The Welsh slates were giving of their best,
but the rounds coming in from assault rifles were lifting them here and there,
in a sudden and haphazard fashion, and revealing the slats underneath. Sharp splinters were raining down into the
back yard every few minutes. There was
no point yet in returning fire.
Those firing obviously did not have a good
sight, and hopefully they were being harassed and distracted by those in
Latchmere to the rear and the sides, but we knew that we had been bypassed, and
that now we were in an enclave. It all
depended on whether they had the resources to close us off and pass on, or
whether they realized that they needed to secure all this area to enable their
progress into Richmond and beyond. This road was the only straight paved road
North on this side of the Thames, after the destruction of Teddington and the
mayhem that had been wreaked on Richmond Park.
The night had been fevered with debate and
running feet. If anyone had slept, it would
have been the brief, troubled sleep of the exhausted.
Those remaining in North Kingston were the old, the young, and the poor. The old had decided there was no longer any point in movement, and the young and the poor tended to coincide; either they had rebelled against the decision of their families to go into the country, or they had simply nowhere they knew of to go to, or no means to go there. There were still young children in many houses; what else were their parents to do?
The remnants of the Southern Coast land forces had passed through during the previous day, on their way to some regrouping point. Two or three armoured vehicles had turned out of the ragged column, and officers looking reduced and wide-eyed had addressed from the roofs of their vehicles any groups that gathered, giving what advice they could, leaving what rations they could, and finally turning their own side arms on their own troops and ordering them to leave us some trucks scattered with armaments and supplies. There were no instruction manuals; people learned how to handle loaded weapons, or they died.
With all communications gone and no vestige of local government remaining, it was inescapable that people turned to whatever organisation remained. Throughout the evening and into the night, in the Church Hall, some officers of BRAG – the Burton, Richmond Park and Gibbon Road Group – fought to hold down the panic and to plan resistance, if resistance there was to be.
Those remaining in North Kingston were the old, the young, and the poor. The old had decided there was no longer any point in movement, and the young and the poor tended to coincide; either they had rebelled against the decision of their families to go into the country, or they had simply nowhere they knew of to go to, or no means to go there. There were still young children in many houses; what else were their parents to do?
The remnants of the Southern Coast land forces had passed through during the previous day, on their way to some regrouping point. Two or three armoured vehicles had turned out of the ragged column, and officers looking reduced and wide-eyed had addressed from the roofs of their vehicles any groups that gathered, giving what advice they could, leaving what rations they could, and finally turning their own side arms on their own troops and ordering them to leave us some trucks scattered with armaments and supplies. There were no instruction manuals; people learned how to handle loaded weapons, or they died.
With all communications gone and no vestige of local government remaining, it was inescapable that people turned to whatever organisation remained. Throughout the evening and into the night, in the Church Hall, some officers of BRAG – the Burton, Richmond Park and Gibbon Road Group – fought to hold down the panic and to plan resistance, if resistance there was to be.
There were those of us from the outlying
streets drawn to this activity, because of course there was little or no noise
from any other quarter. No electricity
for television or radios, no mobile phones, no traffic of any kind apart from
shopping carts going down to the river for drinking water, and of course
nothing in the sky apart from those distant lights which some still thought
were US monitoring planes.
But the discussion in the hall went on for
hours, became heated, became cool, became despairing ….. and finally came to
the wrong conclusion. We stood up, but
were overruled. Whatever force came,
would come up out of Kingston along Richmond Road; and Gibbon Road, that great wide road with
all aspects easily visible from the main road, came directly off Richmond
Road. A barricade was useless, the invading
force’s main body with all its armaments would see it almost as soon as they
left the town centre to strike northwards.
It would last but moments before the force spread through the
checkerboard of Burton Road and Kings Road and all the rectilinear roads in
that area.
We argued that we must pursue a guerilla warfare, using anything in the streetscape that would give our opponents check. But we were few, and the gathering was now too tired to give our arguments consideration. The meeting petered out and dwindled away.
But we did not spend our night idly. Our house commands a corner where two ways meet – three, if you count that the third way is at an angle and a curve from the other two - and so not easily visible by anyone approaching until they come right upon it. By morning, we had reinforced our attic as best we could, and mounted guns from our roof windows traversing the road north and south. To the east, there was simply the other side of the road and double gardens beyond, hard territory even for footsoldiers. To cover the west, we had had to destroy a corner of the roof to provide a firing position, but we anticipated that this was a less likely direction for an initial attack.
