‘An odd arrangement. What did the village people think of it?’ I asked.
‘There was disapproval from some, of course – more from convention than conviction, really. A lot of them were relieved to lose a responsibility that had rather scared them, though they didn’t feel it proper to admit it. A few were genuinely fond of them, still are, and have found it distressing. But in general they have just accepted. Nobody really tried to stop any of them shifting to The Grange, of course – it wouldn’t have been any use. Where the mothers feel affectionately for them the Children keep on good terms, and are in and out of the houses as they like. Some others of the Children have made a complete break.’
‘It sounds the queerest set-up I ever heard of,’ I said.
Bernard smiled.
‘Well, if you’ll throw your mind back you’ll recall that it had a somewhat queer beginning,’ he reminded me.
‘What do they do at The Grange?’ I asked.
‘Primarily it is a school, as it says. They have teaching and welfare staff, as well as social psychologists, and so on. They also have quite eminent teachers visiting and giving short courses in various subjects. At first they used to hold classes like an ordinary school, until it occurred to somebody that that wasn’t necessary. So now any lesson is attended by one boy and one girl, and all the rest know what those two have been taught. And it doesn’t have to be one lesson at a time, either. Teach six couples different subjects simultaneously, and they somehow sort it out so that it works the same way.’
‘But, good heavens, they must be mopping up knowledge like blotting-paper, at that rate.’
‘They are indeed. It seems to give some of the teachers a touch of jitters.’
‘And yet you still manage to keep their existence quiet?’
‘On the popular level, yes. There is still an understanding with the Press – and, anyway, the story hasn’t nearly the possibilities now that it would have had in the early stages, from their point of view. As for the surrounding district, that has involved a certain amount of undercover work. The local reputation of Midwich was never very high – an ingenuous neighbourhood is perhaps the kindest way of putting it. Well, with a little helping-on, we’ve got it still lower. It is now regarded by the neighbouring villages, so Zellaby assures me, as a kind of mental home without bars. Everybody there, it is known, was affected by the Dayout; particularly the Children, who are spoken of as “daytouched” – an almost exact synonym of “moonstruck” – and are retarded to such an extent that a humane government has found it necessary to provide a special school for them. Oh, yes, we’ve got it pretty well established as a local deficiency area. It is in the same class of toleration as a dotty relative. There is occasional gossip; but it is accepted as an unfortunate affliction, and not a matter to be advertised to the outside world. Even protestations occasionally made by some of the Midwich people are not taken seriously, for, after all, the whole village had the same experience, so that all must be, in greater or lesser degree, “daytouched”.’
‘It must,’ I said, ‘have involved quite a deal of engineering and maintenance. What I never understood, and still don’t understand, is why you were, and apparently are, so concerned to keep the matter quiet. Security at the time of the Dayout is understandable – something made an unauthorized landing; that was a Service concern. But now …? All this trouble to keep the Children hidden away still. This queer arrangement at The Grange. A special school like that couldn’t be run for a few pounds a year.’
‘You don’t think that the Welfare State should show so much concern for its responsibilities?’ he suggested.
‘Come off it, Bernard,’ I told him.
But he did not. Though he went on talking of the Children, and the state of affairs in Midwich, he continued to avoid any answer to the question I had raised.
We lunched early at Trayne, and ran into Midwich a little after two. I found the place looking utterly unchanged. It might have been a week that had passed instead of eight years since I last saw it. Already there was quite a crowd waiting on the Green, outside the Hall where the inquest was to be held.
‘It looks,’ Bernard said as he parked the car, ‘it looks as if you had better postpone your calls until later. Practically the whole place seems to be here.’
‘Will it take long, do you think?’ I inquired.
‘Should be purely formal – I hope. Probably all over in half an hour.’
‘Are you giving evidence?’ I asked, wondering why, if it were to be so formal, he should bother to come all the way from London for it.
‘No. Just keeping an eye on things,’ he said.
I decided that he had been right about postponing my calls, and followed him into the hall. As the place filled up, and I watched familiar figures trooping in and finding seats, there could be no doubt that almost every mobile person in the place had chosen to attend. I did not quite understand why. Young Jim Pawle, the casualty, would be known to them all, of course, but that did not seem quite to account for it, and certainly did not account for the feeling of tension which inescapably pervaded the hall. I could not, after a few minutes, believe that the proceedings were going to be as formal as Bernard had predicted. I had a sense of waiting for an outburst of some kind from someone in the crowd.
But none came. The proceedings were formal, and brief, too. It was all over inside half an hour.
I noticed Zellaby slip out quickly as the meeting closed. We found him standing by the steps outside watching us emerge. He greeted me as if we had last met a couple of days ago, and then said:
‘How do you come into this? I thought you were in India.’
‘Canada,’ I said. ‘It’s accidental.’ And explained that Bernard had brought me down.
Zellaby turned to look at Bernard.
‘Satisfied?’ he asked.
Bernard shrugged slightly. ‘What else?’ he asked.
At that moment a boy and a girl passed us, and walked up the road among the dispersing crowd. I had only time for a glimpse of their faces, and stared after them in astonishment.
‘Surely, they can’t be – ?’ I began.
‘They are,’ Zellaby said. ‘Didn’t you see their eyes?’
‘But it’s preposterous! Why, they’re only nine years old!’
‘By the calendar,’ Zellaby agreed.
I gazed after them as they strode along.
‘But it’s – it’s unbelievable!’
‘The unbelievable is, as you will recall, rather more prone to realization in Midwich than in some other places,’ Zellaby observed. ‘The improbable we can now assimilate at once; the incredible takes a little longer, but we have learnt to achieve it. Didn’t the Colonel warn you?’
‘In a way,’ I admitted. ‘But those two! They look fully sixteen or seventeen.’
‘Physically, I am assured, they are.’
I kept my eyes on them, still unwilling to accept it.
‘If you are in no hurry, come up to the house and have tea,’ Zellaby suggested.
Bernard, after a glance at me, offered the use of his car.
‘All right,’ said Zellaby,‘but take it carefully, after what you’ve just heard.’
‘I’m not a dangerous driver,’ said Bernard.
‘Nor was young Pawle – he was a good driver, too,’ replied Zellaby.
A little way up the drive we came in sight of Kyle Manor at rest in the afternoon sun. I said:
‘The first time I saw it it was looking just like this. I remember thinking that when I got a little closer I should hear it purring, and that’s been the way I’ve seen it ever since.’
Zellaby nodded.
‘When I saw it first it seemed to me a good place to end one’s days in tranquillity – but now the tranquillity is, I think, questionable.’
I let that go. We ran past the front of the house, and parked round the side by the stables. Zellaby led the way to the veranda, and waved us to cushioned cane chairs.
‘Angela’s out at the moment, but she promised to be back for tea,’ he said.
He leant back, gazing across the lawn for some moments. The nine years since the Midwich Dayout had treated him not unkindly. The fine silver hair was still as thick, and still as lucent in the August sunshine. The wrinkles about his eyes were just a little more numerous, perhaps; the face very slightly thinner, the lines on it faintly deeper, but if his lanky figure had become any sparser, it could not have been by a matter of more than four or five pounds.