The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(27)

‘Good morning, sir,’ said a corporal, after giving him a crisp salute; something Giles still hadn’t got used to. ‘The adjutant has requested that you report to his office as soon as you arrive.’

‘I’d be happy to do so, corporal,’ said Giles, returning his salute, ‘if I knew where Major Radcliffe’s office was.’

‘Far side of the square, sir, green door. You can’t miss it.’

Giles marched across the square, returning several more salutes before he reached the adjutant’s office.

Major Radcliffe looked up from behind his desk as Giles entered the room.

‘Ah, Barrington, old chap. Good to see you again,’ he said. ‘We weren’t certain if you’d make it in time.’

‘In time for what, sir?’ asked Giles.

‘The regiment’s been posted abroad, and the colonel felt you should be given the opportunity of joining us, or staying behind and waiting for the next shindig.’

‘Where are we going, sir?’

‘Haven’t a clue, old chap; way above my rank. But I can tell you one thing for certain, it will be a damn sight closer to the Germans than Bristol.’





HARRY CLIFTON





1941





13

HARRY WOULD NEVER FORGET the day Lloyd was released from Lavenham and, although he wasn’t disappointed to see him go, he was surprised by Max’s parting words.

‘Would you do me a favour, Tom?’ Lloyd said as they shook hands for the last time. ‘I’m enjoying your diaries so much, I’d like to go on reading them. If you’d send them to this address,’ he said, handing Harry a card as if he were already on the outside, ‘I’ll return them to you within a week.’

Harry was flattered, and agreed to send Max each exercise book once he’d completed it.

The following morning Harry took his place behind the librarian’s desk, but didn’t consider reading the previous day’s newspaper before he’d completed his duties. He continued to update his diaries every evening, and whenever he came to the end of a notebook, he would post his latest efforts to Max Lloyd. He was relieved, and a little surprised, when they were always returned, as promised.

As the months passed, Harry began to accept the fact that prison life was mostly routine and mundane, so when the warden charged into the library one morning brandishing his copy of the New York Times he was taken by surprise. Harry put down the stack of books he had been replacing on the shelves.

‘Do we have a map of the United States?’ Swanson demanded.

‘Yes, of course,’ Harry replied. He walked quickly over to the reference section and extracted a copy of Hubert’s Map of America. ‘Anywhere in particular, warden?’ he asked.

‘Pearl Harbor.’

For the next twenty-four hours, there was only one subject on everyone’s lips, prisoners and guards alike. When would America enter the war?

Swanson returned to the library the following morning.

‘President Roosevelt has just announced on the radio that the United States has declared war on Japan.’

‘That’s all very well,’ said Harry, ‘but when will the Americans help us defeat Hitler?’

Harry regretted the word ‘us’ the moment he’d uttered it. He looked up to find Swanson staring at him quizzically, and quickly returned to shelving the previous day’s books.

Harry found out the answer some weeks later, when Winston Churchill boarded the Queen Mary and sailed to Washington to conduct discussions with the President. By the time the Prime Minister had arrived back in Britain, Roosevelt had agreed that the United States would turn their attention to the war in Europe, and the task of defeating Nazi Germany.

Harry filled page after page of his diary with the reaction of his fellow prisoners to the news that their country was at war. He concluded that most of them fell into one of two distinct categories, the cowards and the heroes: those who were relieved to be safely locked up in jail, and only hoped the hostilities would be over long before they were released, and those who couldn’t wait to get out and take on an enemy they hated even more than the prison guards. When Harry asked his cellmate which category he fell into, Quinn replied, ‘Have you ever met an Irishman who didn’t relish a scrap?’

For his part, Harry became even more frustrated, convinced that now the Americans had entered the war, it would be over long before he’d been given the chance to play his part. For the first time since being locked up, he thought about trying to escape.



Harry had just finished reading a book review in the New York Times when an officer marched into the library and said, ‘The warden wants to see you in his office immediately, Bradshaw.’

Harry wasn’t surprised, although after glancing once again at the advertisement at the bottom of the page, he still wondered how Lloyd imagined he would get away with it. He folded the paper neatly, placed it back in the rack, and followed the officer out of the room.

‘Any idea why he wants to see me, Mr Joyce?’ Harry asked as they walked across the yard.

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Joyce, not attempting to hide his sarcasm. ‘I’ve never been one of the warden’s confidants.’

Harry didn’t speak again until they were standing outside the warden’s office. Joyce gave a quiet tap on the door.