Connie Willis - Blackout

“But that will take all afternoon,” Eileen protested, “and I only have two days. I’ll never learn to drive in one day.”

“I don’t understand. I thought the vicar was going to teach you to drive.”

“He is, but I’ve never even been in a 1940s automobile. I’ve got to learn how to open the door and switch on the ignition and-”

“Oh, I can easily teach you that in an hour or two. Come with me to Balliol. You can get your approval, and then I’ll go with you and show you the ropes. And I’ll speak to Mr. Dunworthy about letting you do VE-Day.”

“It won’t do any good,” Eileen said glumly. “I’ve already tried, and you know how he is when he’s made his mind up-”

“True,” Polly said almost to herself. “But he must change his mind sometimes if…”

“Polly!” They both turned and looked back. Seventeen-year-old, sandy-haired Colin Templer came racing up to them with a sheaf of printouts. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Polly,” he said breathlessly. “Hullo, Merope.” He turned back to Polly. “I finished the list of bombed Underground stations.”

“Colin’s been helping me with my Blitz prep,” Polly explained to Eileen.

Colin nodded. “Here.” He handed Polly several of the printouts. “This list is by station, but some of them were hit more than once.”

Polly looked through the pages. “Waterloo…” she murmured. “… St. Paul’s… Marble Arch…”

Colin nodded again. “It was hit on the seventeenth of September. There were over forty casualties.”

I hope they don’t plan to stand here and go through the entire list, Eileen thought, looking at her watch. It was already half past three. Even if they could get in to see Mr. Dunworthy immediately, they’d be at Balliol at least an hour, and if Transport closed at five-

“… Liverpool Street,” Polly said. “… Cannon Street… Blackfriars. Good Lord, this is every tube station in London!”

“No, only half,” Colin said, “and most of them only had minor damage.” He handed her another set of pages. “I also listed the dates so you’d know when not to be in them. I know Mr. Dunworthy doesn’t want you in the ones that were hit at all, but they’re only dangerous for that day, and how are you going to get anywhere if you can’t go to Victoria or Bank?”

“A man after my own heart,” Polly said and grinned at him. “Don’t tell Mr. Dunworthy I said that.”

He looked horrified. “You know I wouldn’t, Polly.”

Hmm, Eileen thought.

“Is the list of air-raid and all-clear siren times here?” Polly asked, leafing through the pages.

“I haven’t finished it yet,” he said, “but here’s the list of London landmarks that were damaged.” He handed her the rest of the pages. “Did you know they bombed Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks? And did you know it knocked the statue of Churchill over and took off Wellington’s ear, but neither Hitler nor Mussolini got so much as a scratch? I call that unfair.”

“Yes, well, they got theirs later,” Polly said, looking through the pages. “Thank you, Colin. You’ve no idea how much help you’ve been.”

He reddened. “I’ll have the list of siren times to you in an hour or two. Where will you be?”

“Balliol.”

He dashed off.

“Thank you again, Colin! You’re marvelous!” she called after him. “Sorry,” she said to Eileen as they started walking again. “He’s been a wonderful assistant. All this would have taken me weeks.”

“Yes, well, it’s amazing what a motivation love can be.”

“Love?” Polly shook her head. “It’s not me he’s in love with, it’s time travel. He’s constantly after Mr. Dunworthy to waive the age requirement and let him do an assignment now.”

“And what does Mr. Dunworthy say?”

“You can imagine.”

“Being in love with time travel may explain why he’s helping you with your prep,” Eileen said, “but it doesn’t explain why he blushes whenever you look at him. Or the way he says your name. Face it, Polly, he’s head over heels.”

“But he’s a child!”

“He’s what? Seventeen? In 1940, seventeen-year-olds are lying about their age and joining up and getting killed by the Germans. And what does age have to do with anything? One of the evacuees at the manor when I first arrived wanted to marry me, and he was only three.”

“Oh, dear, do you truly think-?” Polly looked back up the street. “Perhaps I’d better not ask him to help me with any more research.”

“No, that would be cruel. He’s trying to please and impress you. I think you should let him. You’re only going to be here-how long?”

“Two weeks, if the lab can find me a drop site. I expected them to have found one by the time I got back, but they still haven’t.”

“But they’ll find you one eventually, and then you’ll go to the Blitz-is this one real-time or flash-time?”

“Real-time.”

“And you’ll be gone how long?”

“Six weeks.”

“Which is an eternity for a seventeen-year-old. By the time you come back, he’ll have fallen in love with someone his own age and forgotten all about you.”

“I don’t know, I was gone nearly that long last time…” she said thoughtfully. “And just because someone’s young, it doesn’t mean their attachment’s not serious. On my last assignment-” She bit off whatever she had been going to say and said brightly, “I think it’s much more likely he’s trying to impress me with his research skills so that I’ll help him convince Mr. Dunworthy to let him go to the Crusades.”

“The Crusades? That’s even more dangerous than the Blitz, isn’t it?”

