THE AIR-RAID
I
"There wasn't no 'ome life in England until the Kayser started
a-droppin' bombs in people's back-yards," remarked Bindle oracularly.
"Funny thing," he continued, "'ow everybody seemed to find out 'ow
fond they was of settin' at 'ome because they was afraid o' goin'
out."
Mr. Hearty looked at Mr. Gupperduck and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs.
Bindle. They required time in which to assimilate so profound an
utterance.
Mr. Gupperduck had firmly established himself in the good graces of
Mr. Hearty and the leaders of the Alton Road Chapel. He was a constant
visitor at the Heartys', especially at meal times, and at the chapel
he prayed with great fervour, beating all records as far as endurance
was concerned.
"I don't agree with you," remarked Mr. Gupperduck at length, "I do not
agree with you. The Scriptures say, 'Every man to his family.'"
Mr. Hearty looked gratefully at his guest. It was pleasant to find
Bindle controverted.
"You know, Alf, you never been so much at 'ome," wheezed Mrs. Hearty,
hitting her chest remorselessly. "You never go out on moonlight
nights."
"You trust 'im," said Bindle. "'Earty an' the moon ain't never out
together."
"We are told to take cover," said Mr. Hearty with dignity.
"An' wot about us pore fellers wot 'as to be out in it all?" demanded
Bindle, looking down at his special constable's uniform.
"You should commend yourself to God," said Mr. Gupperduck piously. "He
that putteth his trust in Him shall not be afraid."
"Ain't you afraid then when there's a raid on?" demanded Bindle.
"I have no fear of earthly things," replied Mr. Gupperduck, lifting
his eyes to the ceiling.
"'E's all Gupperduck an' camelflage, ain't 'e, Millikins?" whispered
Bindle to his niece. Then aloud he said: "Well, Mrs. B. ain't like
you! She's afraid like all the rest of us. I don't believe much in
coves wot say they ain't afraid. You ask the boys back from France.
You don't 'ear them a-sayin' they ain't afraid. They knows too much
for that."
"There is One above who watches over us all, Joseph," said Mr. Hearty,
emboldened to unaccustomed temerity by the presence of Mr. Gupperduck.
"Mr. Bindle," said Mr. Gupperduck, "our lives and our happiness are in
God's hands, wherefore should we feel afraid?"
"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, with resignation, "you an' 'Earty beat
me when it comes to pluck. When I'm out with all them guns a-goin',
an' bombs a-droppin' about, I'd sooner be somewhere else, an' I ain't
a-goin' to say different. P'raps it's because I'm an 'eathen."
"The hour of repentance should not be deferred," said Mr. Gupperduck.
"It is not too late even now."
"It's no good," said Bindle decisively. "I should never be able to
feel as brave as wot you are when there's a raid on."
"'Oh ye of little faith!'" murmured Mr. Gupperduck mournfully.
"Think of Daniel in the lions' den," said Mrs. Bindle. "And Jonah in
the--er--interior of the whale," added Mr. Hearty with great delicacy.
"No," remarked Bindle, shaking his head with conviction, "I wasn't
made for lions, or whales. I suppose I'm a bit of a coward."
"I don't feel brave when there's a raid, Uncle Joe," said Millie
Hearty loyally. She had been a silent listener. "And mother isn't
either, are you, mums?" she turned to Mrs. Hearty.
"It's my breath," responded Mrs. Hearty, patting her ample bosom. "It
gets me here."
"That's because you don't go to chapel, Martha," said Bindle. "If you
was to turn up there three times on Sundays you'd be as brave as wot
Mr. Gupperduck is. Ain't that so?" he enquired, turning to Mr.
Gupperduck.
"You're always sneering at the chapel," broke in Mrs. Bindle, without
giving the lodger time to reply. "It doesn't do us any harm, whatever
you may think."
"That's jest where you're wrong, Mrs. B.," remarked Bindle, settling
himself down for a controversy. "I ain't got nothink to say against
the chapel, if they'd only let you set quiet; but it's such an up an'
down sort o' life. When you ain't kneelin' down a-askin' to be saved
from wot you know you deserves, or kept from doin' wot you're nuts on
doin', you're a-standin' up a-singin' 'ymns about all sorts of
uncomfortable things wot you says you 'opes to find in 'eaven."
"You have a jaundiced view of religion, Mr. Bindle," said Mr.
Gupperduck ponderously. "A jaundiced view," he repeated, pleased with
the phrase.
"'Ave I really?" enquired Bindle anxiously. "I 'ope it ain't catchin'.
No," he continued meditatively, "I wasn't meant for chapels. I seem to
be able to think best about 'eaven when I'm settin' smokin' after
supper, with Mrs. B. a-bangin' at the stove to remind me that I ain't
there yet."
