Come the Hour (19 page)

On 27 December the bombers came back, their cynical little holiday over. The raids started again. The year 1941 arrived and wore on in a haze of destruction, with week after week of blistering nights and days of numbing fatigue. The days and the hideous nights went by, and London was given a breathing space from time to time as the other cities suffered. Amy began to spend two nights a week in the Notting Hill Gate underground station, ready to help if she was needed. The WVS was down there too with their endless cups of cheering tea, and a few nurses set up a first-aid station. It began to feel normal, as if life had always been like this. Couples got married, babies were born, people went to the cinemas and dance halls.

‘It’s strange, Dan,’ Amy said. ‘Everyone just seems to have settled down to living like this – like moles. Have you noticed? Everyone seems to sing more and laugh more. No one even mentions giving up or surrendering.’

‘They thought they’d bomb us into submission.’ Dan said. ‘So far they’ve killed more woman and children than fighting men. But they seem to have abandoned invasion plans. I think Mr Churchill has convinced them of what they’d be in for if they did.’

‘You look lovely, darling,’ Amy said.

‘Doesn’t she just.’ Tim looked down at Tessa, his eyes glowing.

They’re in love, Amy thought. Who wouldn’t be? It was March now, and spring was coming, and a young man’s thoughts … and a young woman’s too, by the smile on Tessa’s face. Tessa was wearing an evening dress of silver grey, cross-cut and clinging, and Tim was in
uniform, of course, the wings bright on his breast. They are so young, Amy thought, so beautiful, so alive.

‘Have a good time,’ Dan said, ‘and if there’s a raid get to a shelter. No good dancing on and taking risks.’

‘I’ll look after her, sir,’ Tim said.

Tessa laughed. ‘We’re going to the Café de Paris, Dad,’ she said. ‘It’s twenty feet underground. We’ll be OK there.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Dan said when they’d gone. ‘I wish they’d just stay at home. I wish she’d stay in Cambridge. They seem to be very happy about letting the students come home now and again in term-time. It wouldn’t have happened in my day. It’s the war, I suppose.’

‘It doesn’t happen very often,’ Amy said. ‘They need to get out on their own and have some fun. Tim especially, doing what he does. They need to have some normal life or they’ll all go mad.’

Dan put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. ‘I expect you’re right. It was only seeing you in Paris in the last war that kept me sane.’

The Café de Paris was crammed. Tessa and Tim were shown down the long staircase to their table. Tessa looked around her at the men in uniform or evening dress and at the women, carefully made up, glowing in their beautiful dresses and jewels. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘All hell let loose and people still like to dress up and dine and dance. Stiff upper lip and all that.’

‘I just like to be with you,’ Tim said.

They dined and then danced together. Tim held her close, his face against her hair. ‘You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?’ he said.

Tessa pulled away and laughed up at him. ‘I sincerely hope so, silly. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here throwing myself at you.’

He flushed with pleasure. ‘Will you marry me when all this is over?’

She looked up at him for several seconds, pretending to consider his proposal. Then she smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course I will.’

He held her close. ‘Oh darling.’

They went back to their table. ‘I’ve still got a long way to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be coming to London later this year to start my clinical training. I’ve got three years of that.’

‘I’ll wait,’ he said, ‘my darling girl. Or we can get married whenever you like.’

She hadn’t time to reply. Faintly they heard the sound of the sirens above, and then came an announcement that a raid had started. Very few people left. ‘We’re already underground, aren’t we?’ Tessa said. ‘We’ll be all right here.’

The band went on playing, of course. They took a pride in not being intimidated. If the dancers were prepared to go on dancing, then they would go on playing. The dancers danced, the waiters moved about with bottles of champagne, while outside and above the sirens wailed and the crump of bombs and the crashing of the guns shook the air. The band swung into a quickstep: ‘Oh Johnny’, and the girls laughed and swirled in the khaki and blue and navy arms of their young men.

The first bomb crashed through the roof but didn’t explode. The crowd scattered, the girls screaming. There was time only for Tim to pull Tessa to the floor and throw himself on top of her before the second bomb fell and exploded in front of the stage.

