In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

“Look Jeremy, I know you feel guilty about what happened, but it was an accident. I know you didn’t intend to kill us both. And we both survived. Let’s be glad for that. And as for my own job, I really am . . .” He broke off as the aircraft drone became a roar that drowned out his words.

“They’re flying really low,” Jeremy shouted. “What’s the betting they are aiming for Biggin Hill Aerodrome? The Spitfires will have been given the order to scramble. God, I wish I was one of them.”

The night wasn’t completely dark, and Ben could make out the shapes of planes passing over, wave after wave of them. Then suddenly there were flashes and bangs. The sky lit up. The Spitfires had met the foe. There was a large explosion, and a plane went down in a spiral of fire.

“One of ours,” Jeremy shouted over the roar of the planes. “Poor bugger.”

The planes had passed. The noise subsided. “I’ll go and get the old banger,” Jeremy said.

“It really isn’t necessary,” Reverend Cresswell said. “We’re quite capable of walking, Jeremy. We mustn’t waste petrol.”

“Rubbish.” Jeremy laughed. “You’re just an excuse, you know. I’ve been dying to drive a car again. It’s been so long. I hope I haven’t forgotten.”

But as he headed toward the rear of the house, his mother called after him, “Jeremy, where are you going? You haven’t said good-bye to the Musgroves.” She waved to the young couple who were pulling away in a sleek and sporty new Lagonda. They seemed to have no problem with petrol rationing, Ben thought, while Jeremy answered, “Going to get the car to drive Ben and his father home.”

Jeremy’s mother grabbed his arm. “Don’t be silly. You’re not up to driving yet. You’ve already overdone it by staying up so late this evening. Don’t forget you’re just out of hospital. You nearly died. Daddy can drive Ben home, can’t you, William?”

“Can’t I what?” Sir William asked jovially. He was clearly enjoying having played host at a successful party.

“Drive the Cresswells home. I don’t think Jeremy should be driving around at night yet. He’s only been out of hospital for a few days and is supposed to be resting.”

“Oh, but Mother . . .” Jeremy began, but his father held up a hand.

“Your mother is right, old boy. If you want to get back to flying, you need to do everything within your power to regain your old strength. You’ve been up later than was probably wise. We don’t want a relapse, do we?”

“Really, Father, you make me sound like a bloody invalid,” Jeremy said.

“Do what your mother says,” Sir William said firmly, and Jeremy turned away in disgust.

“We really are quite capable of walking, Sir William,” Ben said. “There is no need to drive us.”

“Do you want a lift home?” Colonel Pritchard of the West Kents asked. They hadn’t noticed that he was still there. “I’m afraid I can’t offer a Rolls, but I can fit the two of you into the back of my humble Humber staff car.”

“That would be splendid,” Reverend Cresswell said, beaming. “We accept with gratitude, don’t we, Ben?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ben said. “We’ll go driving together soon, Jeremy. I don’t doubt for a moment.” He smiled at his friend but was met by a surly frown. Jeremy hated not to get his own way, Ben realised. He always had as a child and apparently still did.

They clambered into the backseat of the Humber and waved as they drove away. Cool night air blew into their faces through the open driver’s side window. As they reached the bottom of the drive and headed toward the village, they were aware of another smell. Acrid, burning.

Through the trees they could see an eerie glow. Flames shot into the night.

“It’s Farleigh,” Ben shouted. “They’ve dropped a bomb on Farleigh.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


At Farleigh


The colonel put his foot down, and they shot forward toward the glow. As they reached the gates of Farleigh, they could see that Ben had not been wrong. Flames were rising above the trees and shooting out of the top of the west tower. It seemed to take forever to reach the house. Ben’s heart was thudding, even though he knew that Pamela and her family could only just have arrived home minutes before. They wouldn’t have been upstairs in their bedrooms. But a worrying thought was creeping into his head—that it might not be a complete coincidence that a man fell into Farleigh’s field and right afterward the house itself was bombed. He hadn’t considered before that the fallen man could possibly have anything to do with family members.

When the car finally emerged to the forecourt, they saw the house was already a hive of activity. Uniformed men were carrying sand buckets. Others were trying to hook up a hose to a pump by the lake. Ben jumped out even as the car came to a stop. As he moved toward the house, he was met by a terrified Lady Westerham, standing on the steps with the dogs barking wildly beside her.

“Charlie’s up in the nursery,” she shouted to Ben, grabbing at his arm. “Livvy and Pamma have gone up to fetch him. And where’s Phoebe? I don’t see her anywhere. Surely she can’t still be asleep. And I don’t know where my husband has gone. Be quiet, for goodness’ sake,” this latter addressed to the dogs. “Oh, Ben. Isn’t it awful? Why us? Why our beautiful home?”

“Don’t worry. Those army chaps will soon have everything under control,” Ben said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. He covered her hand with his own, something he’d never have dared to do at any other time.

“I must go and find Phoebe,” she said, but Ben put a calming hand on her shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll go and find Phoebe for you. Don’t worry, the flames are nowhere near the main floors yet.” And he ran up the steps and into the house. The foyer was in half darkness, and he was not familiar with the way the house had been divided by the army’s occupation. Men in uniform rushed past him.

“Out of the way, sir,” one of them said. “You’d best get out, just in case.”

“There’s a baby in the nursery on the top floor, and a little girl missing,” Ben shouted and pushed on past. He tried to force his stiff knee to move faster as he went up the first flight of stairs. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he had sounded to Lady Westerham. How could they put it out? How could any hose reach up to the roof? He swallowed back the dread he was feeling. He reached the first landing. Still no sign of Phoebe. She must be sleeping, and he had no idea where her bedroom was—where any bedrooms were, now that the house had been divided up. He presumed that this first floor would be where the family slept, and he opened a door tentatively. Yes. Definitely a bedroom. The hallway seemed unscathed, but he ran down it anyway, hammering on doors and yelling “Fire, fire! Get out.”

A door at the end opened and Phoebe stood there in a white nightdress. “Golly, Ben,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“I think the house got bombed,” he said. “The upper floors seem to be on fire. They’re putting it out, but you should go straight down to your mother outside.”

“But what about Gumbie?” she demanded, her eyes wide with fear.

Ben thought she was referring to a favourite toy.