Remembrance Day. Leah Fleming

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      Lady Hester sat back in shock, trying to think up some caustic put-down, her lips opening and closing. But nothing came out but, ‘Good day.’

      Oh heck! I’ve put the fox in the chicken run, and no mistake, thought Essie but still she’d take nothing back. If young men were risking their lives then they must be given such freedoms as compensation. It was only fair, and that went for Newton as well as the Cantrell twins. This war was turning customs upside down.

      What a diabolical cheek! Hester couldn’t get over Essie Bartley’s impudence. Freedoms indeed! In her day children did what parents commanded and with no argument. The whole world was going mad and all civilities were disappearing fast. Even dressing for dinner in the evening was being slackened in favour of lounge suits in some households. Servants were giving notice to go into factories, making it difficult to find replacements. In fact, on several occasions she’d had to go into the kitchen herself to prepare a cold collation when Cook had her day off. Arkie had upsticked to run some convalescent hospital for wounded soldiers. Shorrocks was marrying her soldier boy in a rush and Hester feared she was already in the family way. Mrs Beck came in each day from the village now to clean and tidy and lay the fires, instead of having a live-in maid. That it should come to this at her age. Where would it all end?

      She’d not seen Charles for months, just a fleeting visit when she’d begged him to get Angus a safe job out of the line of fire. Of course he’d laughed away her fears and told her to stop meddling. So far there had been no repetition of Angus’s seizures but she worried that it was only a matter of time before another one struck.

      All too often now, when she came through the front door into the marble-floored hall, there was only silence to greet her or the chimes of the hour from the drawing-room clock. The silence was deafening, the echo of her shoes on the tiles, the barking of a stable dog somewhere. In the silence of the evening she had time to churn over all the day’s incidents, her worries, but no one with whom to share these thoughts.

      Occasionally this gloom was lifted by one of Guy’s letters that she devoured, trying to hear his voice in her mind.

      That was what hurt the most: the fact that the Bartley girl was getting his thoughts, his affection. She received a dutiful page or two but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more from him, and as for Angus, he was even worse. How could they be so thoughtless? There was such an empty space where once they’d filled her days.

      Was this the pattern for her future: afternoon visits, committees, the occasional fundraising concert breaking up the monotony of her days? To rattle around in this uncomfortable silence, waiting for one of her men to return for a night or two was a daunting prospect.

      At least her boys were safe in England. They all planned to meet in London on their next leave. She would go down on the train and they could take in a show. Why did she feel so old and unwanted, though?

      ‘Buck up, Hester,’ she said to herself. ‘Pour yourself a drink and get your sewing out.’

      Damn the bloody sewing, she thought. I want them all back…I want my boys back here…

      Selma caught up with Frank on the High Road out of Sowerthwaite, the winding lane that was a short cut to West Sharland. He was swaying in the breeze and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was ‘market fresh’. But Bartley men were abstainers—or were they? As she drew near she smelled the booze on his breath.

      ‘You can’t go home in that state!’

      ‘Leave me alone…I’ve had enough of being bossed about…I’m going.’

      ‘Going where?’ Selma snapped, and then realised what was coming next. ‘You haven’t…’

      ‘I have. I’ve joined up this morning and no one can stop me. I’m sick of being the only lad left in our street. I’m sick of being stared at. I can work with horses in the army. They need drivers and good riders.’

      ‘You can’t go! Dad needs your help. Don’t let him down. Mam’ll go spare when she finds out. Honestly, Frank, you can be so selfish!’

      ‘That’s right, Selma, be a hedgehog; roll in a ball and get your prickles out. It’s all right for you, still in school. Girls have got it made but I’m not staying round here while there’s a war on.’

      ‘We’re doing our bit too. Look at all the women doing men’s jobs—driving horse buses, making shells. There’s even a postwoman in Sowerthwaite, and volunteer nurses joining up.’ Selma strode on, leaving him behind.

      ‘All right, you’ve made your point.’ Frank sat down by a rock on the verge, his eyes glassy. The drink had got to his legs and he was sobering up in the fresh air.

      ‘I hate the forge, pumping bellows, lighting fires, dunking hot metal, and he’s allus preaching at me. When do you ever see him laugh?’

      ‘There’s not much to laugh about right now. Even less if you walk out on him. Poor Mam will be frantic with two of you out there.’

      ‘I’ll be one less mouth to feed, one less shirt to scrub.’

      ‘That’s not the point. You’re letting them down. Going for a soldier isn’t the answer.’

      ‘It is for me. It gets me out of this godforsaken hole!’

      ‘Don’t get funny with me, it doesn’t suit you.’

      ‘And don’t you go telling me what I can or can’t do. We all know you’ve got big ideas ever since you palled up with Cantrell. He’ll drop you like hot coals before long,’ Frank snapped back.

      ‘It’s not like that. We’re just friends,’ she replied, blushing.

      ‘Pull the other leg. I’ve seen you put those letters in your bride box.’

      ‘What bride box?’ she retorted.

      ‘The little carved chest that belonged to Granny Ackroyd. You keep all your treasures in there.’

      ‘Have you been rooting around in my things?’ Her cheeks flamed.

      ‘You’ve got your prickles out again,’ he laughed, and despite herself she joined in

      He’d be in a heap of trouble when he got home. One by one they were leaving her. The family would shrink to just three. But he was right to go and do his duty. The women would manage; they had to in school when the male teachers had volunteered. Now they were practising for a big fundraising concert where her infant class would be the star turn. They were making outfits for the infants dressed as bantam soldiers to march across the stage and sing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.

      They walked the rest of the way in silence and Selma kept wondering if Frank was having second thoughts about his rash decision. Trouble was, he’d be too proud to admit his mistake. The Bartleys were all stubborn mules. It was bred in the bone but she’d be sure to be out of the house when he broke this news.

      Guy sat on the train going south from training camp, staring out of the blackened windows, hoping this family weekend would be a success. In some ways his new life was just the same as boarding school: long route marches, drill, rifle shooting, studying the manual like a textbook, learning to bivouac and do cross-country treks in the dark. There was so much theory to learn on how to train up men to obedience and to give orders СКАЧАТЬ