by John Masters
The seven of them sat in the morning-room, teacups on the small occasional tables beside each chair. Alice had poured the tea and passed round the crumpets and scones and jam and thin mustard-and-cress sandwiches. Her mother sat upright in a high-backed chair, her skin a pale yellowish tinge under the rouge, which as Alice knew she had been applying for the ast year. Quentin, in uniform, sat with his back to the windows, his left arm in a cast from shoulder to wrist, the cast supported in a khaki sling; there were two short puckered scars on the back of his left hand.
Quentin’s wife Fiona sat beside him, her grey eyes unfocused. Harry sat opposite his wife, John and Louise together between them.
John was speaking about the farm: ‘We only have one man left now, and he’s nearly seventy. Lady Helen’s our real mainstay – she’s a hard worker, never tires, is never ill, always encourages the others when they are tired – Carol Adams and now two London girls of the Land Army. Never been in the country before but they’re getting used to it.’
‘I imagine Lady Helen was upset at her brother’s death,’ Harry said.
John nodded. ‘She was, Father, but all she did was work harder – I never saw her cry. And now Cantley’s going, I hear. She’s closer to him even than she was to Arthur, as children, I remember.’
Louise said, ‘But we’re hardly making ends meet, even though we do get good prices for milk, being close to London.’
John cleared his throat and said, ‘In fact, we … we’re thinking of starting a retail milk round.’
‘Who’d run it – drive the carts?’ Harry asked.
‘We would – Louise and I,’ John said. No one spoke. My brother, no better than a milkman, Quentin thought: a year ago I wouldn’t have believed it. Glancing at his wife, he thought she hadn’t heard a word of the conversation: he wondered where she was, and with whom.
John went on, ‘Lady Helen could manage the farm. She studies everything the British Friesian Society puts out, attends meetings … and she learned a lot at that course they ran in Wiltshire in August. We’re going to make High Staining pay soon, for the first time since you helped me buy it, Father.’
‘Wish I could say the same,’ Harry said. ‘We’re turning out staff cars, but the army wouldn’t buy our ambulance … Richard made the right guess, when he left us.’
If it was a guess, John thought to himself, rather than the result of a careful estimation of future probabilities.
‘He must be making twenty lorries a day … nearly five hundred a month. They’re working in three shifts, twenty-four hours a day … I don’t understand how he thinks he can find time to run the JMC and be an Independent Member, with a plan of his own, and a lot of crusading to do. I shall find it hard enough … if I am elected … and all I intend to do is just what I’m told to do by the whips … and work for, or on, the committee on war production, of course. I hear Richard spoke well in the park at noon today.’
Louise said hesitantly, ‘I think it’s a pity he’s standing against you, Father, but … I can’t help thinking that there is something wrong in the way our leaders are conducting the war. We’ve been promised so much, and what have we actually received? Only these terrifying casualty lists.’
Harry said, ‘I agree. There’ll be some changes made. Mr Asquith is perhaps too much of a gentleman to give the government the strong hand it needs in these times … Mr Lloyd George is coming down to my meeting tonight. His secretary telephoned an hour ago.’
‘Down, Bismarck, bad dog!’ Alice snapped, rapping the dachshund on the head to dissuade him from trying to mate with her leg. She turned to her father. ‘I thought they said they were all too busy when you asked the central office for support. And that you didn’t need help, as you faced no real opposition.’
‘They did, but someone – perhaps Ellis – has made them understand that Richard’s campaign is not against me, but against them. Against their conduct of the war – and that every vote for him is a vote against them, the cabinet, the coalition, all of them.’
‘Is Mr Lloyd George coming to the house, Father?’
‘No. Ellis is meeting him at the station, and then they’ll go direct to the hall. I’ll be leaving at half-past five.’
‘I don’t think I should come,’ John said awkwardly.
‘Of course not,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t want you brothers fighting among yourselves. It’s bad enough that Richard and I should be at each other’s throats, metaphorically speaking.’
