John Christopher's ''Death of Grass'' (GCSE Passnotes)

GCSE PASSNOTES For

JOHN CHRISTOPHER's The Death of Grass By Graham Handley

Penguin Books Ltd. ISBN: 0-1407-7086-0

Dr Graham Handley has taught and lectured for over thirty years. He was Principal Lecturer and Head of Department at the College of All Saints, Tottenham, and Research Officer in English at Birkbeck College, University of London. He is a part-time lecturer in Literature with the University of London Department of Extramural Studies, and also teaches part-time at Enfield Chace Upper School. He has examined at all levels, from GCSE to University Honours Degree, and has published on Dickens, Mrs Gaskell and George Eliot. He has edited The Mill on the Floss and Wuthering Heights for Macmillan and Daniel Deronda for the Clarendon Press, Oxford. He has written studies of To Kill a Mockingbird, The Go-Between and The Pardoner's Tale for the Penguin Passnotes series and of Barchester Towers and Vanity Fair for the Penguin Masterstudies series.

For Guidey, with love

Contents To the Student Introduction: John Christopher and His Fiction Synopsis of The Death of Grass An Account of the Plot Characters Commentary Glossary Discussion Topics Examination Questions

To the Student

This book is designed to help you with your GCSE English Literature examination. It contains a brief review of John Christopher's work, a synopsis of the plot of The Death of Grass, and a commentary on the characters and their situation and on other aspects of the novel. There is also a glossary, some discussion to pics and some examination questions. Page references are to the Sphere edition of the novel. When you use this book remember that it is no more than an aid to your study. It will help you to find passages quickly, and perhaps it will give you some ideas for essays. But remember: this book is not a substitute for reading the text and it is your knowledge and your response that matter. These are the things the examiners are looking for, and they are also the things that will give you the most pleasure. Show your knowledge and appreciation to the examiners, and show them clearly.

Introduction: John Christopher and His Fiction

John Christopher is the pseudonym of C. S. Youd, the author of a number of short stories, works of science fiction and fantasy novels, as well as some children's fiction. C. S. Youd also writes under the name of Hilary Ford. In Youd's books one always finds a strong atmosphere, with an emphasis on fear and the prevalence of disaster. Themes similar to those of The Death of Grass are often explored. For example, in Empty World (1977) the focus is on Neil, who has lost his parents in an accident. He has to survive loneliness and, worse, the spread of a devastating plague for which there is apparently no cure. In A Wrinkle in the Skin, published some twelve years earlier, the earth is ravaged by a disaster, and man reverts to barbaric and primitive behaviour. In the celebrated Tripods trilogy (1967 onwards) the inhabitants of the earth are crushed by the rule of the Tripods, who control the minds of their human slaves through the caps that they force them to wear. The rebellion of those who have escaped 'capping' challenges the Tripods' rule. In another novel, The World in Winter (1962), the earth is in the grip of an ice age. The above books are just a taste of John Christopher's range. They give some indication of the remarkable fertility of his imagination and his superb ability to tell a story — or, rather, many stories. When you have read The Death of Grass read some of the books mentioned above or any others of his that you can discover. You will be richly rewarded, for John Christopher is always compulsive reading, and you will be enthralled by the world he creates, the brilliant visual descriptions, the atmosphere, the dialogue, the unbearable tensions of disaster and survival and the insights into human motives that are wide and fearless. Read to enjoy and experience. The Death of Grass is your starting point. Make sure that you know it well and that you understand its nature and its quality as imaginative literature.

Synopsis of The Death of Grass

The Prodrome (preliminary chapter) takes us back in time to 1933, when the widowed Hilda Custance goes with her two sons, David and John, to see their grandfather, who has a farm in a valley in Westmorland in the north-west of England — a valley with a very narrow entrance. David says that he would like to live there always, while John has a dangerous adventure when he falls into the river Lepe, which flows underground for many miles. Twenty-five years on, in 1958, John — now married with two children, a boy and a girl — visits David at the farm. David has remained unmarried. We learn later that he inherited the farm from his grandfather. The brothers discuss with one another, and with John's wife Ann, the serious famine in China and the Far East. There the Chung-Li virus has destroyed the grain crops. David points out that the virus has arrived in England and holds up some English grass, already discoloured, to prove it. Some time later John and Ann are playing bridge with their friends Roger and Olivia Buckley. During the game, they listen to a radio broadcast, which reports upon the imminent famine in China and measures being taken against the Chung-Li virus. Roger, who works for the Ministry of Production, seems unconcerned by the report. The couples and their children spend a weekend at the seaside, and Roger tells John of the ineffectual measures taken so far to combat the virus. Roger tends to take a pessimistic view, John, initially, a less alarmist one. In the West there are still enough stocks of grain. Ann feels that help should be sent by the West to the East and disapproves of the hardness of Roger's attitude. John is concerned but affects to believe that nothing will happen. Throughout the autumn and winter the situation in the East worsens, and it becomes 'an ocean of famine'. John and his family spend Christmas with David at the farm at Blind Gill. David intuitively believes that the virus will spread to encompass the Western world, including England. He invites John and his family to stay at the farm for a year. He intends to plant potatoes and beet, believing that he can survive whatever happens on his farm by constructing a stockade around it with a gate to command the narrow pass into the valley. David's earnestness impresses John and Ann, but they decide not to stay. Soon rationing schemes are drawn up in the Western countries. John reveals his brother's plan to Roger, who regards the potential retreat to Blind Gill as 'an insurance policy'. In the spring (of 1959) it is obvious that the virus is still vigorous. Again there is the widespread reporting that a counter-virus has been developed, but David lets them know that there isn't any grass left in his valley. He even feels, quietly, that it would be right if the virus did succeed, in view of man's unscrupulous use of the land over the years. By the summer, fish is rationed, but there is no panic despite the reports of riots in the countries around the Mediterranean. The Daily Telegraph is expressive of the rather smug British reaction of superiority, of rising above it all. One day John is interrupted at work by Roger, who brings him the news that 'The balloon's up.' The counter-virus has failed. The two men adjourn to a pub, and Roger tells John that the government plans to drop atom-bombs and hydrogen-bombs on the major cities in order to reduce the population. By this terrible and terrifying means a small number of people might be able to survive on the dwindling rations. Many millions would die so that a few million might live. In Roger's words, 'In England, at least thirty million people are going to die before the rest can scrape a living.' He and John decide to get their families together before leaving London, and John collects his daughter from her boarding-school.

Roger is delayed while he has his car serviced. A news bulletin on the radio insists that there is no cause for alarm and that virus-free grain is being planted, but — and this is ominous — travel between cities is now forbidden. John and Roger soon encounter the first of the road-blocks; the officer in charge tells them that it is a precautionary measure. They toss to find out who shall be leader, John winning the dubious distinction in this casual way. The men turn back and head for Central London, where Roger knows a firearms dealer. They are outwitted by the owner of the shop, Mr Pirrie, who believes their story that they are going to head for a valley that can be defended. He decides to get his wife, Millicent, and to set off with them at their invitation. Equipped with their guns, they leave London that night in their separate cars. When they come up against the inevitable road-block, Roger provides the aggression and obstinacy, and Pirrie the clinical precision, in the killing of the three soldiers. They drive on in silence, keeping off the main roads. The experience has eaten into John, but he manages to get some rest. The next day he takes his car up to his son, Davey's, school. He realizes at once that the headmaster is very worried by what is threatening the world outside. After some argument between John and Ann on the one hand and Olivia (Roger's wife) on the other, they decide to take Davey's friend Spooks (Andrew Skelton) with them. At first the journey north goes smoothly. The men discuss the situation, but before they can be lulled into a sense of complacency they hear on the car radio that there has been rioting in London. Worse than that, there have apparently been more severe disturbances in the northern cities. Contact with Leeds has been lost, the implication being that things there are out of control. They decide to get clear of the West Riding, but just after this they see heavy bomber aircraft flying north. They deduce that these aircraft are heading for Leeds. They get back on to the North road and once more find themselves brought to a halt by a check-point. They are advised to backtrack and to stay clear of Leeds. They reach a gatehouse by a railway crossing, but as they investigate, some of them are ambushed, and John is knocked out. When he recovers he soon realizes that Ann and their daughter, Mary, have been taken by the looters who ambushed them. Pirrie judges that they will not have gone far, implying that they will have stopped to rape the mother and daughter. Spooks discovers the oil trail of the Vauxhall, which the looters stole, and they set off in careful pursuit. Roger, at Pirrie's suggestion, climbs a tree and spots the car. Thanks to Pirrie's plan of divided attack, they rescue Ann and Mary. The men who took them are wounded and dying. Roger kills one, ordered to do so by John, and Ann pours bullets into the one who raped her and Mary. As they leave, the flies are already settling on the bodies of the dead men. They reach Tadcaster, then turn into a lane off the main road and eat some tinned meat (with the exception of Ann). They learn that in London the Citizens' Emergency Committee has taken over. This committee has also commandeered the BBC and announces the treachery of the Prime Minister, Raymond Welling, revealing his plan to bomb at least half of the country out of existence. Citizens must 'remain at their posts', and the 'Dunkirk spirit' must be resurrected. John and the others feel that the outward honesty of the committee can lead only to disaster. They fear that it will cause panic and set people everywhere on the move. They drive on to the North, round Harrogate and Ripon, and approach Masham, where they are halted by a block with 'one of the small Napoleons the new chaos would throw up' leading the group. John and his party are searched, their guns are taken, and they are forced to give up their cars. Their petrol is siphoned off. They leave, but Pirrie takes his blanket-roll with him, producing from it his gun with telescopic sights. John argues that they are better off without

the cars, less likely to be ambushed, as they press on towards Westmorland, some 80-odd miles away. Although Pirrie keeps his rifle, John continues to assert his leadership. John takes the first guard duty of the night. The next day they set off on their march. The route has been carefully worked out by John. Millicent, Pirrie's wife, begins to make up to John, professing admiration for his leadership. On the edge of Wilton Moor they find a detached farmhouse, which they enter. Pirrie kills the farmer, John shoots the farmer's wife, and upstairs they find the couple's terrified daughter. Pirrie finishes off the mother. Olivia once again asserts her power. She goes to the girl and, despite the resistance of John, persuades her to accompany them. Roger finds a radio in the farmhouse and picks up the news that 'Western Europe has ceased to exist as a part of the civilized world.' European governments and royalty have already sought refuge in the United States of America. Meanwhile Olivia has got the girl dressed, and they all set off in the direction of Coverham. Pressing on, they pass a small group of people and then a larger one. In the afternoon they stop to rest. John tries to draw Ann out of herself. He tells her that he thinks they may be one day ahead of the mobs. They camp for the night between a railway line and a river. When John takes his turn on guard he is approached seductively by Millicent. Although he resists her, she succeeds in embracing him. Pirrie interrupts them. After some talk, cool on Pirrie's part, he shoots Millicent. This wakes the others. John tells them to get back to sleep, then he and Pirrie push Millicent's body down the embankment. In the morning John is questioned by Ann and tells her the truth. After her initial hatred for what has happened she seems much better. Pirrie decides that he wants Jane (the girl they took with them from the farmhouse) for himself. Jane goes to him despite the objections of the other women. John makes it clear to Ann that he values Pirrie as an important member of the group. Meanwhile Steve (the Buckleys' child) develops bad blisters and has to be carried. From the distance they see that the town of Sedbergh is burning. They realize that with only three men they are vulnerable. They encounter a group of eight, four women, two children and two men. They beg to join John's party, and once more Olivia's voice is raised on behalf of the needy. Meanwhile another larger party approaches. Pirrie is insolent to the leader of this party. He provokes the man into drawing his gun, but before he can do so Pirrie shoots him dead. The other party now acknowledges John as the leader, and he finds himself in charge of a greatly enlarged group. John and Pirrie go on ahead together to discuss the situation. Pirrie is aware that it is important for John to lead because his brother will be in control, as Pirrie sees it, at Blind Gill. They pass the ruins of Sedbergh and see looters leaving the area. John calculates that they are about 25 miles from the valley. They enter a house with shattered windows, which has been looted. John and Ann talk, and Ann deplores the effect that she feels Pirrie and events have had on John. They are joined by Roger and his family, who notice that Pirrie and Jane are setting off for a walk. John is forced to defend his unscrupulous support of Pirrie, and he realizes that he is being treated as if the qualities he has had to display have become part of his character. He believes that all will be well when they reach Blind Gill. Another group arrives in the dark to assault the house. Soon John realizes that they are under attack from grenades. The carrier of the grenades, however, appears to set them all off. After this, the group outside the house beats a retreat. In the early dawn John and his group inspect the bodies in the garden, then Pirrie appears with Jane and suggests that his side fire disconcerted the attackers in the night. They set off for the valley; on their way there is evidence of widespread looting and burning. Jane has obviously become attached to Pirrie. They reach the Lepe and see that David's land is protected by a powerful stockade. The defenders fire at them with a machine-gun. Pirrie is hit. Jane drags him to safety and weeps over him, but he turns out to be only superficially wounded.

John advances towards the fence, carrying a white flag. He makes himself known, and David is sent for. When he talks to John it soon becomes obvious that John's party, which now numbers thirty-four, will not be admitted into the stockade. Already some of the defenders' relatives have had to be turned away. John goes back to his group with the bad news. After a while he returns to the stockade, where David suggests to him that he, Ann and the children slip away to join them later that night. John pretends to agree, but in reality he is assessing the strength of the defences. John tells his group that they are going to attack, making use of the river, and he describes how he survived in the Lepe when he was a boy. Pirrie is to concentrate on silencing the machine-gun. John works out the details of their strategy. He tells Ann that he is not prepared to be treacherous, and that he regards Pirrie as crucial to their success. Pirrie, at one stage rather exhausted as they wade through the water, kills the machinegunner. But he is hit himself, and his body floats away on the current. The defenders are overcome. John thinks back to that distant past when his grandfather left the farm to David. David is now dead, and his nephew, Davey, will some day run the farm, as his uncle had originally wished. Ann tries to get John to 'snap out of it'. But John blames himself for David's death: did he kill him or did Pirrie? Bleakly, he prepares himself for the future.

