Chapter  10

Midwich Comes to Terms

The task for January was to cushion the shock and steer the reactions, and thus to establish an attitude. The initiation meeting could be considered a success. It let the air in, and a lot of anxiety out; and the audience, tackled while it was still in a semi-stunned condition, had for the most part accepted the suggestion of communal solidarity and responsibility.

    It was only to be expected that a few individuals should hold aloof, but they were no more anxious than the rest to have their private lives invaded and exposed, and their roads jammed with motor-coaches while goggling loads of sightseers peered in at their windows. Moreover, it was not difficult for the two or three who hankered for limelight to perceive that the village was in a mood to subdue any active non-cooperator by boycott. And if Mr Wilfred Williams thought a little wistfully at times of the trade that might have come to The Scythe and Stone, he proved a staunch supporter — and sensitive to the requirements of longer-term goodwill.

    Once the bewilderment of the first impact had been succeeded by the feeling that there were capable hands at the helm; when the pendulum-swing among the young unmarried women from frightened wretchedness to smug bumptiousness had settled down; and when an air of readiness to turn-to, not vastly dissimilar from that which preceded the annual fête and flower-show, began to be apparent, the self-appointed committee could feel that at least it had succeeded in getting things on to the right lines.

    The original Committee of the Willers, the Leebodys, the Zellabys, and Nurse Daniels, had been augmented by ourselves, and also by Mr Arthur Crimm who had been co-opted to represent the interests of several indignant researchers at The Grange who now found themselves embroiled, willy-nilly, in the domestic life of Midwich.

    But though the feeling at the committee meeting held some five days after the Village Hall meeting could be fairly summarized as 'so far, so good', members were well aware that the achievement could not be left to take care of itself. The attitude that had been successfully induced might, it was felt, slip back all too easily into normal conventional prejudices if it were not carefully tended. For some time, at least, it would have to be sustained and fortified.

    'What we need to produce,' Angela summed up, 'is something like the companionship of adversity, but without suggesting that it is an adversity — which, indeed, as far as we know, it is not.'

    The sentiment gained the approval of everyone but Mrs Leebody, who looked doubtful.

    'But,' she said hesitantly, 'I think we ought to be honest, you know.'

    The rest of us looked at her inquiringly. She went on:

    'Well, I mean, it is an adversity, isn't it? After all, a thing like this wouldn't happen to us for no reason, would it? There must be a reason; so isn't it our duty to search for it?'

    Angela regarded her with a small, puzzled frown.

    'I don't think I quite understand . . .' she said.

    'Well,' explained Mrs Leebody, 'when things — unusual things like this — suddenly happen to a community there is a reason. I mean, look at the plagues of Egypt, and Sodom and Gomorrah, and that kind of thing.'

    There was a pause. Zellaby felt impelled to relieve the awkwardness.

    'For my part,' he observed, 'I regard the plagues of Egypt as an unedifying example of celestial bullying; a technique now known as power-politics. As for Sodom —' He broke off and subsided as he caught his wife's eye.

    'Er —' said the vicar, since something seemed to be expected of him. 'Er —'

    Angela came to his rescue.

    'I really don't think you need worry about that, Mrs Leebody. Barrenness is, of course, a classical form of curse; but I really can't remember any instance where retribution took the form of fruitfulness. After all, it scarcely seems reasonable, does it?'

    'That would depend on the fruit,' Mrs Leebody said, darkly.

    Another uneasy silence followed. Everybody, except Mr Leebody, regarded Mrs Leebody. Dr Willers' eyes swivelled to catch those of Nurse Daniels, and then went back to Dora Leebody who showed no discomfort at being the centre of attention. She glanced round at all of us in an apologetic manner.

    'I am sorry, but I am afraid I am the cause of it all,' she confided.

    'Mrs Leebody —' the doctor began.

    She raised her hand reprovingly.

    'You are kind,' she said. 'I know you want to spare me. But there is a time for confession. I am a sinner, you see. If I had had my child twelve years ago, none of this would have happened. Now I must pay for my sin by bearing a child that is not my husband's. It is all quite clear. I am very sorry to have brought this down on the rest of you. But it is a judgement, you see. Just like the plagues . . .'

    The vicar, flushed and troubled, broke in before she could continue: 'I think — er — perhaps if you will excuse us —'

    There was a general pushing back of chairs. Nurse Daniels crossed quietly to Mrs Leebody's side, and began a conversation with her. Dr Willers watched them for a moment until he became aware of Mr Leebody beside him, mutely inquiring. He laid a hand reassuringly on the vicar's shoulder.

    'It has been a shock to her. Not surprising at all. I fully expected a number of cases before this. I'll get Nurse Daniels to see her home and give her a sedative. Very likely a good sleep will make all the difference. I'll look in tomorrow morning.'

    A few minutes later we dispersed, in a subdued and thoughtful mood.

*

The policy advocated by Angela Zellaby was carried out with considerable success. The latter part of January saw the introduction of such a programme of social activities and helpful neighbourliness as we felt would leave only the most determined non-cooperators with the isolation, or the time, to brood.