‘I shouldn’t sit on the platform in uniform,’ Quentin said, ‘but I’ll be there, in the audience. I don’t believe in changing horses in midstream. Fiona?’
Fiona said, ‘I’ll stay at home. I’ve heard Father’s speech three times already, and I have letters to write.’
Rose said, ‘I wish I could come, Harry, but …’
‘No, no, you stay here and rest.’
The platform at one end of the big bare hall was hung with Union Jacks and red, white, and blue bunting. A lectern stood at front centre, with a row of chairs behind. The Minister of Munitions, the Right Honourable David Lloyd George, sat a little to the left rear of the speaker, where nearly all the audience could see him. His heavy mane of hair hung over his collar and his eyes darted round the hall without cease, noticing the way a man stood there, catching the least hints of dissent or agreement, the precise curve of a bosom, a pretty face, wide eyes. Ralph Ellis, the retired member, sat on Lloyd George’s right; and to right and left were the Earl of Swanwick, the Mayor of Hedlington, Mr Bill Hoggin, and other dignitaries. A blinded young soldier sat in the front row of seats, a white cane in his hands, staring sightlessly at the platform through blackened glasses.
Harry wrenched his eyes away from the disturbing presence of the soldier, and began to speak: ‘It has been said that we are not doing all we can and should to win the war. I have a son and a grandson at the front, and I assure you that I never forget it. They are always in my thoughts – they and the millions like them who answered their country’s call. My son tells me there was plenty of ammunition for the recent battle of Loos – we have overcome the difficulties we experienced earlier in the year, thanks to the Defence of the Realm Act, and to the great man sitting behind me – Mr David Lloyd George.’
Cheers broke out, together with some subdued boos. Harry knew that Lloyd George was not popular with the trade unions or the Labour party, for his efforts to overcome union rules and increase production by any and all means available.
‘My son says the army needs more machine-guns – they have been ordered, and we will see that the army gets them. We are going to wage this war to victory, victory over the Huns, the barbarians who have shattered half the churches and cathedrals in northern France, who have bayoneted helpless prisoners, raped women … murdered our heroic Nurse Cavell … torpedoed the Lusitania, without warning, a passenger ship, unprotected, over a thousand innocent people drowned … trampled on the rights of small nations … Germany, enemy of peace, must be destroyed, and we are going to do it … One more big push and the bully’s will will break … A vote for me is a vote for victory.’
He sat down in an empty chair and Ralph Ellis got up. ‘I won’t waste your time with a long introduction. I’ve been your member for twenty-two years, and I’ve done my best for you. Harry Rowland’s the man to take my place, take my word for it. I tell you that, and here’s the Right Honourable David Lloyd George to tell you the same.’
Lloyd George grasped the front of the lectern with both hands and Harry listened intently. The grey-brown mane shook, a fist was raised. The Welsh voice, perfectly tuned and resonant, soared out like an organ over the densely packed hall. The applause came at shorter and shorter intervals. The faces down there, looking up at the platform, became more and more remote, the eyes wider. Only the blind soldier’s head never moved, nor his hands. Nothing seemed able to move him, Harry thought.
He realized suddenly that he was not listening to what Lloyd George was saying; and nor was anyone else. They were
all listening only to his voice, and absorbing his presence. The spellbinder, the Welsh Wizard, was living up to his name. After twenty minutes, he ended – ‘So I say, vote for Harry Rowland – Harry Rowland – and victory!’
He sat down, while the hall shook to the thunder of applause, clapping, stamping feet. Ralph Ellis stood at the lectern and when at last there was quiet, said, ‘Would anyone like to ask any questions of Mr Lloyd George – but I should warn you that he has a train to catch in a few minutes. When he leaves, Mr Rowland will answer other questions.’
A man in the middle of the hall shouted, ‘Are you for conscription?’
Lloyd George strode back to the lectern and pointed a finger at the questioner. ‘Yes, I am,’ he cried in a full resonant tone, ‘and so would you be if you saw how men’s abilities are being wasted under the present system. Men vitally needed in our factories are going off to the front. We must see that the factories are not short of skilled labour, just as we must see that the trenches are not short of skilled soldiers. That’s fair play for all.’
