Her father would be working with Isaac Eldon!
Katrin Hawley watched the man on the opposite side of the large desk but her mind refused to leave the words he had just spoken.
Isaac Eldon would be working with her father!
It had to be a mistake, Arthur Whitman had not intended to say Isaac Eldon, it had been a slip of the tongue.
‘I see you are surprised.’ Whitman smiled, catching the frown settling on his secretary’s face. ‘I suppose quite a few will feel the same way once the news breaks on the factory floor. Isaac and Jacob,’ he laughed, ‘aptly named, wouldn’t you say Katrin, seeing they will work so close together.’
‘
I don’t understand
.’ Katrin seemed to talk to herself. ‘Eldon, he . . . he was arrested, he is in prison.’
‘Arrested! In prison! Good Lord, Katrin, whatever gave you that idea?’
‘The man who came to the office, the one who had Eldon called from the factory, he was from the Ministry . . ’
‘That’s right.’
Her mind oblivious of the interruption Katrin continued in the same dazed half murmur, ‘ . . . it had to be because of those maps, it had to be.’
Arthur Whitman frowned. ‘Maps,’ he repeated sharply, ‘what maps would they be?’
The sudden cut of his voice or instinct? Whichever, it had Katrin snap alert. She had made an error speaking of those maps.
‘Sorry.’ She glanced at the pad on her knee then back to the man. ‘What was that, Mr Whitman? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that last word.’
‘Maps!’ Enunciation precise, Arthur Whitman replied. ‘You said it . . . Eldon’s arrest . . . had to be because of some maps.’
‘Did I say that? I must have got my tongue in a twist, what I meant to say was p’raps, perhaps it was the rumours which circulated after Mr Eldon’s leaving so abruptly had me thinking he had been arrested, rumours hinting at his passing information about the work done here at Prodor.’
‘That’s the last thing Isaac Eldon would do! Whoever spread those rumours best pray God they don’t make the mistake of saying them in front of me; that man came from the Ministry of Defence with a special project they wanted Isaac to work on. There is to be a new system of heavy shell manufacture and the project is to be carried out in conjunction with Titan Engineering of Darlaston. Isaac and your father have devised a method of shell forging that requires no internal machining, a method they have termed ‘finished cavity forgings’. This will prove invaluable in terms of production of heavy artillery, increasing the number of twenty-five pound shells for the Howitzer Gun and the three point seven Anti Aircraft Guns, it might even double the number made at present as well as significantly adding to the numbers of all the rest of what is made here at Prodor once the new plant is installed.’
Her father and Isaac Eldon had devised a new method of shell production! Back at her own desk, Katrin contemplated what she had heard. Eldon had not as she thought – as she had hoped – been arrested . . . but those maps? She had seen them with her own eyes, detailed drawings of Wednesbury showing areas of industry, maps carried by the grandson of Isaac Eldon! The authorities could have found no evidence of those maps, how otherwise could Eldon have avoided a charge of treason? A charge which, if proved, could have him if not hanged then at least imprisoned for a great many years. But he was not imprisoned. Katrin’s fingers tightened over her pencil. Isaac Eldon was free as he had ever been.
They would not let her into that school.
Standing at the window of the home she shared with her father, Miriam Carson stared at the street through a misty sheen of rain. She had gone to Church Street, she had almost reached the school when a man had stepped in front of her.
‘
Sorry
,’ he had said, barring her way when she had made to walk around him. ‘
Sorry, Mrs Carson, but I can’t allow you to go any further
.’
He knew her name, knew why she was here . . . Reuben! Fear which had dragged at her the whole day became ice blocking every vein. This man must have come to the school for the same reason she had, to take her son!
‘
Reuben!
’
She had cried the name and pushed at the tall dark-suited figure, but it did not move. Square in her path he had said quietly.
‘
Please Mrs Carson, I do understand your being afraid but to let you into that building could be to put you and your son in danger
.’
‘
I want my son!
’ She had tried to dart past, to run to the squat grey stone building that was Saint Bartholomew’s School for Boys, but the man caught at her before she had taken a step. Holding her firmly by the arms he had spoken quietly as before.
‘
Mrs Carson . .
.’
Somehow the words had breached the fear pounding like waves in her head.
‘
Mrs Carson, screaming can only draw attention, which could affect what both of us know is happening in that building
.’
‘
Reuben!
’
It was the sob of a mother terrified for the safety of her child.
‘
He will be unharmed. You might see only myself in the street, but I assure you there are others and we all have the same goal, to see this business over and your boy home. We do realise the strain you are under, but we must insist on your returning home; you can do so with the assistance of a police constable should you so wish
.’
Drawing together the rough cotton blackout curtain, Miriam turned from the window.
We
. It was the same word Philip Conroy had used, that all-effacing
we
; it had also been said with that same quiet authority Conroy displayed, a firmness that conveyed the certainty he would brook no refusal, and the offer of police assistance had been no offer but a veiled proposition. She had been left with no alternative, but every step back to Cross Street had been a knife in her heart.
‘This is the BBC Home Service. The news at nine o’clock with Alvar Liddel reading it. There has been more heavy fighting . . .’
Reuben had turned up the volume on the small wireless set she was buying on hire purchase. ‘
A tanner a week, waste o’ money be what it is, you gets the news just the same wi’ the newspaper!
’ Her father had protested and sixpence a week could, she had admitted, be spent buying extra vegetables from the allotment when gardeners had some to spare, it could be saved toward a bag of coal. She would have foregone the wireless had not her father smiled and said to go ahead. And she was glad she had, for by listening each evening to the news she felt somehow closer to those far from home, men risking their lives for people like herself, closer to women who as she had done, sat in dread that the next report would involve the area in which their own loved ones fought.
