Connie Willis - Blackout

“If the war’s over, then where is everyone?” asked Paige.

“At the next stop,” Reardon said imperturbably.

Reardon was right. When the doors opened, a veritable flood of people swept into their car. They were waving flags and rattling noisemakers, and two elderly gentlemen were singing “God Save the King” at the top of their lungs.

“Now do you believe the war’s over?” she and Reardon asked Paige, and she nodded excitedly.

More people pushed on. A little boy holding tightly to his mother’s hand asked, “Are we going to the shelter?”

“No,” his mother said, and then, as if she had just realized it, “We’re never going to the shelter again.”

People were still squeezing on. Many were in uniform, and some had red, white, and blue crepe paper draped around their necks, including two middle-aged men in Home Guard uniforms, brandishing a copy of the Evening News with the headline “IT IS OVER” and two bottles of champagne.

The train guard squeezed and pushed his way through the crush to them. “No alcoholic beverages allowed in the tube,” he said sternly.

“What do you mean, mate?” one of the men said. “’Aven’t you heard? The war’s over!”

“’Ere!” the other one said, handing his bottle to the guard. “Drink to the King’s ’ealth! And the Queen’s!” He snatched his friend’s bottle and shoved it into the guard’s other hand. He draped a chummy arm over the guard’s shoulders. “Why don’t you come to the palace with us and toast ’em to their face?”

“That’s where we should go,” Reardon said. “To Buckingham Palace.”

“Oh, yes,” Paige said excitedly. “Do you think we might actually be able to see Their Majesties, Douglas?”

Not till tomorrow, she thought, when the royal family will come out on the balcony no fewer than eight times and wave to the crowd.

“Do you think the Princesses will be with them?” Paige asked.

Not only will they be with them, she thought, but at one point they’ll be out in the crowd, mingling incognito with people and shouting gaily, “We want the King!” but she couldn’t say that. “I should imagine,” she said, looking at the doors, where people were still squeezing on. If it took this long to load the train at every stop, it would take all night to get there.

I’ve already missed the beginning, she thought, the RAF planes doing victory rolls over London and the lights being turned on. And if there was going to be this much delay on the trains going back, she’d have to leave early to reach the drop on time, and she’d miss the end as well.

The train finally pulled out. Paige was still chattering on about the Princesses. “I’ve always wanted to see them. Do you think they’ll be wearing their uniforms?”

“It may not matter what they’re wearing,” Reardon said as the train stopped again and more people squeezed on. “We may be trapped in here forever. Which may not be all that bad. Douglas, look at that lieutenant who just got on! Isn’t he handsome?”

“Where?” Paige said, standing on tiptoe to see.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Reardon demanded. “You’ve already bagged one. Don’t be greedy.”

“I was only looking,” Paige said.

“You’re not allowed to look. You’re engaged,” Reardon said. “Will he be here tonight?”

“No, he rang up night before last and said he wouldn’t be back for a week at the least,” Paige said.

“But that was before,” Reardon said. “Now that the war’s over-oh, Lord, there are more people boarding! We’ll pop!”

“We must try to get off at the next stop,” Paige said. “I can’t breathe.”

They nodded and when the train stopped again and a large man wearing a tin hat and an ARP armband began pushing toward the doors, they followed in his wake, squeezing between sailors and Wrens and navvies and teenaged girls.

“I can’t see what station it is,” Reardon said as the train slowed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Paige said. “Only get off. I’m being squished. I feel like a pilchard in a tin.”

Reardon nodded and bent down to look out the window. “Oh, good, it’s Charing Cross,” she said. “It looks like we’re going to Trafalgar Square after all, Douglas.”

The doors opened. “Follow me, girls!” Reardon shouted gaily. “Mind the gap!”

She scrambled off, and Paige did, too, calling, “Coming, Douglas?”

“Yes,” she said, attempting to squeeze past the Home Guard, who for some reason had launched into “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” “Sorry, this is my stop. I must get off here,” she said, but they didn’t budge.

“Douglas! Hurry!” Reardon and Paige were shouting from the platform. “The train’s going to leave.”

“Please,” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over their singing. “I must get through.”

The door began to close.

I am ashamed to say I told him it was the fault of the Germans.

BINNIE AND THE REST OF THE EVACUEES GREETED THE news that they were quarantined with an outburst of wild behavior that made Eileen want to flee for the drop before the children’s supper was half over.

“I was corn-teened for a month,” Alice announced. “Rose n’me couldn’t play outside or nothin’.”

“We ain’t gonna be quarantined for a month, are we, Eileen?” Binnie asked.

“No, of course not.” Measles only lasted a few days, didn’t they? That’s why they called them the three-day measles. Alice must be mistaken.

When Dr. Stuart came back that night, Eileen asked him how long the quarantine was likely to last. “It depends on how many of the children catch them,” he said. “If Alf were to be the only case, which is unlikely, it will end a fortnight after his rash disappears, so three or four weeks.”

“Three or four weeks? But they only last three days.”

“You’re thinking of German measles. These are red measles, which last a week or longer after the rash first appears.”

