Chapter 8 - Revelations and Genesis
A/N1 – The 1952 Harrow and Wealdstone train disaster was responsible for the highest casualty rate of any peace-time rail crash in UK history. It was one of two accidents in the first half of the 1950s that probably had an influence on Lewis and The Last Battle. A memorial plaque to those who perished through it is built into the station entrance, and around the time of the anniversary, flowers are still left in remembrance. My story ends with this chapter, thank you all for clicking through.
London 8 October 1952
Edmund was running late and it wasn't even his fault. He had set his alarm for 5.30am prompt, but the beastly thing had not gone off. Instead, what had actually awoken him from slumber was the mewing of his Landlady's ginger cat, as it scrabbled against a closed door from the inside his own room. Strange that, because he had not even let the cat into the room in the first place. Upon investigation, Edmund discovered his alarm clock fallen on the floor beside his bed, and realized the cat must have arrived during the night, through his slightly open window, knocking the clock off his bedside table as it leapt in. Then of course it had got stuck in his room. How very unfortunate, especially on a day when Ed Pevensie, junior clerk in the law firm of Collins and Harper had a deadline to meet.
As soon as he was dressed, dark grey suit, white shirt and bland tie, Edmund bolted downstairs, nearly tripping over the offending cat, now calmly washing itself on the landing; threw a cup of tea down his throat and rushed to the front door, a half consumed slice of toast still in hand. He barely muttered a "Good Morning" to Mr Johnson who was on guard at his usual dining table post, or greeted his Landlady, Mrs Montgomery in the hallway as he left. Edmund, you see was a lodger at a small boarding house, near to where he worked in the City, and I am very glad to say it was not one of those establishments with "No…No…No" pasted in the front window; or else Edmund would never have stayed there.
Despite his best efforts in running for the bus, Edmund manged to miss it, and sadly watched the red bulk disappear around the corner. When the next one arrived he boarded, took a seat upstairs at the front, and asked the conductor for a single to Euston Station. By now he had fully got his breath back, because even though he still regularly played sport, you don't often have to run down the rugby field while carrying a heavy brief case full of legal papers, needed for a meeting in Liverpool. This bus quickly became stuck in traffic, annoying Edmund still further. Every cat eyed green light was seemingly turning to red as the vehicle approached. When Edmund eventually struggled through the Doric arch of Euston, he knew his first choice train had already left, and he hadn't even bough his ticket yet.
On that same day Susan rose early. In fact she had hardly slept, there was really no point. All that sleep could bring her was the same dream, over and over again; and she knew it off by heart. The Angel in her dream had been very clear on that point, scraping the details firmly into her conscious mind. The only part of the process that really confused Susan had occurred about three nights before. She had woken up suddenly, and found the same Angel from her dream sitting patiently at the bottom of her bed, or at least she thought she had? Maybe she hadn't woken up at all, but just dreamt that she had. For Susan the lines between dreams and reality had become blurred. Well there was only one way to find out if her dream was true or not. So, waring full make up, her best dress, and a brand new pair of nylons, Susan slipped out of the Notting Hill house and made her way to the underground station.
A little later she was on board a mainline express, stumbling her way along the corridor towards the front of the train. She took a window seat in a First Class carriage as the train begun to gather speed and the dense buildings started to give way to patches of open land, somewhat indistinct in the morning fog. From her bag Susan took out a copy of Jane Eyre; the text Mrs Davenport had set her to read, laid it on her lap and waited. Around Wembley the guard came along to Susan's compartment. He was about to knock and enter but then stopped. The young lady inside was clearly of good breading, exactly the kind of person who should be travelling First, obviously she would be in possession of the correct ticket, so there was no need to bother her. Shaking his head slightly, as if to dislodge a cobweb from inside, he walked on down the train.
"Captain Pevensie."
"Yes Sir."
"We've had a call from HQ. There's been a railway accident near Harrow. Quite a smash I'm afraid. I want you to take a couple of trucks with men and equipment, and see what we can do to help out."
"Of course Sir."
"Oh and Pevensie?"
"Yes Sir?"
"It's not going to be pretty there."
"I understand Sir."
"That will be all," Peter saluted his Commanding Officer and left the room.
At Edgware hospital they had been bringing accident victims in for over 2 hours now. Adrenaline had kept Lucy going. That and professionalism, and how deep and passionate her commitment to healing went, only she really understood. As soon as she could afford to take time out and think, Lucy was certain the enormity of the situation would hit her, so she put the context to one side, and focused on each individual requirement in front of her. Case, after case, after case. Another person was lain down by the door, Lucy turned and caught sight of an awfully familiar high heeled shoe. She ran.