‘I ’eard some shop stewards refused to meet you, in Birmingham, ’cos you’re on the side of the bosses, always trying to get the men to work ’arder for less money. Wot do you say to that?’
Lloyd George turned on the questioner, the mane of hair swinging, the blunt finger stabbing out – ‘I say that those stewards were more interested in their own positions than in fair play, or in the men they were supposed to represent. We in the Liberal Party are for a better life for the working man, and we’ll see that he gets it.’
The questioner was not satisfied, and shouted. ‘That’s a lie! They wouldn’t meet you because they knew you’d sell them to the bosses!’
‘If you know so well,’ Lloyd George snapped, ‘why did you ask the question?’
‘To show you up for a windbag,’ the man shouted, and now Harry recognized Bert Gorse, Willum’s fiery half-brother – ‘and no friend of the working man!’
Lloyd George jabbed the finger out, his face suffused with anger, ‘You call me that, me? Who pulled the teeth of the House of Lords? Who passed the workmen’s compensation act? Who?’
‘Who made a million out of Marconi shares?’ Gorse yelled, but by then he was being dragged out by two policemen; and as he went, men and women rained blows on him with fists and bare hands, and shouted insults in his ears.
Lloyd George recovered his calm as quickly as he had lost it. ‘Now, I think that man must have had a disagreement with his wife this morning,’ he said, grinning mischievously at the crowd. ‘Any more questions?’
A woman asked hesitantly about pensions for war widows. She was dressed all in black, and Lloyd Geroge’s voice purred soothingly as he answered her. Then he raised both arms and stepped back. As the crowd cheered, he muttered to Harry, ‘French is going, but don’t tell anyone. Defend him to the end.’ Then with a clap on Harry’s back, he was gone. The big hall seemed smaller on the instant.
Harry walked slowly to the lectern. Those muttered words about Field-Marshal French disturbed him; for relieving French was one of Richard’s chief planks; and now he was being told to defend him when his masters had already decided to do what Richard was insisting must be done. Politics was a dirty business, whichever way you looked at it.
The people began to ask questions. The first was about German air superiority, a subject which he knew Richard was hammering at. He answered, ‘For the moment, the Germans have achieved a superiority, in some areas, it is true. We hope to change the situation very shortly, in ways which I am not free to divulge.’ Again, he felt uncomfortable; all he really knew was that the best brains in the British aircraft industry were working on the problems of firing machine-guns through propellers; and had found a solution … but designing and building the right aircraft to use the new invention was a different problem, which could not be solved overnight.
He watched the blind soldier from the corner of his eye while he was answering others’ questions. When would he get up, and ask something … something unanswerable? But the young man sat still, no muscle moving. Someone asked about recruiting; another about who might be exempted from military service if conscription came; a third about sugar rationing. Then a woman in the fourth row stood up and called, ‘Will you please tell us your policy on women’s suffrage and the employment of women, Mr Rowland?’
He stared, sure he’d seen the woman before somewhere, then answered, ‘As to suffrage, I think we must wait till the end of the war and then decide what we should do. There has been much vocal and indeed violent agitation in favour of votes for women, but as I am sure you all realize, there is also a strong feeling against female suffrage among women themselves. At all events, it is a divisive issue. We should therefore follow the example of the leaders of the suffrage movement, and declare a truce on the subject until the war is ended.’
Loud clapping broke out, continuing for some time, most of it apparently from men, Harry thought. Women’s suffrage was not a popular issue these days. He himself thought women should probably get the vote now. He hadn’t liked the idea before the war – but the war had changed that, because women themselves seemed to be changing – and not always for the worse, as so many seemed to think.
‘About employment,’ he continued, ‘I am not opposed to young women finding employment suited to their education and skills … but not of course under any sort of compulsion. There must be no conscription of women, of any nature. I think we must agree that woman’s natural place is in the home. Her position there must be protected by all the means in our power. It is only she, after all, who can keep the home fires burning.’
