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.Michael and St.George with its wooden prayer stalls.The banners which ordinarily hang above them have unfortunately been removed for safekeeping.”The seventeenth-century cherubs had been, too, and the nave’s chandeliers and most of the monuments in the south aisle.“Some of them were too heavy to move, so we’ve put sandbags round them,” Mr.Humphreys said, leading her past a stairway with a chain across it and a notice: To the Whispering Gallery.Closed to Visitors.And so much for the Whispering Gallery, Polly thought as the verger led her into the wide central crossing beneath the dome, where there was another chained staircase.“This is the transept,” he said.“It forms the crosspiece of the cathedral.” He led her into it to show her the monument to Lord Nelson, or rather, the stack of sandbags hiding it, and several other piles of sandbags concealing statues of Captain Robert Scott, Admiral Howe, and the artist J.M.W.Turner.“The south transept is chiefly interesting for the carved oak doorcase by Grinling Gibbons, which unfortunately—”“Has been removed for safekeeping,” Polly murmured, following him from the transept into the choir and the apse, where he pointed out the organ (removed for safekeeping), the shrouded statue of John Donne (in a shroud of sandbags in the Crypt), the High Altar, and the stained-glass windows.“We’ve been very lucky so far,” Mr.Humphreys said, pointing up at them.“They’re too large to board up, but we haven’t lost a single window.”You will, Polly thought.By the end of the war they’d all have been smashed.The last one had been taken out by a V-2 that had crashed nearby.Mr.Humphreys led her back down the other side of the choir, pointing out the buckets of water and stirrup pumps lined against the wall.“Our greatest worry is fire.The underlying structure’s of wood, and if one of the roofs were to catch fire, the lead would run down into the cracks between the stones, and they’d burst as they did when the first St.Paul’s burned.It was utterly destroyed during the Great Fire of London, when this entire part of the city burned.”And will again three months from now, Polly thought.She wondered if Mr.Humphreys was part of the fire watch.He looked too old, but then again, the Blitz had been a war of old men and shopgirls and middle-aged women.“But we shan’t let that happen again,” he said, answering her question.“We’ve formed a band of volunteers to keep watch for incendiaries on the roofs.I’m on duty tonight.”“Then I shouldn’t keep you,” Polly said.“I should go.”“No, no, not till I’ve shown you my favorite monument,” Mr.Humphreys said, dragging her into the north transept.He made her look at the Corinthian columns and the oak doors of the north porch.“And this is the monument to Captain Robert Faulknor,” he said, pointing proudly at another pile of sandbags.“His ship was badly damaged.She’d lost most of her rigging and couldn’t fire, and the La Pique was coming athwart her.Captain Faulknor courageously grabbed her bowsprit and lashed the two ships together and used the La Pique’s guns to fire on the other French ships.His brave action won the battle.Unfortunately he never knew what he’d accomplished.He was shot through the heart the moment after he’d bound the two together.” He shook his head sadly.“A true hero.”I’ll need to tell Michael Davies about him, Polly thought, and wondered where he was now.He was to have left just after she did, which meant he was in Dover, observing the evacuation efforts.But here in this time, that had happened three months ago, and his next assignment, Pearl Harbor, which he’d leave for as soon as he returned from Dover, wouldn’t happen here for more than a year.“It’s such a pity you can’t see the monument,” Mr.Humphreys said.“Wait, I’ve just thought of something,” he said, and led her back down the nave.The cathedral had lost its golden glow and looked gray and chilly, and the side aisles were already in shadow.Polly stole a glance at her watch.It was after four.She hadn’t realized how late it was.Mr.Humphreys was taking her to the admissions desk.It had a number of pamphlets on it, colored prints of the The Light of the World for sale for sixpence apiece, a box marked Donations to the Minesweepers Fund, and a wooden rack filled with picture postcards.“I think we may have a photograph of Captain Faulknor’s monument,” he said, searching through postcards of the Whispering Gallery, the organ, and a three-tiered Victorian monstrosity that had to be the Wellington Monument.“Oh, dear, we don’t seem to have one of it.What a pity! You must come back and see it when the war’s over.”The side door clanged, and a sharp-faced young man came in, wearing a dark blue coverall and carrying a tin helmet and a gas mask.“So they got the bomb out all right, did they, Mr.Humphreys?” he asked the verger.He nodded.“You’re a bit early, Langby.You don’t come on duty till half past six.”“I want to take a look at the chancel roof pump.It’s been giving a bit of trouble.Have you the key to the vestry?”“Yes,” Mr.Humphreys said.“I’ll be there in a moment.”“I’m keeping you from your duties,” Polly said.“Thank you for showing me the cathedral.”“Oh, but you mustn’t go yet.There’s one last thing you must see,” he said, leading her over to the south aisle.No doubt another pile of sandbags, Polly thought, following him, but it wasn’t.He’d led her back to The Light of the World, the painting now only dimly visible in the gloom.Mr.Humphreys said reverently, “Do you see how, now that the light’s fading, the lantern seems to glow?”It did.A warm orange-gold light spread from it, lighting Christ’s robe, the door, the weeds that had grown up around it.“Do you know what Dean Matthews said when he saw that glow? He said, ‘He’d better not let the ARP warden catch him with that lantern.’” Mr.Humphreys chuckled.“A fine sense of humor, the dean has
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