Chapter 44

1 July, 1918

It was hot and sticky in the late afternoon, but our student delegation decided to sit outside in the shady side of the pub’s garden. We were of diverse backgrounds but had all seen the war front, some infantry, some flying corps, and some both. Most admitted to being war fatigued, yet none were mired in grief; they all believed the war’s end must come soon.

I was explaining what I knew of Canada’s confederation, although I stumbled when questions arose about the status of Newfoundland. Why was it still considered a British colony and not part of the confederation? We were discussing this nuance when there was a faint boom that was matched by a slight rumble of the earth. Because it was instantly over and not repeated, the moment was lost on the majority of the pub’s civilian patrons.

Yet, as we were veteran soldiers, the moment resonated since the sound had the familiar characteristics of artillery. There was neither a second nor a third clap nor any discernible flash, so after discussing it briefly, the celebrations resumed. For unknown reasons, though, the moment unsettled me. I tossed it off as lingering anxiety about shell explosions.

The next morning, I walked into the hotel’s restaurant, taking in the seductive smell of hot breakfast, eggs, chips, oatmeal, and toast. Sitting down with my plate full, the officer opposite me pushed the Henley Standard across the table. I froze, feeling all the blood drain from my face as I took in the front page. The three-inch headline read, MIDLANDS SHELL FACTORY EXPLOSION! 134 Lives Lost at Chilwell. Approximately 100 to 150 Injured.

Fuck! Oh God, Cissy! Was she all right? How would I find out?

I headed out the open door to the gardens, wanting solace, seeking relief from the sudden fever, newly formed sweat spreading down my face. Outside in the summer air, I leaned back against a wall, fumbling with a cigarette in one hand, my other shaking so badly I couldn’t line up the flame to light it. As I threw it to the ground, I felt a churning in my stomach, a deep, intense pressure from within, that didn’t dissipate as I bent over and retched.

Gathering my thoughts, I stood back up, thinking about the likelihood of harm coming to my girl, reminding myself there were some ten thousand employees up there. The chances were good that she was unharmed, alive but shaken by the blast. Cissy was a survivor, could handle just about any threat, having shown courage in many ways. But this was not about courage; it was about being randomly selected by our Lord. That was why dull anxiety continued to overtake my whole being.

How would I know for sure? Her employer from before the war wouldn’t know, and neither would the innkeeper at Chequers. I suddenly realized there was no next of kin to contact, no family who would be notified. Cissy was alone in this world, except for her dorm mates, me, and Daisy. Daisy! Cissy would have registered Daisy as a contact, wouldn’t she? I had to talk to her.

I brushed past my fellow officers who had stepped outside to see that I was all right, leaving them staring at me in wonderment. I banged on the bell at the reception desk until the clerk emerged from the hotel office.

“All right, I know it’s brass, but don’t break my bell!” He scanned my face. “Are you all right?”

I wasn’t. I knew I was a pale-faced, nervous, shaking wreck. “Yes, f-fine,” I stammered. “I need you to ring a friend.” I paused to breathe, to think. “In London.”

“Do you have the number?”

I struggled to think, to focus. “Yes! Well no, not just now.”

“All right, could you please write the name and address down here?”

I quickly scribbled the contact information: Mr. Eric Pitman, 34 Honor Oak Park, London.

“All right, sir, I’ll have the operator locate Mr. Pitman’s number and place the call. That will be a tuppence for the three minutes, please.”

I placed the coin on the desk and sat at the edge of the guest chair, anticipating immediacy. “Ahem. Mr. Pitman, it could be a while for the post office operator to locate the number and place the call.”

“Oh” was all I could think of saying.

“I will have a junior come find you when we have successfully connected.”

I wandered out into the bright sunshine, stunned, not remembering when I had felt this impatient. Forced to remember my responsibilities, I walked over to the ballroom where engine theory was being presented, thankful we were not away from the hotel on a field trip. My anxiety peaked and waned as the morning wore on and I overthought the situation, only half hearing the wear factors of pistons and valves.

Finally, toward eleven a young boy holding up a small chalkboard with my name on it entered the large room. “Phone call,” he bellowed. “Phone call for Lieutenant Pitman!” I jumped up and impatiently followed him over to the reception area. Can’t he bloody move faster?

“Daisy, you know why I called?”

“Oh yes, Bob, yes, Eric and I heard the bitter news this morning. I’ve heard nothing.”

“We must go there; we must find out if she’s—”

Daisy raised her voice over my edginess. “Bob, please listen to me. Eric inquired up at the Metropolitan Police. The Nottingham authorities won’t let anyone near the area; it’s been sealed off. Even if we could get there by train, they wouldn’t allow us to go near the factory.”

I sobbed, pleading over the telephone, “We could try. We must try.”

We spoke as long as we were allowed. I was desperate to find a way to get to Chilwell, even on the pretense of military business. Yet I knew Daisy made sense; I would not be allowed access. The question stabbed repeatedly at my mind: Why has Cissy not sent word, why has she not contacted Daisy? But I knew things there would be chaotic.

The operator interrupted with her practiced nasal tone, “You have thirty seconds left, thirty seconds to complete the call.”

“Daisy, are you there?” Without waiting for a response, I asked her to promise to contact me as soon as she heard anything. She confirmed she was Cissy’s next-of-kin contact. “Daisy, you will let me know as soon—”

She was crying. “Yes, y-yes I will. I know how much you love Cissy. We will find out—” The call ended abruptly with a click as the timepiece in the telephone exchange reached exactly three minutes. I held the phone receiver in my hand for a long time, frozen in thought.

“Sir, may I take the phone?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

I stumbled out into the bright sunshine, the type of day that Cissy and I loved to enjoy strolling along the Chilwell estuary. My mind reeled with emotion, hoping she would turn up all right but at the same time fraught with grief about the possibility of a dire outcome. And being one whose nature is to dive in, I was frustrated to think she was in peril and I could do nothing to help her.