Caroline England

by Noel Streatfeild

  Caroline moved the early morning tea-tray further from the bed. She handed John his cup. He took it absent-mindedly.

  “And fools are cheering.” Caroline sipped her tea.

  “Of course. We should have been disgraced if we hadn’t come in.”

  “Because you think it your duty to jump overboard among sharks to rescue a friend, it doesn’t follow you are expected to cheer as well.” He stirred his sugar. “This is no Boer War. I expect it’s the end.”

  Caroline was startled. “The end of what?”

  “Civilisation perhaps. Certainly the world as you understand it.”

  Caroline considered.

  “It’s the end of the things you’ve liked. There will be no entertaining of course.”

  John laid his head on her shoulder.

  “Shall I tell you a secret? I believe I’m glad all that’s come to an end. Of course, I got where I wanted to and it’s no good pretending I haven’t enjoyed it. But these last days since the trouble in Europe started, I’ve realised how bored I’ve been.”

  “It’s a pity,” Caroline suggested, “that it’s taken a war for you to find it out.”

  John looked up at her with an affectionate smile. “Anybody in the world but you would have said that sarcastically. Being the self-centred fellow I am, I’ve not been troubling how the crisis in Europe was going to affect the country, but how it would affect John England. Do you know that all this eating in other people’s houses, and their eating with us has brought us thousands of acquaintances but hardly any friends.”

  Caroline turned and poured herself out another cup of tea.

  “Of course I knew.”

  “Did you? I never thought of it before. I suppose success is like that.”

  “Of course it is. I’ve had more chance to notice it than you have. I’m only your wife. If anything happened to you I should never see any of them again.”

  John pulled at her arm.

  “Stop pouring out the tea. Your shoulder was an excellent head-rest. Do you do a lot of thinking, Caroline?”

  She placed her left shoulder where he could lean against it.

  “I haven’t needed to think about this.” She looked at her watch. “We must get up or we shall be late for breakfast.”

  He did not move.

  “Let’s be late. Life is going to be hectic for evermore. Let’s be peaceful this last morning.”

  “How foolish you are. For evermore, indeed! The war will be over by Christmas. I must get up. I’m trying to make Jimmie punctual, and how can I if I’m late myself?” She moved, but he held her arm.

  “What shall I do?”

  “Do! How do you mean?”

  “The things I do won’t be wanted now.”

  “There’s your play.”

  “I’m scrapping it. It’s too milk-and-water for the mood of the moment. I feel as if I’d been walking along a shady road and suddenly burst into a bustling town. Wars are terrible, but they do get mankind out of ruts. A week ago I thought I was contented as I was. Why did I?” He looked at her and laughed. “Your face spoke volumes. Why indeed? An apple grows at the top of a tree, and the small boy is convinced that it’s the only apple worth eating because it’s the most difficult to get. The small boy was me, but I finished the apple long ago.”

  “And you enjoyed it very much. Now do let me get up. Gossiping in the morning is a bad habit.”

  “I’m not gossiping. I’m asking for advice. What does a playwright and novelist do in time of war?”

  Caroline gently freed her arm. She got out of bed and pulled on her dressing-gown.

  “Go on writing, of course. It’s the greatest mistake, just because we are at war, for everybody to try and do something they can’t do.” She turned in the doorway. “If you really feel what you say about ruts, you should send it to the paper. There is a lot of nonsense written in the papers. Saying that can’t do any harm anyway.” She went to the bathroom.

  John sat up. “The newspapers! Now that’s an idea. I could be very useful there.” He got out of bed and went to the bathroom door.

  “Don’t be long in the bath, Caroline. I’ve got to get out early.”

  August 6th, 1914.

  YOUR KING AND COUNTRY NEED YOU.

  “Will you answer your Country’s Call? Each day is fraught with the gravest possibilities, and at this very moment the Empire is on the brink of the greatest war in the history of the world.

  “In this crisis your Country calls on all her young unmarried men to rally round the Flag and enlist in the ranks of her Army.

  “If every patriotic young man answers her call, England and her Empire will emerge stronger and more united than ever.

  ”If you are unmarried and between 18 and 30 years old will you answer your Country’s Call? and go to the nearest Recruiter—address you can get at any Post Office and

  “JOIN THE ARMY TO-DAY!”

  Caroline laid the paper on the seat beside her. It was difficult to read in a moving car, and anyway she knew all those paragraphs said without needing to read them.

  As the car turned round the bend in the drive, Laurence jumped over a flower-bed and ran to meet her. She sent the car round to the back. Laurence tucked his arm into hers and led her up the terrace steps. They walked for a moment or two in silence.

  “I had already ordered the car when I got your telegram,” said Caroline at last.

  “Trust you.” His voice had the affection in that she loved. “I knew you’d be in a stew about what was to happen to the place now. I shall go to-morrow, but it will take some time before they want me I daresay.”

  “You’re not to worry, anyhow. I’ll look after everything and get in touch with your uncle. Show me the fruit, darling, before I take off my things.”