For a few moments Tessa was disoriented, conscious only of the devastating noise and the rolling, choking dust, and the weight of Tim’s body over hers. Then, as the noise of the explosion died away, and after a few moments of utter silence, she began to hear the sounds of panic and suffering – screams, groans, voices calling – ‘Joan, Bill, where are you?’ And one voice, quite close, ‘My God, I can’t see!’

Tim raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her. ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think so.’

They struggled to their knees. There was a dim light flickering, one of the table lamps intermittently functioning, and a small, vicious fire, up by the stage. After a few seconds there were occasional small lights from torches, and the limited lights from cigarette lighters. They looked around them. The room was destroyed, covered in rubble and dust; tables were overturned, and bodies lay everywhere, some still and unmoving in death, some staggering to their feet, some moaning in pain.

Tim put his arms around her and looked about him. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘we can’t just leave them. We have to help them.’

‘That’s crazy,’ he said. ‘We can’t do anything. I’ve got to get you out of here.’

‘No,’ she said again. ‘I have to help.’ She began to tear at her underskirt and the bottom of her dress, taking off strips to use as bandages.

‘Please darling,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake let’s go. You’re the only thing I care about.’

‘No I’m not,’ she said, ‘or you wouldn’t do what you do. I have to help them.’ She looked at him, her mouth twisted. ‘It’s what I’m for, Tim. Don’t you understand?’

He helped her then, until the rescuers came, binding bleeding wounds, putting on tourniquets where limbs had been torn away. The men arrived, the Fire Service and the ARP and then, at last, the ambulances with their stretchers and harassed men, desperately trying to deal with overwhelming casualties.

Tim took off his jacket, put it around Tessa’s shoulders and helped her out of the chaos, joining the shambling stream being shepherded out of the wreckage. As he stumbled out he came across a seedy little rat of a man, rummaging through handbags and pocketing the contents. For the first time he actually saw red. His rage exploded, at the whole damn war, at the totally unnecessary destruction and death, at the filth of some men – even his own countrymen.

‘You rotten little bastard,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill you.’ He threw a punch at the man’s head, a glancing blow, and the man ran off, scattering money and jewellery. ‘Bastard,’ Tim called after him. He felt suddenly sick, empty and lost, and retched over the rubble. God, he thought. God. What’s it all for?

They emerged into the shattered street. He stopped an ARP warden. ‘Is there a telephone box round here,’ he said. ‘One that’s still working?’

‘Try the one down the road, first right,’ the man said. ‘It’s fairly clear down there.’

Tim took Tessa’s arm. ‘We’ll never get anywhere tonight,’ he said. ‘You ring your family and I’ll ring the airfield. We’ll have to get back in the morning when the tubes are running. Perhaps we can find a hotel.’

They made their way to the phone box. There was already a queue.
Tessa phoned home. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, ‘don’t cry, Mummy. I’ll get back as soon as I can. Probably tomorrow.’

To Tim’s surprise the taxis were still running and he managed to flag one down. ‘Can you get us to a hotel?’ he said. ‘This lady’s been in a bombing.’

‘I can see that,’ the driver said. ‘It’ll be a bit tricky tonight.’

Tim took her hand in the taxi. ‘I’m very proud of you,’ he said. ‘You’re very brave.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘You can talk.’ She leant her head on his shoulder. ‘Tim,’ she whispered, ‘don’t leave me.’

‘Not ever.’

They tried two hotels that were full but the third had one room left. ‘We’ll take it,’ Tim said.

‘For two?’ the receptionist asked, carefully not looking at them.

‘Yes,’ Tessa said loudly. ‘For two. For my husband and myself.’

The receptionist looked at them then, a look of amused cynicism, but he caught Tim’s eye and hurriedly handed over the register.

They were shown to their room. ‘Are you sure?’ Tim put his arms around her. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get any kind of a reputation because of me. I could sleep in a tube station or something.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re not to leave me.’

‘I’ll sleep on a chair then,’ he said, ‘or on the floor. Just give me a kick if I come anywhere near you.’

She leant away from him. ‘Look at us,’ she said. ‘We’ve both been blown up. We could easily have been killed. Oh Tim.’