    In late February I was able to report to Bernard that things were going, on the whole, smoothly — more smoothly, at any rate than we had dared to hope at first. There had been a few sags in the graph of local confidence, and would doubtless be others, but, so far, recoveries had been speedy. I gave him details of the happenings in the village since my last report, but information regarding the attitude and views prevailing at The Grange which he had asked for I could not supply. Either the researchers were of the opinion that the affair somehow came within the compass of their oaths of secrecy, or else they were of the opinion that it was safer to act as if it did.

    Mr Crimm continued to be their only link with the village, and it seemed to me that to get any more information I must either have authority to reveal to him the official nature of my interest, or Bernard would have to tackle him himself. Bernard preferred the latter course, and a meeting was arranged for Mr Crimm's next visit to London.

    He called in on us on the way back, feeling at liberty to spill some of his troubles, which seemed to be largely concerned with his Establishments Section.

    'They do so worship tidiness,' he complained. 'I just don't know what we are going to do when my six problems start to raise matters of allowances and absences, and make an undisguisable mess of their nice tidy leave-rosters. And then, too, there'll be the effect on our work schedule. I put it to Colonel Westcott that if his Department really is seriously concerned to keep the matter quiet, they'll only be able to do it by stepping in officially, at a high level. Otherwise, we shall have to give explanations before long. I think he sees my point there. But, for the life of me, I can't see why that particular aspect should be of such interest to MI, can you?'

    'Now that is a pity,' Janet told him. 'One of our hopes when we heard that you were going to see him was that you might learn enough to enlighten us.'

*

Life appeared to be going on smoothly enough in Midwich for the present, but it was only a little later that one of the undercurrents broke surface, and gave us a flutter of anxiety.

    After the committee meeting which she had brought to a premature close, Mrs Leebody ceased, not altogether surprisingly, to play any further active part in the promotion of village harmony. When she did reappear after a few days' rest, she seemed to have recovered her balance by a decision to regard the whole unfortunate situation as a distasteful subject.

    On one of the early days in March, however, the Vicar of St Mary's, in Trayne, accompanied by his wife, brought her home in their car. They had found her, he reported to Mr Leebody, with some embarrassment, preaching in Trayne market, from an upturned box.

    'Er — preaching?' said Mr Leebody, a new uneasiness mingling with his concern. 'I — er — can you tell me what about?'

    'Oh, well — well quite fantastical, I'm afraid,' the Vicar of St Mary's told him, evasively.

    'But I think I ought to know. The doctor will be sure to ask about it when he arrives.'

    'Well — er — it was in the nature of a call to repentance; on a note of — er — revivalist doom. The people of Trayne must repent and pray forgiveness for fear of wrath, retribution, and hellfire. Rather nonconformist, I'm afraid. Lurid, you know. And, it seems, they must particularly avoid having anything to do with the people of Midwich who are already suffering under divine disapproval. If the Trayne people do not take heed, and mend their ways, punishment will inevitably descend on them, too.'

    'Oh,' said Mr Leebody, keeping his tone level. 'She did not say what form our suffering here is taking?'

    'A visitation,' the Vicar of St Mary's told him. 'Specifically, the infliction of a plague of — er — babies. That, of course, was causing some degree of ribaldry. A lamentable business altogether. Of course, once my wife had drawn my attention to Mrs Leebody's — er — condition, the matter became more intelligible, though still more distressing. I — oh, here is Dr Willers, now.' He broke off with relief.

*

A week later, in the middle of the afternoon, Mrs Leebody took up a position on the lowest step of the War Memorial, and began to speak. She was dressed for the occasion in a garment of hessian, her feet were bare, and there was a smudge of ash on her forehead. Fortunately there were not many people about at the time, and she was persuaded home again by Mrs Brant before she had well begun. Word was all round the village in an hour, but her message, whatever it may have been, remained undelivered.

    Midwich heard the quickly following news of Dr Willers' recommendation to rest in a nursing-home with sympathy rather than surprise.

*

About mid-March Alan and Ferrelyn made their first visit since their marriage. With Ferrelyn putting in the time until Alan's release in a small Scottish town entirely among strangers, Angela had been against causing her worry by attempting to explain the Midwich state of affairs in a letter; so, now, it had to be laid before them.

    Alan's expression of concern deepened as the predicament was explained. Ferrelyn listened without interruption, but with a swift glance now and then at Alan's face. It was she who broke the silence that followed.

    'You know,' she said, 'I had a sort of feeling all along that there was something funny. I mean, it oughtn't —' she broke off, struck apparently by an ancillary thought. 'Oh, how dreadful! I kind of shot-gunned poor Alan. This probably makes it coercion, or undue influence, or something heinous. Could it be grounds for divorce? Oh, dear. Do you want a divorce, darling?'

    Zellaby's eyes crinkled a little at the corners as he watched his daughter.

    Alan put his hand over hers.

    'I think we ought to wait a bit, don't you?' he told her.

    'Darling,' said Ferrelyn, twining her fingers in his. Turning her head after a long look at him, she caught her father's expression. Treating him to a determinedly unresponsive look, she turned to Angela, and asked for more details of the village's reactions. Half an hour later they went out, leaving the two men alone together. Alan barely waited for the door to latch before he broke out.

