almost reached him along the cobbles, buckle and wilt as they began to melt. An instant later he had plunged gratefully into the next dark shadow, unable to believe what he had just seen.

How strange it was to stumble from one of these avenues flowing with light into the black darkness of a side street! Here in the shadows an exhausted fireman sat on the kerb and used his steel helmet to scoop up the water running to waste and pour it over his head; when you looked more carefully you saw that he was not alone: other firemen sprawled here and there, driven back into this dark haven to recuperate. Surprisingly a mood of good humour, almost of elation, prevailed among these exhausted men: they called cheerfully to Matthew in whatever language they happened to speak ... in English, Tamil, Dutch, Cantonese ... they laughed and teased each other, put their arms around each other's shoulders and when, presently, the roof of a nearby G.o.down fell in with a roar and another wave of sparks eddied over them illuminating the darkness of their refuge, a great cheer went up and someone began to sing 'Roll out the barrel'. Laughing uncontrollably, he did not know why, Matthew set off with the new length of hose he had been sent for, following the fire's perimeter. He was astonished at how quickly the fire changed its character from one sector to another. In one place it would be a cheerful blaze, gay with sparks, in another a sullen inflammation beneath blankets of acrid smoke; here, where the fire was spitting great streams of burning liquid towards a row of dark tenements, the firemen were fighting it with a desperate tenacity; nearby, where a bonded warehouse was in flames, they staggered about playfully, falling over each other like a litter of puppies, drunk with the alcohol fumes which billowed around them.

The night wore on. Matthew and Mr Wu were together at the branch, directing its jets at some gentle blue flames that prettily trimmed the roofs of a row of shop-houses, when they heard a sinister hissing above them. Behind them the men who had been singing fell silent. The hissing grew rapidly in volume and changed into a low whistle. Matthew and Mr Wu at the same moment dropped the branch and sprinted for the darkness. The next instant Matthew found himself lying face down in a pool of water issuing from a burst main; the road was quaking beneath him and he was being pummelled by flying fragments of brick and clods of earth. After a few moments a hand tugged his arm: he opened his eyes to see the ever-smiling face of Mr Wu. Together they began to search for the branch they had been holding and which they presently found, thrashing about by itself in the darkness. As Matthew tried to grasp it, it flailed up and dealt him a blow in the chest that robbed him of his breath; but Mr Wu had managed to throw himself on top of it and hold it down while they got a firm grip on it once more. A van now arrived, miraculously, from the Central Fire Station with hot, sweet tea in a metal fire-bucket.

While Matthew was sitting at some distance from the fire drinking tea with his back against a wall, Adamson and his dog approached. Two G.o.downs containing rubber, engine-oil, copra, palm-oil and latex stored as a liquid were on fire only a few feet back from the river. Although there was no hope of saving the G.o.downs themselves Adamson was afraid that burning liquid might flow from them into the river and set the crowded sampans sampans and and tongkangs tongkangs on its surface alight. He wanted Matthew to relieve one of his men who was directing a jet from the roof of a tall building nearby. 'Can you manage the branch by yourself? I'll send someone to help as soon as I can.' Matthew nodded. The dog eyed him dubiously and then looked up at Adamson, as if afraid that Matthew might not be up to it. on its surface alight. He wanted Matthew to relieve one of his men who was directing a jet from the roof of a tall building nearby. 'Can you manage the branch by yourself? I'll send someone to help as soon as I can.' Matthew nodded. The dog eyed him dubiously and then looked up at Adamson, as if afraid that Matthew might not be up to it.

It seemed to take an age of climbing ladders up through the dark warehouse before he finally emerged on the roof. He immediately saw the silhouette of the man he had come to relieve: he had lashed the branch to an iron railing, but loosely enough so that he could still turn the jet a few degrees, and was slumped against the parapet which ran round the roof; he found it hard to get up when he saw Matthew. 'I've been up here all night,' he said. 'I thought they'd forgotten me.'

'Tea is being served down below: if you hurry you might get some.'

'Enjoy the view,' called the departing fireman, leaving Matthew alone on the roof. He turned his attention to the fire. From this position he could look down over the G.o.downs and he wondered whether Adamson realized how far gone they already were; it seemed unlikely that a single jet could make any difference. However, he played the jet over the roofs on the river side, trying to let it stream down the outside walls to cool them and keep them standing as long as possible.

