I tried to pull myself together. There would be extensive loss of life. There wasn’t anything I could do. There wasn’t anything I should do. Well, sod that for a game of soldiers. Maybe I wasn’t very important in the scheme of things, but there’s always something you can do.
Pulling my cape up over my head, I hitched up my skirt and crawled down the corridor, keeping low to avoid the smoke. If I could get to the door … A hand bell hung beside every door precisely for this purpose. I knew I’d arrived at the door when I banged my head on it. I took a deep, difficult breath and groped my way up the door frame. Got it!
I opened the door carefully, burning my hand again on the hot handle, ignored the increasing roar behind me, and slipped through.
Rubbing my eyes, no one was in sight. It was midday and there wasn’t a soul anywhere. I took as deep a breath as I could manage, sucked in a great lungful of wonderful, cold, wet air, coughed a little, spat a lot, and croaked ‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’ Bent nearly double and bracing one hand on my knee, I rang the hand bell as loudly as I could.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then, around me, doors crashed open and people ran in all directions. Men rushed to hoses, stirrup-pumps, and buckets. Huge red-orange flames began to engulf the old buildings faster than anyone would have believed possible; and the rain, which might just for once have done some good, stopped and the sun came out, bathing the whole tragedy in warm October sunshine.
It was chaos. People ran past me in all directions. Whistles sounded, shouts rang out and over all the noise, a hand-cranked siren hindered more than it helped.
I didn’t know what to do. Men ran with buckets. No one thought to form a chain. Water slopped everywhere. People slipped in the mud and fell and those behind tripped over them. I saw three orderlies trying to pull out a fire wagon, but there weren’t enough of them to shift it through the mud. They shouted for help but no one heard. People flew out of doors into the courtyard but once there had no idea where to go. Or if they did, they’d forgotten in their panic.
I saw terrified faces at the windows; hands beating at the glass panes. Some windows opened. Men hung out, calling for help. Some tried to lower themselves and lost their grip, falling heavily to the ground. Some jumped and didn’t get up. And then, above it all, the high note of a bugle cut through the racket. Heads turned. A young major, I think from the Glosters, raised his voice.
‘To the main gates. Get the wounded to the main gates. Get away from the buildings. The walls are coming down. Go to the main gates.’
A number of NCOs emerged and physically pushed people in the right direction. I saw a blind man, barefoot in the mud, wearing only pyjamas. His face was badly burned and his dressing had come away and trailed on his shoulder. He staggered around, arms outstretched, shouting for help. Never mind the big picture. I was a little person. Help the other little people.
I stepped forward and took his hand, saying quietly, ‘Now then, soldier, you just come with me.’ I put his hand on my shoulder and we fought our way along. At least, now most people were going in the same direction. I found another young lad, on his knees, trying to get up. I reached out a hand. ‘Come on, lad, up you get. Can you walk?’
‘A little,’ he replied, teeth chattering. ‘Not very fast.’
So that was three of us and we found another one on the way, bent double and coughing up a lung. We carefully picked our way towards the main drive and a mud-covered ambulance drew up. One of Sussman’s mates jumped down. ‘Get them in the back, miss. Quick as you can.’
We yanked open the doors and willing hands pulled them in. ‘You too, miss,’ he shouted.
‘No,’ I yelled back. ‘Get this lot to the main gates. I’ll go back for any stragglers.’
‘You don’t want to do that, miss. That whole section’s going to come down.’
‘I must,’ I said, desperately. Our pod was there. I had to get back. ‘Go! Get these men to safety and come back for more.’ I turned and ran back before he could argue.
It was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. The courtyard was full of smoke, from which ghostly figures appeared and disappeared like ghosts. I could see orange and red flickers as the flames rose higher. The shouting seemed more purposeful now. Two columns of men filed out towards the gates. Many were being carried in makeshift stretchers or slung over shoulders. The initial panic was over. People were helping each other.
The young major was still directing the evacuation. I ran to him and said, ‘Sir, there’s at least one ambulance on its way here. They can take the most seriously wounded if we can get them all together.’