Chapter 5 – Bernard
IT WAS quite late in the evening by the time Jacqui arrived home to a cold supper. Paul, who had eaten earlier, was in one of his flippant moods again. "Spotted any flying saucers yet?" he began.
"Paul, please!—this is serious. And no—I never expected to see any UFOs. But I have learnt one or two things about Midwich. Terrible things. Sorry, darling, I can't talk about it now: I'm too tired. In the morning, perhaps. And I'm going to look out that old man Bernard again—you know, the one we met after the funeral. He knows something, I'm sure—if I can prise it out of him. He's been to Midwich."
"Well, that makes more sense than trespassing on MoD land, I have to say. Oh well, good luck then! He won't be too willing to talk, not if he's ex-Army."
Jacqui slept on it. In the morning, after Paul had left for work, she rifled through Grandad's address book, which she had retrieved from the care home. But she could find nothing under 'W' for Westcott, nor under 'B' for Bernard.
She looked more closely at the book. Yes, there was something irregular in the 'W' section. A page seemed to have been removed: not torn out, but carefully snipped out with scissors. And yes—the missing page would have been in exactly the place where 'Westcott' would have been entered, in alphabetical sequence. Jacqui cursed Grandad, audibly. She tried the phone book, but there was no entry.
The only other possible source of information must be the computer. But she still didn't have the password for the 'no.2' file, nor any of the others.
What had she learnt, the day before? Well, she had met the old lady, Mary Histon, and seen the photo of her late son, Theodore. But Grandad was hardly likely to have been in touch with her—else she would surely have mentioned it. What else? Well, there was the curious word 'Dayout'—but that was too obvious, it was the title of the no.1 file. 'Zellaby'? Midwich had been a small village: Grandad would have known him. Would he expect her to have heard the name by now?
She wasn't sure of the spelling, so she tried several variants: 'Zelleby', 'Zellerby', 'Zellabee', 'Zelabi', and so on. None of them worked. Perhaps Zellaby wasn't the password. Was there anything else she'd picked up?
Of course! The yellow eyes! No—the golden eyes! All these strange Children (she was subconsciously thinking of them with a capital 'C' now) had had these golden eyes.
She typed 'Golden eyes' into the computer, but still no result. Aha! Perhaps Grandad had begun with a lower-case 'g', since it wasn't a proper name. She typed 'golden eyes' and the file popped open. Success!
The file consisted of another letter directed personally to her: a somewhat longer one. It ran as follows:
"My dearest Jacqueline,
"To have got this far and successfully unearthed the passwords to my files, you must have already found out quite a lot about Midwich: the Dayout; the birth of the strange babies; their extraordinary rapport; their power of duress. You may well be wondering why I placed these obstacles in your path: the passwords and encrypted files. But I wanted to be absolutely sure that you were fully determined to pursue this investigation: that you were wholly committed to addressing, and maybe solving, the riddle of Midwich.
"For there are many questions unanswered: where did these beings come from; what was their purpose in 'seeding' the Earth in this strange manner; will they return; did they visit other planets and what was their success there? In the next file (which you will be relieved to know is encrypted with the same password as this one), I set down a complete account of all I can remember of our experiences at Midwich. I am confident that you are the right person to find some or all of the answers, even though I shall not be alive to hear them for myself.
"You will know that my knowledge of the situation ends with the extermination of the entire group of Children, and the subsequent evacuation of Midwich. It could well be that the whole story ends with that cataclysmic event—certainly my knowledge of it stops at that point. But I do not think so. My friend Bernard Westcott (formerly Lieutenant-Colonel Westcott), who often came to visit when you were a small child, kept me well up-to-date with developments up to that point, but thereafter he maintained an obstinate silence. I suspect that he knows more than I do. If he is still alive after I am gone, you would do well to seek him out, if you have not already done so. The last I heard of him, he was moved following a stroke to the Pine Trees Rest Home in Ealing. His daughter Imogen cares for him part of the time, but I do not know her address.
"My late friend in Midwich, Gordon Zellaby, features largely in my account. If you have already learned about him and the circumstances around his death, you will probably have gained an impression of him as a mass murderer—or at the very least a terrorist and suicide bomber (Heaven knows, we've had enough of those in recent years!). But with Gordon that was emphatically not the case. What he did, he did because we were facing an existential threat to the entire population of Earth, and his drastic action was the only way to overcome that threat. When you read my full account you will understand more, but I wanted especially to dispel any prejudicial impressions you may have formed of the man.