The old break tank in the attic was of course empty, as it had been for months, but in the early hours we brought up some bottles refilled with water, and whatever canned goods and biscuits we had left. We cleared pathways through the lumber to the magazines, and rehearsed which metal racks of bullets fitted which guns, and the order in which we thought we might use them. The grenade launchers were an unknown quantity; they were probably as much risk to us as to our attackers.
By dawn, we were so well satisfied with a job well done that it was almost possible to forget that the actual job was yet to do.
We argued that we must pursue a guerilla warfare, using anything in the streetscape that would give our opponents check. But we were few, and the gathering was now too tired to give our arguments consideration. The meeting petered out and dwindled away.
But we did not spend our night idly. Our house commands a corner where two ways meet – three, if you count that the third way is at an angle and a curve from the other two - and so not easily visible by anyone approaching until they come right upon it. By morning, we had reinforced our attic as best we could, and mounted guns from our roof windows traversing the road north and south. To the east, there was simply the other side of the road and double gardens beyond, hard territory even for footsoldiers. To cover the west, we had had to destroy a corner of the roof to provide a firing position, but we anticipated that this was a less likely direction for an initial attack.
The old break tank in the attic was of course empty, as it had been for months, but in the early hours we brought up some bottles refilled with water, and whatever canned goods and biscuits we had left. We cleared pathways through the lumber to the magazines, and rehearsed which metal racks of bullets fitted which guns, and the order in which we thought we might use them. The grenade launchers were an unknown quantity; they were probably as much risk to us as to our attackers.
By dawn, we were so well satisfied with a job well done that it was almost possible to forget that the actual job was yet to do.
Idling at the angled attic windows, we
watched a slow sunrise out of the east.
There was high cloud and little wind, so when the diesels started up
somewhere to the south in Surbiton, it was not possible to mistake them. There was no urgency or hurry in that
noise. Kingston Town centre had been
deserted almost since it began, all business abandoned and those few who lived
there evacuated, as if evacuation could provide a solution.
But yet there was some time to wait; we smiled as we imagined tanks and half-tracks touring the pitiful mess that was the road system in the town centre, but all the while we knew that they were simply aiming north.
Then a brief pause. Some crackling small-arms fire. Perhaps some hint of a loud-hailer, but then more breaking twigs, and quickly several huge concussions. And then a further concussion.
Then it was possible to hear the vehicles travelling, not simply the engines but also the squealing of tracks and axles lacking lubrication. They moved up to the west of us and moved past, but we knew that that could not be all. And, poised as we were high above the roads, we could hear now the sound of troop movement east towards us, not just the occasional report of a rifle but the triple tempo of an assault rifle, and sometimes the full burst.
They must have quickly established firepoints on rooftops, for now fire was coming into our area – admittedly most of it random, but they were targeting anything that might be a threat. For those who could see them at all, our attic windows were a prime target. Shots smashed into our ridge tiles, the slates, and then one of the glazing units dissolved into dust.
As the sun rose above the houses to the east of Staunton Road, the first of the scouts eased uneasily around the bend in the road, and squinted distrustfully at everything they saw.
We squinted back down our sights, and aimed to make them pay a high price.
But yet there was some time to wait; we smiled as we imagined tanks and half-tracks touring the pitiful mess that was the road system in the town centre, but all the while we knew that they were simply aiming north.
Then a brief pause. Some crackling small-arms fire. Perhaps some hint of a loud-hailer, but then more breaking twigs, and quickly several huge concussions. And then a further concussion.
Then it was possible to hear the vehicles travelling, not simply the engines but also the squealing of tracks and axles lacking lubrication. They moved up to the west of us and moved past, but we knew that that could not be all. And, poised as we were high above the roads, we could hear now the sound of troop movement east towards us, not just the occasional report of a rifle but the triple tempo of an assault rifle, and sometimes the full burst.
They must have quickly established firepoints on rooftops, for now fire was coming into our area – admittedly most of it random, but they were targeting anything that might be a threat. For those who could see them at all, our attic windows were a prime target. Shots smashed into our ridge tiles, the slates, and then one of the glazing units dissolved into dust.
As the sun rose above the houses to the east of Staunton Road, the first of the scouts eased uneasily around the bend in the road, and squinted distrustfully at everything they saw.
We squinted back down our sights, and aimed to make them pay a high price.
