“It would to me,” Lily said simply.
“Oh no it wouldn’t. Not with Dick like he is. For two pennies he’d chuck up the Training Centre and cart us all off to London to starve whilst he tub-thumped somewhere.”
“You couldn’t,” said Lil, logically, “starve on his captain’s pension.”
“Couldn’t we? You don’t know what it costs to live in a town, Lil. What with babies and everything, you need a packet.”
“Well, you haven’t got to have more babies after this one.”
“But we love them, Lil. I wouldn’t mind six, nor would Dick. You don’t understand. It’s all such a muddle. Dick can’t help being the way he is; that’s what the war’s done to him. It’s made him all jumpy so he doesn’t know half the time what it is he really wants, and I don’t know either. I never feel settled these days. Still it’s no good worrying. I don’t as a rule, but being pregnant and all that makes me act silly sometimes like tonight. I could do with a cigarette, Lil; have you got one?”
Lily fetched a packet from her coat pocket and lit one for Elsie. All the time she was thinking that perhaps having Tommy wasn’t anything like so complicated as Elsie’s life. She felt beautifully compact with just herself and Tommy, wrapped into one neat parcel that could be posted off anywhere at any time—and arrive safely—whereas Elsie had all the business of Dick’s health and another confinement and getting coal for the cottage and never knowing really when Dick’s job would come to an end at Little Copse. Maybe being married was like that, but somehow she didn’t think it would have been with Charlie. But Charlie had been killed, not wounded like Dick. She sighed, and in the silence of the room it sounded like a shout.
Elsie said:
“Aren’t I silly, Lil? Snivelling away about nothing. I didn’t mean I wanted to leave Kirton; I don’t. Perhaps some day we’ll have to, and that’s what gets me down. Still I don’t believe in meeting troubles half way, and the doctor says it’s bad to worry when you’re carrying. You wouldn’t tell Dick I’d been silly, would you, Lil?”
“You know I wouldn’t, Else. Listen! Was that Tommy crying?”
Elsie said:
“No it’s someone coming upstairs. How those stairs squeak.”
There was a knock at the door and Jenny Cookson from the doctor’s house came in. It was her evening off and she said:
“Hello Lil; hello, Elsie. Mrs. Cobb said she didn’t think you’d gone to bed yet.” Her eyes were hollowed in darkness and she looked a little vacantly round the room.
Lily said:
“Come and sit down. Where’ve you been, to the pictures?”
“No. There’s only a soppy film this week, something about the Yanks in the Pacific. I’ve been downstairs with a couple of lads from Little Copse. They got a bit lit up so I thought I’d come and see you. How’s Tommy, Lil?”
“Asleep, I hope. You look tired, Jenny. Here, have a chair.”
Jenny sat down and said:
“It’s my gastric again. I’ve been having a bit of the old trouble.”
“Then you shouldn’t be drinking beer,” Elsie said firmly.
“I wasn’t having anything but a shandy.”
Lily asked:
“What’s Doctor Townsend say?”
“Just that I must be careful about my eats. And he says I shouldn’t ever have been conscripted and I ought to have had a pension for aggravation.” She looked a little proud of this.
“Can’t he do anything for you now?” Elsie asked.
“He says he’ll try but it’s ever so difficult me having been passed A1 at my calling-up board and coming out for nerves and not gastrics. He says it would have been easier if I’d been in the A.T.S.”
“Why the A.T.S., Jenny?” Lily asked.
“Because of being part of the Army proper. He says they got better attention like.”
“So did the W.A.A.F.”
“Well, maybe. Anyhow he said it was all something to do with military law and getting certain rights to appeal. I forgot everything he said, but he made out the W.R.N.S. dicing have a fair chance.”
“Camp followers, we used to call them,” Lily put in. “What made you choose the W.R.N.S.?” Elsie asked. “Choose? I didn’t choose. I told them at the exchange I wanted munitions but they put me in the services. Mind you, I’m not saying I minded much. After all it made a change from domestic service. There’s nothing like a change for making you glad to get back to the old life.”
