Peter the Great in Deptford

“I’m coming to you,” said Inessa. “It’s not safe in Kherson, the Russians will be here in hours.” 

“But we’re leaving as well,” said Polina. “We’re heading west. We’re not safe in Kharkiv either. We’re going to my cousin’s west of Kiev.” 

“Can I stay the night at yours anyway. It’ll take me all day to get there and I’ll need a break.” 

“Of course. I’ll leave food in the fridge, key under the flowerpot outside. But be ready to move on, they’re saying the Russians will reach here by the end of the day.” 

Inessa drove all day. Progress was slow, everyone had had the same idea, traffic was immense and the queues for petrol were epic. She arrived at Kharkiv late at night, groped for the key under numerous flowerpots and let herself in.

She plugged in her phone to charge, looked in the fridge and found a stew Polina had left for her, which she placed on the stove to warm. 

After eating she rang Polina to let her know she had arrived. 

“Are you safe?” were Polina’s first words. 

“Yes, of course. I’ve arrived at your’s. I’ve found your stew.” 

“You need to move,” Polina said. “The Russians have reached Kharkiv. I’ve heard it on the radio. It’s not safe there.” 

“I can’t leave now, I’ve driven all day, besides, if they’re here it’s not going to be safe on the roads.” 

"Go down to the cellar, there’s a hidden door at the back of the laundry room. There’s sausage in the fridge. Take the sausage with you, don’t leave it for them, and take water, there’s plenty of bottled water in the cupboard above the sink.” 

“Okay, I’ll try and find the cellar. In the laundry room?” 

“Yes, go to the far end of the kitchen.” 

“It’s just a nook with a washing machine.” 

“Yes, the laundry room.  If you squeeze behind the washing machine there’s a trapdoor, which leads to the cellar.” 

“A hidden cellar! It's as if you were expecting Russian invasion.” 

“Maybe, it was built under Russian occupation, but maybe the builder had something to hide.” 

Inessa lifted the hatch to the staircase and flicked the light switch.  

“The light doesn’t work,” she said.  

“We’ve been meaning to get it fixed,” said Polina, “but there’s an issue with the wiring and it was going to cost a fortune. There’s a torch next to the cooker and there’s a lamp in the cellar." 

“Okay, I’ll start taking my things downstairs.” 

“Don’t forget the sausage. It’s good sausage, I don’t want the Russians to steal it. Oh and Inessa.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good luck. Your phone won’t work downstairs, so we’re going to be cut off. Don’t call me until you know it’s safe, but call me when you can.” 

Inessa took her suitcase down the stairs, where she found a small, dry room with wooden floors, a chair and table with lamp, which she turned on, and a futon, with pillows and a duvet, as if expecting guests. 

She made a series of journeys with the water, sausage and some extra blankets from the bedroom, then turned out the lights, using the torch to find the last few things she would need, a glass for the water, plate and knife for the sausage.  

It was just as well that she had taken the precaution of turning off the lights, as she heard voices outside, followed by thump, as someone roughly rattled the handle of the front door and tried to push it open. 

“Use the butt of your riffle,” said a gruff Russian voice, and she heard the glass of the door smash and watched a hand push through the hole and wriggle happlessly around the handle on the inside. 

“There’s no key in the lock, I can't open it.” 

“Then we’re going to need a bigger hole.” There were more great crashes as the whole of the door was smashed in.

By this time Inessa had descended the stair, closing the hatch behind her.  

Inessa sat nervously on the chair, breathing as quietly as she could. She poured herself a glass of water and took sips to steady her nerves. Above her she could hear voices and the sound of crashing around, doubtless the soldiers were looking for things to loot. Maybe they’d heard about the sausage. 

As Polina had predicted, there was no signal, so she couldn’t use her phone, but there was a plug point, so she took the opportunity to charge her phone, so it would be ready for the journey, should she ever get to make it. Maybe the troops wouldn’t stop at Kiev, maybe there was no safe place in the whole of Ukraine, except down here in the cellar. 

There was a book on the table. Nothing else, just one paperback.  She picked it up, Peter the Great in Deptford. 

With nothing else to do, and to escape the stress of her situation, she started to read. 

On 11 January 1698, Peter the Great, 25 year old Tsar of Russia, arrived at Victoria Embankment, in England, to begin a six month stay in the country, intended to learn about British seamanship and shipbuilding. His entourage included seventy soldiers from the Preobrazhensky regiment, four dwarfs, four chamberlains, three interpreters, two clock makers, a cook, a priest, six trumpeters, and a monkey purchased in Amsterdam. 

King William III lent him Sayes Court in Deptford, for three months. Sayes Court was the house of John Evelyn, but it had been granted to the Evelyn family by the monarch, who chose to temporarily remove him to accommodate the visiting Tsar. 

Though he had been granted use of this great house, peter was rarely home in the day. He had taken to leaving the house in a range of disguises, using the pseudonym Peter Mikhailov in order to sightsee unrecognised, though it is unclear how effective that was at achieving anonymity when followed everywhere by an entourage of 70 soldiers, 3 translators, 4 drawfs and a monkey. 

Inessa read for an hour, then stopped to eat a slice of the sausage and drink more water. A thought struck her, she had nowhere to go to the toilet. A bucket would do, or just a saucepan. Just thinking about it made her want to go.   

She listened carefully, but could hear nothing from above. Surely the soldiers would have left by now, how long can it take to loot a house? 

She crept up the stairs and lifted the hatch an inch. It was dark, there was no sign off life. She lifted the hatch further. There was a washing up bowl on top of the washing machine. It was undignified, but it would do.  

As she reached for the bowl she heard a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere in the house. She froze, turned off the torch she was holding, stopped stock still and listened. She could hear their voices coming from the lounge. She could also hear the TV, and another burst of raucous laughter. They’ve clearly found a stash of drink, she thought. I’m not sure why Polina was so insistent on my taking water with me to the cellar if there was alcohol. Don’t I deserve a drink. 

She quietly crept back down the stairs with the bowl, which, ironically, she no longer felt immediate need for. 

She settled back in her chair with Peter the Great, and read on. 

Back in Deptford, the Tsar was bored, and holding wheelbarrow races in the gardens of the house. When John Evelyn returned he would find the lawns ravaged and three broken wheelbarrows in the verges, and his valued paintings filled with holes where they had been used for target practice by the bored emperor. 

Upstairs the Russian soldiers to roar in occasional bursts of drunken pleasure.