"Nurse Pevensie," called the Staff Nurse, "I have duties for you in…"
Lucy had grabbed the patient's hand and found a weak pulse, "But she's..." Lucy responded, "in need of someone."
The senior nurse came across, and took one look at the pale face, with blood congealing at the corner or ruby red lips. "Very well," she said stiffly, "Come to me when you are free."
"Lucy," rasped her older sister. "Ha. I knew it would be you. So childish of me, foolish and almost impossible, but I really do believe this was meant."
"Ssssh," replied Lucy, as much to calm Susan as for her own protection, "I shouldn't be doing this with you."
"But you must, the Angel, the plan, it's a trade-off you see… Aslan." Lucy was baffled by the incoherence, all she could do was wipe down the sweat. She bent down to the marked and cut face.
"I just wish I had my potion."
Susan's voice briefly became strong and commanding, "No! It won't work here. You know that Lu."
"I'm afraid not, I'm so sorry Su."
"You hair, it's shining in this light, looks almost golden to me. Just like it does in Narnia, or will, or has done. Ah! I don't think I know anymore what is a game, and what is real."
"It's all been true, I promise."
"Hope you're right. My Angel keeps on telling me that." It was getting harder for Susan to talk now. "Said I've lived a full life here on Earth too. Stupid, but I even think I can remember some of it, turned out to be quite fun. Am I dreaming that, or was being a Queen the dream?"
Lucy squeezed the hand she was holding. "No, Narnia happened, we all know it. Even you came round, after we lost Aunt Polly, Professor Kirke, Eustace and Jill."
"Of course! I'm sure the Professor will have sorted everything out. Perhaps even Eustace and Jill managed to do something useful." Susan paused and gathered her dwindling strength. "But my Angel's told me that I have to be the one check on them you see. So I've got to go, now. Once a Queen eh?" Susan smiled thinly. "There's such a world here for you here Lu, enjoy it, I'm sure I did."
"No, you must fight this Su, don't leave us again."
"I will never leave you, or the others. I will always be as close as I can. Remember that. Remember the Deep Magic Lu, All the goodness it can do with a sacrifice."
"Always a Queen," mumbled Lucy.
As everything spun around her, Susan closed her eyes.
"By the Lion's Mane
I make this, my final choice..."
The Cotswolds, England, 11 March 1995
Peter and Lucy were sitting together, quietly in the front pew of a small village church. Matins was complete, and the lady who did the flowers was not due in for another hour. They had the place to themselves, if ever a building with so much history of community and prayer could be described as being empty.
"That was lovely. You really do have a talent for bringing out the meaning of the words."
The Reverend looked away in embarrassment, "Steady on! You haven't heard tomorrow's sermon yet."
"I've listened to you preach before, and I've never fallen asleep! Neither has Ed, though admittedly he's always been to your services' before having Sunday Lunch."
"Well, we had a good teacher didn't we?"
"The best, you could say. He'd be so proud of you."
"I hope so."
"You doing all this now, most people of our age would be retiring, not starting a new vocation."
"But that's the point isn't it? The vocation has been with me all my life. I've waited a long, long time for this; and it feels absolutely right to do it, while I can."
"I'm proud of you too, you know." They hugged. "It hardly seems a year since your Ordination in Bristol."
"I know. But it was the perfect day in an appropriate city, despite the rain. That's where Mother and Father were travelling to the day…"
"I remember." The response was hurried. Before they could say anything else the church door flew open and a young man trotted down the aisle at speed, his cassock billowing behind him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt Reverend, but The Bishop is on the phone, he wants to wish you a happy anniversary for tomorrow."
Lucy stood up and adjusted her dog collar. "That's alright Stephen, I will take the call in the office."
They left Peter alone with his thoughts. Sunlight created coloured patterns on the stone floor as it shone through stained glass. He looked again at the document he and Lucy had been reminiscing over. It was the Order of Service for the ordination of the very first Women Clergy in England, 12 March last. Four of those women he noticed, were called Susan.
A/N2 - 32 women (including 4 Susan's and a June Plummer) were ordained in Bristol Cathedral on 12 March 1994. For 28 years the original plaque hanging in the Cathedral in recognition of this only named the men who performed the service, not the women themselves.