Soon he began to savour the strange sensation of being marooned above the city in the hot darkness; he was pervaded by a feeling of isolation and melancholy. The occasional drone of a bomber in the black sky above him, the slamming of distant doors from the ack-ack guns, the dull thud, thud, thud of bombs falling, the rapid popping and sighing of the Bofors guns, even the deep bark of the artillery ... all this seemed perfectly remote from his vantage point over the rooftops. Up here he was only conscious of the moaning and creaking of the branch against the railing and the faint steady hiss of the jet as it curved down towards the fire. He could see a considerable distance, too: he could see the rapid flashes advancing along Raffles Quay and the Telok Ayer Basin as a stick of bombs fell, and the hulk of what might have been a barge burning near Anderson Bridge at the mouth of the river and another vessel blazing brilliantly in the inner roads, and yet other fires scattered here and there in the densely crowded residential quarters to the south and east of New Bridge Road. 'If a bomb fell here,' he thought suddenly, 'n.o.body would ever find me,' and he peered anxiously down towards the street to see if anyone was being sent up to join him, but with the smoke he could see nothing.

After a while he grew, calm again, soothed by the regular creaking of the branch. He was so remote from what was happening down there, after all. It seemed impossible that anything happening on the ground could touch him. Below was the fire, and beyond the fire and all around lay the city of Singapore where two hostile armies were struggling to subdue each other in the darkness. Up here it made no difference. All that concerned him was the fire raging below him: he must concentrate on playing the jet where it would do most good. But soon he found himself wondering whether his efforts might not be superfluous. With a change in the tide, burning oil from a stricken vessel at the mouth of the river was already beginning to flow up towards the tightly packed sampans sampans and barges in the heart of the city. As the sky grew pale on the eastern horizon Matthew watched in dismay the leisurely advance of this fiery serpent. and barges in the heart of the city. As the sky grew pale on the eastern horizon Matthew watched in dismay the leisurely advance of this fiery serpent.

70.

'The Blackett and Webb G.o.down is threatened. Walter's inside and refuses to leave. Someone on his staff got in touch with Hill Street and they pa.s.sed it on to us. Perhaps you wouldn't mind having a shot at persuading him?'

Matthew and the Major were sitting on the kerb beside the Blackett and Webb van which had once carried eight outstretched arms in various colours reaching for prosperity. These arms had not proved very durable and most of them had broken off going over b.u.mps or pot-holes, some at the shoulder, some at the elbow. Only two still remained intact as far as the grasping fingers: Matthew suspected that they were the white ones but could not be sure. The steady precipitation of oily s.m.u.ts from the sky had rendered white, yellow, light brown and dark brown and even the van itself a uniform black colour. Everything else in sight appeared also to be black, or grey like the sky and the smoke.

'I'd go myself,' said the Major, 'but I must get all this lot back to the Mayfair for some rest and food.' He stared vaguely at the palms of his hands which were raw and bleeding from handling hose in which the broken gla.s.s which littered the streets had become embedded. Matthew's palms were similarly flayed. They were waiting their turn while one of the regular firemen went about with a pitcher of iodine, dripping it on to the other men's wounds to a chorus of jokes, curses and cries of anguish. Adamson sat with them, holding out his own raw palms for this painful ritual. The dog slept with its head on his shoe. When, presently, Adamson got up to go for breakfast at Hill Street, the dog had to be shaken awake.

Matthew set off past a dismal row of buildings which had burned during the night: now they loomed, dripping, gutted sh.e.l.ls in the grey light. Turning a corner he came upon half a dozen hoses lying side by side, still swollen into thick veins by the water coursing through them. A little further on the branches, perhaps abandoned during a raid, were rearing and flailing like a many-headed monster in the deserted street. He walked on, wondering where Vera was. He hoped that by now she had returned to the Mayfair. It might still be possible, somehow or other, to get her away from Singapore before the j.a.panese took over.

Matthew had visited the Blackett and Webb G.o.down on the river once before, in the company of Walter himself, as it happened, in the first days after his arrival in Singapore. He had glimpsed it again when with Vera he had visited The Great World (now bleak and deserted except for an ARP post) for it lay close by. But he had found nothing particularly interesting about it, except that it had his own name painted on it in large white letters. Now, strangely undamaged amid the bomb-shattered buildings on either side, it looked somehow more impressive than he had remembered it.