The broadcast over, she switched off the wireless, told Reuben it was time for bed and reached for the socks her son wore through quicker than she could darn.
‘Germany continued its advantage.’ It might not have been reported quite so bluntly but that had been the thread underlying the latest bulletin. So many men, so many lives, so many Toms with life snatched away before it could be lived, death finding them in places so far from home, each man killed by another whose face he never saw.
But enemies were found not only on foreign ground. Letting the mending fall to her lap, Miriam stared into the fire.
‘
We knew information was being passed
,’ Philip Conroy had explained, ‘
but we did not know exactly how or from where. It was in order to obtain proof that we asked Reuben take a further step
.’
That could so easily have proved a step too far.
‘’Night, mum.’
Lifting her face for her son’s goodnight kiss, she vowed silently, never again. Never again would she allow him to do anything so dangerous, no matter it had gone without a hitch.
‘
It was okay, mum
,’ Reuben had laughed at her anxiety. ‘
I was never in a moment’s danger, it was all a bit of a let-down; Mr Conroy and another man came into the room and Mr Browne just shrugged his shoulders, said he was ready to go and that was it . . . finished!
’
Watching him hug his grandfather goodnight, Miriam felt a pull at her heart. It had been like listening to Tom, he had always downplayed the worrying side of things, he would never have a mountain made out of a molehill; father and son, they were so alike. Tears sudden and hot rose to her throat, she should thank God for the safekeeping of her son but she could only cry her reproach at His taking her husband.
Reuben hesitated at a rap to the door. The front door! It would be no neighbour; no one from Cross Street or those streets in close proximity to it ever used the front door, they invariably came to the rear of the house, giving the door a tap and calling ‘it be me . . . be you in Miriam, wench?’
Isaac laid aside the newspaper and went to open the door.
‘I apologise for calling so late . . .’
Philip Conroy! Miriam’s blood froze. No! She threw aside the sock she was mending. No more . . . ! He would never use her son again!
Ushered into the tiny living room, Philip Conroy smiled at the lad, his hand already extended in greeting. The boy’s bravery deserved recognition, but how many brave souls received that reward?
‘I felt I had to call . . . I was hoping to speak to Reuben, to offer my congratulations . . .’
‘It was nothing!’
‘Nevertheless, I wanted to give my personal thanks, catching up with that fellow would have taken a lot longer had it not been for you; I also wished to apologise personally to you Mrs Carson, I’m sorry we could not allow you to go into the school, I hope you understand the problem that could have caused.’ She couldn’t know the problem was a likely bullet in the chest and another in her son’s head!
‘As I said to you afore, Mr Conroy, I don’t ’ave the learnin’ o’ some so I asks your patience wi’ my failin’ to fathom the involvin’ of a lad.’
‘Things had to appear normal, Mr Eldon.’ Philip Conroy answered Isaac. ‘So very much depended upon that. Believe me, we thought long and hard before making a decision.’
‘That decision bein’ to use my grandson!’ Isaac’s pent-up emotions ground the exclamation.
‘I didn’t mind, granddad, I wanted to help. I had to do what was best, you see that, don’t you?’
‘Ar I sees that, I be proud o’ you, lad.’
Miriam’s own pride was overshadowed by question. Had Reuben realised the potential danger? Could a boy of fourteen reason fully what it was he was being asked to do?
Had she?
Miriam’s senses flared. Had she entirely comprehended what she had agreed to, the situation she had allowed her son to be placed in?
She looked at the man opposite: well-kept hands, neat dark suit and immaculate white shirt a vivid contrast to her father’s well worn trousers and once blue shirt faded to grey as a result of boiling to remove the grease of factory work. So many differences, but beneath them both men were the same, both did what was necessary in fighting this war; and so did she in her way. Like Tom, she was willing to give her all, but that did not grant her the right to gamble with the safety of their son, to consent to his exposure to such risk. If she had lost him!
Miriam fought the tide of fear that still accompanied that thought. Hardly able to disguise it even now, barely able to hold the tears pressing against the dam of her reserve she glanced at the clock, trying to smile as she asked Reuben be excused, adding as a salve to teenage feelings that so many nights disturbed by air raids compelled people to take advantage of sleep while they could.
Once more the father shone in the son. Miriam’s heart expanded with pride as Reuben thanked Conroy for his visit, replying quietly to the man’s repeated thanks that it was no more than his father would have wished. Then shaking hands and wishing Conroy goodnight, he had turned to her and in that moment she had seen a cloud cross his face, the bright glint of tears before they disappeared beneath a smile that hid a deep unhappiness.
‘I didn’t get it, mum,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t get to be lieutenant . . . I’m glad dad didn’t have to know.’
21
Isaac Eldon had not been arrested!
Bitterness a gall in her throat, Katrin stared from the window of the train carrying her to Birmingham.
Why had he not been arrested? Why not charged? Those maps she had helped retrieve from the ground might have been crudely drawn but she had seen what they depicted: factories, chemical works, railway depots, sensitive material compiled, the boy had said, with the aid of Isaac Eldon. Yet nothing had happened to that man, no action had been taken against him even though she had reported what she had seen. It could only be that the boy had told him of bumping against a woman and repeated the short conversation which had followed. That would have alerted Eldon. The man might be no more than a factory hand, he might have only a basic education, but that did not make him a fool. He must have realised the possibility of a report being made to the authorities, of some investigation being instigated and so had destroyed the evidence, had probably burned those papers while impressing on his grandson the need for secrecy.