Free Rule Britannia by Daphne du Maurier

course. Such a ridiculous name too, USUK, make us the laughingstock of the world, but then we’ve been that for years. Em darling, if those roadblocks are down tomorrow you and I will go and do the shopping. I must find out how everyone is taking this business.”
    The following morning, soon after ten, Emma brought the car round to the front gate, and discovered, somewhat to her dismay, that Andy, Colin and Ben were ranged before her grandmother on the steps.
    “Must we take them too?” she asked.
    “Why ever not?” Mad, in full battle array, navy blue from top to toe, Mao Tse-tung to the life, told the boys to climb into the backseat. “I see the marines have left us,” she observed with a glance at the stable block. “Well, that’s a relief, at any rate. I hope they haven’t gone off with the manure.”
    She settled herself at the driving wheel, and Emma resigned herself to the inevitable in the seat beside her. Mad’s first motion as chauffeur was generally to crash into reverse. The boys were used to it, and invariably braced themselves for the jolt.
    “I feel as if we’ve been imprisoned for months,” Mad declared, as they swerved out of the lane at the top of the hill and onto the main road, taking the corner like the driver of a bobsleigh at St. Moritz. “Thank goodness there’s nothing on the road and we’ve got a clear run.”
    It was clear, fortunately for the bobsleigh team, until they reached the bottom of the hill, when Mad, with great presence of mind, slammed her foot on the brake and brought her craft to a halt almost immediately beneath a roadblock that barred further progress. A hut had been erected at the side of the road and beside it a soldier was positioned as sentry.
    “Your pass, please, ma’am,” he said.
    “What do you mean, my pass?” asked Mad, outraged. “Everybody knows me here, I don’t have to have a pass.”
    The soldier—not one of their stable block marines but American nevertheless—looked apologetic. “Sorry, ma’am, it’s a regulation, came into force this morning. Where do you come from?”
    “I live three minutes from here, at the top of the hill, the house called Trevanal. Your men have been quartered in my stables for the past five days.”
    The sentry stared. “I beg pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I was there myself last night, helping to remove the gear. I didn’t realize you were the lady. I’ll issue you with a pass.” He disappeared into his hut and came out again with a yellow sticker and two tickets. “It’s just a precautionary measure, ma’am. They are being issued to all the local inhabitants. This is for the car, I’ll paste it on your windscreen. These are the tickets for yourself and your companion.”
    “What about us?” asked Andy.
    The soldier smiled and shook his head. “No one has a pass under eighteen, son,” he said, “but it’s O.K. if you’re accompanied by an adult. Thank you, ma’am.”
    He lifted the barrier, and for the first time Emma could remember her grandmother shot into the right gear and accelerated, nearly cutting off the soldier’s foot. He backed swiftly into his hut.
    “I’ve never heard such utter nonsense in my life,” exploded Mad. “Who do they think they are, ordering us about on our own highway?”
    “Look,” said Colin excitedly, pointing to the sands, “they’ve got a barrier there too, and wire all round, and there are soldiers everywhere.”
    He was right. Poldrea sands, the delight of tourists in mid-summer and refuge of local inhabitants in winter as an exercising ground for dogs, had become an encampment over the weekend, with notices everywhere saying “U.S. Marines. No Admittance.”
    Mad brought the car to a standstill outside the Poldrea supermarket. She got out of the car and swept past the swing door, Emma and the boys behind her. The supermarket was full and the clatter and noise were deafening, like the bird house at a zoo. Inevitably, as on every occasion when there has