Inside it seemed very dark at first, and quiet. What little light there was came from above, falling from a great height into the dim amphitheatre in which he stood. And there was a pleasant smell in the air, perhaps from the bales of rubber that mounted around him, if not from the old building itself.

'Walter?' he called uncertainly, his voice sounding very small in this great s.p.a.ce. It seemed for a moment that there would be no answer but then there came the sound of footsteps from the half-floor above and a familiar voice asked impatiently: 'What is it?'

'It's me, Matthew Webb. I want to talk to you.'

'Who? Oh, it's you. Well, all right ... I suppose you want to destroy all this rubber, do you?' Walter uttered a grim laugh. 'I don't know what your father would have thought of all this madness that's got hold of everyone.'

'It's not about that. D'you mind if I come up there?' Without waiting for an invitation Matthew began to climb a ladder which he dimly perceived nearby. He found Walter waiting at the top, looking restless and irritable. He paused to recover his breath, peering at him uncertainly. 'Could we go somewhere where there's a bit more light?'

'All right. Come this way.' Walter led the way down corridors of rubber. At a turning an old rat stood in their path and stared at them insolently for a moment before limping away down a side alley. Around the next corner grey daylight issued from a little cubicle of wood and gla.s.s. A row of huge fruit bats, neatly folded, hung from a rafter overhead and slept. Walter ushered him inside and offered him a chair. Before taking it Matthew went to the window, anxious to see what progress the fire had made towards them. But although it faced east, the direction from which the fire was being driven, his view was so obscured by smoke that he could see nothing. He knew that it must be very close.

'You can't stay here, Walter, you know. Have you made no arrangements to leave Singapore?'

'I suppose like everybody else you want to get me out so you can burn the place down,' said Walter grimly.

'Don't be absurd. It's going to burn down without our help, I'm afraid. In any case, we're trying to stop fires, not start them.' He paused, noticing for the first time Walter's dishevelled appearance. The clean clothes he had put on the evening before were already covered in dust and even his hair was thick with it; both his eyelids were red and swollen, perhaps from insect bites. His eyes kept wandering restlessly from one place to another, without meeting Matthew's gaze for more than a moment.

'I'm glad your father didn't live to see this,' he said presently with an air of resignation. After a silence he added with a sigh: 'There was some fool here yesterday, an army chap ... D'you know what he said to me?'

'Well, no ...'

'I'll tell you. He had the gall to tell me that we were leaving the troops to do the fighting while we only thought of feathering our nests! Can you beat it? He tried to claim that civilians have been trying to stop his demolition squad from doing its work ... He actually said ...'

'But Walter, it's true. That has has been happening in some places ... Look, we must go now. We'll talk about it another time.' Matthew got up and again looked anxiously out of the window: this time a bright banner of sparks was floating by. 'Have you no way of getting out of Singapore? It's obvious we aren't going to hold out much longer.' been happening in some places ... Look, we must go now. We'll talk about it another time.' Matthew got up and again looked anxiously out of the window: this time a bright banner of sparks was floating by. 'Have you no way of getting out of Singapore? It's obvious we aren't going to hold out much longer.'

'As a matter of fact, I have,' said Walter, chuckling grimly. 'Certain business acquaintances are anxious to share their boat with me. What time is it now? They talk of leaving this evening from Telok Ayer Basin. You'd better come too, I should think. They wouldn't refuse to take a Webb, even if it meant throwing someone else overboard!' And Walter gave a sudden shout of laughter which rang in the rafters high above them. The row of bats slept on undisturbed, however.