An Account of the Plot PRODROME, pp. 5-13 The word above is arresting and unusual (see Glossary), just as the story that unfolds is sickeningly unusual and frightening. The technique employed in this opening section is that of retrospect, a selective look back into the past some twenty-five years before the events of the narrative to come. The family connection with the valley in Westmorland is a strong one; Hilda Custance loves it but gave it up after her marriage. It is noticeable too that her sons seem to follow the two strands of her existence: John, the London life, and David, the valley one. This prologue thus establishes a kind of family consistency as the country-versus-town theme is introduced; both town and country are threatened and then largely destroyed some twenty-five years later. There is the deliberate dating of 1933, and mention of the Boy's Own Paper and the 'wireless'. There are some fine insights into Hilda Custance's mind and particularly into her reactions. There is the description of the boys' natural excitement at what is for them an adventure (perhaps a contrast with the terrible adventure ahead). There is the imaginative 'Cyclops valley' (p. 6; see Glossary), which is a foretaste of the vividness of the author's style. There is a typical simile (a comparison introduced by 'like' or 'as') in 'like a saucer, or a deep dish' (p. 7), and the concise personification of 'the other jaw of the valley' (p. 7). The River Lepe is given particular emphasis; John is to survive it as a boy, and it will help to provide a means of survival for him and his family twenty-five years later. In this first sequence the boys are contrasted. John exults in the feelings of isolation and power (a preview of his adult character traits), while David quietly rejoices at being in the valley. The language prepares us for the future role of the valley in the story ('the surrounding slopes were like cupped and guarding hands,' p. 8). David is absorbed in the immediacy and the thought of farming. His grandfather, using the dated slang and words of the time ('any road' and 'aught', p. 9), is quick to promise the boy the farm when he sees his interest. He speaks of the history of the place — 'they say the valley was held as a stronghold once' (p. 9) — and this provides a vital connection between the past and the future. The valley represents peace and security amidst the physical and emotional pressures of life. The stress on the 'green spears of wheat' (p. 10) shows how man is dependent upon the land and his crops. John's adventurous climb — 'breaking new ground' (p. 10) — reflects his initiative and his courage, qualities that are to stand him in good stead later on. We note the emphasis on his speed of 'thought and movement' (p. 10), but we also note his caution and care. The description of the river and of the dangers of the current looks forward to the terrible wave of pillaging and killing that is to sweep aside all morally acceptable standards as the famine takes hold. The description of John's fall and of the violence done to him by the river symbolizes not only his present but also his future struggle for survival. The fact that he does survive is an important indicator of his role — that of the leader who wins through — in the later stages of the novel. His ability to behave calmly while he is still in shock is a mark of the self-discipline that he is frequently to display in later life. His grandfather's arrival in his 'pony-trap' (we notice that he is too old to have got used to a car) and his superstition in saying, of John's survival, 'It looks like you were born for a hanging' (p. 12) give period authenticity to the account. There is an interesting moment when the grandfather wonders if he has been right to promise to leave the farm to Davey. But, as he says, 'The best land in the world might as well be barren if it brings bad blood between brothers' (p. 13). It is an important statement, reaching right through the novel and foreshadowing David's death at the hands of his brother. It sounds a particularly sombre note. CHAPTER 1, pp. 15-23

The economy and ease of the narrative style are at once apparent. John's son, Davey, is obviously his uncle's favourite and David seems intent upon maintaining the family tradition, of farming the valley, through his nephew. The brothers' discussion, while the children are climbing, establishes an atmosphere of innocence and freedom. When Ann joins the brothers there is light-hearted teasing about the fact that David has remained a bachelor. The exchanges have a certain humour too, seen particularly in the remarks about the kind of girl David chose not to marry. In his attitude to Norma, who 'wanted to see the stallion servicing one of the mares' (p. 17), we sense that David is oldfashioned. He has, like John, a conventional attitude towards the role of women, and it is this that draws forth Ann's sarcasm. She has a well-developed sense of humour. The description of the valley is straightforward, though the reference to the passing shadow (p. 18) may be another hint of the future. The first mention of the virus is unexpected and dramatic against this peaceful background. The news from the Far East and of the events occurring in Hong Kong, and John's citing of what happened during the rabbit plagues in Australia are all ominous. The picture that is painted is horrific, particularly with the mention of the dropping of napalm and the idea of mass killing being necessary to deal with starving humanity. John reveals the current Western bias towards Communist China when he observes that China is in this terrible situation because it failed to admit to the seriousness of the situation earlier. The attempts to kill the Chung-Li virus reflect man's dependence upon science; the failure to destroy it indicates the limitations of that science. It is ironic that John speaks of having to return to his 'monstrosity' of architecture while the 'monstrosity' of the virus is reducing mankind to necessarily monstrous behaviour. The stress at present is on the fact that all this is happening at a distance. The peacefulness of the scene is epitomized by an element of the supposed permanence of nature — 'The song of a mistle-thrush lifted above the steady comforting undertone of the Lepe' (p. 21). John's views are not especially narrow and compare favourably with those of the man on the train, with his anti-'Chinks' attitude and his thoughtless anti-Communism. Ann remarks upon the ineffectuality and ephemeral nature of merely feeling pity — 'the rest of the time we forget, and go about our business as usual' (p. 21). There is pathos in the idea of Mary training to be a doctor, since doctors will be unable to prevent what is going to happen. David's demonstration of the effect of the virus upon patches of grass in the valley shows that the threat is not as distant as they thought. John's sarcasm about 'progressive females' (p. 22) again emphasizes his conventional male attitude towards women. One of the main techniques used in the novel is that of introducing quotations that are appropriate to the action or aspects of it. Here David's reference to 'this green and pleasant land' (p. 22) echoes William Blake's famous poem and hymn 'Jerusalem', but instead of the permanence of nature and the presence of God there stalks the threat of famine and destruction. CHAPTER 2, pp. 24-33 The easy and apparently secure atmosphere is exemplified in the peaceful, leisurely occupation of playing cards. There is a brief account of Roger and Olivia and of Ann's attitude towards each of them. At first we are inclined to accept Ann's judgement of Roger, as the 'wireless' announcement of 200 million deaths does not impinge upon his triumph at cards. Ann dislikes his cynicism, but we sense that it may be a mask for his feelings. Again the hope is voiced that the virus has been controlled, and again this proves to be illusory. Roger shows his typically cynical humour in his remarks about the Magnificat and the Taj Mahal (see Glossary). There is a more general humour too, which embraces gossip and political insecurity. Roger has the ability to irritate Ann, but Olivia, with her amused

tolerance, is already showing signs of her latent strength. However, Roger displays one particular merit, and that is that he can define a situation accurately, as when he observes (and he is speaking of Western civilization generally), 'you live in a world where everything's in favour of being sensitive and civilized' (p. 27). We note that it is precisely this world that is going to be tested. There is a curious and unpleasant emphasis on Steve, the Buckleys' son, who is precocious and capable of behaving savagely. The weekend at the seaside finds Roger restless and anxious to confide in John. He resorts to more quotation, here from Thomas Hardy's 'Weathers', which exemplifies the peacefulness and unchanging nature of English country life. Roger, though desperate to confide in John, is equally desperate that any information he gives may be traced back to him. Roger begins his news with an account of the failure of Isotope 717 (see Glossary). Not only is he a great one for quotations, but he is also adept at stringing together clichés ('well ahead on points' and 'fast movers', p. 30). But this verbal habit cannot conceal the terrible news that the strength of the virus is such that it can devour all the grasses, including wheat, oats, barley and rye, which subsequently affects meat, dairy produce and poultry. John is still optimistic that an answer will be found (the implication is that none of us ever wishes to think the worst). Roger adopts a jocularly cynical tone, which makes it clear that he feels that the virus may prove to be too much for the human intellect. He makes great play with the word 'might' in order to undermine the unsophisticated nature of John's optimism. There is a general idea that salvation may lie in the planting of potatoes. John refers to the cannibalism to which the Chinese have been reduced. Roger ends the discussion with another quotation, this time from Walter de la Mare, 'Look thy last on all things lovely every hour' (p. 33). The contrived flippancy cannot mask his worry. CHAPTER 3, pp. 34-44 The measures taken to combat the virus, and the scientific conclusions that are drawn are described, and once more there is an illusory degree of success. The Western world, headed by America, becomes more entrenched in the crisis. It is concerned at the plight of the Far East but not to a great extent. America's main action is to conserve its food stocks for its own later use, should the need arise. Ann, as the humanitarian, is indignant. The present irony is that the children are able to indulge themselves with cakes. The adult discussion centres on the idea that 'blood is thicker than the water which separates us' (pp. 35-6), that people should take care of their own before caring for others. Roger defends his position by saying that he believes in selfpreservation. Olivia acts as peacemaker by saying that they shouldn't discuss it too much, and Roger's cynical humour is seen in his hope that the virus may die of old age. As always at the critical moment of tension, the author brings in an effective contrast — 'distant bird-song and the excited happy cries of the children' (p. 37). Ann is still angry as they drive home, but John, aware of Roger's deeper sensitivity, tells her that what he has said 'doesn't mean anything really' (p. 37). Again John forces himself into a mood of temporary optimism. As things worsen in the East so the attitude in the West hardens. The metaphors (comparisons made without the use of 'like' or 'as') stress the extremity of barbarism and famine, such as in 'this ocean of famine, in which any succour could be no more than a drop' (p. 38). Characteristically, the Eastern countries are blamed for inefficiency when it is apparent that Australia and New Zealand are managing to contain the virus. During Christmas at Blind Gill, David reveals his practicality. He is going ahead with his plan to plant potatoes, although the Order-in-Council (see Glossary) requiring this has been withdrawn. Again the distance from the actuality of the crisis is stressed, for the family has 'a massive Christmas dinner' (p. 40) and the adults listen to a Haydn symphony. But during the discussion David issues his invitation for the family to come to Blind Gill for a year. Ann expresses a conventional (and very English) view when

she says that it is 'asking rather a lot for John to throw things in' (p. 41). John cites the example of the Black Death (see Glossary) as evidence that all widespread destroyers ultimately burn themselves out. David is much more rational. There is a deliberate focus on the clock on the wall, something that has been hanging there, recording time, while the world of man has been changing. Ann is influenced by the secure atmosphere of Blind Gill and believes that the virus will not penetrate there. David's memory of Grandfather Beverley's words about shutting the door behind him when he entered the valley is particularly relevant at this point. It is what David is shortly to do, and it will lead to the exclusion of his relations. It is also to lead to the loss of his own life. The plan of the stockade shows David's determination and his foresight. He even reveals a stolid sense of humour over 'Custance's Folly' (p. 43). Ann is both moved and impressed by his earnestness, but her conventional middle-class upbringing asserts itself — in this relatively cosy context the children's education seems to be important. They continue with their excuses, convinced — or, rather, convincing themselves — that nothing is going to happen. David's words, 'Don't leave it too late,' (p. 44) have an ominous ring in view of the fact that they so nearly do, and with tragic consequences. CHAPTER 4, pp. 45-53 As the lull continues through the winter, the obsession in the West seems to be to get back to normality. It is significant that no one yet has plans to reclaim 'the lifeless lands of Asia' (p. 45). The completeness of the destruction in the East, the bareness and sterility, are shown in the pictures to which Roger refers. In his own clichéd but effective language Roger calls it 'a clean sweep' (p. 46). He is very interested in the news that David is intent on fortifying his land, shutting himself into the valley by building a fence to close the gap. John shows that he has a marked respect for David's countryman's intuition, and there is a terrible truth in John's own assertion that 'In London, we don't know anything except what's spooned out to us' (pp. 46-7). Roger is secretly worried and inevitably has an eye on the main chance; he feels that Blind Gill may provide security in the crisis that seems inevitable despite the current air of optimism. As usual, he expresses himself in the clichés of the time, such as 'crack-up', 'bolt-hole', 'pipeline' and 'warning tinkle' (p. 47). A contrast runs throughout the chapter, for, as Roger talks of a possible famine in London, a trolley heavy with cheeses passes them, and their chops soon arrive. With the arrival of spring, the season of growth and hope, Chung-Li reasserts its strength, but UNESCO (see Glossary) claims that it has found the answer. There is a neat twist here, for John is initially suspicious that this may be a bluff, which reflects his caution. The idea of severer rationing has still to be endured, but it is now accompanied by a wave of optimism, which sustains the population through the deprivation. David, true to his intuitions and to his character, sticks to his precautions against disaster and salts his meat, in preparation for the certainty that famine will follow the death of grass. In a significant phrase he says that he looks out on 'black instead of green' (p. 50). The black is a symbol (something that stands for something else) for hard facts and for evil. The green represents natural growth and innocence, and black is triumphing over green in this terrible world. David's strong independence of thought and his morality are evident in his feeling that in some ways it would be right for the virus to win because man has misused nature for too long and has fattened himself upon it. John, too, uses the slang of the time ('He's going off his rocker,' p. 50), but the irony is that David is right and not mad — in fact, he is saner than those who believe that they have found a cure for the virus. Ann is obviously concerned, her sensitivity again responding to David's earnestness. The seaside holiday finds the road crowded (evidence of optimism and determination to live for the present), and the clouds are threatening rain, perhaps a symbolic warning of the future. With fish rationing now a reality, there is still the hope that 'the ultimate prospects are fairly good' (p. 52). The conversation — note particularly that between John and Davey — is apparently light, but ominous in

its suggestions ('You might be an orphan,' p. 53). The chapter ends brilliantly (and ironically) with the patriotic and proud quotation from the Daily Telegraph about the stoicism of the British people. It strikes the jingoistic note of wartime fervour and shows that there is no comprehension in people's minds that the world as they once knew it is now destroyed. CHAPTER 5, pp. 54-80 This is one of the most eventful chapters in the novel: dramatic, full of news and action, immediate, graphic, violent and sad. Roger's arrival at the building site signals the drama. John's first remark is unconsciously ironic as he refers to the 'kind of mess we were in' (p. 54). Roger's cliché is brief and immediate — 'The balloon's up' (p. 55). Notice also his references to games, which underline his own sarcasm about the tradition of English sportsmanship. He gives a swift account of events, moving from quasi-quotation from the Epistle of Paul to the Ephesians ('principalities and powers') to history and an analog with Rome and other fallen empires (p. 55). The theme of charity beginning at home is sounded in Roger's account, for there will be no more foodships from America for England. He follows this with the incredible news that, with the succession of Welling as Prime Minister, the government's decision is to destroy some of the cities in order that a minority of the population may survive. The magnitude of this decision is conveyed by the baldness of Roger's statements; and he makes clear his feelings of disgust for Welling by rephrasing a proverbial sentiment in modern terms ('The time throws up the man,' p. 57). The closing of the roads out of London is almost an incitement to panic. The terrible truth is that atomic weapons will be used to achieve what everyone has feared — arbitrary destruction. Roger rightly predicts that 'loyalties are going to be narrow from now on' (p. 58), which is exactly what the group finds before the end of this chilling chapter. The question he puts to John is one that John asks of himself at moments of crisis throughout the journey — 'Which way's best — of starvation or being killed for your flesh — or by a hydrogen bomb?' (p. 59). Again the contrast with the ordinary, present-day world is stressed. Such is Roger's insistence that he moves John to action, and they say goodbye to 'yesterday's world' (p. 60). John's sensitivity, how he feels about his 'secret knowledge' (p. 61), is apparent in the interview with Mary's headmistress. John learns to tell a lie easily, and there is also the superb irony of Mary's bright academic future, which, now, she can never have. His promise to be back by eight, and the part-excuse that he makes in case he is not, show how desperately John is suffering in the role he has to play. Mary's questions cause him more anguish, and Ann seems to be gifted (or cursed) with second sight when she wonders if they will hate themselves before this is all over. John's anger against the government reaches an extreme when he refers to cheats, bullies, swindlers and murderers, but it is understandable in view of what he knows. They leave London as quickly as they can. The news coming through on the radio, meant to be reassuring, seems certain to cause alarm, particularly (as Roger points out) when there have been other rumours. Although the outer suburbs show no evidence of panic, the road-blocks are the first positive sign that Roger's story is true. The presence of a small mob at the first block shows how easily a situation can get out of hand. The idea of describing this as a 'manoeuvre' is obviously official policy. Whether excusable or not, it is hypocritical. Roger has assumed the leadership, and his suggestion that they turn back to a quieter road is a practical one. He thinks they should try to get through the roadblock at night (again, practical thinking), but he is also intent on picking up some weapons, which will give them a better chance of survival. Then comes the crucial toss of the coin that makes John the leader. Despite Ann's objections he decides to go to London with Roger, who leaves with his habitual quotation, this time full of irony — 'The world's great age begins anew,' from Shelley's Hellas — but the 'golden years' will never return.