“Didn’t you like the W.R.N.S.?” Lily asked.
“Well I didn’t mind it. Being a conscript made it more awkward like. Still there was several of us and we had a bit of a laugh on our own. Most of them was ever so stuck up. They always went with the naval officers. Ever so posh they thought they were, but we didn’t mind much, we had our chaps too, and we got more perks than they did in the long run; the galley blokes always saw us right—unless they was W.R.N.S.—and we had some smashing parties the toffee noses wouldn’t come to.”
“It wasn’t like that in the W.A.A.F., not on an ops station. We were sort of a team every night the lads went over. It didn’t matter whether you had any stripes on your arms or shoulders. Mind you, it wasn’t the same in training establishments.”
Jenny said:
“Mrs. Townsend said it was all right in the A.T.S. so long as you were in the ranks, but as soon as you got a pip up you faced a fate worse than death. I don’t know what she meant but it sounded awful. At any rate as a conscript in the W.R.N.S. you never had to worry about being made an officer.”
Lily said:
“In the W.A.A.F. it didn’t make any difference whether you were a conscript or a volunteer, it just depended what trade you were in; you had to be made an officer for some things and you could never be one in others.”
“I don’t think I would have liked being in the services,” Elsie put in.
“Why not?” the other two asked.
“Too chancy. Seems to me that people in the services always found themselves above what they’d been or below and, either way, it’s unsettling. It must have been terribly disheartening to have been below, but even worse to be above.”
“Why?” Lily asked curiously.
“Well, it gives a man ideas and afterwards it’s a hurt to his pride when things are different. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”
Lily didn’t answer, but she knew they were both thinking of Dick. It was funny the way Elsie could put a finger on things at times. It seemed that way with Dick; but then you couldn’t judge him like others. There he was, ever so proud of being Captain Richard Cobb, M.C., but he didn’t remember a thing about how he became an officer or what it was like being one: his wound had cut a great chunk out of his memory. All he knew was that he had an officer’s uniform and a wad of papers which said that War Substantive Lieutenant, Temporary Captain R. Cobb, M.C., had been discharged, medical category E; and another wad of paper which entitled the same nebulous officer of His Majesty’s Forces to draw an 80 per cent disability pension due to war service. Perhaps, if all that war service were still clear in his mind, he would be different today. As it was he was touchy as a land mine on an open beach.
Jenny said:
“Oh lord, what’s the time?”
“Half past,” Lily looked at her watch but her mind was still on Dick and Elsie. Jenny gave a squeak:
“Ooh, I must be going. They’re ever so strict about time. Mrs. Townsend is worse than the doctor, but even he looks angry when I’m after half-past ten. Now Miss Watson and her father didn’t give a hoot when I came in. Funny, isn’t it? Still it’s better in most ways at the doctor’s; at least I get my own butter.” Elsie said:
“You won’t get that if you stand here gassing after half-past ten.” For some reason Jenny Cookson annoyed her. There was a simplicity about the girl that bordered on half-wittedness: the way she stayed up drinking when she suffered from gastrics was proof enough.
There was a noise of someone coming up the stairs and Dick Cobb c
ame in. Jenny said:
“Oh, hello Dick; I was just leaving.”
“Then mind the stairs, the light’s gone or something.” He shut the door when she had gone and looked at Elsie.
“Why aren’t you at home?” he asked.
“Why, I was, till I came over to see Lil.”
“And what d’you suppose is happening to Stevie while you’re out?” He looked angry and Lily noticed the way he thrust a hand inside his open shirt and rubbed it against his chest.
“Stevie’s all right. He was sound asleep when I came over an hour ago,” Elsie said soothingly.
“The R.S.P.C.C. can get you for leaving a child of that age alone in a house,” he went on provocatively.
Elsie flushed and clasped her hands nervously across her distorted figure.
