Free When the Tripods Came by John Christopher Page A

and harmony mankind had been vainly seeking since the dawn of history. Hail the Tripod!
    Pa and Martha were drinking whiskey. Martha quite often had a drink during the day, but Pa never did, except on holiday. He poured another for them, and said, “It may be grim for a day or two—even aweek or two. Food may get difficult.” He handed her the drink. “The last word was to stay put. I suppose we have to, but I don’t like it.”
    “Nor do I. Doing as you’re told is what takes sheep to the slaughterhouse.”
    “But there’s no alternative, is there? We can’t get out of the country. The Trippies have got control of Heathrow, and even if other airports are free, we can’t use them now because of the ban on travel. At least we’re better off here than in a city.”
    Martha said, “I’ve never liked being forced into things.”
    He said, exasperated, “Does anyone? But you have to face facts.”
    She emptied her glass. “Face them—and count them. Especially the ones that are on your side. No air or sea travel, from airports or docks, they tell us. If we had a field, and a private plane, no one could stop us leaving the country.”
    “Since we haven’t . . .” He stopped. “You mean—the Edelweiss ? We’d never get to her. There’s probably half a dozen roadblocks between here and the river.”
    “We’d have to try, to find out.”
    “But even if we did, and got her to sea, where do we head for?”
    “I can think of one place. It’s well away from this mess, and I have a house there.”
    He looked at her without speaking.
    In the end, it was I who said, “Guernsey.”
    Pa said nothing.
    Martha asked, “Well? Why not?”
    “It’s breaking regulations.”
    “That’s what the dog tells the sheep when it steps out of line.”
    He said, “I suppose if things get nastier in the next day or so—or no better—we could think about it.”
    “There are times when thinking about something is the worst possible policy.” As usual, her voice was firm and decisive. “Let’s do it now.”
    He looked at her a long time, before finally nodding acceptance. “In the morning?”
    She put down her glass. “I’ll start getting things ready.”
    When she’d gone, Pa poured himself another drink. He looked at a silver-framed photograph on the sideboard—one of Ilse, laughing, in a summer frock. He’d given way, I realized, because Martha was the stronger character, not because he agreed with her. And perhaps because he didn’t want to admit the real reason for not wanting to leave. I thought I knew that, too. It was because this was Ilse’s home. Leaving it meant cutting a link with her, possibly the last one.



SIX
    Martha just told Angela we were going on a holiday to Guernsey; otherwise there would have been trouble about leaving the pony. Andy and I went to the livery stables with her to say good-bye to it. I kept out of the way of its teeth, but it had a go at kicking me which came close. I decided again that I could live comfortably in a world without horses.
    All the same, I felt a bit sad watching Angela hugging it. I couldn’t take my racing bike, either, but leaving a living thing behind, even a rotten-tempered one like Prince, was different. Though really Prince was going to be all right; it made no difference to a pony who or what ruled the world, as long as the fodder kept coming. Angela fed him his au revoir present of bran mash, and came away cheerfully talking about Guernsey, and whether it was too late in the year for swimming.
    We set out at first light in Martha’s Jaguar. We were stopped twice by police. They acted tough—hadn’t we heard the instructions to stay at home?—but Pa and Martha put on a strong double act. They said she had a sister with a heart condition living by herself at Starcross, who had been panicking on the telephone. The sergeant at the second roadblock asked Pa why he hadn’t come alone to pick his aunt up. Pa told him a gang of Capped had been reported