"Wot does me," he continued, "is that I never yet see any of your
chapel coves 'appier for all your singin' an' prayin'. Why is it? Look
at you three now! If you was goin' to be plucked and trussed
to-morrow, you couldn't look more fidgety."
Instinctively each of the three looked at the other two. Mr.
Gupperduck shook his head hopelessly.
"You don't understand, Joseph," murmured Mr. Hearty with mournful
resignation.
"I can understand Ruddy Bill gettin' drunk," Bindle continued,
"because 'e do look 'appy when 'e's got a skin-full; but I can't
understand you a-wantin' to pray, 'Earty, I can't really. I only once
see a lot o' religious people 'appy, an' that was when they got drunk
by mistake. Lord, didn't they teach me an' ole 'Uggles things! 'E
blushes like a gal when I mentions it. 'Uggles 'as a nice mind, 'e
'as.
"Well, I must be goin', 'Earty, in case them 'Uns come over to-night.
You ought to be a special, 'Earty, there's some rare fine gals on
Putney 'Ill."
"Do you think there'll be an air-raid to-night?" asked Mr. Gupperduck
with something more than casual interest in his voice.
"May be," said Bindle casually, "may be not. Funny things, air-raids,
they've changed a rare lot o' things," he remarked meditatively. "Once
we used to want the moon to come out, sort o' made us think of gals
and settin' on stiles. Mrs. B. was a rare one for moons and stiles,
wasn't you, Lizzie?"
"Don't be disgusting, Bindle." There was anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice.
"Now," continued Bindle imperturbably, "no cove don't want to go out
an' set on a stile a-'oldin' of a gal's 'and: not 'im. When 'is job's
done, 'e starts orf for 'ome like giddy-o, an' you don't see 'is nose
again till the next mornin'."
Bindle paused to wink at Mr. Hearty.
"If there's any gal now," he continued, "wot wants 'er 'and 'eld on
moonlight nights, she'll 'ave to 'old it 'erself, or wait till peace
comes."
"If you would only believe, Mr. Bindle," said Mr. Gupperduck
earnestly, making a final effort at Bindle's salvation. "'If thou
canst believe, all things are possible.' Ah!"
Mr. Gupperduck started into an upright position with eyes dilated as a
loud report was heard.
"What was that?" he cried.
"That," remarked Bindle drily, as he rose and picked up his peaked
cap, "is the signal for you an' 'Earty to put your trust in Gawd. In
other words," he added, "it's a gun, 'im wot Fulham calls 'The
Barker.'"
Bindle looked from Mr. Hearty, leaden-hued with fright, to Mr.
Gupperduck, whose teeth were chattering, on to Mrs. Bindle, who was
white to the lips.
"Well, I must be orf," he said, adjusting his cap upon his head at a
rakish angle. "If I don't come back, Mrs. B., you'll be a widow, an'
widows are wonderful things. Cheer-o! all."
Bindle turned and left the room, his niece Millie following him out
into the passage.
"Uncle Joe," she said, clutching hold of his coat sleeve, "you will be
careful, won't you?" Then with a little catch in her voice, she added,
"You know you are the only Uncle Joe I've got."
And Bindle went out into the night where the guns thundered and the
shrapnel burst in sinister white stabs in the sky, whilst over all
brooded the Great Queen of the heavens, bathing in her white peace the
red war of pigmies.
II
Two hours later Bindle's ring at the Heartys' bell was answered by
Millie.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" she cried joyfully, "I'm so glad you're back safe.
Hasn't it been dreadful?" Her lower lip quivered a little.
"You ain't been frightened, Millikins, 'ave you?" enquired Bindle
solicitously.
"A soldier's wife isn't afraid, Uncle Joe," she replied bravely.
Millie's sweetheart, Charlie Dixon, was at the front.
"My! ain't we gettin' a woman, Millikins," cried Bindle, putting his
arm affectionately round her shoulders and kissing her cheek loudly.
"Everybody all right?" he enquired.
"Yes, I think so, Uncle Joe, but," she squeezed his arm, "I'm so glad
you're back. I've been thinking of you all the time. Every time there
was a big bang I--I wondered----"
"Well, well!" interrupted Bindle, "we ain't goin' to be down-'earted,
are we? It's over now, you'll 'ear the 'All Clear' in a few minutes."
Bindle walked into the Heartys' parlour, where Mrs. Hearty was seated
on the sofa half asleep.
"'Ullo, Martha!" he cried.
"Ah! Joe," she said, "I'm glad you're back. I'm afraid there's been a
lot of----" Her breath failed her, and she broke off into a wheeze.
Bindle looked about him curiously.
"'Ullo! wot's 'appened to them three little cherubs?" he enquired.
Mrs. Hearty began to shake and wheeze with laughter, and Millie stood
looking at Bindle.
"Wot's 'appened, Millikins?" he enquired. "Done a bunk, 'ave they?"