  They walked without speaking to the kitchen garden, Laurence slightly puzzled by his mother’s manner. He had expected a mixture of ‘my hero’ together with some motherly anxiety which he would console. He had told himself it would be rather a bore, but Mother, the old pet, must be expected to feel like that. Now that Caroline had arrived with her matter-of-fact ‘You’re not to worry’ and ‘Show me the fruit’ he felt rather flat.

  Caroline studied the peaches.

  “I can stay for a day or two. Your father has agreed to write some articles for one of the papers. He’s gone to the north in connection with one of them. They really are magnificent. Such a bloom on them.” She looked fixedly at a peach which she could not see for the tears in her eyes. “What did you think of joining?”

  “The gunners if they’ll have me. But I’ll go where I’m sent.”

  “Of course. The paper said the post-office would tell you the nearest place to go, but Smithson can drive you to London. It’s easier to do those sort of things there, isn’t it?” She turned and walked ahead of him. “We must go in, for I have got to go right through the books with you to-night.” As they passed through the gate back on to the lawn, she stumbled. Laurence caught her arm. “Aren’t you an absent-minded old lady, you’ve known that step all your life.”

  “Silly of me, dear, but I was thinking of other things.”

  March 27th, 1915.

  “Field-Marshal Sir John French has explained to a correspondent the meaning of the term, ‘a protracted war,’ used in the report of a recent interview with a representative of the Havas Agency. He says: ‘The protraction of the war depends entirely upon the supply of men and munitions. Should these be unsatisfactory the war will be accordingly prolonged.’”

  Caroline read as she walked up and down the platform. The wind dragged at The Times. She folded it and put it under her arm. A protracted war! Men and munitions. Had she done all that she could? She had seen that there was no young man left working at Milston. Laurie had gone. She had even written to Ellison. He had never answered, but of course she had n
ot put her point too bluntly, so even if he had read what she wrote, he might not have realised that she was showing him what he ought to do. Such a pity; being a soldier might make a different person of him. After all he was not yet forty. She was sure she had heard of people who changed in middle life; had not Buddha or somebody? She looked at her watch. How ]ate Jimmie’s train was, but all trains seemed to be late; it must be moving all these soldiers about which delayed things. She could picture Jimmie sitting in the carriage, straining forward in the ridiculous way one did when one wanted to get somewhere quickly. How he did hate school, poor darling. She did hope he had not got too bad a report. Laurie never got good reports, but really Jimmie’s were shocking. If Jimmie got a bad report for everything it only showed how stupid and unobservant schools were, for he painted very nicely indeed, and she should tell John so. Funny how a bad report upset John. Being upset about reports was really the only paternal part of him. It was so like a man to worry over marks. Laurie was proof how little they mattered. Even if Jimmie did have a bad report, if John would only study him more, he would see how he was improving, apart from his painting. He really had been charming at Christmas. She had been surprised. Before he had seemed rather an aloof little boy, but at Christmas he was so anxious to help, so pleased to be with her. Most comforting it had been, with Laurie away and the girls working, and John out so much. It would be nice to have him with her these holidays. They could go to some more picture galleries, and he could help in the canteen. They might try and get the garden in order, and perhaps fit in a theatre or two. Caroline gave herself a mental shake and pulled her thoughts together. How she did let her mind wander. She must not even consider the idea of having him in town. She had arranged this lovely holiday for him. Lucky boy, how beautiful it would be down there. Even if there were no flowers, and the grass was uncut, the rhododendrons and azaleas would still be there. Purple against dark green and, later, all that mass of orange and a scent that made you dizzy. How she would like to go down, but now more than at any time she must be at Swan. At a time like this, when all life was upside down, a home should be as much a real home as possible, and the best way to achieve that was for them all to find her waiting whenever they chose to come in. But Jimmie should go to Milston. What fun he would have, dear man.

  James sat in the railway carriage. How slow the train was. Mum was sure to be at the station. He wanted to see her so much that it hurt. She did not think he was a fool. She never wanted to lick or kick people into shape. She did not think him a hopeless ass. How grand it had been at Christmas, with Laurie away and the two girls working, and Dad out. Mum had time for him. How quickly she had spotted that he could paint a bit. It had been nice going to the picture shows. She did not know anything about pictures, but she had not minded how long she waited while he looked. He fumbled in his pocket to make sure the paper was there on which he had written down the list of shows that would be on these holidays. He could be useful to Mum too. He could help in the canteen. It was odd how he never seemed to upset the cups doing that, and how he always broke things at school. The train slowed down. He jumped up, trying to look as though he did not care whether he got out of the train or not. He hooked his bag from the rack and wished good holidays, with a well-assumed heartiness, to a collection of boys he would have liked never to have seen again. Then, holding himself back from running, he walked up the platform towards Caroline.

  “You look a little pale, darling,” said Caroline in the taxi.

  “It’s the food. The meat’s always bad now. The boy next to me found a maggot on his once. That’s why I’ve got all these spots.”

  Caroline made a mental note to send a line to Naomi about doses and green foods.

  “You’ll be all right after a few days’ holidays.”