The woman called, ‘With respect, sir, that is nonsense. You say women can get jobs for which they have skills. But what skills do most women have, except cooking? We want to do more, and for that we need training. We need a government effort to persuade employers to accept us, train us … give us the same opportunities as they give to men.’
‘Shut up, you bitch!’ a man close to the woman said, in a loud clear voice.
The woman turned on him, ‘I’m not a bitch any more than you’re a male dog. We are both human beings, and English. I am asking for equal rights for that half of humanity who are women … rights to work, rights to fair and equal treatment.’
The booing became louder and louder, spreading all through the hall. Women nearby were clawing towards the speaker, who kept on shouting in a high shrill voice, the accent more strongly cockney as she became more excited. The police were moving in and after a few moments of confused pushing and shoving and overturning of chairs, and a bobby’s helmet being knocked sideways, the woman was escorted to the door.
Harry wiped his brow. ‘I apologize for the disturbance, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I have nearly finished … I have told you what we are doing to win the war, and how we – the Liberal Party – undertake to do more, under the dynamic leadership of Mr Asquith, Mr Lloyd George, and their colleagues. I ask all of you to put your shoulders to the wheel. It is we, the people, of all classes, who, with God’s blessing, must save England from the Hun menace … save it for cricket, hunting, football … for ourselves, our wives and our children. Thank you.’
He sat down. Ralph Ellis took his place, his right hand raised. ‘So we all say, vote for Mr Harry Rowland, Liberal candidate, next Thursday, November 11th. Now,’ he looked up at the big clock on the wall behind him, ‘in twenty minutes the Liberal dance will begin at the Oddfellows’ Hall. Music will be by Mr Jimmy Jevons’ Dance Band, whose services have been obtained for us as a gift from Mr Bill Hoggin, of Hoggin’s Preserves.’ The blind soldier suddenly booed loudly, and it was a few moments before laudatory clapping, led by Ellis, drowned it. On the platform, Bill Hoggin stood up, bowed shortly, and sat down again. Ellis continued: ‘A collection will be made at the door to buy comforts for the wounded at the Dartford Convalescent Depot. I hope we shall see all of you there, enjoying yourselves in anticipation of Mr Harry Rowland’s victory next Thursday,
November 11th. We on this platform will all be attending the dance, with our ladies. Now, ladies and gentlemen, please join me in singing together Keep the Home Fires Burning.’
He raised his hand and set off bravely, only slightly out of tune. The audience stood up and began raggedly to sing, but soon swung into unison:
Keep the home fires burning, while your hearts are yearning
Though your lads are far away they dream of Home:
There’s a silver lining, through the dark cloud shining
Turn the dark cloud inside out, till the boys come home!
The blinded soldier got up and tapped slowly across the floor in front of the front row of singers. Harry watched him, feeling the chill of battlefield graves upon him. He hardly dared breathe until the slight figure had tapped its way out of the room, under the hearty singing, for he knew that whatever question the boy might have asked him, he could not have answered it.
Bert Gorse stood outside the door of the hall, listening to what was being said inside. It was not a cold night and the front doors had been left open for better ventilation. A bobby watched him with a neutral stare, arms folded behind him, now and then majestically bending his knees slightly, hitching his testicles to the other side of his trouser fork by a subtle torso movement, then straightening up again. When the woman questioner was pushed into the street, not gently, Bert went to her and said, ‘They were making such a row in there I didn’t hear what you said, at the end. What was it all about?’
‘Jobs and training for women,’ the woman said briefly. She was short and dark and full-lipped, and now high-coloured. ‘We’re trying to make the politicians and the people, especially the women, realize that women have a right to these things.’
They were wandering down the street together, the bobby watching from the hall steps. Bert said, ‘You want to put women into the factories, so they can send more men off to get killed?’
‘Women should be able to go wherever they want to, and get any work they can do. It’s nothing to do with the war. We don’t want anyone to be sent to France, man or woman.’