“And how long does it take for the rash to appear?”

“From three days to a week, and in some cases I’ve seen the rash last up to eight days.”

And knowing Alf, he would be one of those cases. A week plus eight days plus a fortnight. They would be quarantined for a month. If no one else caught them. So she obviously couldn’t wait until the quarantine was over. She had to go now. She wondered what the penalty for breaking quarantine was in 1940. During the Pandemic it would have got one shot, but surely that wouldn’t be the situation with a childhood disease. Just in case, though, she waited till everyone was asleep and Samuels was snoring heavily in the porter’s chair, which he’d dragged over in front of the front door, then tiptoed down the back stairs to the kitchen.

The door was locked. So were the French doors in the morning room, the windows in the library and dining room, and the side door leading off the billiards room.

“And the keys are here in my pocket,” Samuels said when she confronted him the next morning, “and that’s where they’re going to stay. That Hodbin brat could get out of one of Houdini’s traps, he could. I’m not letting him spread measles all over the neighborhood. If it is measles. I say he’s shamming so he can keep home from school.”

Eileen was inclined to agree with him. Alf not only drank all the broth she carried up for his breakfast, but asked for more, and when she came up for the tray, Una said he was bouncing on his cot and how did she get him to stop? And when the vicar came, he told her (shouting through the kitchen door since Samuels refused to let him in) that no one else who attended the village school in Backbury had come down with them.

When Eileen took up the lunch tray, she caught Alf leaning out the ballroom door, flicking a wet facecloth at Jimmy and Reg. “What are you doing out here?” she demanded.

“I’m washin’ my face,” he said innocently.

“Get back in the nursery,” she ordered Reg and Jimmy. “Alf, get back into bed.” She pushed him into the ballroom. “Una, you can’t allow Alf to-where’s Una?”

“I dunno. Why ain’t you takin’ care of me?”

“Because you’re contagious.” And irritating beyond belief. “Climb into bed.”

“When can Binnie come see me?”

“She can’t. Now lie down,” she said and went in search of Una. She wasn’t in the bathroom or the nursery, where Binnie was leading the children in a noisy game of tag, and when Eileen glanced back in the ballroom, Alf was at the window, trying to open it, surrounded by the sheets he’d knotted together.

“Dr. Stuart said I needed fresh air,” he said innocently.

Eileen confiscated the sheets, located Una in her bedroom changing out of her sopping wet dress-Alf had spilt the washbasin on her-and sent her back downstairs to Alf.

“Must I?” Una begged her. “Can’t you nurse him? I’ll give you my new film magazine.”

I know just how you feel, Eileen thought. “I can’t. I haven’t had measles.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Una wailed.

Eileen took the sheets back down to the linen closet, briefly considering hanging them out her bedroom window and escaping, but her room was four stories from the ground, and Dr. Stuart would be here in another hour. After one look at Alf-and poor Una-he would almost certainly call off the quarantine, and she could walk out the front door to the drop instead of risking life and limb.

But Dr. Stuart telephoned to say he was delayed-one of the Pritchards’ evacuees had fallen out of a tree and broken his leg-and by the time he arrived at three that afternoon, there was no longer any doubt of its being measles. Alf was covered from head to toe with un-fakeable red pinpoint dots, Tony and Rose were both complaining of sore throats, and before the doctor had even finished taking their temps, Jimmy had announced, “I’m going to be sick,” and was.

Eileen spent the rest of the afternoon setting up additional cots and cursing herself for not having climbed out the window while she had the chance. Tony’s brother Ralph and Rose’s sister Alice fell ill during the night, and when Dr. Stuart examined Edwina, she had white patches inside her mouth, even though she claimed she didn’t feel ill. “This would never have happened if we’d gone on the boat,” she said, annoyed.

Eileen wasn’t listening. She was thinking about the drop. She couldn’t go now, even if she could get past Samuels. She couldn’t leave the children with only Una to care for them. Dr. Stuart had promised to bring in a nurse, but the nurse wouldn’t be available till the weekend, and by then the lab would have already sent a retrieval team to find out why she hadn’t returned.

If they hadn’t already. “Is there a notice on the door saying we’re quarantined?” she asked Samuels.

“Indeed there is, and one on the main gate.”

Which means when they do come through, they’ll see what’s happened, she thought, and I needn’t worry about getting word to them. That was a blessing because she hadn’t a moment to spare over the next few days, between carrying trays, washing sheets, and keeping the evacuees who hadn’t yet caught the measles occupied.

Dr. Stuart was determined to keep her out of the sickroom, even though Una was clearly overwhelmed, but when Reg and Letitia fell ill, he said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to help out till the nurse arrives and the children break out. As soon as their rashes appear, they’ll improve. Try to avoid close contact with them as much as you can.” And it was a good thing she wasn’t really at risk because the children needed nonstop nursing. They all had fevers and nausea, and their eyes were red and sore. Eileen spent half her time wringing out cold compresses, changing sheets, and emptying basins, and the other half trying vainly to keep Alf in bed.