Singapore Grip - J. G. Farrell [251]
The fire reached its zenith at about five o’clock in the morning and thereafter it became possible to drive it back gradually, a few feet hour after hour: the plan was to contain it and let it burn itself out. Abruptly Matthew realized that it was daylight again: standing so close to the fire he had not noticed the sky growing paler. In the darkness it had been difficult to tell the Mayfair men from the others, but in the daylight it was not much easier, so dirty and unkempt were the figures staggering drunkenly about on the uneven ground. Moreover, by now there was so much hose running between the river and the fire that when it became necessary to put in another length it was a laborious job to discover which hose belonged to the Mayfair and which to other units; the job was made even more difficult by the exhausted state that everyone was in, for by now they had been almost twenty hours at the fire and those who fell down found it hard to get up again. At one point, while engaged in a weary search to trace the correct coupling in the hoses which lay like a bundle of arteries half-buried in sodden wood shavings, Matthew stumbled against a man from one of the other companies lying on the ground. ‘Thanks, mate, I’m OK,’ he said when Matthew tried to help him up. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’ He peered up at Matthew, recognizing him. ‘You still all right then?’ It was Evans, the fireman who had told him about Adamson some days earlier.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be OK in a minute,’ Evans repeated. So Matthew went on searching for the hose he wanted. But half an hour later Evans was still lying there.
Presently Matthew, too, stumbled and fell into a pile of wood shavings: they had a pleasantly fresh scent: he lay with his cheek against them and his head spinning. He felt wonderfully contented, however, and despite his weariness, exhilarated by the sense of comradeship with the other men. After a while he made feeble efforts to get to his feet again, but the best he could do was to sit up. He sat there in the wood shavings between the fire and the river, waiting for the strength to move: the fire was quiet now, and in daylight appeared shabby and dull but it still radiated the same stupendous heat. ‘This is the life I should have been living years ago,’ he thought, again experiencing an extraordinary sensation of freedom and fulfilment, ‘instead of which I’ve wasted my time with theories and empty disputes! When the war is over I shall make myself useful to someone.’
Presently Ehrendorf and Dupigny came looking for him and between them got him to his feet. The Mayfair unit was being relieved, they told him. He would do better to sleep in one of the roster beds at the Mayfair. As they left, Evans was still lying exhausted on the ground. Hardly had they passed through the shattered streets to the Mayfair when the sirens began to wail once more. Another raid, heavier even than the one on Tanglin, was just beginning on the crowded shop-houses and tenements of the Beach Road area.
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An indication of communal co-operation was provided yesterday when Indian passive defence volunteers attended to the casualties in their area … these casualties were mostly Chinese. One of the members of the Indian Youth League, Mr N. M. Marshall, was most helpful in providing a van for the removal of the casualties.
In a certain well-known hotel yesterday a bomb damaged the boys’ quarters but this did not prevent patrons from having their midday meal. They went to the kitchen and helped themselves.
WORKERS, every hour counts in the battle for Singapore. Don’t let the sirens stop your work. The enemy bombers may be miles away. They may never come near you. Carry on till the roof-spotters give the signal to take cover. The fighting men are counting on you.