He held her close again and kissed her, a kiss full of longing.

‘Sleep with me,’ she said. ‘Make love to me. It might be all we ever have. We could both be dead tomorrow.’

There was a washbasin in the room, and soap and towels. He helped her out of her ruined dress and helped her to wash off as much grime as they could.

‘Get into bed, my darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll clean myself up a bit.’

He slipped into bed beside her. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

She flung her arms around him. ‘Absolutely, absolutely.’

This time his weight above her was only joy.

He took her home very early the next morning, leaving her at the door, eager to get back to the airfield before he could be regarded as AWOL.

Amy flung her arms around her. ‘Oh darling,’ she said. ‘Was it awful?’

Tessa nodded. ‘Pretty bad, but I could help them. I knew how to help. I could do something, at last.’

Amy went up to her room with her while she bathed and changed to go back to Cambridge. ‘One nice thing,’ Tessa said. ‘Tim asked me to marry him and I said yes.’ She hugged her mother. ‘I’m so happy. Tim’s coming to see you as soon as he can.’ She laughed. ‘To ask Dad’s permission. He’d better say yes.’

‘Amy,’ Dan said, ‘have you read this paper? It’s about penicillin.’

Amy looked over his shoulder. ‘What? What about it?’

‘It’s very exciting.’ he said. ‘Sad in this case, but very exciting.’

Amy took the paper. Penicillin had been at the back of the medical profession’s mind ever since Alexander Fleming discovered it in 1928, ever since it had killed the bacteria in his petri dish at St Mary’s Hospital. It had been arousing sporadic interest ever since. Now, apparently, a man called Florey in Oxford had been trying to purify it for use in humans. She glanced at Dan’s eager face.

‘Go on,’ he said, ‘read it.’

She read on. A policeman in Oxford who was dying of septicaemia had been given penicillin by injection as a trial. To everyone’s amazement he began to get better. His temperature came down and he began to eat. ‘Oh!’ she said, reading on. To everyone’s great distress they then ran out of penicillin. They extracted it from his urine to use again, but they didn’t have enough and sadly, he died.

She put the paper down. For a moment they looked at each other, stunned by the implications. ‘That’s incredible,’ she said, ‘and how awful to be so close to saving him.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it was, but it’s wonderful too, isn’t it? If only they can find a way to make enough.’ He took her hand. ‘All those boys in the last war who died of infection, Amy. Not of their wounds, but of infection. Do you remember how we agonized, how we’d have given our souls for something like this?’

Tears came into Amy’s eyes. She remembered only too well: the horror and the pain, the pus-soaked bandages, the constant fight to keep the wounds clean. She remembered too the constant failure, the deaths of fine young men, not from trauma or blood loss but from the invasion of the tiny, microscopic creatures that killed them in the end. ‘How can we possibly make enough,’ she said, ‘to help us now? The war is now, today.’

‘I don’t suppose we can,’ Dan said. ‘If we could build a factory to do it, it might well get bombed and all the research lost. I hear through the grapevine that Florey is taking it to America. They’re at peace and they’ve got the money. We must hope that they can make it there. In time for our boys.’

When Sara came home from school that afternoon Amy gave her the paper to read. She had taken to talking to Sara now and again about medicine, answering her questions, explaining things from the books she borrowed. She looked at Sara’s bent head, and shining, fascinated face. It’s going to be so different, she thought, for the young ones, for Tessa, and Sara, if and when she makes it. They will have the tools we could only dream of. Medicine had taken a huge leap forward.

The raids carried on, one city after another and then back to London again. Then, in May, after one appalling night, they petered out. Amy had a dreadful sense of déjà vu, the memory of the way the First War had become years of stalemate and suffering and killing. How long, she thought, can we take this? Then, on 22 June, Hitler suddenly, and without warning, attacked Russia. Dan actually laughed, almost unbelieving. ‘Now I know he’s mad,’ he said. ‘The fool has signed his death warrant. Has he never heard of Napoleon?’

T
he raids carried on, one town after another was hit, then the Luftwaffe came back to London again. The House of Commons was destroyed, but St Paul’s remained still proudly standing, a symbol of hope.

