‘It was there, it wasn’t there, I had imagined it. So I thought. But there was no imagining this man’s agony, his hideous wounds, the fact that only a miracle – many miracles – had so far saved his life. And no imagining that he had more than minutes or even seconds to live, either. Oh, no, for he was certainly done for.
‘But he was conscious! Conscious, think of it! And try to imagine his torment, if you can. I could, and when he spoke to me I almost fainted from the shock of it. That he could think, have any sort of ordered thought process left in him, was . . . well, unthinkable. And yet he maintained something of control over himself. His Adam’s apple bobbed, bulged, and he whispered:
‘”Pull it out. Drag it out of me. The point of the beam, draw it from my body.”
I recovered my senses, took off my jacket and put it carefully across his burst gut. This was for my good more than for his, you understand. I could have done nothing while his innards were exposed like that. Then I took hold of the beam.
“‘It’ll do no good,” I told him, nervously licking my lips. “Look this will kill you outright! If I can get it out -and that’s a big if – you’ll die at once. I wouldn’t be doing you any favours if I told you anything else.”
‘He managed to nod. “Try, anyway,” he gasped.
‘And so I tried. Impossible! Three men couldn’t have shifted it. It was literally jammed right through him and down into the floor. Oh, I moved it a little, and when I did great chunks of the ceiling came down and the wall settled ominously. Worse, a pool of blood welled up in the depression in his chest where the beam impaled him.
‘At that he started groaning and rolling his eyes to set my teeth grating, and his body started vibrating under my jacket like someone had sent a jolt of electricity through him. And his feet, drumming the ground in an absolute fit of pain! But would you believe it? – even while this was going on his shivering hands came up like claws to grab that splintered stump where it pinned him, and he tried to add his own weight to mine as I strained to free him!
‘It was all a waste of effort and both of us knew it. I told him:
‘”Even if we could draw it out, it would only bring the whole place down on you. Look, I have chloroform here. I can knock you out so you won’t have the pain. But I have to be honest with you, you won’t be waking up.”
‘”No, no drugs!” he gasped at once. “I’m . . . immune to chloroform. Anyway I have to stay conscious, stay in control. Get help, more men. Go – go quickly!”
‘”There’s no one!” I protested. “Who would there be out here? If there are any people around they’ll be busy saving their own lives, their families, their property. This whole district has been bombed to hell!” And even as I spoke there came the loud droning of bombers and, in the distance, the thunder of renewed bombing.
“No!” he insisted. “You can do it, I know you can. You’ll find help and come back. You’ll be well paid for it. believe me. And I won’t die, I’ll hang on. I’ll wait. You … you’re my one chance. You can’t refuse me!” He was desperate, understandably.
‘But now it was my turn to know agony: the agony of frustration, of complete and utter impotence. This brave, strong man, doomed to die here, now, in this place. And looking about me, I knew that I wouldn’t have time to find anyone, knew that it was all over.
‘His eyes followed my gaze, saw the flames where they were licking up outside the demolished bay windows. The smoke was getting thicker by the second as books burned freely, setting fire to tumbled shelves and furniture. Smoke was starting to curl down from the sagging ceiling, which even now settled a little more and sent down a shower of dust and plaster fragments.