  “Mum”—James drew his list from his pocket—“there are these on these holidays I want to go to. Could you get off from your canteen and come with me?” Caroline smiled at the list. It was very warming the way Jimmie wanted her to do things with him, but she must not be selfish.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you. I didn’t think London was much fun for you, so I’ve arranged with Naomi Bates to have you. You’re going down to Milston tomorrow.” James had such a lump in his throat he could not answer. He glared out of the window. So Mum did not want him. He was being pushed out of the way. He had counted on her anyway.

  Caroline looked at the back of his head. She must not let herself be disappointed by his lack of response. Children took it for granted that their mothers would arrange nice holidays for them. She forced a note of gaiety into her voice.

  “You must write and tell me how it’s looking. The Manor is so lovely in April.”

  “April 10th, 1915.

  “Dere Mrs. England hoping this finds you well and good news of Mister Laurence which is what we all wish here I am sorry to tell you Master Jimmie as broke is arm all becos of him jumpping a gate wich he never should ave done but was dared to do Master Jimmie being a turrible one for showing off which dere Madam was the same with my Alf until he took a prise for is onions wich did seem to put him to himself like and he now being in France same as Mister Laurence Mister Bates sent for the new Doctor but old Doctor come to for wich I am glad dere Madam never feeling the same about the new one his medsens not having the bite of old doctors Master Jimmies arm as only a little bone broke and will not take long to mend Mister Bates says to tell you he has put those beds to vegetables like you rote and Miss Hardy who comes over to see becos of her writting to Mister Laurence says Mister Bates as done well yours Faithfully Mrs. Bates”

  “April 10th, 1915.

  “Dear Caroline,—

  “That young rip of a son of yours has broken his left arm. Young Simmons came over and set it, but I said I would carry on with it, as he has his hands full with the hospital. When I retired I thought the old fox had gone to ground for good, but in these days even us old ’uns have our uses and young Simmons did not need to use a spade to dig me out.

  “Do not worry about the arm.

  “Your affectionate old friend,

  “Thomas Felton.”

  “April 11th, 1915.

  “Dear Mum,—

  “I have broken my arm. It is in splints and in a sling and I will have to go back to school with it like that. Must I go to church as my arm hurts a lot Naomi says I must unless you say no. Could you come down and see me before I go back to school?

  “Your loving,

  “Jimmie.”

  “April 13th, 1915.

  “Darling Jimmie,—

  “I am so sorry about your arm. I am afraid I cannot get down before you go back, for various reasons. They are short-handed at the canteen and I have to give what extra help I can manage.

  Then Daddy has a horrid cold on his chest and I have to look after him just as if he were one of you children, only he is much more naughty than you would be, for he will go out and do his special policeman work, which is very bad for him. I do wish I could get down darling, but I know you would not like me to leave Daddy with his cold or let the other poor ladies at the canteen overwork. It is so nice to think that you are getting all that lovely air, and are away from all the sadness in London.

  “The girls are very busy. Poor Betsy has been kept late every night, and I have to be sure to be there when she comes in or she would go to bed without anything to eat. Helen has changed to a pantry-maid instead of being a kitchen-maid. She says it was because she would not cut up tripe, but I think really it was because she felt she would be more useful in the pantry. I am very glad she has moved, because she was always cutting her hands in the kitchen. She still has a nasty cut which I bandage every morning before she goes out. Brownie has passed her examination and is now working in a real military hospital. She finds it very tiring I am afraid, but I am making her take Bengers food which I am sure is strengthening her.

  “I sent off another big par
cel to Laurie this morning. I had a letter from him this week saying how much he had enjoyed the last things I sent. He said he had found some primroses in a wood. Is it not nice to think of him picking flowers just as if he were at home?

  “If your arm really hurts you darling, of course you must not go to church, but please go unless it is very bad. I feel it is important you and I should not miss a Sunday. I do not expect Laurie is able to go regularly, and Betsy can very seldom get away and Helen often has to miss a Sunday, so I feel you and I must make a special effort not to miss one, and when we are there say special prayers for the others.

  “Take great care of your arm darling, and do everything Doctor Felton and Naomi tell you.

  “Your very loving,

  “Mother.”

  “April 1915.

  “Dear Mrs. England,—

  “I hear the estate agent has gone to fight for King and Country. Your brother, on the other hand, feels the war is not for him and he has gone to America to the address enclosed. You will shudder with patriotic horror at this action, but take comfort in the thought that nothing could be more hampering to winning a war than to have Ellison on your side.

  “You will be surprised at the address on this paper. I have a commission in this strange corps. We are Royal, and certainly part of the army, but that we are of the slightest service to anyone I strenuously deny.

  “Yours sincerely,

  “Timothy Foldes.”

  March 13th, 1916.

  “After three weeks of battle the Germans seem to have relaxed a little their assaults at Verdun. But the weekend communiqués show that the great conflict is still being fought on the enemies: side with much violence of artillery and with the constant menace against the French of massed infantry held ready for the attack.”

  Lilias looked resentfully at the back of the paper.