On 10 May Amy spent the night in the tube station. When she came out in the morning the roads of Notting Hill Gate were covered in broken glass, and shrapnel from the shells lay in the gutter, still hot to the touch. She made her way home, bathed and changed and went to her morning clinic. She visited some of her old ladies. Some of them, to her surprise and delight, had resurrected themselves and were happily helping in the WVS or the food offices or the clothing-exchange shops. Give them something to do, she thought, make them feel needed, and they come alive again. It shouldn’t take a war.

‘How are we supposed to exist on this?’ Amy was looking at the week’s rations spread out on the kitchen table. ‘Two ounces of butter each, two ounces of cheese, four ounces of bacon, one egg, one pound of meat, eight ounces of sugar. Not much else. What are we supposed to eat?’

‘It isn’t going to get any better,’ Dan said. ‘We manage, don’t we?’

‘Nora does. I don’t know how she does it.’

‘We haven’t had Woolton Pie yet,’ Dan said. ‘Whatever that may be.’

‘It’s a vegetable pie. The recipe was on Kitchen Front on the wireless, but I think you just put in anything you’ve got.’

‘Strangely enough,’ he said, ‘rationing has its advantages. We’ve had the Ministry figures in. Do you know that heart attacks have decreased,
even through the Blitz? It must be because people aren’t eating so much fat – more fruit and vegetables.’

‘As long as we still get them.’ Amy sighed. ‘I wonder whether we’ll ever see an orange or a lemon or a banana again.’

He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. ‘One day. At least the Blitz has eased off and we can sleep most nights.’

‘I don’t think Nora sleeps at night,’ Amy said. ‘Not with Jim at sea. They’re still attacking the shipping.’

‘We’ve been very lucky,’ he said. ‘We’ll just have to put up with the shortages of everything.’

‘It infuriates me to think of Germany with the whole of Europe to steal from.’

‘We’ll get there,’ he said. ‘We’ve beaten them in the air. We’re going to win. Bananas shall rise again.’

She caught his eye and began to laugh. ‘You have a very naughty mind.’

At school Sara began to do science in earnest, separate chemistry, physics and biology, getting ready for her School Certificate exam. She had to choose her subjects. Teachers were in such short supply that some subjects had to be dropped. History or chemistry? No contest. Geography or physics? No contest. Latin or needlework? She just laughed. For the first time she told her form mistress what she wanted to do. She was asked to see Miss Jenkins, the headmistress.

‘Medicine, Sara?’ she said. ‘We don’t have many girls doing that. What does your father do?’

‘He’s a carpenter,’ Sara said, ‘when there isn’t a war on. He’s in the Navy now.’

‘It’s a long training,’ Miss Jenkins said, ’and it’s very difficult for girls to get in at all. There aren’t many places for women. And it’s very expensive. You’d have to get a scholarship. You’ll have to work very hard.’

‘I know. I like it.’

‘In that case we’ll help you all we can.’

‘That’s if we win the war,’ Sara said.

Miss Jenkins smiled. ‘Oh, we’ll win. You can count on that.’ She
sighed as Sara left her. It was difficult enough for girls, she thought, without a war to worry about. It was especially difficult for girls from working-class homes. She saw so many – bright, intelligent girls who never made it to university. Such a waste. Perhaps things would change after the war, which, of course, we were going to win. She sighed again. Everything was after the war.

Sara went back to her classroom, feeling elated. The headmistress hadn’t told her it was a mad idea, and the raids weren’t as bad. It was funny, she thought, how you got used to them. She even managed to sleep through the din most nights. It didn’t make any difference, really. Everything went on as usual. She wasn’t going to change her mind.

Charlie burst into the mess, the letter in his hand. ‘Guess what, chaps,’ he shouted. ‘Good news. Arthur’s alive.’

They gathered around him. ‘What? Where?’

‘I expect the CO will be informed but I’ve got a letter from his father. He was shot down over the Channel, picked up by a French fishing boat and hidden by the Resistance. He’s been on the run all this time, trying to get back home, but they caught him in the end. He’s a prisoner, alive and well.’ They raised a cheer and sank a further round of beers.