"They're--they're in the potato-cellar, Uncle Joe," said Millie
without the ghost of a smile. Somehow it seemed to her almost like a
reflection on her own courage that her father and aunt should have
thought only of their personal safety.
Bindle slapped his leg with keen enjoyment. "Well, I'm blowed!" he
cried, "if that ain't rich. Three people wot was talkin' about puttin'
their trust in Gawd a-goin' into that little funk-'ole. Well, I'm
blowed!"
"Don't laugh, Uncle Joe," began Millie, "I--I----" She broke off,
unable to express what was in her mind.
"Don't you worry, Millikins," he replied as he moved towards the door.
"I'd better go and tell 'em that it's all right."
Mr. Hearty's potato-cellar was reached through a trap-door flush with
the floor of the shop.
With the aid of an electric torch, Bindle looked about him. His eyes
fell on a large pair of scales, on which were weights up to 7 lbs.
This gave him an idea. Carefully placing a box beside the trap-door,
he lifted the scales and weights in his arms and, with great caution,
mounted on to the top of the box. Suddenly he let the scales and
weights fall with a tremendous crash, full in the centre of the
trap-door, at the same time giving vent to a shout. Millie came
running in from the parlour.
"Oh! Uncle Joe, what has happened?" she cried. "Are you hurt?"
"It's all right, Millikins, knocked over these 'ere scales I did.
Ain't I clumsy? 'Ush!"
Moans and cries could be distinctly heard from below.
"'Ere, 'elp me gather 'em up, Millikins. I 'ope I 'aven't broken the
scales."
Having replaced the scales and weights on the counter, Bindle
proceeded to pull up the trap-door.
"All clear!" he shouted cheerily.
There was no response, only a moaning from the extreme corner of the
cellar.
"'Ere, come along, 'Earty. Wot d'you two mean by takin' my missis down
into a cellar like that?"
"Is it gone?" quavered a voice that Bindle assumed must be that of Mr.
Gupperduck.
"Is wot gone?" he enquired.
"The bomb," whispered the voice.
"Oh, come up, Gupperduck," said Bindle. "Don't play the giddy goat in
the potato-cellar. Wot about you puttin' your trust in Gawd?"
There was a sound of movement below. A few moments later Mr.
Gupperduck's face appeared within the radius of light. He had lost his
spectacles and his upper set of false teeth. His hair was awry and his
face distorted with fear. He climbed laboriously up the steps leading
to the shop. He was followed by Mr. Hearty, literally yellow with
terror.
"Wot 'ave you done with my missis?" demanded Bindle.
"She--she--she's down there," stuttered Mr. Gupperduck.
"Then you two jolly well go down and fetch 'er up, or I'll kick you
down," cried Bindle angrily. "Nice sort of sports you are, leavin' a
woman alone in an 'ole like that, after takin' er down there."
Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Bindle and then at each other.
Slowly they turned and descended the ladder again. For some minutes
they could be heard moving about below, then Mr. Hearty appeared with
Mrs. Bindle's limp form clasped round the waist, whilst Mr. Gupperduck
pushed from behind.
For one moment a grin flitted across Bindle's features, then, seeing
Mrs. Bindle's pathetic plight, his manner changed.
"'Ere, Millikins, get some water," he cried. "Your Aunt Lizzie's
fainted."
Between them they half-carried, half-dragged Mrs. Bindle into the
parlour, where she was laid upon the sofa, vacated by Mrs. Hearty. Her
hands were chafed, water dabbed upon her forehead, and a piece of
brown paper burned under her nose by Mrs. Hearty.
She had not lost consciousness; but stared about her in a vague,
half-dazed fashion.
Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck, who had retrieved his false teeth,
seemed thoroughly ashamed of themselves. It was Mr. Hearty who
suggested that Mrs. Bindle should spend the night with them, as she
was not in a fit condition to go home.
As he spoke, the "All Clear" signal rang out joyfully upon the
stillness without, two long-drawn-out notes that told of another
twenty-four hours of safety. Mr. Gupperduck straightened himself, Mr.
Hearty seemed to revive, and from Mrs. Bindle's eyes fled the
expression of fear.
"Well, I must be orf," said Bindle. "Look after my missis, 'Earty. You
comin' along, Mr. G.?" he enquired of Mr. Gupperduck, as, followed by
Millie, he left the room.
"It was sweet of you not to laugh at them, Uncle Joe," said Millie, as
they stood at the door waiting for Mr. Gupperduck.
"Nobody didn't ought to mind sayin' they're afraid, Millikins," said
Bindle, looking at the serious face before him; "but I don't like a
cove wot says 'e's brave, an' then turns out to 'ave about as much
'eart as a shillin' rabbit. Come along, Mr. G. Good night, Millikins,
my dear. Are we down-'earted? No!" and Bindle went out into the night,
followed by a meek and chastened Mr. Gupperduck.