'After all,' he went on presently, following some train of thought of his own. 'War is only a pa.s.sing phase in business life ... No, it was Lever of Lever Brothers who said that, not me! Yes, it seems that in the Great War he wanted, naturally enough, to go on selling his ... what did he call it? Sunlight Soap to the Germans ... He made quite a fuss when they wouldn't let him. He argued that the more soap they let him make the more glycerine there would be for munitions ... which is true enough when you come to think about it. If you want my opinion there's nothing like a spot of patriotism for blinding people to reality. Now they'd do far better to leave certain things in Singapore as they are ... Though destroy the oil the j.a.ps need by all means, I don't hold with people standing in the way of demolition squads if they're acting sensibly ... But no, you can't argue with these people. You can't say, look here, let's discuss it sensibly! They swell up with patriotic indignation. They refuse to believe that in due course, probably in a matter of months, we'll have come to some understanding with j.a.pan and everything will continue as before. Except that in this case this case it won't continue as before ... why? Because a lot of self-righteous b.l.o.o.d.y fools will have destroyed our investments, lock, stock and barrel ... and we shall have to start again from scratch!' it won't continue as before ... why? Because a lot of self-righteous b.l.o.o.d.y fools will have destroyed our investments, lock, stock and barrel ... and we shall have to start again from scratch!'

'Walter,' exclaimed Matthew, standing up excitedly, 'it's not self-righteous fools who are destroying your investment, it's the b.l.o.o.d.y j.a.panese bombers! My G.o.d! Look at this ...'

A momentary shift in the wind had peeled the smoke back from the river like a plaster from a wound. Near at hand a row of blazing G.o.downs pointed towards their window like a fiery arrow whose barb had lodged in a shed burning directly beneath them. It was not this, however, but the river itself which had caused Matthew's dismay for it seemed to be nothing but flame from one bank to another. The blazing oil which had surged up on the tide from the mouth of the river had enveloped the small wooden craft which cl.u.s.tered thickly over almost its entire length and breadth except for the narrow channel in the middle. Fanned by the breeze from the sea the fire had eaten its way up the twisting longbow-shaped course of the river, past another fire at Ord Road, under the Pulo Saigon Bridge and almost as far as Robertson Quay.

Matthew turned away, shocked, hoping that Adamson had managed to evacuate the thousands of Chinese families who lived on the river. Walter had joined him at the window, staring at the shining snake twisting all the way back to Anderson Bridge. He muttered: 'Terrible! Terrible!' and then turned away. 'But look here,' he went on, after a moment, 'you forget the heavy responsibility that a businessman has to carry ...'

'Oh, Walter, please, not now. We must go.' Matthew sniffed, certain he could see smoke eddying up between the bales of rubber. One of the sleeping bats stirred uneasily. But Walter had slumped heavily in his chair again.

'You may think a responsibility to one's shareholders is nothing of importance but I can a.s.sure you ... Think of the poor widow, the clergyman, the spinster who has trusted her savings to your hands and whose very life may depend on the way you conduct your business. I can a.s.sure you, Matthew, that it makes you think twice when you have the well-being of other, perhaps vulnerable, people to protect. In the early days your father and I often used to work long into the night after everyone had gone ... Yes, I sometimes used to fall asleep at this very desk here from sheer exhaustion ... And what made me do it? I was quite simply afraid that Blackett and Webb, on whom so many poor people depended for their living, might have to pa.s.s their dividends! Yes, scoff if you want to, I don't care!'

'I don't want to scoff, Walter. Of course I don't! I just want us to leave here before it's too late. We may be trapped.'

Walter again ignored him. 'Well, I suppose the world was a different place in those days. The spirit of the times was quite different from the way it is now. Singapore was different, anyway, I can tell you that much! We had none of the comforts when I was a boy that people seem to expect these days. You would hardly believe it but we didn't even have water you could drink out of a tap ... In those days when my dear mother was alive she always used to filter it through a muslin dripston ... you don't see them any more but in those days ... And did we have these fine roads and storm-drains and whatnot? Of course not. We had to put up with the monsoons as best we could. Sometimes the only way you could get about was in a rowing boat! Not like today when down comes the rain and it's all over in a few minutes.'

'Walter, I can hear a crackling sound from down below ... Listen!'

Walter nodded sadly. 'It was fun for us children, of course. Oh yes, we used to think it was great fun to have a change from the rickshaw. Mind you, we had fun in the rickshaws, too. Each of us kids had his own rickshaw and a coolie to himself. Yes. We used to make 'em race with us and see who'd win and we'd have a grand time. Yes ... Grand! Grand!'