“If you feel like that, Dick, you might come in earlier of a night yourself.”
He scowled at her and said:
“Doc. Townsend told you to get to bed early.”
“So what?” she said and this time Dick’s face coloured up.
Lily spoke quickly:
“Well, it’s time we all got a move on. Mum and Dad will be up in a moment. Did you have a good meeting, Dick?”
“How the hell did you know where I’d been?” he turned on her suddenly. She was embarrassed.
“I thought you’d been out at Dimstone. . . .”
“And what if I have?”
“Crack down on it, clever boy.” She gave him a look. He suddenly grinned back at her.
“O.K., Corporal. Come on, Else, get skates on.” Elsie rose heavily from her chair and went over to her husband. He gave her a friendly pat on the behind and linked an arm through hers. She said:
“Did you remember to post that letter to Mum?” His face crinkled like a puppy’s and he rubbed uncomfortably at his chest.
“Sorry, Else. I sort of forgot.” But her arm was firmly in his and on her face was the indescribable light of motherhood.
Lily felt a little overpowered by them as she said goodnight. Maybe everybody had their own way of fighting and making peace.
PART III
Angela Worthing could not remember at what point she had begun to be attracted by Peter Gurney. She decided that she must have reached the unsafe age when it became difficult to discern between attraction and being flattered.
Peter had somehow established himself in her life and she was not displeased. She remembered her first encounter with him at the Cock and Pheasant, her impressions of the slightly tipsy and dissipated man who had aroused her pity. Why she had gone on seeing him, she did not know. Another case of circumstances and environment, no doubt: the pleasant hospitality of the Cock and Pheasant combined with Lady Gurney’s mania for tea parties had resulted in constant meetings. Added to which Angela’s instinctive sympathy for the weak made her respond more freely to Peter’s admiration—that was when he was sober enough to indulge in co-ordinated admiration.
Angela was no prude, neither had she any illusions about herself. She finished signing the letters on her desk, dropped them into her clerk’s room and prepared to close the office for the week end. A smile lit her eyes and curled her mouth ironically as she pulled on her hat in front of the mirror propped on the filing cabinet.
“What you need, my woman, is a man,” she told her reflection and laughed at the memories the words evoked. How many times had she said them about other women? It was refreshing—if rather alarming—to voice the opinion on herself.
She was to meet Peter at the Cock and Pheasant at one o’clock and they were taking the afternoon train to London.
He was late, as usual, but this was better than if he’d been waiting for her since opening time. She ordered a beer for herself and a plate of sandwiches. Mrs. Cobb brought the sandwiches over to the table.
“Thank you, they look lovely.” Angela noted the worry in the older woman’s face, little lines of anxiety creasing the finely drawn skin. “How’s the family, Mrs. Cobb?”
Mary Cobb smiled and eased herself into a chair.
“Mustn’t grumble, I suppose. But the world’s a strange place these days. My John gets quite put off his breakfast by the headlines in his Daily Express. Seems somehow as if we’d won the war only to go on fighting each other with speeches.”
“Not fighting,” Angela replied, “just stating facts. And surely it’s better for all the nations to speak out frankly at a conference table than to bottle things up until there’s got to be an explosion?”
Mary Cobb frowned and then leaned across the table.
“Is my Dick doing all right at Little Copse, Miss Worthing?” She spoke in a low, soft voice.
“Why, yes, Mrs. Cobb. He knows his job and I think he likes it. And he’s popular with his colleagues.”
“He doesn’t talk too much politics then?”
Angela laughed.
“Not more than the rest! They all do, you know, and it’s right that they should. You’ve got to remember that all the men there gave their services during the war years, and it’s only natural they want a share in making the peace. They don’t put it like that. They call it ‘having a jaw’ or ‘watching the big shots.’ It means they take an interest in what’s happening in their country today, and in the rest of the world. I think it’s excellent that they should do so, and a credit to them.”
But Mary Cobb still looked unhappy.