Charlie sat down and read the letter again.
His mother always said he was alive
, Arthur’s father wrote.
She said she’d know if he was dead
. Charlie wondered what he’d been through when they caught him. What had the Gestapo done to him? There were hideous rumours trickling out from Germany. He was lucky not to have been shot as a spy. But he was alive and one day he would come home again. His mother could make her pastry in peace. He wondered what it was like in a German prison camp. Were they civilized and decent? Arthur had done his fighting. How would that feel? Relieved? Would he, Charlie, be relieved? Hell, no. Give me a Spit, he thought, and a chance to get back at the bastards.

The year wore on, privation upon privation, even clothes were rationed. Everything was beginning to look grey and shabby. It was difficult to get anything, Amy thought, to cheer yourself up a bit,
even a lipstick or a little bottle of perfume. There was a rush on at Woolworths because there was a rumour they’d got some face powder in. The raids had eased, but ordinary life became more and more difficult.

Tessa started her clinical training in London and found herself on the wards for the first time. She persuaded her parents to let her share a flat near the hospital with two other girls.

‘If I live at home, Dad,’ she said, ‘I’ll miss all the fun. It’ll be just like being back at school, coming home every night. Anyway, I need to be near the hospital. We’ll have work to do at night, and I expect I’ll still be fire-watching.’

They gave in in the end. ‘I can see her point,’ Amy said. ‘She’s not a child any more – she’s twenty-one. And the bombing seems to have petered out.’

Tessa whispered in her ear, ‘Thanks Mum.’

Amy smiled at her. Don’t think I don’t know the other reason, she thought. Much easier to be alone with Tim there. And why not? Why not get as much fun as possible? The war was a long way from over.

She had thought about having a talk with Tessa about the responsibilities and anxieties she was about to face in clinical training, but she almost laughed at herself. Tessa had faced these things already. She had seen suffering and pain. You could hardly live in a British city and not see that. Tim had told them about the Café de Paris, and fire-watching had been no picnic. Neither of them had commented on the night they spent together. So what, she thought. Life was contracted now. You took each day at a time. You took joy where you could.

She wondered when Charlie would get a girl he was really keen on. He seemed to have occasional girlfriends, but nothing serious. In fact he said as much. ‘Nothing serious, Mum, not with what’s going on. I wouldn’t want to have a wife and children and not be there to look after them.’ God knows, she could understand that. But one day, she thought, it’ll bowl him over. Charlie was like that.

Into December, and on Sunday the seventh they heard the astounding news that the Japanese, without any warning, had attacked the
American fleet at Pearl Harbor. The Americans and the British declared war on Japan and the Germans and Italians declared war on America. ‘That’s it then,’ Dan said. ‘It’s global now. It’s a real world war – everybody everywhere killing each other. What have we all done to deserve this?’ He smiled. ‘But America is with us now, Amy, with all their riches and their power. The Japs must be out of their minds, crazy, like Hitler attacking Russia.’

But the news was dire. The enemy seemed to be unstoppable. By December the Germans were at the gates of Moscow. Then came the news that two great warships, the Repulse, and the Prince of Wales, had been sunk by the Japanese. Amy had an awful feeling. She didn’t know which ship Nora’s husband was on; she doubted if even Nora knew, but she had an awful feeling.

She knew what Nora was going to say as she stepped through the door. She was pale as a ghost, white with shock, trembling. Amy brought her into the sitting room and sat beside her on the settee. She took her hand. ‘Oh Nora,’ she said. Nora burst into tears. Amy put her arms around her and held her against her shoulder and rocked her like a child. She waited until the storm of sobbing had died away and Nora was resting against her, her body shaking. ‘Is it Jim?’ she asked gently.

Nora sat up, sitting with her head bent, her hands clenched. ‘His ship went down,’ she whispered. ‘They didn’t find him among the survivors.’

‘Is there any chance he might have been picked up by someone else?’

‘The Japanese? No. The War Office says he’s dead.’

Amy held on to her hand. ‘How dreadful. Does Sara know?’

Nora shook her head. ‘No. The telegram came just after she’d gone to school.’ She began to cry again. ‘I don’t know how to tell her.’

‘We’d better go and get her,’ Amy said. ‘I haven’t got a surgery this morning. I’ll come with you.’