"You may be wondering whether this whole account is a mere fantasy of mine—a plot for another Sci-fi novel. All I can say is, Jacqui, when have I ever lied to you?
"All that remains is for me to wish you luck. I have every confidence that, with your skills, you will find the answers!
"With all my love,
"Grandad."
Well! That was indeed an eye-opener. So Jacqui was tasked with solving the whole Midwich conundrum from start to finish. Having been summarily expelled from the Midwich area, where could she start? Well, she had already tried to find Bernard's address, and now Grandad had given her a lead. She guessed that he had cut the page out of his address book, to prevent her from contacting Bernard prematurely: perhaps before she chose to take the matter seriously.
But first of all Jacqui must read Richard's full account of the Midwich events. She opened the third file which was of some considerable length, and settled down to read.
She read and read. It was a compelling story, full of dramatic events. So Zellaby's own daughter, Ferrelyn, was one of the 'afflicted' girls! Jacqui wondered if she was still alive. But she would know less even than Grandad, surely—she had married and settled in Scotland, raised a 'normal' family of her own, and had had nothing to do with Midwich thereafter.
The power of duress exercised by the Children—even as infants—was fully described, and also Zellaby's skill in unearthing the curious rapport between them.
Then there was a gap of some eight years in the narrative: the time when Grandad and Grandma had been in Canada and had had no contact with Midwich. But then, apparently, he had paid a brief visit, and the story was picked up from that point.
Now the narrative was punctuated by horrific scenes of violence, including a full-scale deadly riot amongst the villagers, apparently forced upon them by the Children. It transpired that the Children had presented their terms: they effectively wished to supplant the human race as the dominant species on Earth. And it was also revealed—by Bernard Westcott, who was evidently fully on the case—that other colonies of Children had appeared elsewhere on the planet—but all the others had been destroyed.
Evening was drawing in when Jacqui came to the climax. She could see now how the far-sighted Zellaby had arrived at the only possible solution—and the terrible means by which he had brought it about. She could not refrain from shedding a few tears as she read the closing paragraphs.
Paul arrived home just as Jacqui was closing down the file. Discovering that Jacqui was still in her bemused state and hadn't got a meal ready, he set about preparing it. Jacqui was unusually quiet as they sat down to dinner: she didn't feel like facing up to Paul's scepticism just for now. Eventually Paul broke the silence.
"Got in touch with that man Bernard, then? Did he have anything to say about them flying saucers?"
"Not yet," replied Jacqui. "I've spent the day reading Grandad's files. Quite shattering, I have to say..."
"You look it, my dear. Didn't you have any lunch?"
"Only a sandwich and a cup of tea. Tomorrow I'm going to try and track down Bernard. I've got a lead on where he lives."
"Well, as I said before, good luck. You won't get much out of him. He might spin you a good yarn though."
In the morning Jacqui looked up the Pine Trees Rest Home, and dialled their number.
"Do you have a Bernard Westcott among your residents? If so, could I speak to him?"
"Who's calling please?" was the response. Jacqui gave her maiden name.
"I'm sorry, Ms Gayford, but Mr Westcott has left strict instructions that no calls are to be put through to him except from his daughter and other members of his family."
"Well, could you advise me how to get in touch with his daughter, Imogen Westcott?"
"I'm sorry once again, I'm not allowed to divulge that information."
"Could you at least pass my name on to Mr Westcott?" pleaded Jacqui. "He does know me, and he'll know what it's about."
"I'll try, but he'll probably be still asleep at present." There was a long pause. "Ms Gayford? Yes he is asleep. You could try again later."
Jacqui decided she had had enough of telephoning. She decided to drive out to Pine Trees herself.
The rest home, when she reached it, turned out to be a rather drab affair set a little way back along a residential street, hardly meriting its idyllic name—indeed, there wasn't a single pine tree in sight. Jacqui supposed that it was either the wild imagination of the owners, or that the trees had since been felled. But she went into Reception and announced herself.
"Ah—you're the lady who phoned earlier. I'll see if Mr Westcott is up yet." The receptionist picked up her phone and dialled a number. Then she nodded, spoke a few words, and handed the phone to Jacqui.
The thin, reedy voice came through on the line. "Jacqui? Is that you? So you've come to see me have you? What can I do for you?"
"I'd just like to talk to you for a while, if I may?"
"What's it about? Are you planning to write a story about me, for that wretched newspaper of yours? The Mercury or whatever it's called?"