“So long as Dick can’t be victimized for what he says,” she said.
“Of course he won’t. Everyone’s got a right to their own opinion.”
“And the training centre won’t be closing down yet awhile or anything?”
“Not so far as I know. Why?”
“Well, it seems to be all right for him there from what you’ve been saying; it wouldn’t be easy for him to get another job like that, where we can keep an eye on him and all. He still gets those fainting fits, you know.”
“Has he seen the doctor lately?”
“Yes. Dr. Townsend’s ever so good to Dick; has him up for tea and talks to him like he was one of his own sort. Seems like being in the army’s given him a real feeling for boys like Dick . . .” her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“What does he say about the fainting?” Angela asked.
“He says it’ll be years before Dick gets over his head wound and that the fainting’s all part of it. He says not to worry myself; but I do, you know. You can’t help it when it’s one of your own.”
“Of course you can’t. But Gyp Townsend does know what he’s talking about. He wouldn’t say things were natural if there was anything seriously wrong.”
“Maybe. But it all makes it more important that Dick should be kept on where he is, so as his dad and I can look after him. We understand him, you see,” she concluded simply.
Angela marvelled at the belief of parents—the faith they had in understanding their children. It just wasn’t true. Parents and children never understood each other, it was impossible between two generations in close relationship. She said:
“And it’s good that Dick seems to like his job. That should help to improve his health too.”
“I’m glad to hear you say it, Miss Worthing. You see with Elsie expecting again it would be awful for her and the baby if she had the worry of Dick being unsettled, having to find another job, perhaps a new home somewhere away from us all.”
Angela thought how brave these people were. To father children with the shattered manhood of war and to bring them into a world where security was still only an ideal needed courage—or was it faith? Or was it, again, only lack of imagination?
And then she saw Peter come into the bar, blinking a little at the comparative darkness, searching her out in the secluded corner.
Mary Cobb said:
“Good morning, Mr. Peter. What can I get for you?” And she smiled because, in her heart, she felt safe so long as people like the Gurneys existed to give jobs to people like the Cobbs. Angela, watching her face, thought ‘you can’t change
that generation of country people, and they don’t want to be changed; it’s the Dick Cobbs who must break away, and they will.’
And then she turned her scrutiny to Peter. It was all right, he looked neat and fairly wide awake. He’d had his hair cut—she’d had to remind him about it—and his grey suit looked clean and well pressed in this light. She must remember to take another look outside. Her criticism of his appearance was quite dispassionate and she was not moved to protest at his nicotine stained fingers and bitten thumbnail. She knew he had to be led gently. He looked better today than she’d seen him look yet. That was proof that her methods were having effect.
He raised his glass of beer and said:
“Well, here’s to our trip, Angela.”
“And to your prospective job,” she answered.
He grinned at her.
“Slave driver. Surely we can have a bit of fun, too. I’d like to look in at the Club and go round some of the old haunts.”
“After we’ve seen Jim Cardew I don’t mind what we do. Come on, eat up those sandwiches; we’ve only got about fifteen minutes before the train.”
“Oh lord, I don’t think I can manage one. Mother poured some filthy malted milk or something down me in the middle of the morning.”
“Eat.” She pushed the plate towards him. “We shan’t get an evening meal till God knows what hour.”
He did as he was told and then went to order more beers.
“I like that suit you’re wearing,” he said as he came back, “is it new?”
“Three years old and you’ve seen it at least six times!”
“Funny. I don’t remember. D’you think Mrs. C. would cash me a cheque? Father did a vanishing act this morning and the bank was closed by the time I got out.”
“No, we haven’t time now. I can lend you some.”
In the train she thought, again, how fortunate it was that she never had to worry about money. Not that she minded for herself—she would rather work than not work—but it was useful when she wanted to arrange things for other people. It meant, for instance, that she had the flat in London where Peter could stay tonight, which made things much easier than having to give him money for the hotel bills.
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