When they get to Central London John waxes bitter about the people who are merely 'sheep for the slaughter,' as he puts it (p. 70). Note the deceptive appearance of Pirrie, which conceals his expertise with guns and his capacity for judgement and hardness. He shows his mettle when he survives Roger's attack and takes command of the situation. The whole scene is dramatic and reminiscent of a scene from a film, particularly when Pirrie reaches for the telephone. It is significant that Roger, not John, conducts the negotiations with Pirrie. It is almost as if John has not yet assumed the leadership. When Roger describes the nature of the valley and its capacity for defence, we are reminded of the classic defence of a pass — that of the Spartans against the whole might of the Persian forces at Thermopylae in 480 BC. Pirrie's phone-call to his wife shows his quick-wittedness. Once more he has belied his years, and he repeats the exercise by duping the inquisitive policeman. Pirrie's practicality is also shown by his control of his old car, which outstrips the others' when he wishes it to. Roger's plan is taken up by John, but it seems incredible to Ann that they are planning murder to get out of the trap. However, as John reasonably says, they can't get to their son, Davey, if they don't get out. Roger's acting drunk is a clever scheme, and John's reaction — 'he floated free' (p. 77) — is an understandable one, as he calms himself for what he has to do. Perhaps the corporal and his men are rather too easily lured by Roger's invitation. John's extreme but understandable tension is conveyed to the reader, but as he is about to kill (note the clay-pipe analogy), Pirrie, with a deadly aim, shoots and kills all three soldiers. It is an indication of his precision, his coldness and his usefulness to the group. John's gesture to the dead young soldier shows the deep compassion of the man, who from now on is going to have to put his sensitivity behind him if they are to survive. When the horn button on Roger's car is held down, it 'tolled on the air like a bell' (p. 79). It symbolizes the funeral bell of the three soldiers. Ann's sensitivity to what has happened is shown by her silence, John's by his 'meaningless dreams' (p. 80). CHAPTER 6, pp. 81-105 The planning ahead is again evident, here in the fact that John drives up to the school alone. In the presentation of the headmaster of Davey's school the emphasis is on his anxiety, a sure indication that what is happening in London and elsewhere is already widely rumoured. The news bulletins in a sense have made things worse, and this man is desperately frightened and only too relieved to have the responsibility for some of the children removed from him. John's conscience leads to his greater tolerance, particularly when he realizes that the headmaster will probably desert the boys. There is a superb moment of sympathetic identification when John feels his son's hair under his hands; despite the unpleasant memory that it invokes of the dead young soldier, he realizes that he must fight to keep his family alive. He forces himself to speak with brutal directness to the headmaster. The debate over whether Spooks should accompany them is a trial of strength. We note the pathetic quality of the boy himself- 'he looked like a child unused to hoping' (p. 85). John is keen to take him, and Ann feels guilty about having tried to deny the child. John's compassion breaks through. He realizes that Spooks is one of the boys who would not survive if left. As well as the excitement and the argument, there is some fine ironic observation, as when Davey is described as 'a small-scale Government official' (p. 86). Olivia's maternal feelings and strength of character now assert themselves, and there is a balancing of the two families as a result, since she and Roger have only Steve. Her arguments silence Ann, since Ann respects her, and Davey greets the victory with his 'Just the job!' slang (p. 87). Fortunately the boys are still living in their world of pet mice, to some degree. The initial stages of the journey are delusively uneventful, with little sign as yet of trouble in the big towns, though they have noticed orderly queues outside the bakeries. Pirrie shows his common-sense reasoning powers, to the extent of doubting whether the English have the temperament to bomb their

own people. He does not mean that they won't commit murder (he already has) but underlines his point that the English are 'sluggish in logic as well as imagination' (p. 89). But if he is wrong about this, he seems to be right in saying that 'all men are friends by convenience and enemies by choice' (p. 90). The radio report of widespread rioting in London and, more important for them, in the North and in Leeds, cuts short the discussion. The closing statement is loaded with threat, and, as a contrast in mood and presumably with soothing intentions, the cinema organ plays 'The Teddy-Bears' Picnic,' one of the most popular escapist and sentimental songs of the time (see Glossary). Pirrie's practicality comes to the fore when he suggests that they get clear of the West Riding. His judgement seems to be confirmed when the heavy bombers appear, almost certainly heading for Leeds with their terrible load. Tension builds as the party makes its detour but finds itself back on the Great North Road, facing the inevitable military check-point. Ann establishes the changed perspective for all of them when she observes that this is a summer evening in 'the same country that's always been here' (p. 93); John identifies the change by remarking that 'Motives are naked now' (p. 93). Ann is deeply disturbed, wishing that she could hide away in the valley, a terrible irony in view of what is shortly to happen to her and Mary. The gatehouse incident is told with dramatic immediacy. The description of the woman suggests that she has been raped and that she is dying or dead. The travellers are beginning to experience fully the terror of their situation. As John observes, the break-up — the beginning of anarchy — has arrived. There follows the suddenness of the attack on them, and when John recovers, it is to the realization that his wife and daughter have been taken and, inevitably, violated. He is now forced to make decisions as leader and begins to take his responsibilities very seriously, thus occasioning Roger's sarcasm, not illintentioned, about Superman and Napoleon (see Glossary). Pirrie's calm practicality is again brought into play; however, his suggestion that the men would soon stop in order to rape Ann and Mary (though he does not express it as directly as this) is horrific. Spooks reveals his common sense, powers of observation and the sense of humour for which Davey gave him such credit. With the pursuit under way, Pirrie's practicality in shinning up the oak brings them hope of recovering Ann and Mary. He virtually organizes the attack, and tension continues to mount within John (and the reader) as to whether they will succeed in saving the lives of Ann and Mary. (It is too late, one feels, to save them from rape.) A fine comparison describes the attack — 'The shots rattled like darts against the shield of the placid summer afternoon' (p. 101). Pirrie kills expertly. Effective too is the brevity with which Ann's reaction to being 'saved' is described — 'Ann looked at him, and looked away' (p. 102). Pirrie in some ways assumes command without usurping John's authority; here, he gives him the right of execution. John sees the wounded man look at him 'with animal supplication' (p. 103), an appropriate phrase in view of the man's animal behaviour. The transformation of Ann from compassionate woman to killer, because of what has happened, is perhaps the most telling and frightening moment in the whole sequence. This is not merely physical death but moral death as well. It is vengeance and survival in one bullet. We note that Pirrie remains calm throughout, an indication of his willpower and discipline in a crisis, a determined playing-down of any emotionalism. He actually praises Ann for what she has done. The cheapness of life is shown by the sentence concerning the Vauxhall — 'A back wheel went over the body of one of the men' (p. 104). In this crisis, as they leave, Roger becomes the organizer, almost as if he is trying to save John the trouble because of his inward suffering. The picture of the flies already settling on the bodies symbolizes the corruption of the spirit that precedes the corruption of the flesh. CHAPTER 7, pp. 106-22

When they get to Tadcaster they realize that profiteering — selling necessities at vast prices, which is one of the commonest manifestations of corruption — has already started. Mary seems to have something of the resilience of childhood, but Ann is deeply withdrawn into her private and silent hell. There is an ironic side-glance at 'the vaunted British phlegm' (p. 106) in the talk on the radio, which is so inappropriate to this time of crisis and terror. Roger manages to keep his sense of humour, but his cheerfulness falters when the Citizens' Emergency Committee announcements are read out. They describe Welling's plan and his overthrow, but because of the uncertainty of what the Air Force will do it seems likely that the news will generate more panic. The reference to the 'Dunkirk spirit' (p. 109) can only be ineffectual, since that spirit cannot exist in the immediacy and horror of the current situation. The usual standby for when anything goes wrong, the playing of records, is resorted to here. Roger sees immediately the danger and the inefficiency of what has been said. He speaks out with devastating effect about the nature of public utterance — 'honesty is never advisable and frequently disastrous' (p. 110). Roger is, in fact, realistically cynical about what is going to happen with at least 9 million people on the move. The route decided, they press on, contemplating the manufacturing towns and cities of the north Midlands from a distance. Ann remains silent in both mental and physical pain. John's reaction to Mary's suffering is couched in terms of the biblical God's tempering the wind to the 'shorn lamb' (p. 112). He follows up this reference with one to black frost and ice to indicate the dire position that they are all in. The next confrontation is with a stocky man in tweeds, and his group. They are intent on preventing their town from being attacked and pillaged. At this confrontation tension is increased by the rumour of what has happened to London. John is concerned because he cannot risk taking on this group, with the women and children in the cars behind him. A fine phrase describes the opportunism of the leader — 'one of the small Napoleons the new chaos would throw up' (p. 114). In this leader's eyes men are now flies fleeing from famine and atom bombs (confirmation that the latter have been used) to the town that he is defending, which he thinks of as the 'honeypot' because of the way that it attracts these travellers (p. 114). The search of the insides of the cars is reasonably civilized compared with what might have been (indeed, has been), but, because everything of any use is being taken, Roger's anger spills over and he allows himself to be provoked. They are left with almost nothing, though Pirrie mentions their need for blankets, which they are allowed to keep. Mr Spruce draws a historical analogy with the Saxons and the Normans, who chatted together before battle. Pirrie now reveals his cunning: the concealed gun in the blanket-roll, which makes him sarcastic about the searchers' 'excellent surface efficiency' (p. 119). It is also obvious from what he says that he is widely travelled and experienced, and it is this that is now standing him in such good stead. John is increasing in maturity and decisiveness as leader, deciding that they are better off proceeding on foot, since cars are an attraction to others like them and consequently make them more vulnerable. He fears ambush, and it is a confirmation of his practical appraisal of their situation that Pirrie quietly supports him. A test of leadership occurs because Pirrie has the gun, and John knows that Pirrie could take over if he wished to. John's attitude, however, has obviously won his respect, and Pirrie does not wish to make a move for the leadership, preferring his role as marksman extraordinary to the group. Roger remarks that, because of John's leadership, 'democracy's out' (p. 121). John arranges the guards and then ponders the situation, again aware of the timelessness of the land around them and of its history, as he thinks that they might survive if they sacrificed 'to the moorland gods, in the hope of turning away their wrath' (p. 121). His thoughts are deeply moving as he considers

whether life is worth living in this uncivilized state. He feels that he has witnessed the destruction of civilization in a day. In a single phrase that links history, religion and the present, he wonders if 'there were some who still held on, still speaking the grammar of love while Babel rose all round them?' (p. 122). This is one of the high moments of the novel, as John looks at those sleeping around him, for whom he is responsible, and realizes that he must fight on for their lives. Ann lies awake but immobile. CHAPTER 8, pp. 123-51 Distant flashes are seen by Millicent, but for the travelling group the world has narrowed down to their own survival. At John's injunction they resist raiding a farmhouse, and they avoid the main roads. Millicent feels that Ann should have got over her experience by now, but John, who is more sensitive than Millicent, realizes that Ann is brooding about shooting the man who violated her and Mary. Millicent's cynicism and her frankly sexual invitation to him shock John, particularly in the light of their current situation. John knows that Millicent has been unfaithful to Pirrie in the past — he guesses the kind of person that she is — but he has the sense to think that moral laxity belongs to the past dead world and not to the present state of affairs. It somehow disgusts him. But this scene is important, since it leads to a further advance from Millicent, which brings about her own death. A fine contrast is achieved between their approach to the farmhouse — the silence and the old dog sleeping in the sun — and the terrible events that are enacted immediately they enter. John's strategy of waiting for the favourable opportunity is proved to be effective. The sudden killing of the farmer by Pirrie is vividly described, the body turning inwards 'like a top pulled by its string' (p. 126). John is able, with an equally sudden reflex, to turn the newly acquired shotgun on to the victim's wife. The screaming, together with what's left of the woman's face, greatly upsets Roger, but none of this undermines John's efficiency or determination. He suppresses his own humanity and goes upstairs to talk coldly and directly to the couple's daughter. Pirrie displays a cold efficiency in killing the wounded woman, even going so far as to bemoan the waste of ammunition. Roger, clearly under strain because of this latest crisis, has the humanity to suggest the removal of the bodies. Contrast is again effectively created as they go to summon the others from outside, in the bright and fresh day. John has the terrible experience of explaining to Davey that they now have to fight to live. At first John refuses to let Olivia go to Jane, the girl upstairs: he is concentrating exclusively on what he knows to be essentials. But Olivia's compassion and the firmness that we have seen on a previous occasion win. She plays her trump card by threatening to stay with the girl, and we realize that when she wants something she does not rest until she gets it. Roger, of course, would stay too. He is appalled by John's single-mindedness, saying, 'You don't need us, do you?' (p. 131). There is considerable tension generated by the fact that all the others are watching the battle of wills over the girl. Olivia is honest with Jane, but at the same time compassionate. The analogy of flies being drawn to the spot is again used, this time by Olivia to move the girl. But in the final instance it is her strength, both physical and mental, that persuades Jane to go with them. Olivia even applies a kind of morality to the situation, suggesting that if she does go with them they will in some way be making up to her parents by saving her. The wireless provides a wider perspective, reporting that those who are able — members of government and royalty — are fleeing to the United States. Welling's survival and the political jargon hiding the lies and deceptions are a terrible commentary on the situation in which the vast majority of mankind finds itself. America does not propose to try to reclaim Europe — yet — and again we are aware of the fact that those who can do so help themselves; there is no time to pay attention to the needs of others. The American statement is the mirror of human self-interest. Pirrie realizes the danger of their being distracted by listening over-much to, and perhaps being influenced by the wider news,

and so he destroys the wireless. This is a very significant action. It demonstrates that they realize that they are on their own and, like everybody else, must fight only for their own survival. Roger (accused by John of becoming sentimental because of his sympathetic interest in Jane's accompanying them) realizes, despite his own sensitivity, that it is a good thing that John is 'toughening up' (p. 137). We note the precision with which the route they take is being charted. With one group Roger exchanges a quotation from Hamlet with their leader. This is an ironic comment on their situation and involves the use of literary analogy to explain the terrible reality in which they are living — and dying. Ann is obviously still brooding, even turning her sarcasm on John in her complete disgust with what they have become — and with what John has forced himself to become in order to lead them through the crisis. When they make camp at Widdale Gill John ponders the 'delicate and ridiculous distinction' (p. 141) that causes him to calculate the hour by British Summer Time. John realizes that the attitude of the children towards him has changed because of the severity he has had to display, particularly over the killing. The suggestion that Jane should undertake a watch initially surprises him, for, instinctively, he does not trust her as the others seem prepared to do. There is some disturbance at night because Roger thinks he hears a train, but this may be the wishful thinking of one who longs for some semblance of normality. This is confirmed when associations are set up in Roger's mind between the locality and the legends of its past; in talking about the legends that might be told to his great-grandchildren Roger is clinging to a past that may have disappeared for ever. John mounts watch alone, conscious of his army instincts and foreseeing what might occur in the future should the Americans reclaim the land or if the barbarians of that future, survivors of this holocaust, should come to England. He is in a completely hopeless mood — 'Nature was wiping a cloth across the slate of human history' (p. 144) — when Millicent makes her second seductive approach. Again John is revolted by her mood and the sexual contact that she needs. John realizes that by giving her the cigarette she has asked for he has already acted weakly and, in a sense, in an encouraging way. He tries to insult her by telling her that she would not have been affected by what has happened to Ann. Millicent expresses her simple philosophy, to which he has no answer — 'When you want a thing is the time to have it' (p. 146). Millicent is sure that John will respond to the 'spark test' (p. 146), and we have to assume that, despite himself, he does. It is the warmth and softness of Millicent that alone causes this, since John himself is surprised by what happens. Pirrie's interruption is dramatic. Millicent insults him by implying that he can now only watch others making love rather than do it himself. As we are to see later with Jane, this is not true. Pirrie is well in command of the situation, even admitting that he has made plans to kill Millicent in the past. John's and Pirrie's gun-to-gun confrontation can end only with John's withdrawing in the knowledge that Pirrie could easily kill him. Pirrie initiates a rational discussion about the nature of the law that now prevails: the law of the group or family that is determined to survive. Pirrie's logic dictates that as a wronged husband he is entitled to kill Millicent. At this terrible moment of crisis John hears the song of the nightingale, traditionally associated with love. So does Pirrie, and he quotes Keats's death-wish in his Ode to a Nightingale. John, recognizing that Pirrie is incapable of being moved from his purpose — and seeing a threat to Ann and the children if he does not give way — allows Pirrie his murderous rights. Afterwards he orders Pirrie to help him dispose of the body by throwing it down the embankment. We are aware of the stage he has reached as he doesn't even worry about the fact that he might have been able to save Millicent's life. CHAPTER 9, pp. 152-75

