We do our best, but it’s fair to say things don’t always go according to plan. We all assembled promptly for the briefing the next day. The Boss made his appearance to total silence. A bit of a first.
He went through everything, slowly and clearly. I looked around. People’s faces were serious. There was no fidgeting. He had everyone’s attention. When he started issuing instructions to pack up, there was much activity with scratchpads, but when he moved on to evacuation instructions, it was immediately apparent that he had lost his audience.
He started on specifics and that was when he faced his first mutiny. Frankly, I always thought it would be me, but this came right out of the blue. He was working his way down the list of names to evacuate, when little Mrs Enderby from Wardrobe stood up and the whole thing crashed to the ground.
‘No,’ she said.
He actually read two more names before it registered. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, no.’
‘No what?’
‘No, I won’t go.’
He rallied valiantly. ‘I’m sorry if I inadvertently gave the impression this was a discussion.’
‘I won’t go.’
He seemed dumbfounded for a moment and I’m guessing this was another first. ‘Mrs Enderby …’
‘I’m sorry, Dr Bairstow, but I won’t go. St Mary’s is my home. I have lived here for as long as you. I was one of the founder members. I won’t go off and leave St Mary’s and you to face whatever is coming. I believe in what we do here and I will fight for it with all my might.’
There was a breathless silence.
A chair creaked. Mrs Mack stood up. ‘I won’t go either. And before you say anything, I was in Cardiff in July and August of ’68, and I fought in the Monmouth Riots two years later. I’ve almost certainly seen more combat action than some of Major Guthrie’s young saplings over there and I’m very sorry to defy you like this, sir, but I won’t go.’
Wow! And before I could get my head round that, Jenny Fields stood up and, gripping the chair in front of her, said breathlessly, ‘I’m not very brave and I’ve never shot anyone, but I’m not leaving either.’
Both Dr Dowson and Professor Rapson, each attempting to be first on their feet, became entangled, glared at each other, and said simultaneously, ‘Nor I. ’
The professor added, ‘Sorry, Edward.’
It must have been the most polite mutiny in history.
Dr Bairstow visibly pulled himself together.
‘Major Guthrie!’
‘No, sorry, sir, but I’m definitely not going!’
The laughter relieved the tension.
‘Major, please ensure that any member of St Mary’s who volunteers to remain is fully incorporated into your plans.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’
The Boss stood for a long time, looking at his feet. The silence lengthened. I watched the dust dancing in the shafts of sunshine streaming through the lantern.
Finally, he spoke. ‘St Mary’s thanks you for your service. As do I.’
They sat down.
‘I must tell you, however, there is very little chance we will survive this.’ He smiled faintly. ‘It’s not Mafeking. No one will relieve us. We are completely alone. We dare not ask for support from other incarnations of St Mary’s who will also have their hands full. Or from the army or the government. It is imperative that no one ever knows that things go so badly wrong in the future. St Mary’s would be disestablished overnight. Therefore, we cannot risk outside involvement. There is only us. You are my friends. Some of you have been my friends for many years. I would be wrong to lead you into this without making you aware of our very slim chances of survival.’
Mrs Mack stood up again. ‘When can I draw my weapon?’
*
In the end, only three people elected not to stay. They left that night. Another four volunteered to go with the pods as caretakers.
For me, the next three days were a bit of a blur. Peterson went with Professor Rapson to assist with clearing out Wardrobe, R & D, and all the workrooms along that corridor. I was seconded to the library and archive. The trained staff did all the packing and stacking and I lugged flatbed after flatbed down the long (and rapidly getting longer) corridor to Hawking, where the archive boxes were carefully stowed in their designated pods.
Techies were swarming over everything like orange ants. The IT people were backing up and shutting down, which was a long business. I could see Barclay striding around, barking instructions.
I sat on my flatbed, ostensibly for a glug of water, and studied her. As always, her face gave nothing away. She appeared to be concentrating all her efforts on shutting down our IT systems safely. She moved from group to group, occasionally pointing at a screen or offering a word of advice. She had a clipboard and a serious expression. She never once looked in my direction.
There were lighter moments amongst the gloom. We were standing around the Boss’s data table working out deployments when, with barely a knock, Mrs Mack swept in – a woman with a mission – closely followed by Jenny Fields, who was burdened with a cardboard box and an embarrassed expression.