“Far more dangerous, particularly when one knows where and when all the Blitz’s bombs will be falling, which I will. And it’s less dangerous than-Sorry, I’ve been doing all the talking. I want to hear about your assignment.”

“There’s nothing much to tell. It’s mostly washing up and dealing with children and irate farmers. I’d hoped I might meet the actor Michael Caine-he was evacuated when he was six-but I haven’t, and-I just thought of something. You might meet Agatha Christie. She was in London during the Blitz.”

“Agatha Christie?”

“The twentieth-century mystery novelist. She wrote these marvelous books about murders involving spinsters and clergymen and retired colonels. I used them for my prep-they’re full of details about servants and manor houses. And during the war she worked in hospital, and you’re going to be an ambulance driver. She-”

“I’m not going to be an ambulance driver. I’m going to be something far more dangerous-a shopgirl in an Oxford Street department store.”

“That’s more dangerous than driving an ambulance?”

“Definitely. Oxford Street was bombed five times, and more than half its department stores were at least partly damaged.”

“You’re not going to work in one of those, are you?”

“No, of course not. Mr. Dunworthy won’t even allow me to work in Peter Robinson, though it wasn’t hit till the end of the Blitz. I can understand why he wouldn’t let me.…”

Eileen nodded absently, listening to the bells of Christ Church tolling the hours. Four o’clock. They’d stood there talking to Colin longer than she’d thought. Perhaps instead of going with Polly, she should go to Oriel and find out when Transport closed.

“… John Lewis and Company…” Polly was saying.

Or she could ask Polly to ask Mr. Dunworthy to ring Props and approve the lessons over the phone for her.

“… Padgett’s or Selfridges…”

I could go to Props, Eileen thought, pick up the authorization form, go to Oriel, and have Polly meet me there.

“But I daren’t dare push too hard,” Polly said, “or he may cancel it altogether. He’s thought this entire assignment was too dangerous from the beginning, and when he finds out-” She stopped, frowning again.

“Finds out what?” Eileen asked.

Polly paused. “How many tube stations were hit,” she said finally, and Eileen had the feeling that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say. “I’m going to be spending my nights sleeping in the Underground stations.”

“The Underground stations?”

“Yes, there weren’t enough shelters when the Blitz began, and the ones they had weren’t particularly safe, so people began sleeping in the tube stations. I’m going to camp out there nights to observe the shelterers,” she said, and Eileen must have been looking as worried as she felt because Polly added, “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Provided you don’t stay in one of the ones that was hit,” Eileen said dryly. They reached Balliol’s gate. “Polly, I’m not going to go in with you.” She told her her plan, then stepped up to the porter’s lodge. “Mr. Purdy, do you know how late Transport stays open?”

“I’ve got their hours here somewhere,” the porter said, shuffling through papers. “Six o’clock.”

Oh, good, there’d be time. “Is Mr. Dunworthy in his office?”

“I believe so,” Mr. Purdy said. “I only just came on duty, but Mr. McCaffey said Mr. Davies came through an hour ago looking for him, and he’s still here, so I assume he found him.”

“Michael Davies?”

Mr. Purdy nodded. “Miss Churchill, you have a message from Colin Templer. He said to tell you he’s looking for you and-”

“He found me,” Polly said, “but thank you. Eileen, I’ll tell Mr. Dunworthy to ring you at Props-”

She shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”

“But I thought you were going over to Props.”

“I am, but first I want to ask Michael if he’s doing VE-Day, and if he is, if he’ll swap assignments with me. Or he may know who is.” She started across the quad with Polly in her wake.

Michael was sitting on the steps of Beard, tapping his foot. “Are you waiting to see Mr. Dunworthy, too?” Polly asked.

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for an hour and forty-five minutes. I can’t believe this. First he louses up my assignment, and now-”

“What’s your assignment?” Eileen asked.

“It was Pearl Harbor, which is why I sound like a damned American-”

“I thought you sounded odd,” Eileen said.

“Yes, well, I’ll really sound odd in Dover. I’m doing the evacuation of Dunkirk. With less than three days’ prep. That’s why I’m here-to see if he’ll move it back-”

“But-” Eileen said confused. “They evacuated children from Dunkirk?”

“No. Soldiers. The entire British Expeditionary Force, as a matter of fact. Three hundred thousand men in nine days flat. Didn’t you attend any of your first-year history lectures?”

“Yes,” she said defensively, “but I didn’t decide on World War II till last year.” She hesitated. “The evacuation of Dunkirk is in World War II, isn’t it?”

Michael laughed. “Yes. May twenty-sixth to June fourth, 1940.”

“Oh, that’s why I don’t know about it-”

“But Dunkirk was one of the major turning points of the war,” Polly interrupted. “Isn’t it a divergence point?”

“Yes.”

“Then how can you-?”

“I’m not. I’m observing the organizing of the rescue in Dover and then the boats as they come back with the soldiers.”