There is some irony in the rational discussion that follows the murder of Millicent. Ann's questions to John show that she still has some moral concern and perhaps a little sexual jealousy. She is also driven inwardly frantic by the thought of what they have become by having to deny their own humanity. However, she is comforted by John's comment that even memories can be lived with. Pirrie continues relentlessly, now asking for Jane as his companion or wife in this new kind of tribal situation. Pirrie reads the situation with complete psychological accuracy, telling Jane that he can look after her and thus providing the immediate security that will quieten her fear. Even Olivia has to come to terms with the unwritten but practical laws of this savage new world. Ann suggests that Jane has gone to Pirrie because of her fear of him, but we need not accept this. John tells Ann that he could have killed Pirrie but that the latter is very valuable to them. He is prepared to do anything to ensure his family's survival, and accommodating Pirrie is just one of the sacrifices that he makes. John also feels that if Jane does not like Pirrie, she will find a means of getting rid of him, and he reminds Ann that she is in charge of the cutlery, a direct hint. The journey across the Pennines is wet and monotonous. Steve's blister slows them down somewhat, and we see the onset of a terrible fear, that of being left behind or even killed, as Pirrie killed Millicent. Steve represents emotional suffering in an extreme form because as a child he is being asked to endure events and situations beyond his capacity for endurance. Olivia is temporarily possessive of her child, but John asserts his leadership and insists that he and Roger will take it in turns to carry Steve. Although Ann wants to stop in order to get Davey dry, John is firmly in command now and insists on pressing forward. Soon they are contemplating the scene before them, and it is apparent that the burning town of Sedbergh has been looted. John finds this 'a bit of a shaker' (p. 160), and Pirrie feels that the surrounding areas will be dangerous. John is now faced with the need to make a judgement and, in a clear-sighted moment, realizes that 'although Roger might be his friend, Pirrie was his lieutenant' (p. 161). John asserts that there is strength in numbers — there should be more of them, so that they cannot be defeated by another group — and also that they need more guns. From their commanding position they speculate on ambush, but John says that there are too few to 'make a press-gang' (p. 161). There is a terrible pathos about the first group they encounter, a handful of men, women and children with perambulators. As they approach we are told, 'Fear stood on them more markedly now' (p. 162), but it is their turning back towards John and his group that is so moving. The older man is the focus of attention, and the use of a previous comparison — his only hope is to be the subordinate of 'some little Napoleonic gangster of the dales' (p. 163) — heightens the pathos. The dialogue between the man, the woman and John, together with Roger's practical 'till hell freezes over' (p. 164), is poignant with the vulnerability and hopelessness of the many who are in the same situation — perhaps 49 million, by John's calculation. The older man, a veteran of the First World War, accepts the fact that they have had to kill. What he finds hard to accept is the fact that they are being turned down by John, who tells Ann when she tries to intervene, 'There's no place for pity now' (p. 166). The exchange continues as Roger acknowledges that John is the leader and is 'willing to take it all on his conscience' (p. 167). Pirrie implies that he may kill the newcomers if they try to stay, but Ann is moved by the simple contact made between the children of each group. She says, simply, 'Charity is for those we see' (p. 168). As a larger group approaches, John catches Pirrie's eye, and he lets the party stay so that it will seem that their numbers are greater. Seeing that they are well-armed, John's strategy with the new group is to

invite them to join in the trek to Blind Gill. John tests the fears of the group when he introduces the subject of cannibalism, suggesting that they will soon be reduced to it if they don't join him and his group. After the exchange with their leader, Pirrie's emphasis that John is in charge is deliberately provocative. We soon see the cool wisdom of what he does. He kills the leader, thus reducing the group so that they acknowledge John as leader. It is a masterly, if cold, piece of thinking, and it provides the numbers they need if they are to go forward with security. When Pirrie lowers his rifle it is 'with an air almost ritualistic' (p. 173). That in itself is an indication of the dedication he is showing in his current profession: that of a kind of executioner, who is bent on survival at all costs. It is significant that he follows this with the rites of introduction, demonstrating that he is indeed John's lieutenant. The author uses 'medieval' phrases to describe the oath that is being taken before the leader ('a bending of the knee' and 'the rendering of fealty', p. 173). John, to his own surprise, takes some delight in his chieftain image. We notice too that the women are treated as vassals, since their usefulness in the fight for survival is considered to be less than that of their menfolk. The weaker group is given permission by John to stay, and it would seem that he is revelling in his chieftainship. Again contrast is stressed: afternoon tea, that relic of civilization, follows the removal of Joe Ashton's body. CHAPTER 10, pp. 176-201 John has seen fit to give Pirrie a 'roving commission' (p. 176), as the party (now numbering thirty-four) moves on. Jane adopts an attitude of subordination by walking ten paces behind Pirrie. John learns that Pirrie has thought ahead to when they will reach Blind Gill, recognizing that some kind of military law will have to operate then, just as it does now. Pirrie is always practical and rational in his approach, and he sees clearly that the situation demands one leader and no committees. 'Mr' has become a title, and John feels that 'the day of the baron' has returned (p. 177). When they pass Sedbergh they see looters, but the implication here is one of futility, for the valuables that are being stolen can be of no worth in the world in which they now live. The terrible screaming from the farmhouse seems most likely to indicate rape or torture, for the bestial and base aspects of human nature have been unleashed and now rule. When Pirrie and his group approach the deserted house there is a delicious irony in his being described as having 'the air of a Civil Service official making a perfunctory business call' (p. 179). John has a moment of insight when he sees how dangerous things would have been for them all if Pirrie had craved power instead of encouraging its development in someone else. At the same time he admires Pirrie's nerve and cannot believe that he could show fear. Pirrie's report of the situation inside the farmhouse is succinct, as ever. Ann confronts John with her usual uncompromising realism, even calling him 'General Custance', perhaps a deliberately ironic echo of General Custer of the American Civil War. Obviously 'Custance's last stand' is to be made in the valley if and when they reach it. Ann then diminishes the effect by saying that John is becoming a 'gangster boss'. John brings to her attention the sense of perspective that is helping to keep him going. He realizes that they have endured mere skirmishes compared with the battles in the south. Ann brings home to John the fact that the group — and mainly the children — are scared of him, and she also tells him that he has neglected Roger and Olivia, who have been coping with Steve. Nevertheless, John's determination to save them all shines through the criticism he endures. He has the self-awareness to realize that his overdone heartiness towards Roger when he arrives cannot be avoided, mainly because their relationship has changed irrevocably. John reprimands Ann for mentioning knives, saying that Jane must not be encouraged to attack Pirrie, who is too important to them. There follows a row in which John is once more accused of being the arbitrary leader who assumes that he is right; the accusation is a just one, but in this situation John believes that this is the only way to act if he is to save them. There is a moment when John sees the faces of Ann, Olivia and Roger grouped before him, and it reminds him of who they are and that they were once the best of

friends. When he quietens the children he realizes that they are looking at him differently. He has had to become hardened, but he sees that some of them don't really believe that when it is all over he will be able to revert to what he was before. The attack on the house by another group is one of the most graphic incidents in the novel. There is an atmosphere of fear and of terrifying self-destruction, particularly when the attacker with the grenades blows himself up. This time John has to organize the defence without the benefit of Pirrie's assistance, since he is outside with Jane indulging his self-conferred conjugal rights, or, as John puts it, 'enjoying his nuptials' (p. 189). The introduction of the grenades creates more tension, as does the obvious fear of the children. John too realizes the inadequacy of his defenders. The retreat is sudden and comes after the grenade explosions have been set off. As John calls outside to Pirrie and Jane there is a brief poetic description that defines the temporary tranquillity — 'The moonlight lay like a summer frost on the garden' (p. 192). There is considerable speculation by John and Roger as to what has happened: if Jane has killed Pirrie, or if both of them are dead. Roger admits that he wouldn't regret it if Pirrie had been killed. He compares Pirrie with the pearl in the oyster, pointing out that, to the oyster, the pearl is a disease. John is too weary to give his full attention to Roger's analogies. In view of what has happened, there is irony in the fact that Roger believes they have been able to manage without him on this occasion. After they have examined the bodies in the early light they have breakfast. This is interrupted by the appearance of Jane with a rather smug Pirrie, who has enjoyed his 'nuptials' and who contributed to the defence by attacking from the side. When they rest on their journey, almost within reach of the valley, Roger returns to his usual flippancy, comparing the attitude of Jane to Pirrie with that of a Sabine woman towards her ravisher (see Glossary). They come across more signs of looting and, worst of all, 'the sour-sweet smell of flesh in corruption' (p. 198). Again the author uses nature and bird-song to contrast with the group's physical and mental state. There is a sad moment when they see an emaciated deer. Ann is so moved and so desperate for security that she uses the word 'home' to describe the sight of the valley. This is ironic in view of what is about to happen, and even more ironic is Ann's statement that she now believes that 'we're going to be happy and human again' (p. 199). There is a terrifying sense of suddenness in the machine-gun fire that breaks out as the group critically surveys the stockade. As they try to shelter there is the drama of Pirrie being hit and of Ann's near hysteria as she tries to prevent John from going to him. The unexpected continues as Jane runs to Pirrie, brings him back to John and takes his head in her lap. Although it is only a superficial wound, Jane does not realize this and cries over his unconscious form. The chapter ends on a note of dramatic uncertainty, since John is trying hard to convince himself and the others that this has all been a mistake. CHAPTER 11, pp. 202-11 John's decision to walk towards the stockade, carrying a white flag, is a brave one in view of the fact that he knows how men have been bestialized by the current situation. The narrative becomes intensely dramatic as the tension reaches a peak. The dialogue with the defenders is crisp and to the point. While John waits for the appearance of David he ponders the fact that the new world in which they will live (if they survive) may have to do without 'the internal combustion engine as well as the old-fashioned beasts of burden' (p. 203). Pirrie can clearly read the situation, and refuses to let the children and Ann go with John — he sees that all four might stay and leave the rest of them outside. He implies this without voicing it, but John is aware of the 'utterly cynical realism' (p. 205). The tension again mounts as he sees the 'guilt and embarrassment' (p. 206) on David's face. David, always practical, points out that the land could not

support the thirty-four people that John has brought. He also spells out the fact that so many of the defenders' relations have had to be turned away'. Although it is nominally David's land, the old laws are obsolete, and 'No one holds land except by consent' (p. 207). John realizes that Pirrie's forecast of difficulties or opposition has once more been proved right. David is reduced to suggesting that Pirrie may be bribed. John's answer to this is to agree that he could be, but that the others are probably aware by now of what is going on. In fact, David's plans are inadequate, as he underestimates what those outside have suffered. When he gets back Roger generously tells John to take Ann and the children into the valley, but John, seeing Pirrie with his hand on the butt of the gun, realizes that he does not have the freedom of choice that he appeared to have. He still sees himself in the role of the feudal baron. He puts the alternatives rationally to the group, shocking Ann and Davey with the suggestion that they may have to fight David. The incongruity of Pirrie is stressed: the fact that he appears to be an old and feeble man, yet wields more power than any of them by virtue of the gun. With John's return visit to the stockade the brothers have no privacy. Mistrust now prevails on each side. David counsels duplicity, suggesting a scheme that would get John and his family in at night by giving the others the slip. John pretends to accept the scheme, knowing that it could not possibly work with the vigilant Pirrie. The idea of the curlew call and the fact that it is the night of the full moon brings the chapter to a fitting climax. CHAPTER 12, pp. 212-19 The need for a decision is now thrust upon John, and he makes it clear that he is for the attack, with the proviso that the men should watch out for David in order to avoid harming him. He is practising duplicity now, pretending to withdraw his forces but intending to carry out the attack that night. John's strategy is based on his knowledge and experience of the river, the shelf providing just what they need to cross this natural 'fence'. Pirrie is as quick on the uptake as ever and realizes that they are dependent upon him to kill the machine-gunner. While they are attacking from that side, Roger is to take the fence once the machine-gun has been silenced; the plan is that they will draw its fire and thus expose it to Pirrie's fire from the river. In the night John tries to explain things to Ann, but she thinks that David's plan for them to slip away from the main group is the one they should have followed. John's logic is that it would be treacherous to abandon the group, but that, by acting as he is, he is not being treacherous to David, because David is no longer a free agent. Ann is still bitter and accuses John of thinking of his own honour — 'the honour of the chieftain' (p. 215). She is convinced that he cannot change back to what he was. The emphasis is on the brutalizing effect that the experience has had on him. She feels that his personality is now ruled by his conception of being a king — the leader for all time. There is some risk in using the river, since they could be seen if the defenders were not focusing exclusively on the road. The coldness of the water weakens Pirrie considerably. Once more there is a poetic touch at the moment of crisis. The moon, symbol of romance and love (and witchcraft), sheds its 'soft radiance' on the defences. John feels, erroneously as it turns out, that Pirrie is indestructible. Pirrie is as accurate as ever with his first shot. He is then hit himself and gives John the gun; John hits a figure by the machine-gun at the third attempt, by which time Pirrie's body has floated away. The defenders throw down their arms. It all happens with dramatic suddenness. CHAPTER 13, pp. 220-22 There is an emotional moment as John thinks of the time when he and David came together in that very room to see the body of Grandfather Beverley. Ann, conscious of the immediate tragedy of David's death, tries to atone for what she said to John in the night. John thinks with wry irony that, although everything was left to David he, John, has got it in the end. It is an additional irony that, at the time, he

was oblivious to his mother's suffering, failing to note the 'pallor and thinness' (p. 221) that signalled that her days were numbered. What is terrible to him now is the thought that he may secretly have hated his brother. John, acutely aware of the Cain and Abel association (see Glossary), feels responsible for his brother's death and quotes the biblical book of Exodus ('a land flowing with milk and honey', p. 221) as an extension of the parallel. Ann has now adopted John's viewpoint that everything will be all right, but John's keeping the gun that has done everything for them shakes her for the moment. He is sticking to Pirrie's principle — 'You don't throw away a good weapon' (p. 222) — but the idea of Davey using the gun (which killed his uncle) when he grows up is the last turn of the screw. The implication is that man will always fight man in order to survive. John now associates himself with Enoch (see Glossary), kisses his dead brother (movingly mindful of the dead soldier whom he kissed) and, practical as ever, looks to the future.