    'I say, sir, this is a bit of a facer, isn't it?'

    'I'm afraid it is,' Zellaby agreed. 'The best consolation I can offer is that we find the shock wears off. The most painful part is the opening assault on one's prejudices — I speak for our sex, of course. For the women that is, unfortunately, only the first hurdle.'

    Alan shook his head.

    'This is going to be a terrible blow for Ferrelyn, I'm afraid — as it must have been to Angela,' he added, a little hurriedly. 'Of course, one can't expect her, Ferrelyn, I mean, to take in all the implications at once. A thing like this needs a bit of absorbing . . .'

    'My dear fellow,' said Zellaby, 'as Ferrelyn's husband you have the right to think all sorts of things about her, but one of the things you must not do, for your own peace of mind, is to underestimate her. Ferrelyn, I assure you, was away ahead of you. I doubt whether she's missed a trick. She was certainly far enough ahead to move in with a lightweight remark because she knew that if she seemed worried, you would worry about her.'

    'Oh, do you think so?' said Alan, a little flatly.

    'I do,' said Zellaby. 'Furthermore, it was sensible of her. A fruitlessly worrying male is a nuisance. The best thing he can do is to disguise his worry, and stand staunchly by, impersonating a pillar of strength while performing certain practical and organizational services. I offer you the fruit of somewhat intensive experience.

    'Another thing he can do is represent Modern Knowledge and Commonsense — but tactfully. You can have no idea of the number of venerable saws, significant signs, old wives' sooths, gipsies' warnings, and general fiddle-faddle that has been thrown up by this in the village, lately. We have become a folklorist's treasure-chest. Did you know that in our circumstances it is dangerous to pass under a lych-gate on a Friday? Practically suicide to wear green? Very unwise indeed to eat seed-cake? Are you aware that if a dropped knife, or needle, sticks point down in the floor it will be a boy? No? I thought you might not be. But never mind. I am assembling a bouquet of these cauliflowers of human wisdom in the hope that they may keep my publishers quiet.'

    Alan inquired with belated politeness after the progress of the Current Work. Zellaby sighed sadly.

    'I am supposed to deliver the final draft of The British Twilight by the end of next month. So far I have written three chapters of this supposedly contemporary study. If I could remember what they deal with, I've no doubt I should find them obsolete by now. It ruins a man's concentration to have a crèche hanging over his head.'

    'What is amazing me as much as anything is that you've managed to keep it quiet. I'd have said you hadn't a chance,' Alan told him.

    'I did say it,' Zellaby admitted. 'And I'm still astonished. I think it must be a kind of variant on The Emperor's Clothes theme — either that, or an inversion of the Hitler Big Lie — a truth too big to be believed. But, mind you, both Oppley and Stouch are saying unneighbourly things about some of us that they've noticed, though they appear to have no idea of the real scale. I'm told that there is a theory current in both of them that we have all been indulging in one of those fine old uninhibited rustic frenzies on Hallowe'en. Anyway, several of the inhabitants almost gather their skirts aside as we pass. I must say that our people have restrained themselves commendably, under some provocation.'

    'But do you mean that only a mile or two away they've no idea what's really happened?' Alan asked incredulously.

    'I'd not say that, so much as that they don't want to believe it. They must have heard fairly fully I imagine, but they choose to believe that that is all a tale to cover up something more normal, but disgraceful. Willers was right when he said that a kind of self-protective reflex would defend the ordinary man and woman from disquieting beliefs — That is unless it should get into print. On the word of a newspaper, of course, eighty or ninety per cent would swing to the opposite extreme, and believe anything. The cynical attitude in the other villages really helps. It means that a newspaper is unlikely to get anything to go on unless it is directly informed by someone inside the village.

    'Internal stresses were worst for the first week or two after our announcement. Several of the husbands were awkward to handle, but once we got it out of their heads that it was some elaborate system of whitewashing or spoofing, and when they discovered that none of the others was in a position to make a butt of them, they became more reasonable, and less conventional.

    'The Lamb-Latterly breach was mended after a few days, when Miss Latterly got over the shock, and Miss Lamb is now being cosseted with a devotion scarcely to be distinguished from tyranny.

    'Our leading rebel for some time was Tilly . . . Oh, you must have seen Tilly Foresham — jodhpurs, roll-neck, hacking-jacket, dragged hither and thither by the whim of fate in the form of three golden retrievers . . . She protested indignantly for some time that she would not mind much if she happened to like babies; but, as she much preferred puppies, the whole thing was particularly hard on her. However, she seems now to have given in, though grudgingly.'

    Zellaby rambled on for a time with anecdotes of the emergency, concluding with the one in which Miss Ogle had been narrowly headed off from making the first payment, in her own name, for the most resplendent perambulator that Trayne could offer.

    After a pause, Alan prompted:

    'You did say that about ten who might be expected to be involved actually are not?'

    'Yes. And five of those were in the bus on the Oppley road, and therefore under observation during the Dayout — that has at least done something to dispel the idea of a fertilizing gas which some seemed to be inclined to adopt as one of the new scientific horrors of our age,' Zellaby told him.