"Certainly not. This is private, just between you and me." Jacqui pressed the mouthpiece close to her lips and whispered, hoping that the receptionist wouldn't overhear. "It's about Midwich."
There was a long pause. Then Bernard's voice came through again. "So you found out. You'd better come up then. Hand the phone back to Carol."
The receptionist listened for a few moments, then nodded. "Please take a seat, Ms Gayford. I'll send for someone to take you to Mr Westcott's room."
When Jacqui was finally shown into Bernard's room, she found him seated, not in his wheelchair, but in a comfortable armchair. His room was fairly sparsely furnished, but there were many mementos testifying to his military career scattered around the room. He gestured to Jacqui to sit in the other armchair.
"We met at the funeral of course. I don't see very clearly these days, but I know it's you: I recognise your voice all right. So what do you know of Midwich and the Children?"
"Only everything that Grandad—Richard—knew, Colonel Westcott."
"Oh, 'Bernard', please!"
"I've read his full account, Bernard," continued Jacqui, "—right up to the point where Zellaby killed them all."
"Not quite all—but Richard never knew that of course. Damn!—I've already said more than I ought to. Official Secrets and all that. But what the hell—I'm an old man, and it's not going to rebound on me."
"As it happens, I have signed the Official Secrets Act. Some years ago," replied Jacqui. "For a few months I was reporting on Defence, for a different paper. It didn't work out, though."
"That's as well. So you'll understand that what I'm about to tell you is Top Secret stuff—but I trust you to keep it to yourself. You ought to have been PV'd—positively vetted, as I have—but we'll forget that for now.
"Everyone, including Richard, believed that the entire group of Children had been killed in the blast, but as you know well, there are usually some survivors. Haven't we had enough, in recent years, coping with terrorist attacks, to know that? As it turned out, two of the boys and one girl survived the explosion. One of the boys, Wilfred by name, was the one who'd been shot a few days earlier by the local farm-hand—Richard must have written about the affair." Jacqui nodded. "Wilfred was in the sick-bay, some distance from the schoolroom. He was injured, but not seriously. The other two, a boy and a girl, were evidently in the room with Zellaby. How they survived, I don't know—but they did, although severely injured.
"Well, when the three of them were found alive, they were taken to hospital, and luckily their powers of duress appeared to have left them whilst they were injured. There, they were treated and then all three were placed in induced comas. While they were under, they could pose no threat to the people in the hospital. Then, of course, we were called in to decide what to do about them.
"Well, our scientists studied them very closely, and made a few discoveries. One of them was that an instrument could be contrived which could detect both the duress field and the rapport field coming from these subjects. But far more important for us—a breakthrough in fact—was the discovery that a thin screen of gadolinium was enough to block most of the duress powers, and presumably the rapport signal too. I suppose you don't know what gadolinium is, do you?"
"The name rings a bell," said Jacqui. "Some sort of mineral, is it?"
"A metal. One of the Rare Earth metals. Although it's not as 'rare' as the name suggests, it's very difficult to extract from its ore. I'm no scientist, but I understand it has unusual magnetic and nuclear properties, so it has several industrial and medical uses.
"We immediately scoured all around the world and collected up all the gadolinium we could muster. The subjects, once they had recovered from their injuries, were taken back to Midwich, which had meanwhile been evacuated of all its residents and sealed off. All this was done in intense secrecy, The subjects were placed in three separate rooms—cells I suppose you'd say—each of them with walls, floor and ceiling lined with a layer of gadolinium, covered with plaster and floor tiles. We also contrived PPE—personal protective clothing, incorporating a layer of gadolinium, including a helmet—so that we could visit these subjects in their cells without risk."
"What were these Children—subjects—like, under these conditions? How did they react?" asked Jacqui.
"They showed very little emotion. And they hardly spoke to us. But we got the impression that they accepted that the attempt to colonise Earth had failed, for the time being. They were awaiting instructions from their home planet—though how they were to receive anything through the shield, we weren't sure."
"How long were they kept like this? Are they still alive?"
"One at a time, please! A little over twenty-five years. Until the mid-1980s, as I recall."
"Twenty-five years! My goodness! Didn't they go crazy? Any human being would, being cooped up that long without being let out. Even prisoners in jail get time out of their cell for exercise..."
"Yes, but these subjects weren't human. Solitary confinement didn't seem to affect them at all. And we did sometimes let them meet in the same cell, for short periods.
"Until the day the girl announced that she was pregnant."