Characters JOHN John, the younger son of the widowed Hilda Custance, is the most important character in the novel. Most of the events are described as if they are seen through his eyes and felt through his consciousness. Just as his children are later to be taken from school because of the world crisis, so he is removed with his brother from their school on the death of their father. On the first page of the book there is evidence of his inquiring mind when he asks why they have had nothing to do with Grandfather Beverley. His subsequent questions are all about the valley and are asked with a natural boyish excitement, which increases when he sees the River Lepe. The contrast with David is at once apparent, for John roams, while David keeps close to his grandfather. John particularly enjoys the climbing and the isolation — the sense of adventure. We are also told that he enjoys the sense of power, which is a significant pointer to the future. We soon learn that John wants to be an engineer, but his love of exploring draws him to the Lepe and is put to the test by the river. He carries on, regardless of danger, and slips into the 'savagely buffeting' water as a result (p. 11). The whole experience in the river, and particularly in the underground part of it, shows that John is a born survivor, and it prepares us for his later survival and for that of the group he commands during the terrible events of his manhood. He is shocked and shivers, partly from the water's contact but more from the 'aftermath of his experience' (p. 12). It is indicative of his courage and of a certain sensitivity that he wants what has happened to be kept a secret. The adult John is quietly amused at his brother's views. He is happily married but somewhat cynical about his job, as we see when he mentions the 'monstrosity' (p. 17) that he is building. He is conventional, anxious to get the children back to their schools after their stay in the valley. He is, however, very aware of the famine problem and of human reaction to it, as he shows by citing the rabbit plagues in Australia as comparable with the present situation. Already we can see the way his mind works, particularly when he points out that stern measures will have to be taken. He foresees the terrible reality of napalm being dropped on those who are struggling for survival. At an early point in the novel he serves to summarize the history of the Chung-Li virus. His humanity is shown in his rejection of the cynical views of the man on the train. At this stage John is able to joke, kidding both his brother and Ann. He is somewhat shaken when he realizes that the Chung-Li virus is present in England. Later, when he is playing bridge with Roger and Olivia, he bemoans the terrible loss of life in the East and criticizes the government for failing to permit research to take place in England some six months earlier in order to avert this. On their next brief holiday together he becomes aware of Roger's restlessness, though he tends to take an optimistic view of his reports. Nevertheless he works out for himself the practical advantages of planting potatoes. He still puts his faith in the scientists' ability to come up with an answer to the virus. Ann is growing to dislike Roger because of the latter's cynicism and apparent lack of humanity, but John always displays a marked degree of tolerance towards his friend. On the next visit to Blind Gill he is startled by David's attitude, particularly the suggestion that he and his family should spend a year with them at the farm. John likes to believe at this stage that the virus will exhaust itself, and he cites the Black Death as an example. Although he is impressed by David's earnestness, he cannot persuade himself to change his own situation.

However, when he next talks to Roger he measures his friend's response to David's idea of the stockade, and he now begins to have obtrusive second thoughts. He realizes that in London the information that is being released is merely the propaganda that is convenient for the government. From now on he keeps a close eye on the situation, and his inspection of his own lawn acts as confirmation of his fears. The virus, dormant during the winter, has begun to grow again now that it is spring. Although UNESCO appears to have the answer, John is worried, and his concern grows when he receives David's letter. The mid-term break sees in him a resurgence of qualified optimism — 'the ultimate prospects are fairly good' (p. 52). Yet the nagging uncertainty continues. He telephones Roger every two or three days when they don't meet, and this is a sign of his growing concern. When Roger reveals that 'The balloon's up' (p. 55), John is immediately responsive and understandably grim. He cannot believe that some cities are to be bombed out of existence to save others, nor that men will be found to fly the planes to do this. By a terrible irony he is, in fact, going to be forced to destroy others in order to save himself and his family. At this stage we do not see John as leader; he accepts Roger's decision that they need to go north at once. John's sensitivity, the most marked trait in his character, is shown when he goes to the school to collect Mary. He feels (in relation to the headmistress) 'the bitter weight of his secret knowledge' (p. 61). He quickly learns glibness and how to lie, but he cannot entirely conceal the situation and he states that the only reason for his not bringing Mary back would be if London were destroyed by an earthquake. It is his oblique way of telling the headmistress the truth. He is already bearing the weight of others' fates on his conscience. He tells Mary, 'The dreadful part… will be for other people' (p. 63). He immediately establishes his priorities: to save his family, to get to the valley and, ultimately, to start 'living decently again' (p. 64). It is a tribute to his courage and discipline that he achieves all these, but he does so at a terrible cost to himself and to others. There are often times when he depends on Roger; on one occasion his friend's laugh 'lightened his own spirits' (p. 68). He falls in with Roger's suggestion that they should go back to London to get weapons, and when he wins the toss for the leadership he unhesitatingly takes the action that Roger has recommended, knowing that it is the only course for survival. He also approves Roger's plan for the assault on the road-block, and it is evident that at this stage, particularly with the advent of Pirrie, John has not yet assumed his role as the leader. Ann accuses him of planning murder, but he responds by going ahead with what he knows has to be done. He watches Roger's act but at this stage feels 'no particular tension' (p. 77). The change comes when he believes that he is going to have to kill a man, although eventually he doesn't have to because of Pirrie's expert marksmanship. After the necessary deaths John is moved to a display of compassion and tenderness. The young soldier upsets him, so he kisses 'the unwounded side of the forehead' (p. 79) and lowers the body gently to the ground. This is John's terrible baptism, but despite his restlessness and 'meaningless dreams' (p. 80) that night there is little doubt that once he has fixed on a purpose he will carry it through. When he visits Davey's school his keen insight tells him that the headmaster will soon be deserting these boys — he easily perceives the headmaster's fear. There is a poignant moment when he touches Davey's hair, which is similar to his pitying caress of the young soldier for whose death he is responsible; yet he realizes that he would kill again in order to save his family. His compassion has been rekindled, and he pleads with Ann on behalf of Spooks. With Olivia's unexpected support, he wins. He begins to be aware of Pirrie's good judgement, particularly when the latter suggests that they should

quickly get clear of the West Riding. John is unwittingly lured into the ambush at the gatehouse and is knocked unconscious, while Ann and Mary are carried off by the rioters. His first reaction when he recovers consciousness is to try to go after them alone. This plan is vetoed by Roger, and it is Pirrie who gradually makes John aware of what is likely to be happening by then — the rape of his wife and child. His mind is sick with hate and he feels frustration and despair. He acknowledges painfully that Roger and Pirrie are leading him at this stage. When it comes to killing off the surviving rioters, he gives the others the right of execution. Yet there is still some humanity left in John. He even thinks of burying the dead men who have done him and his family this terrible injury. He tries to comfort Ann on their journey by telling her that things won't always be like this. But on the journey tiredness overtakes him. He keeps himself awake and even begins to wonder if all that they are experiencing is merely a bad dream, that perhaps the everyday world in which they once lived may yet be reborn. When they are stopped by another group, and their guns and cars are taken, John keeps commendably cool despite his bitterness and anger. He is determined that they will get away quickly after this set-back. He has to admire Pirrie's ingenuity in concealing his gun in the blanket-roll: it provides him with further evidence of the importance of Pirrie to the group. Soon John's basic practicality asserts itself. He rejects the idea of taking cars as being too dangerous, seeing that the safest way forward is on foot. At this point he successfully asserts his leadership, despite Roger's hankering after a car and despite Pirrie's possession of the gun. This reflects his courage and determination. Immediately his capacity for organization is seen in his arrangement of the night watches. His own suffering is great as he contemplates the sleeping figures of his family, particularly that of his wife. He feels that 'out of the past his old self, his civilized self, challenged him to an accounting' (p. 121); he wonders whether life is worth living when it has been reduced to below an acceptable level of humanity. The next day John is admirably clear-headed. He works out the exact route to take in order to minimize danger. So intent is he on their corporate survival that he is shocked by Millicent's first and tentative sexual advance to him. He feels acutely that the time and the place are inappropriate to lust. He brusquely orders her to a task — another sign that the leader or, as she puts it, 'Big Chief (p. 125) is now dominant in the group. When they find the farmhouse it is John's strategy that enables Pirrie to kill the farmer. Then, in a defensive reaction, John shoots the wife with her husband's shotgun. Roger suggests that they should conceal the bodies from the children, and John decides to hide them under the stairs. John then orders Olivia not to waste her time on 'inessentials' (i.e the orphaned girl). His practicality is evident in his assessment of the water situation, since he knows that they will be traversing country where water is available and therefore they do not need to take much with them. Over the question of the girl's accompanying them John loses the battle, but he is firm with Olivia in fixing a time limit before they must move. He refuses to let the girl see the bodies of her parents, knowing that the sight would embitter her further. Roger comments that John is getting harder, as indeed he is: if they are to survive, John knows that this is necessary. At the same time he endures Ann's coldness and criticism, though her attitude is not surprising in view of what she has been subjected to. John's natural caution extends itself to Jane. He doesn't include her in the guard duties, fearing that she might do something to one or more of them because of the killing of her parents. John, alone on his own watch, ponders the situation somewhat bitterly, fearing that future Americans will colonize a devastated Britain. When Millicent makes her second and more positive sexual approach he is cold, doubtless mindful of the fact that Ann has been raped; he suggests (perhaps unkindly) that Millicent

would not have been as badly affected. He sets himself against an affair with Millicent, though there is a between-the-lines suggestion that he responds physically to her 'spark test' (p. 146). To John's embarrassment, Pirrie appears. Not only is the leader embracing the other man's wife, but also, as Pirrie says, 'You are not as alert as a good sentry should be, Custance' (p. 147). John recognizes the law of the group, thus admitting Pirrie's right to kill those who have wronged him. He also sees that if Pirrie is capable of killing his own wife, he is capable of killing others, such as John's wife and children. For John the old morality is dead, and silent acceptance here is the better part of valour. He organizes the disposal of Millicent's body, and he finds that he does not much care whether her life could have been saved or not. John has concluded that Pirrie is so essential to them that he must let him have his own way. He knows that this is in the best interests of their survival. He has to cope with a slight jealousy from Ann over Millicent and, more positively, her asking him whether he is going 'to stand by and let people murder each other' (p. 153). It is a great tribute to his sensitivity and concern for Ann that he manages to soothe her, his sympathy helping to reduce the terrible thoughts and memories in her mind. John next faces Pirrie's demand for Jane, and when Jane goes to him, John has the wisdom to see that because her move is voluntary it is best for the group. He also understands that the balance of power between himself and Pirrie is crucial to their survival. But he has the cunning (he has developed that) to hint to Ann that perhaps Jane should be given a knife from the cutlery in case she finds that she cannot put up with Pirrie. When Olivia says that she and Roger can take it in turns to carry the blistered Steve, John puts her down without any hesitation, saying, 'I do the arranging around here' (p. 159). To some extent the leadership has gone to his head, but it is evident that he is under considerable strain, and this is his way of responding to it. He realizes that he relies on Pirrie's 'coolness and judgement' (p. 161) and therefore consults him about increasing their numbers in order to survive. He surveys the first group who are likely to augment them and decides that they are not good enough material. Any compassion that he might feel takes second place to considerations of survival. He says unswervingly to Ann, 'There's no place for pity now' (p. 166). His bravest action is to confront the next group, who have guns. He tells them in no uncertain terms what will happen if they go it alone: they will be reduced to cannibalism. Just as he makes the leader see reason, Pirrie fires the bullet that displays his insolence and his assumption of authority. There is little doubt that John is unprepared for this action though Pirrie gets away with it; as a consequence they acquire the extra people whom they wished for. John sees that his own power has been enhanced. He takes the earlier party under his wing, enjoying his power and the homage that is paid to him. Both of these are seen during the removal of the body of Joe Ashton by two of his former followers. John now concentrates his energies on the organization of the column northwards, leading from the front himself but giving Pirrie, the most valuable member of his group, a 'roving commission' (p. 176). He sees the sense of Pirrie's assertion that he, John, must be in charge until they reach Blind Gill. He works out how far they are from the valley — some 25 miles — and then indicates a house where they may be able to stay. John is forced to admire Pirrie's courage as the latter approaches the house and enters it alone, realizing what it would have been like if Pirrie had wanted power for himself instead of supporting it in another. Ann again queries the way that John is handling things, calling him 'General Custance' and expressing her detestation of Pirrie. She fears that John is being made into a gangster by these experiences, but John explains that his change of character is necessary for their survival; he points out that it has helped