She put Nora into the car and they drove to the school. They asked to see the headmistress urgently.

Miss Jenkins’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s the second time this week. Another father has been killed.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Keep Sara at home for a day or two if you wish, Mrs Lewis, but not for too long. It’s
better for her to keep going. She’s such a bright, clever girl.’ She sent for Sara.

As gently as she could, Nora told her. Sara flung herself into her mother’s arms and for a few moments they clung to each other, Sara sobbing on her mother’s shoulder.

‘I’ll take you home,’ Amy said. She took them to their house, went in with them and made some tea. ‘Do you want to take a few days off, Nora?’ she said gently. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

Nora shook her head. ‘Thank you, but what can anyone do?’

‘Would you like me to stay?’

‘No.’ Nora took Sara’s hand. ‘We’re best on our own for a bit.’

Amy got up. ‘If you want anything, anything at all, just telephone, and I’ll come.’

Nora nodded. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

She arrived as usual the next day. ‘Sara went back to school,’ she said. ‘It’s best. She’s very upset but it’s best keeping her mind occupied.’

Amy could find no words of comfort. What can I say, she thought, that isn’t trite and meaningless. She remembered all too well the pain of losing those she loved in the last war. There was no explanation, no reassurance, no degree of patriotism that could ease that pain. She lived in daily dread of losing Charlie.

Nora began to cry. Amy put her arms around her. ‘You must think of Sara now,’ she said. ‘She’s a fine girl. She’ll make you proud.’

Nora dried her eyes on her handkerchief. ‘That child is going to get what she wants,’ she said. ‘Her father didn’t die for nothing. I’ll see to that.’

Charlie came home on a twelve-hour pass. Amy met him at the door. ‘Bad news, darling. Nora’s lost her husband. He was killed at sea. She’s upstairs. Sara’s here too.’

‘Oh no!’ Charlie was brought back again into the world of loss. He’d lost so many friends, and then he’d had the surprise and pleasure of Arthur’s unexpected return. Life in the north in the Depression must have been an absolute nightmare. Arthur’s return from the dead seemed like a well-deserved miracle. ‘Is there no chance?’ he said. ‘Arthur came back after months of everybody thinking he was dead.’

‘He was at sea, Charlie. There’s no way of coming back from that.’

He tried to blot out of his mind the pilots who had come down in the Channel, shot up, drowned. He sought out Nora, who was hoovering the bedrooms. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Charlie,’ she said, ‘but I’m not the only one, am I?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘But it doesn’t help much, does it?’

‘No. It’s Sara I’m worried about. Children losing their fathers.’

He found Sara at the kitchen table, doing her homework. ‘I’m very sorry about your father,’ he said. He sat down beside her. ‘I’ve lost a lot of friends. I know it’s not the same, but I know how you feel.’

She looked as if she were about to say something, but then she began to cry. He put an arm around her, awkwardly. She leant against his shoulder and cried. He could feel her slight body shaking with her sobs. He patted her, trying to comfort her. He felt his own tears rising, tears for the loss of so many men he had known, tears for the strangeness he sometimes felt for his own survival, for the whole hideous, sorry mess.

Amy came into the kitchen. He looked up at her, distressed and helpless and gave a little shrug. She took Sara’s hand and led her away to her mother.

He pulled himself together. No use being sentimental. But not for me, he thought. I’m not going to marry and then leave behind a sobbing mother and child.

Amy came back. ‘Are you all right?’ she said.

He nodded, ‘Yes.’ He looked out of the window where the lawns and the flower-beds had gone and the winter frost shone on the vegetable plots that were empty now, waiting for the spring. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally. An exhaustion of the spirit. No good feeling like that, he thought. There was still a job to be done. Would it ever end? He turned back to his mother. ‘How about a sherry before lunch?’

It was Christmas again and very cold. Charlie and Tessa and Tim came to lunch at home, to laughter and love. And then it was into 1942. The enemy seemed unstoppable; the Germans had been at the gates of Moscow for weeks and at the end of January came the shock of the
surrender of Singapore to the Japanese, with 60,000 British soldiers taken prisoner.