The War in the Air - Day 113 of 115
He paused.
“Yes,” said the little boy breathlessly. “Go on. What then?”
“A sound of carts and ’orses there was, and a sound of cabs and omnibuses, and then a lot of whistling, shrill whistles, whistles that froze ’is marrer. And directly the whistles began things begun to show, people in the streets ’urrying, people in the ’ouses and shops busying themselves, moty cars in the streets, a sort of moonlight in all the lamps and winders. People, I say, Teddy, but they wasn’t people. They was the ghosts of them that was overtook, the ghosts of them that used to crowd those streets. And they went past ’im and through ’im and never ’eeded ’im, went by like fogs and vapours, Teddy. And sometimes they was cheerful and sometimes they was ’orrible, ’orrible beyond words. And once ’e come to a place called Piccadilly, Teddy, and there was lights blazing like daylight and ladies and gentlemen in splendid clo’es crowding the pavement, and taxicabs follering along the road. And as ’e looked, they all went evil–evil in the face, Teddy. And it seemed to ’im suddenly they saw ’im, and the women began to look at ’im and say things to ’im–’orrible– wicked things. One come very near ’im, Teddy, right up to ’im, and looked into ’is face–close. And she ’adn’t got a face to look with, only a painted skull, and then ’e see; they was all painted skulls. And one after another they crowded on ’im saying ’orrible things, and catchin’ at ’im and threatenin’ and coaxing ’im, so that ’is ’eart near left ’is body for fear.”
“Yes,” gasped Teddy in an unendurable pause.
“Then it was he remembered the words of Scripture and saved himself alive. ‘The Lord is my ’Elper, ’e says, ‘therefore I will fear nothing,’ and straightaway there came a cock-crowing and the street was empty from end to end. And after that the Lord was good to ’im and guided ’im ’ome.”
Teddy stared and caught at another question. “But who was the people,” he asked, “who lived in all these ’ouses? What was they?”
“Gent’men in business, people with money–leastways we thought it was money till everything smashed up, and then seemingly it was jes’ paper–all sorts. Why, there was ’undreds of thousands of them. There was millions. I’ve seen that ’I Street there regular so’s you couldn’t walk along the pavements, shoppin’ time, with women and people shoppin’.”
“But where’d they get their food and things?”
“Bort ’em in shops like I used to ’ave. I’ll show you the place, Teddy, if we go back. People nowadays ’aven’t no idee of a shop–no idee. Plate-glass winders–it’s all Greek to them. Why, I’ve ’ad as much as a ton and a ’arf of petaties to ’andle all at one time. You’d open your eyes till they dropped out to see jes’ what I used to ’ave in my shop. Baskets of pears ’eaped up, marrers, apples and pears, d’licious great nuts.” His voice became luscious–“Benanas, oranges.”
“What’s benanas?” asked the boy, “and oranges?”
“Fruits they was. Sweet, juicy, d’licious fruits. Foreign fruits. They brought ’em from Spain and N’ York and places. In ships and things. They brought ’em to me from all over the world, and I sold ’em in my shop. I sold ’em, Teddy! me what goes about now with you, dressed up in old sacks and looking for lost ’ens. People used to come into my shop, great beautiful ladies like you’d ’ardly dream of now, dressed up to the nines, and say, ‘Well, Mr. Smallways, what you got ’smorning?’ and I’d say, ‘Well, I got some very nice C’nadian apples, ’or p’raps I got custed marrers. See? And they’d buy ’em. Right off they’d say, ‘Send me some up.’ Lord! what a life that was. The business of it, the bussel, the smart things you saw, moty cars going by, kerridges, people, organ-grinders, German bands. Always something going past–always. If it wasn’t for those empty ’ouses, I’d think it all a dream.”
“But what killed all the people, uncle?” asked Teddy.
“It was a smash-up,” said old Tom. “Everything was going right until they started that War. Everything was going like clock-work. Everybody was busy and everybody was ’appy and everybody got a good square meal every day.”
He met incredulous eyes. “Everybody,” he said firmly. “If you couldn’t get it anywhere else, you could get it in the workhuss, a nice ’ot bowl of soup called skilly, and bread better’n any one knows ’ow to make now, reg’lar white bread, gov’ment bread.”
Teddy marvelled, but said nothing. It made him feel deep longings that he found it wisest to fight down.
For a time the old man resigned himself to the pleasures of gustatory reminiscence. His lips moved. “Pickled Sammin!” he whispered, “an’ vinegar…. Dutch cheese, beer! A pipe of terbakker.”
“But ’ow did the people get killed?” asked Teddy presently.
“There was the War. The War was the beginning of it. The War banged and flummocked about, but it didn’t really kill many people. But it upset things. They came and set fire to London and burnt and sank all the ships there used to be in the Thames– we could see the smoke and steam for weeks–and they threw a bomb into the Crystal Palace and made a bust-up, and broke down the rail lines and things like that. But as for killin’ people, it was just accidental if they did. They killed each other more. There was a great fight all hereabout one day, Teddy–up in the air. Great things bigger than fifty ’ouses, bigger than the Crystal Palace–bigger, bigger than anything, flying about up in the air and whacking at each other and dead men fallin’ off ’em. T’riffic! But, it wasn’t so much the people they killed as the business they stopped. There wasn’t any business doin’, Teddy, there wasn’t any money about, and nothin’ to buy if you ’ad it.”
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