them to get as far as they have. He evidently believes that he will return to conventionality once they have reached the valley and begun to live a normal life again. When there is jocular conversation about Pirrie and his wooing, John is fiercely authoritative about Jane's not being given a knife, since Pirrie is so essential to them all. He is becoming ruthless, saying that if Jane were to kill Pirrie, she would be left behind. He has to endure Ann's tongue again when she sarcastically observes that he believes 'that what he thinks is right because he thinks it' (p. 184). But John has the resilience to assure them that he believes that they are over the worst and that they will not sink into primitive behaviour if they reach the valley quickly. But he is aware that when he tells the children to be quiet they look at him differently. His transformation is such that they fear him. During the grenade attack on the house that night John organizes the defences, this time without the benefit of Pirrie, who is 'enjoying his nuptials' (p. 189). After his initial display of fire-power against the attackers, John seeks to conserve ammunition. When the attackers clear off after the grenade explosion John, in talking to Roger, becomes aware that his friend would have been pleased if Pirrie had been killed in the exchange. Here John's extraordinary faith in human nature and its resilience can be seen when he says of Pirrie, 'He was a peaceable enough citizen before. There's no reason to think he wouldn't have been one again' (p. 194). Nevertheless John continues to be surprised by others' behaviour. When Pirrie is hit by the machine-gun in David's stockade it is Jane, to John's amazement, who runs to him, drags him clear and cries when she sees that he is wounded. John, still somewhat naive or perhaps just anxious to reassure people, considers that the shooting must have been a mistake. If he genuinely believes this, it shows that events have not changed him as much as he suspects, for he is still thinking in conventional terms and is failing to see the changes in other people. John's feeling as he approaches the stockade, carrying the white flag, is not simply one of courage. As the author puts it, it is close to exhilaration — 'the sense of fatigue allied to excitement' (p. 202). He reasons with the guard that his group should be allowed out of the ditch, but has the good sense not to argue when he realizes that it is no good. This shows his invaluable ability to exercise self-control at moments of crisis. When he goes back to his group, he has to reckon with the forward thinking of Pirrie, who insists that Ann and the children remain with him, obviously suggesting that John would sell out, given the opportunity. John quickly perceives his brother's position, recalling the 'guilt and embarrassment' that he saw written on David's face when the farm was left to him all those years ago. After he fails in his reasoning with David, John feels that Pirrie 'must be psychic' (p. 207), since he has obviously suspected that there would be a place behind the stockade only for John and his family. It is characteristic of John that he has already made up his mind and is determined to stick with the group he has led. It must be allowed that he knows Pirrie will see through him if he doesn't. When he tells the group that they will not be admitted, although he and his family could be, he is aware of Pirrie's hand on the butt of the rifle. John finds that, although he is the leader, he is trapped by the presence of a lieutenant whose expertise constrains his (John's) movements. Pirrie and John understand each other, and when John goes back Pirrie knows that he will be reconnoitring the situation inside the stockade. When David proposes the double-cross, John is devious enough to pretend to go along with it. Though David remarks upon it, it is John who realizes the advantage of the full moon for the attack he proposes to lead that night. John's trump card is the shelf in the river, but he knows that he needs Pirrie to go with him in order to be sure of knocking out the machine-gun. Again John has to face Ann's criticism of his decision, but his own new moral code — that of the leader loyal to his clan — makes him reject what he defines as treachery. He believes, quite rightly, that David is not a free agent, and this conditions his own reactions to the situation. He ignores Ann's bitterness and her innuendo about his being incapable of change and

being crowned King of Blind Gill. In the attack his shooting is not good. He loses Pirrie, but his strategy is successful, though it is tempered with self-blame when he finds that either he or Pirrie has killed David. He thinks back to David's inheritance and realizes that it is now his. At this moment of recall we learn an important fact about John. His distaste for his grandfather's death is parallel to his distaste for everything that has happened on this journey. As he says of the childhood situation, and it is equally applicable to the adult one, 'he wanted only to forget that grimness and shadow' (p. 221). His biblical analogies (of Cain leaving land to Enoch, and there being milk and honey now that Pirrie has gone) shows that he is not over his bitterness, but he bends to kiss his brother's face, a simple action that reminds us that in his compassion he kissed the dead young soldier. Perhaps by keeping the gun he shows that he has not changed completely, but practicality and morality merge in his final words. He is still the leader, and he will see to it that they make a future for themselves as far as they can. ROGER Roger's outward character is somewhat misleading; Ann, we know, dislikes his 'schoolboyish high spirits' (p. 24) and his cynicism, and yet we are told that he suffers from sudden bouts of deep depression. She thinks he is hard, but this assumption is questionable. The fact that he is the only one of John's army friends who has remained close to him is an indication of John's opinion of him. Another factor in our assessment of Roger is Olivia, for even Ann recognizes that theirs is a happy marriage, which is further evidence that Roger is much more likeable than he appears to be. Our introduction to him shows him intent on his game of cards and making flippant comments about the famine victims who are mentioned on the radio. We must remember the kind of world he lives in at the Ministry of Production, and what Ann thinks of as hardness is probably merely a black sense of humour. There is little doubt that Roger enjoys the fact that people think he has never grown up. In fact, he is a serious person who hides his true self, and part of the disguise that he presents to the world is that of a man who is always borrowing quotations from literature. He also knows that in his kind of world the stab in the back that ruins a career is commonplace (that is why he is so cynical), and when he confides in John he takes care to ensure that anything that is said cannot be traced back to him. We get the impression that he is worried, yet he seems to enjoy dispensing information about the Chung-Li virus to John. His account is a mixture of clichés and factual detail. There is evidence that he is intelligent and astute and has his ear to the ground to discover what is actually going on as distinct from what is being officially announced. He is a realist and observes drily that a tight belt 'looks silly on a skeleton' (p. 32). He tells Ann that he dislikes woolly-mindedness and that he believes in selfpreservation. He often infuriates others by expressing these opinions, and yet they are valid in the current situation, since one can no longer apply outdated moral judgements or what could be called humanity. The terrible events are to prove him right. Roger does, however, care for John and his family. He is also sharp enough to see that the valley could provide a refuge if they are pressed. Even then there is a kind of flippancy in what he says about heading north, but we do not doubt his seriousness. He is sarcastic about the British stiff-upper-lip attitude, and, again, events are to confirm his opinion. He is able to indulge his bitterness and cynicism — 'We're true-blue Englishmen and we play cricket' (p. 55) — when he reveals the plan to bomb the cities, thus reducing the population in order that a few may survive. At the beginning he is the prime organizer, and it is he who suggests going back to London to get some weapons. However, before they set out he loses the toss for the leadership to John. From then on things change. Roger is bested in his first encounter with Pirrie; he is not ruthless or efficient enough, and this is an indication of his

limitations. At the same time he is sufficiently quick-thinking to reason with Pirrie and to win him over to their side. His confidence and verbal fluency mean that John's leadership at this stage seems to be only a token one, but when Pirrie asks which of them is the leader, Roger immediately defers to John. The initial plan of the route to take out of London is Roger's, though John approves it. It is Roger's strategy of acting drunken and awkward that enables them to overcome the soldiers at the road-block. Knowing that they may be in need of stamina, Roger has the forethought to bring his Benzedrine pills, which will help him to keep awake. During the gatehouse incident and the kidnapping of Ann and Mary, Roger shows his loyalty by refusing to go on until these two have been rescued; he insists, 'We'll find them. To hell with the odds' (p. 97). Roger, for all his cynicism, is what people might call a 'trueblue Englishman'. In his conversation with Spooks he shows that despite all the tensions he has retained his sense of humour. In the rescue incident Roger is partly in charge, probably because he is trying to protect John. He executes two of the dying men, hands over the gun for Ann to kill the one who raped her and Mary, and seems surprised at John's question about burying the bodies. Roger's practical mind is intent on the necessity to move on and waste no more time. As they move on, it is noticeable that Roger defers more and more to John, as he begins to recognize his friend's qualities. He says humorously, though accurately, that the children's education no longer matters, as their destiny is to be 'potato-grubbers' (p. 107). He is cynical about the Emergency Committee's bulletin, believing that it has made things worse. The dissemination of the news bothers him greatly; he expresses concisely his opinion concerning public information: 'honesty is never advisable and frequently disastrous' (p. 110). When they are stripped of their cars and arms by another group, Roger is furious, and his tactlessness nearly gets them killed. John has to intervene and silence him. However, Roger is resilient enough after this reprimand to appreciate Pirrie's duplicity in concealing a gun in his blanket-roll. As a result of John's assertion of leadership Roger comes to the conclusion that 'democracy's out' (p. 121). During the attack on the farmhouse, Roger reveals a streak of squeamishness that is surprising; he has to be roused from his contemplation of the woman's face after John has shot her. He is now showing signs of strain from the pressure and is anxious to get the bodies out of the way before the children arrive. He is still thinking in terms of the old standards. When Olivia threatens to stay behind if the girl Jane is not allowed to come with them, Roger shows how he feels when he says that he would choose to stay with Olivia. He even tells John that he no longer needs the group, but John rightly points out that they stand no chance if they split up. John accuses him of being sentimental, but Roger's response is to say that he, John, is becoming tougher. When they meet another group Roger's talent for quotation is matched by one of them, and it is clear that his sense of humour is not yet defeated. He has the nerve to suggest to John that Jane should be counted in on the night watches. When John relieves him from sentry duty we are aware that Roger's imagination is still active, as he ponders the legends of the Dales and the future legends that may grow from this experience. John's arrangements for carrying the injured Steve are further evidence for Roger that John has assumed the leadership. Increasingly, Roger becomes the man who asks the questions rather than the one who seeks to provide the answers. It would be wrong to say that he is not equal to the situation; it is rather that John and Pirrie are more equal to it than he is. Olivia urges him to stand up to John, but he knows his own limitations, admitting that when they spun the coin he didn't take it seriously. He now realizes that John will take everything upon himself and that he is probably right to do so. When they move on, Roger brings up the rear. Roger fades into the background from now on, partly because he and Olivia are occupied with Steve.

When they reach the deserted house they are left with only the scullery to sleep in, as Ann points out angrily to John. She says that Roger did not want to bother John, and this is a further indication of his subsidiary role. Both he and John acknowledge that the relationship between them has changed. Yet Roger has sufficient honesty and integrity to say that if he were in John's position, he would feel the same way about Pirrie as John does. The difference is that Roger could not have sustained John's position. In the discussion about Pirrie, Roger draws an analogy: he says that you can't put a pearl back into the oyster. He means that there is no reason why Pirrie should simply become an ordinary, decent citizen again when they get to the valley. He is pleased (though deluded) that they can manage without Pirrie, judging by their successful defence of the house. He does not know that it was Pirrie's cross-fire that drove away the attackers. He takes a humorous view of Jane's attachment to Pirrie ('Another Sabine woman come home to roost', p. 198). When they reach Blind Gill and find that only John and his family will be allowed in, it is Roger who urges him to take the opportunity. It is clear that he still believes in the old standards of loyalty and friendship by which they used to live. In the present world his only role seems to be to carry out necessary tasks decided upon by others. He has little confidence in their assault on Blind Gill but helps to make it work by obeying orders. The man who brought the news, who planned the move and helped to get the guns, whose jokes, clichés and quotations are almost a running commentary on the action, finds himself overtaken by immediate events that require clear thinking and uncompromising action. If he is not always capable of these, he is at least able to accept the directives of John's leadership. PIRRIE Pirrie is the most potent force in the novel; he has a strong nerve, is an expert with firearms and, like John, is bent on survival. Slight and old (about sixty), Pirrie is nevertheless wiry, calculating, thoughtful and — when ruthless action is required — cold. He, more than any of the others, reads the current situation and its effects with great accuracy. His handling of the attack upon him in the shop is masterly. He displays not only physical resilience, but also the opportunism that we come to associate with him, as he turns the situation to his advantage. The telephone call he received from the Superintendent of Police has made him suspicious, but when Roger comes towards him a second time, Pirrie expresses his trust by giving him a gun. His phone call to Millicent shows that he can think and act quickly. He is single-minded, abandoning his cat in order to pursue his own safety. He handles with ease the policeman who questions him, and he surprises Roger and John by showing that his old car is better and faster than theirs. In a sense that car symbolizes Pirrie himself — getting on in years but one jump ahead all the time. Roger and John organize the shoot-out at the road-block, but it is Pirrie, as the cool executioner, who ensures that the plan works. His attitude towards the accuracy of his shooting is a casual one: 'They were such a good lie' (p. 78). He is quickly growing into his new role, even suggesting at this early stage that they should have a guard at night. On the journey he tells them that his mother was French, which he feels will partly explain his behaviour. At this stage he cannot believe that the atom-bombing of cities will occur, since the English are 'sluggish in logic as well as imagination' (p. 89). His own logic is certainly unimpaired, and he suggests that they concentrate on getting clear of the West Riding. The subsequent passage of the bombers overhead would seem to suggest that he is right. After his inspection of the gatehouse where John was ambushed, Pirrie remains composed. He appears to contemplate the sky but is instead working out what the looters may do next. He concludes, rightly, that they will stop to rape the women again, and this terrible fact means that he, John and David will have a good chance of catching up with them. It is Pirrie who has the idea of shinning up the oak in order to look over the flat country to see how far the gang has gone, and Pirrie who plans the attack so

that he will be able to pick them off without hurting Ann and Mary. It is a simple but effective strategy. Pirrie behaves with his customary cold-blooded precision. After firing his three shots he is seen 'sedately advancing, his rifle tucked neatly under his arm' (p. 101). He kills with ease and without emotion, explaining in his calm voice his own moral code: that the guilty deserve to suffer as they die, whereas the innocent should be dispatched quickly. This is a prelude to his offering the right of execution to John, since it is his family who have been violated. When Ann empties the revolver into the rapist, Pirrie praises her dispassionately. Like Roger he sees that the broadcast made by the Emergency Committee will lead to widespread panic. He sees too that the townspeople in the West Riding and in the North-east will also be on the move. Pirrie is diplomatically silent when they are stopped and searched and their cars and weapons are taken. He realizes that there is no point in arguing, since they are outnumbered and outarmed. He has had the cunning to conceal his own rifle, which he keeps for himself, assuring the others that it will not be used against them. In the raid on the farmhouse Pirrie is once more cast as executioner, this time putting the woman with the blown-away face out of her misery. Pirrie is, in fact, more concerned with gathering weapons and ammunition, the essentials needed for their survival, than with execution. He destroys the radio so that they will no longer be disturbed or distracted by events in the outside world. Their priority is to get to the valley and not to take account of anything else. This small, primitive tribe must now follow its chief. Pirrie is moving more and more towards centre-stage in the developing drama. He kills Millicent, giving as his reason her repeated unfaithfulness, and he asserts his right to do so under the new rules governing survival and authority that now prevail. When he kills her he does so with an appropriate quotation from Keats ('To cease upon the midnight with no pain', p. 149), which increases the sense of drama that surrounds this bizarre event. Yet he accepts John's orders about how to dispose of the body. The fact is that Pirrie enjoys exercising power without having absolute responsibility, although John later acknowledges that power lies with the man who has the gun. John is sure that Pirrie will conform when they reach Blind Gill, but at this stage Pirrie is intent on his tribal rights and claims Jane as his woman. He lucidly explains his position and, without any emotion, overcomes the objections of Ann and Olivia. They are right to believe that he regards women as his inferiors, at least in this situation where, in his opinion, they serve to fulfil the basic needs, food and sex. The idea of increasing their numbers appeals to Pirrie, and he appreciates John's reliance on his opinion. Pirrie's boldest stroke is to provoke and then shoot the leader of a formidable band that approaches them. Even John cannot justify this arrogance, yet Pirrie is basing his actions on sound psychological judgement. His theory — his gun expresses it concisely — is that there can only be one leader, therefore he simply eliminates any other leader who threatens domination. Pirrie is also adept at understanding group psychology, and the way he gets the members of the new group to come up to John — a form of paying homage to the leader — is masterly. It is evident that Pirrie is content to promote John's power above his own in this way. Pirrie has established the right to travel as he chooses, for John has given him what he calls a 'roving commission' (p. 176). Pirrie knows that martial law is the only law that will prevail, and says that the day of the committee has passed. All this is evident to him but needs to be impressed on the others. He sees too that it is essential for John to be in charge when they reach Blind Gill. Without him, there is a risk of their being wiped out by the defenders.