Matthew wafted the smoke away so that he could see Walter better. Then he took off his gla.s.ses, polished them with a dirty handkerchief and put them back over his smarting eyes. Walter's ma.s.sive head was bowed on his shoulders and he might almost have been asleep. He raised his head presently, however, and said: 'Mind you, they were strict with us, too. Not like your father, Matthew, and his new-fangled ideas. Boys and girls all twined up together in the bath like a mess of snakes! That's what they call education these days! And then they wonder why the kids go wrong. Well, I don't know. When we children had our tea in the afternoon we had a Chinese "boy" to supervise us. And we had to be properly dressed into the bargain. Ah, how the girls hated to wear their stockings in the heat! But they had to, not like today when they run about practically naked. Any talking or nonsense and the "boy" would give us a sharp rap over the knuckles, I can tell you!'

'Walter!' cried Matthew, but was interrupted by a fit of coughing. The bats had left their rafter now and were swooping about the G.o.down squeaking unpleasantly. Matthew's skin crawled: he did not care for bats.

'Yes, my mother used to hold court with a circle of young men around her ... young lads who would come out East and get themselves into debt, silly beggars, by signing chits. My mother used to take charge of them just as if they were her own children. She'd see that they ate proper meals and didn't spend all their money drinking. She used to say to them: "What would your mother in England say if she could see you now? Think how her feelings would be hurt!" Ah, they adored her. Many of 'em were secretly homesick, you know, but didn't like to admit it because they thought it wasn't manly. They'd have done anything for her.'

Matthew again wafted his arm feebly to clear the smoke between them which grew thicker by the minute. 'Yes, it must have been pleasant here in those days,' he agreed with a sigh.

There was silence except for a crackling of wood from downstairs. Presently, Walter cleared his throat, then stood up abruptly. He pawed the smoky air in surprise.

'What's all this smoke?' he demanded irritably.

71.

That afternoon Matthew, the Major, Mr Wu and Adamson went to the cinema. The Mayfair unit's last pump had broken down near the Gas Works and the water pressure throughout the city had fallen so low, thanks to burst mains, that it was no longer possible to use hydrants. On their way back from the Gas Works they pa.s.sed two cinemas beside the Volunteers' Drill Hall on the sea side of Beach Road. Surprisingly, one of the cinemas, the Alhambra, a small and rather shabby-looking place at first sight, was still open and was showing a film called Ziegfeld Girl. Ziegfeld Girl. This seemed such a cause for wonder that they stopped and consulted each other. Why not? Just for a minute or two. They had such a craving for normality, even if only a glimpse of it... even if only for a few minutes. So they went inside, and once inside in the darkness they kept falling asleep and waking up, paralysed by weariness and comfort. With one thing and another they found it difficult to leave, now that they were inside. This seemed such a cause for wonder that they stopped and consulted each other. Why not? Just for a minute or two. They had such a craving for normality, even if only a glimpse of it... even if only for a few minutes. So they went inside, and once inside in the darkness they kept falling asleep and waking up, paralysed by weariness and comfort. With one thing and another they found it difficult to leave, now that they were inside.

When the light dimmed a newsreel, cheerful in tone, showed housewives with their hair tied up in handkerchiefs collecting pots and pans on the Home Front; next, iron railings were being harvested from parks and gardens. Matthew found this ridiculous and touching and was surprised to find himself in tears. The newsreel was followed by Ziegfeld Girl. Ziegfeld Girl. He fell asleep for a few minutes and when he awoke it took him some time to fathom that the film concerned the destinies of a number of chorus girls. One of the girls, played by Hedy Lamarr, was beautiful, grave and sad. Her husband, a violinist of temperament, took a dim view of her being a chorus girl. He fell asleep for a few minutes and when he awoke it took him some time to fathom that the film concerned the destinies of a number of chorus girls. One of the girls, played by Hedy Lamarr, was beautiful, grave and sad. Her husband, a violinist of temperament, took a dim view of her being a chorus girl.

'Well, what is it you want me to do? Give up the job? I know it's a rather foolish way to earn money, but Franz, we need it!'

'Do you really imagine that I would stand by while you showed yourself to other men?'

Matthew sighed, his head dropped on to his chest and it seemed to him that he slept for a while. But when he awoke the same conversation still seemed to be going on.

'So we never really had the thing I thought we had,' Hedy Lamarr was saying. 'Faith in each other. If you have that you don't mind about the other things. You don't even know you haven't got them.'