A Presumption of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

the dusty floors of the crypt. A single electric bulb dangled from the ceiling of each of the four huge rooms. There was nothing to sit on, and the air smelled dusty and cold.
    ‘Well, what would you be doing if you was in your own little dugout, Archie?’ asked George Withers.
    ‘Don’t ask,’ said Mrs Ruddle, sniggering.
    ‘I’ve got a magazine showing how you make an Anderson shelter really cosy,’ said Mrs Puffett. ‘With bunks and little curtains, and a cribbage board and a paraffin heater.’
    ‘I seen an Anderson over at Broxford the other day,’ someone said. ‘All fixed up like as Ma Puffett says. Only that were a foot deep in water what had drained in off the garden. Quite all right apart from that. Bloke has a stirrup pump fixed up to bail her out. They don’t say about that in the magazines, I’ll be bound. Deep enough to drown a cat that was, being as you had a cat.’
    Constable Jack Baker stood up on an orange crate, and clapped his hands for silence. ‘I need a bit of a head count,’ he said, ‘to see how many people got here. We closed the doors eight minutes after the siren; we’ll have to do a bit better than that in future. Could everyone stay right where they are while I count you, and then I’ll come round and you can let me know if there’s anyone you think ought to be here, and who hasn’t showed up.’
    ‘Fred Lugg isn’t here,’ offered someone.
    ‘Well, he’s fire-watching, isn’t he?’ said Archie Lugg. ‘Can’t spot a fire from down here, can he?’
    ‘He could be anywhere, if you ask me,’ said Mrs Hodge.
    ‘He’s on the church tower,’ said Harriet. ‘We saw him there.’
    Slowly an atmosphere of dismay was seeping through the company. They stood around with hands in pockets, or leaned against the stone walls. A few people had brought blankets or folding stools, and could make themselves a corner to sit down. A wormy old settle long cast out of the snug and thrust into a corner accommodated a row of three very old gentlemen, and someone had brought a folding table and a pack of cards. But it was plainly going to be very uncomfortable and very boring to stay for long.
    It wasn’t much consolation, thought Harriet, that this was only practice, when the real thing was looming over them all.
    ‘Tell you something,’ said George Withers suddenly. ‘Just as soon as we got a thaw, I’m going to put up me own Anderson, and not have to hang around here with all you lot!’
    He had caught the mood, and Harriet suddenly became concerned – a whole group of people in the grip of misery locked up together for hours would certainly be bad for morale and could turn really nasty – when, as often happens in this tight little island, a man for the moment, a woman for the moment emerged.
    The chairman of the Paggleham Women’s Institute got up on Constable Baker’s orange crate, and began to speak.
    ‘Well, as you can all see, we’ve got to do something about this,’ she said. ‘Even if it’s only for a few weeks, and as a matter of fact I don’t see why we shouldn’t settle in here for the rest of the war, and not bother with Anderson shelters. As some of you already know, I’ve drawn up an outline plan. We need bunks. People can bring their own blankets. We need a few trestle tables and a primus stove to make tea and hot soup, and some paraffin heaters to get a bit of a fug in here on a cold night. We need coat hooks for all those gas-mask holders, and perhaps the schoolchildren can paint some pictures to cheer up the walls a bit. We need volunteers. Lots of volunteers.’
    ‘Bert Ruddle is doing bunks for the Methodists,’ said George Withers.
    ‘I could fix up some bunks,’ offered Archie Lugg, ‘if I had some help. I’ve got a lot of spare timber from that row of sheds we took down when they put an airfield on a bit of Datchett farm.’
    ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Mr Puffett. ‘We can do as well as that Bert Ruddle, I’m