Pirrie's approach to the isolated farmhouse shows his inherent courage, a quality that is never called into question, not even near the end when he is near to exhaustion in the cold current of the Lepe. Furthermore, when the group is established in the house, Pirrie — this seemingly frail man of sixty — goes off to enjoy his brief honeymoon with Jane. Although Roger thinks otherwise, in fact they cannot do without Pirrie. His cross-fire, despite his claim that he was 'busy', disturbed the attackers and caused them to flee. Not even his superficial wound appears to affect him. He perceives the situation that exists within the stockade at Blind Gill. For this reason he will not let Ann and the children accompany John, knowing that once they were inside they would be unlikely to resist the temptation to stay and would show no loyalty to those outside. John realizes that Pirrie has correctly guessed how David will behave, when his brother makes exactly that proposal to him. It would not be putting it too strongly to say that there is a bond between Pirrie and John, bred from adversity and their singleness of purpose. Pirrie anticipates, without being told, what he has to do in the attack. He is, perhaps, more frail than he thinks, but John pays him the tribute of recognizing his quality when he tells Ann, 'I'm glad of Pirrie' (p. 214). He also tells her that they would never have reached the valley without Pirrie's assistance. His dying words are the most 'natural and unforced' (p. 218) that he utters throughout the novel, and his last gesture — to give the gun to John — is a tribute to the man he has accepted as his leader; they have become brothers under the skin. Although Pirrie was a murderer, we suspect that John is right when he says that Pirrie would have reverted to conventionality had he survived. There is perhaps one thing more to say about him. Crisis and extreme adversity throw up 'the man for the hour'. Pirrie is just such a man. We are reminded of his travels in the Middle East; the arms salesman became the arms user. But as well as the violence we should remember John's appraisal of what Pirrie has meant to the group. Without him they would not have won through. DAVID David is described vividly in the early sections of the book. As a boy he observes the farming and the landscape with wonder, saying, 'I think I'd like to live here, always' (p. 8). He is content to stay on the farm, not needing to explore the valley like his brother. David will be the next to inherit the farm. When he is first shown as an adult he has a dry sense of humour, rather enjoying the teasing he gets about the fact that he has not married. John's son, Davey, is a favourite of his, and there is little doubt that he intends to leave the farm to his nephew. David studies the effects of the Chung-Li virus on his own land, believing — when he and John talk about it at Christmas — that 'the virus only spreads in the growing season' (p. 39). He takes the precaution of planting potatoes and beet. He has drawn his own conclusions from the pictures he has seen of what has happened in the East and suggests that John and his family spend a year with them at Blind Gill. David has inherited his grandfather's idea that he can shut the door on the rest of the world when he enters the valley, and this is the strategy that he employs from now on. John and Ann are impressed but appalled by his seriousness about the stockade and the holding of the entrance against a mob. It would seem that David has foreseen, before anyone else, what is going to happen, and he warns John not to leave it too late if he decides to make for the valley. It is ironic that he writes to John about slaughtering his animals and salting the beef at a time of delusive optimism about the containment of the virus. David is not 'going off his rocker' (p. 50). His assessment of the situation is saner than anyone else's, and he stays put. When John finally arrives David finds it hard to believe that he and his 'mob' have got through; when he has to refuse to admit

them he feels 'guilt and embarrassment' (p. 206), just as he did when he inherited the estate. Not having experienced the terrors of the outside world in chaos, he thinks naively that he can get John and his family inside the stockade. This assumption and his suggestion that it may be possible to bribe Pirrie show that he doesn't appreciate how desperate men have become. He does know, though, that he holds his land only 'by consent'. John is aware of David's terrible uncertainty. When David has talked to the others he knows that only John and his family will be allowed in, and 'with a feverish earnestness' (p. 211) he tries to get his brother to slip away with the family later that night. John's pretended agreement probably fools him. He is killed in the assault, which causes John to think of himself as Cain to his brother's Abel. John continues with the biblical analogy in saying that Davey, like Enoch, will now inherit the land; this, at least, would have pleased David. ANN Ann is first seen in a jocular mood, as she and her husband tease David about the fact that he is not married. She is concerned about the suffering of others but knows that they are too far removed to do anything about it. Ann tolerates Roger, finding him objectionable on account of his schoolboyish spirits and his apparent cynicism. She criticizes the United States' attitude when it refuses to supply grain to the famine-ridden areas of the Far East. She has the naive idea that so extreme a situation would not occur in Britain. When they visit David at Christmas she still clings to the belief that everything will be all right, for, although she respects David's earnestness, she still refers to the children's future schooling as if it were a matter of great importance. She continues to think that 'In a year's time, all this will seem strange' (p. 44). Yet after they receive David's letter she does consider the situation to be serious. When they are packing to go north, Ann displays a curious insight when she wonders if they are going to hate themselves or if they will not, in fact, realize what they are turning into. When John becomes leader and decides to go back to London to get weapons, Ann makes a bitter remark about women being chattels. She is to feel this on several occasions during the journey. She suffers extreme guilt for her selfishness in rejecting the proposal to take Spooks with them. She withdraws into herself after the kidnapping and rape, but not until she has executed one of the rapists, emptying her revolver into his body. She sits 'in a stiff immobility with her eyes staring into the night' (p. 112). John's attempts to comfort her (though he doesn't press it) fail. She seems to resent John's taking responsibility for all of them and says that she doesn't want to talk about anything. After the murder of Millicent she shows a passing jealousy but is more concerned at John's failure to stop people from killing each other. However, immediately after her criticism she is sorry for what she has said. She is revolted by Pirrie's behaviour towards Jane, telling him that he thinks of a woman as 'another kind of creature' (p. 155). Again she makes an issue of this with John, but we have to remember that she dislikes Pirrie and is frightened of him. She changes her attitude as they go on, wishing to add other women and children to the group despite what she said about Spooks earlier. She is particularly upset by John's ruling that they can no longer afford to feel pity. She feels that he is being made into a 'gangster boss' (p. 181). When the firing opens up from the stockade she tries to restrain John from risking his own safety to rescue Pirrie. But if she is ineffectual here, she is even more so when John decides to approach the stockade, carrying the white flag. She has come to regard the valley as home, and when she discovers that they have been offered the opportunity of being admitted, Ann's bitterness bursts out. She accuses John of delighting in being the chieftain, even suggesting that he should have a king's crown. Later she apologizes and tries to comfort John, telling him that things will be different now that they are in the valley, and trying to stop him thinking that he is responsible for the death of his brother. OLIVIA

Roger's wife figures strongly in two particularly important sequences of the novel. We first meet her when the friends are playing bridge. She is apparently quiet, shy and placid but has an inner strength that arises in part from her character and in part from her happy marriage. She plays only a small role in the discussion, just occasionally apologizing for Roger's remarks and behaviour. She considers Roger to be in some ways about the same age as their son, Steve. Her first, rather surprising, assertion of personality occurs over the question of whether they should have Spooks with them. She has said very little until then, and she risks making herself unpopular. She displays 'shy embarrassment' (p. 87) but a degree of firmness, and the result is that he goes with them, almost as her second child. After the kidnapping of Ann and Mary, Olivia helps to bring John round, but her support is silent. The second occasion on which the strength of her character is prominent occurs when they attack the house and kill the farmer and his wife. Olivia shows her compassion towards the terrified girl, who has been upstairs throughout this. Sympathetic to the girl's fear, but determined to persuade her, Olivia breaks through her own reserve to explain, abruptly, what has happened. She tells the girl, with a kind of logic, that if she goes with them, they will be making up for what they have done to her parents. Olivia behaves in a very determined manner; John sees that behind 'her plump diffidence… there was resolution' (p. 131). It is enough to persuade the others to agree, particularly when Olivia threatens to stay if Jane is not allowed to accompany them. Olivia opposes Pirrie's claim to Jane, but she has to accept his rights (and the strength that enables him to claim them) in the new world in which they live. She wants to help to carry Steve, though John overrules her. She also tries to get Roger to intervene in John's decision to allow another party to join them. Olivia is generally a withdrawn character, but she is also fair-minded and resolute and is portrayed positively on the occasions mentioned. She obviously disapproves of the journey's corrupting effect on John. MILLICENT Millicent's part in the novel, like her fictional life, is a short one. The much younger wife of Pirrie has certainly had her disagreements with her husband, and there are no children of the marriage. Pirrie telephones her to say that they are dining with the Rosenblums that evening, which he knows she will understand to mean something else; as he says, 'Millicent is very quick to perceive things' (p. 73). We first see Millicent when she gets out of their old Ford car, her features 'dark and attractive, if somewhat sharp' (p. 74). She makes her presence felt when she expresses a cynical attitude towards Ann's rape and her execution of the culprit. Her behaviour is conditioned by the fact that she wants to make up to John sexually, and she makes sure that he knows. She calls him 'Big Chief (p. 125). She chooses her moment when he is on watch, accepts a cigarette and the implied intimacy of John's lighting it for her and says, 'When you want a thing is the time to have it' (p. 146). She wriggles against him to try the sexual 'spark test' (her choice of words) and is brash and spirited when faced by her husband, implying that he gets his 'kicks' by watching others perform what he can no longer do. But Millicent is made to suffer during the debate between John and Pirrie before she is killed and unceremoniously dumped. MINOR CHARACTERS The minor characters come alive because of the quality of John Christopher's writing. Mary is seen mostly when she is suffering after the rape, but is also seen in silhouette when she is competing on the hills in the valley with her brother. Jane is most vividly described when she reacts to the murder of her parents. She realizes that only Olivia is talking sense in that terrible situation and that her one chance of survival is to go with them. She accepts the tribal laws, becomes Pirrie's woman (despite her age) and saves him when he is wounded. John is surprised when he finds her crying over Pirrie. Davey and

Spooks are set in a recognizable schoolboy mould, though Spooks has an important role in the plot. He sees, after Ann and Mary have been kidnapped, that the men's car has left an oil-trail, which they can now follow. Spooks is eccentric, and it is understandable that Olivia should be drawn towards his vulnerability. Other characters have brief but significant roles, like Joe Ashton with his authority so soon to be extinguished, the Parsons family, the unsuspecting headmistress and the already fearful headmaster. You will see that, despite the lesser importance of these characters, the author takes care to describe them so that they are both vivid and convincing.

Commentary

With the exception of the retrospective 'Prodrome', The Death of Grass is set in the late 1950s. The action takes place during the course of a year as the famine registers in the Far East and then begins its irrevocable spread. Since the novel was first published in 1956 — when it created something of a stir — we can say that, from the author's point of view, it is a work of his own time: a novel of contemporary life set in the immediate future in order to indicate what could happen to his own apparently settled society. This means that for the reader of our time many of the references and much of the language is dated. These convey an authentic sense of the period; for example, the 'wireless' was the main means of mass communication apart from the Press. A phrase like 'tighten our belts' (p. 32) would still be in common usage some thirteen years after the end of the Second World War, during which rationing had been severe. Roger talks about the possibility of the virus being 'licked by next summer' (p. 36) and of keeping his 'ear to the pipe-line' (p. 47), while Pirrie says 'I'll take over as tailend Charlie' (p. 105); this last phrase is the kind of colloquialism that derived from the war. The novel is thus set in a time and in places that are recognizable to, but not contemporary with, the average reader. LOCATIONS An essential element of The Death of Grass is its geographical movement; the physical travels of the families complement their journey through new experiences — and, in turn, take the reader on a journey through tension. The first location, briefly referred to in the 'Prodrome', is the house in Richmond, Surrey, within easy reach of London, where the boys live with their parents before their father's death. The valley in Westmorland, Blind Gill, is a major location of the novel, representing permanence and sanctuary, which become increasingly important. David loves the valley as much as his grandfather does and comes to inherit it; as John and his group travel towards it, it becomes the goal of safety and their only hope. The valley provides the setting for the first serious discussion between the two brothers and Ann about the events in the East; it is also the background against which the children peacefully play. It is in the valley that the spread of the Chung-Li virus is noted by David. He picks some of the diseased grass and throws it into the fast-flowing Lepe. It is carried away, but, of course, the disease does not disappear. The southern locations of the novel are in or near London, including an unspecified seaside resort somewhere in the Home Counties. Another leisure location in which the characters are seen before the panic is the Buckleys' garden, where the children are again playing innocently while the adults discuss the famine. John, Ann and the children spend Christmas with David at Blind Gill, and it is here that David confides to them his fears and the idea of the stockade. In February John tells Roger of David's plans to barricade himself into the valley, when they meet in Roger's luxurious club (ironically named the Treasury). Roger is sufficiently worried to 'like the sound of Blind Gill' (p. 47). By April David reports that all the grass has been destroyed, and he is planning to make the valley a survival haven by building up his stores of food. By the summer half-term the Buckleys and the Custances are at the seaside again, where they have 'a wide view of the Channel' (p. 52), and they note that fish rationing has been introduced. A pub on the edge of the City of London is the location for the dramatic meeting between John and Roger, in which the latter reveals the 'secret' news about what the government intends to do to London and to the

country as a whole. Part of the author's technique is to stress the normality of each setting: it then contrasts effectively with the magnitude of the destructive influences. The pub scene is important because of its apparent permanence, down to the detail of 'floors still damp from scrubbing' (p. 60). The visit to Beckenham to pick up Mary is a fleeting one, and when they move off they go through North Finchley and Barnet via the North Circular Road, meeting a road-block just beyond Wrotham Park. This is on the Great North Road, near Potters Bar. The interested student would do well to plot the course of the group from now on, including the double-back to Chipping Barnet. Make your own map, so that you can trace the areas through which the travellers pass; these are the temporary settings for their experiences. (You do not need to trace John's and Roger's return to London and their enlisting of Pirrie.) The incident at the road-block at Wrotham Park results in the first of the killings. After that they park near Stapleford, go to collect Davey from Saxon Court and then drive northwards. They stop in a lane 'a little north of Newark' (p. 88). They discuss moving north of Ripon later and aim to be clear of the West Riding. Pirrie observes that neither Grantham nor Newark showed signs of disturbance; Peterborough, however, was sealed off. To get away from the West Riding is the priority, and soon they see the heavy bombers, perhaps flying towards Leeds in order to destroy it. Doncaster is sealed off, but they manage to reach the Vale of York. They find the Al closed (except to the military) and are directed to go to Tadcaster through Thorpe Willoughby. The setting is not identified during the description of the gatehouse and the vicious incident that occurs there. After recovering Ann and Mary the party reaches Tadcaster (beyond Leeds to the north-east) where they fill up with petrol and buy a copy of the Yorkshire Evening Press. Well behind them now, the Citizens' Emergency Committee has taken over London. John decides that they will go round Harrogate and take a road through Starbeck and Bilton. They skirt Harrogate and Ripon and reach the outskirts of the small market town of Masham. When they are stopped, they say that they are going across the moors to get to Westmorland. They are robbed by the Masham men, and John decides that they must make the best of it — perhaps it means having a better chance anyway — by undertaking the 80-odd miles on foot. The route is quite clear: 'The objective John had set them was a crossing of the northern part of Masham Moor into Coverdale. After that, they would take a minor road across Carlton Moor and then strike north to Wensleydale and the pass into Westmorland' (p. 123). They raid the farmhouse on the edge of Witton Moor and then go on, aiming for a point north of Sedbergh. They hope to reach that point on their second day and arrive at Blind Gill on the third. They go down the side of a wood towards Coverham, move south of Aysgarth and avoid Hawes, although it is apparently undefended. They camp at Widdale Gill (their route can in part be identified by mention of the River Ure) and, with the murder of Millicent behind them, they climb up to Mossdale Head, going on across the Pennines. They draw near to the end of Garsdale before pausing for a meal. Later they can see that below them Sedbergh is burning, and they discuss whether to cross the Lune and make for Kendal. In fact, they reach the Lune Valley on the edge of the moors, which they propose to tackle the next day. They spend the night in a farmhouse, which 'looked down the valley towards Sedbergh' (p. 180). Despite the disturbances of that night they move across the moors the following day. They cross 'the lower land north of Kendal' (p. 198), reaching the Lepe at about five o'clock. Two miles on is the entrance to Blind Gill. The author has taken us on a journey through a series of recognizable locations to the final point in Westmorland. It is a journey to safety, a kind of pilgrim's progress through the hell that has been brought about. The locations are important because they act as markers for each of the experiences of

the travellers. NARRATIVE TENSION A good novelist tells a story in such a way that the reader's interest is kept at a high pitch. The Death of Grass is a very disturbing novel, posing the fundamental question of how people react to extreme adversity. Two years before it was published William Golding issued his superb story of a group of boys plane-wrecked on an island, Lord of the Flies. In that novel the boys lose their grip on civilization and revert to primitive and tribal savagery. The parallel with The Death of Grass will have been noted. The narrative of John Christopher's novel traces the moral decline in society, which is seen in behaviour that dispenses with civilized principles. Pirrie, John, Roger and Ann all kill, something they would not do in their ordinary, respectable society. Ann and Mary are abducted and raped. Murder and looting are rife. Those who are strong pillage and destroy those who are weak. The reversion to primitive patterns of behaviour in order to survive is universal. The narrative tension derives from the development of this state of affairs and of the reader's interest in a group with a plan for survival. Their plight commands the reader's sympathy and curiosity throughout, so that questions arise at critical moments in the story. Will they get through the road-block? The way they do illustrates the immediacy of John Christopher's writing. Will they succeed in getting Ann and Mary back, if they are still alive? Again, the focus on this event is sharp, down to the detail of Spooks's observation, the following of the abductors, and Ann's execution of the man who raped her and Mary. Above all, will they reach Blind Gill and safety? As we have seen from the preceding section, their attempt to do so forms the bulk of the narrative, which is always compelling, tense and, for the most part, frightening. There is no relief from the relentless progress of the story. John becomes a changed man because of the ruthlessness that is needed if they are to reach their destination. Everyone notices that John has changed to a frightening extent, and such is the power of the narrative that we are not certain that he will once more become the civilized, kind and tolerant John his family knew. The ending of the novel maintains the tension, as John announces that they will have to build a new city. It is an attempt to reconstruct the old life through practical, responsible, moral work. STYLE One of the main elements of the novel's style is the use of dialogue to complement character and situation. The conversations between the main characters render exactly the elements of natural conversation. John Christopher is also adept at capturing the social exchanges of his characters; when John goes to collect Mary we see the headmistress behaving as if she were simply meeting one of the parents. In the visit to David's school, the words of the headmaster are similarly polite, and yet they convey his apprehension. The spoken word in The Death of Grass serves as an indication of character. Take, for example, Roger's outward cynicism, which Ann so dislikes. His flippant and bitter remarks reveal the fact that the turn of events is making him anxious and afraid. Ann's attacks on John convey the acuteness of her suffering and reflect her fear that John has become permanently hardened by killing and by the responsibilities of leadership. The qualities of the dialogue reflect those of the novel — direct, concise, naturalistic and imbued with the consciousness of the time; that is, the dialogue comprises the idioms, the slang and the speech registers of the 1950s. We can gauge all the characters from the way that they speak. Furthermore, an examination of any of the encounters on the road — the scene with the abductors of Ann and Mary, the meetings with Mr Spruce and Joe Ashton and their groups — will reveal that what is said reflects the emotional tone of the occasion as well as revealing individual characters. There are two other facets of the style of this novel that merit some attention. One of these is the fact

that the narrative is spiced with quotations, almost as if the wisdom that these display is intended to contrast with the irrationality and extreme barbarism of the situation in which the characters find themselves. David refers to 'this green and pleasant land' (p. 22), a phrase from William Blake's 'Jerusalem'. Its appropriateness here is obvious, for just as the poet speaks of the coming of the 'dark satanic mills' of the industrial revolution, so the virus blackens the 'green and pleasant land'. Also, Blake's poem is in praise of faith, whereas all the experiences and events that follow in the wake of the virus blot out all faith. It is Roger, however, who makes the most frequent use of appropriate quotations. Consider the force of his saying, as they set off for Pirrie's shop, 'The world's great age begins anew, the golden years return' (p. 70). The quotation is from Shelley, and the reader will note that, in the novel, it comes before the terrible suffering of a new age that is far from great. There is also a telling exchange that derives from Hamlet. When they meet a group on the road, Roger, when asked for news, replies 'None, but that the world's grown honest.' One of the men responds with, 'Ay, that's good. Then is doomsday near!' (p. 139). The point of the quotation is to emphasize the cynicism and distrust that now prevail, which are expressed by Hamlet in his reply to Rosencrantz in the play. Imagery is the final feature of John Christopher's style to be considered here; metaphors and similes are sprinkled throughout the text and are effectively used. When John, Roger and Pirrie engage the men who have abducted Ann and Mary, John's shots 'rattled like darts against the shield of the placid summer afternoon' (p. 101). Roger describes trains as 'the metal monsters that ate coal and breathed out smoke' (p. 143). The most prominent symbol in the novel is that of bird-song, which occurs at certain moments of danger and crisis. The bird-song represents the innocence and beauty of nature, in contrast to the terrible disease that is about to overtake it — and that has already overtaken man. There are several references to the Bible, perhaps the most important being the final one to the brothers Cain and Abel in the context of the killing of David. Other aspects of John Christopher's style include the ease of his description — he can conjure up a scene quickly and vividly — and his ability to create atmosphere. The novel is permeated with fear and uncertainty, and it is the author's major achievement that these are sustained throughout.

Glossary

Advance the guards: the ordering of a regiment into action aftermath: consequences ammo: abbreviation for ammunition, bullets any road: at any rate (slang) aught: anything (archaic) Austin: popular make of car Babel (tower of): In the Book of Genesis the people of Babylon tried to build a tower to reach Heaven. God did not wish this, so he destroyed the tower and confused their language so that they could not understand each other. balloon's up, The: The crisis has occurred. beholden: obliged, indebted to Benzedrine: drug that stimulates the heart and causes sleeplessness Bisley shot: expert marksman; Bisley is a village in Surrey where the annual meeting of the National Rifle Association is held. Bizerta: port in Libya, scene of much fighting between the British and the Italian/German forces in World War II. Black Death: the bubonic plague. Originated in Asia, reached England in lethal form in 1348-9. The skin of victims was blackened. blackthorn: the sloe, a thorny shrub that has white flowers and small black fruit blowing the gaff: revealing a secret (slang) bolt-hole: hiding place born for a hanging: able to survive any danger Borstal: one of a number of institutions where young criminals are detained and given reformatory training bought it: killed (slang)

Bow bells: the bells of St Mary-le-Bow, a church in Cheapside, London. Boy's Own Paper: boys' magazine, popular earlier in this century British Summer Time: one hour in advance of ordinary time to facilitate the use of daylight bunk-up: help somebody up by bending down so that he/she can climb on your back Cain: eldest son of Adam, who killed his brother Abel camber: slight convexity of surface chattels: goods, possessions Chinks: Chinese (slang) cinema organ: in cinemas of the period (1950s) there was frequently an interlude in which an organist played music cirrus: high, wispy cloud Citroen: large car, popular at the time clay-pipes: targets in a rifle range at a fairground clod: slow-witted, dull person (slang) commons, short: reduced rations of food concupiscence: lust, sexual desire court martial: trial of a member of the Armed Forces, conducted by officers, for offences against military law crack-up: collapse cubby-hole: small office cuckold: man whose wife has been sexually unfaithful to him culms: jointed, hollow stems of grasses custodians: policemen, guardians customs-house: where customs duties are collected at a seaport Cyclops: one-eyed giant of Greek mythology who made thunderbolts for Zeus, ruler of the gods

Dalesmen: inhabitants of the Yorkshire dales decorum: proper behaviour ditch: abandon (slang) Dives: Luke 16, the parable of Dives and Lazarus, the rich and the poor man drop in the ocean: minute amount dummy: in bridge, the hand of a dealer or dealer's partner, turned up and played by the declarer Dunkirk (spirit): typifying the courage of all those who saved the British Expeditionary Force in France in 1940 when it was overrun by the Germans. They were evacuated in all the small boats that could be mustered. edged: sharp, nervous Enoch: eldest son of Cain (Genesis 4:17) entourage: those attending the leader erotic services: sexual favours Eton: famous public school founded by Henry VI in 1440 to prepare scholars for Cambridge fealty: loyalty (feudal tenants' fidelity to the lord) feel the pinch: suffer hardship field tests: practical demonstrations finessing: playing the lower card with the hope of winning the trick (though still holding a higher card) first tack: the first idea for a solution fixated: obsessed by Fusiliers: infantry regiment gabbers: those who talk too much (slang) gainsay: deny game, set and match: the final game in the final set, which clinches the victory (tennis) gatehouse: small building in which the signalman would operate the signals and the gates at the level crossing

genera: plural of genus, a class or group containing several kinds of related plants (or animals) having common structural characteristics gill: deep and often wooded ravine going to the wall: being killed good lie: favourable situation or position Greenwich Mean Time: standard time in Great Britain happen: perhaps (dialect) Hastings, Battle of: where William the Conqueror defeated the Saxons under King Harold (1066) hats ... that might be eaten: from the proverbial expression 'to eat one's hat', meaning to retract all that one has said in the event of being proved wrong hauteur: haughtiness of manner Haydn: Austrian-born composer (1732-1809) hedge my bets: play safe, make sure that I am covered against all risks hell: till hell freezes over, i.e. an impossibility high term: an exaggeration hop on the wagon: do something because it is popular (usually bandwagon) House of Representatives: the lower House of the Congress of the United States hybrid: composed of different or opposite elements isotope: one or more forms (of an element) with the same atomic number, same chemical properties etc., but differing in atomic weight and in nuclear properties such as radioactivity jay-walkers: casual pedestrians ignoring traffic while crossing the road Jerries: Germans (army slang) just the job: exactly right kick: pleasure (slang) licked: defeated (slang) Magnificat: Hymn of the Virgin Mary (Luke 1:46-55)

martial law: military government, civil law having been suspended Martian: supposed inhabitant of the planet Mars mesh: engage milk and honey: abundance, plenty millennium: one thousand years Napoleon: Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821), great French soldier and Emperor, finally defeated at Waterloo (1815) Nero: Roman Emperor (ad 37-68), said to have fiddled while Rome burned. A brutal tyrant New Statesman: radical weekly paper off his rocker: mad (slang) Order-in-Council: sovereign's order on some matter of administration, given on the advice of the Privy Council (body of advisers to the sovereign) oscillate: move from one side to the other and back out of key: not in harmony with what is happening palace revolution: having limited effects, not changing the ultimate power phlegm: calm nature pictures: the cinema pipe-dream: vision (based on the extravagant fantasy induced by smoking opium) pipe-line: channel of communication Plimsoll line: load line on outside of merchant ship showing the limit to which it may sink in the water when loaded (after Samuel Plimsoll, English MP) pony-trap: lightweight carriage drawn by a pony, seating one or two, including the driver posted: signposted press-gang: group of men employed, particularly in the wars against Napoleon, to take men for the armed services Prodrome: preliminary book or treatise, introductory section purchase: hold or grip

putrefying: rotting rescinded: cancelled reveille: waking signal in armed services, sounded in the morning by bugle or drums rubber: three successive games (or two games won by the same side) between sides or persons in bridge Sabine woman: According to the legend, the Sabine women were carried off by the Romans, but grew so fond of their captors that they placed their bodies between them and their vengeful husbands. Skipper: leader skylark: play about skyscrapers: the multi-storey buildings that dominate the skyline of certain cities spark test: used to see if the sparking plug (in the internal combustion engine of a car) is firing properly. (Millicent uses the phrase when she is 'testing' John's sexual response) spooned out: fed roughly, simply, as if to a child statute: law summat: something (dialect) Superman: the famous cartoon character of superhuman strength and moral commitment to the law tail-end Charlie: in the rear (of a convoy of cars) Taj Mahal: the massive, splendid mausoleum at Agra, India, built in the 17th century by the Mogul Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his favourite wife 'Teddy-Bears' Picnic': popular song of the period reflecting childish innocence temerity: nerve throwback: living in the past tighten our belts: eat less, ration ourselves toll-gate: bar or gate across a road where taxes had to be paid by road-users townie: one who lives in a town true-blue: loyal

true colours: real characteristics or thoughts UNESCO: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization United Nations: formed from the nations who defeated Italy, Germany and Japan in World War II (1939-45). urbs in rure: town in country, that is, an urban and rural area utility: vehicle used for a number of purposes Vanguard: popular make of car in the 1950s Vesuvius: active volcano near Naples in Italy washing his hands: keeping himself clean (not being held responsible for the shedding of blood) Westmorland: English county, now part of Cumbria whitewash: concealment of faults or errors wind-up (to have the): very frightened woad: blue-black or green dye used by the Ancient Britons worriter: worrier (dialect)

Discussion Topics

Your understanding and appreciation of the novel will greatly increase if you discuss aspects of it with other people. Here are some topics you could consider. 1. During the course of the novel, in what ways does John change and why? You might consider some of his actions and Ann's criticism of him. 2. Do you think that Roger would have made a better leader? Give reasons for your views. 3. Is Pirrie as essential to the group as John makes out? Again, give reasons for your views. 4. Ann sometimes feels that the women in the party have become mere chattels. Do you agree with her? What evidence is there that they play important parts? 5. Do you think that people would really react in the ways that they do in the circumstances of the novel? 6. Could any of the bloodshed that occurs have been avoided? Think about the first and last violent incidents in the book. 7. Do you think that John and Ann should have taken David's advice and spent a year in Blind Gill? 8. Imagine that you are a member of the government. What action would you have taken, and why, when it became apparent that famine could not be prevented? 9. Is there anything that David could have done to get John and his group inside the stockade? 10. What do you think the future holds for John, Roger and their families? What should be their priorities?

Examination Questions If you are studying for the GCSE examination, you may find that the set texts have been selected by your teacher from a very wide list of suggestions given in the examination syllabus. The questions in the examination paper will therefore be applicable to many different books. Here are some possible questions that you could answer by making use of The Death of Grass. 1. Write a study of a character in a book who has to show qualities of leadership and make important decisions. 2. Write an account of a journey that is made in any book that you are studying. If it will help, draw a map to indicate the route taken, and say how it affects the action of the novel. 3. Imagine that you are a child character in a book. Write an account of the important events as seen through your own eyes. 4. Write about any two or three dramatic incidents that occur in the book that you are studying. 5. Compare and contrast any two characters in the book that you are reading, indicating their different and similar qualities. 6. Write about violence as it is presented in one book that you are reading. 7. Give some account of the setting or settings in your chosen book, and say how they influence any one or two characters in the story. 8. Write about any part of your book that is dominated by a particular atmosphere.