The Soldier's Return

by Rose Meddon

  She pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Who knows, once this war is over and it doesn’t seem such a trifling thing, perhaps I shall see what can be done for it.’

  When he looked at her somewhat sadly, she again smiled. ‘I think you should do that. You should at least try to get it fixed.’ At that moment glimpsing large lettering across one of the pages of his newspaper, she nodded towards it. ‘Any news worth hearing of?’

  ‘About the war?’

  She nodded. ‘No sign that victory is in the offing I suppose?’

  Though she had said it largely in jest, he let out a long sigh. ‘While I wouldn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes, reading some of the opinions expressed here today, I am led to thinking that perhaps we are closer than we have ever been.’

  Startled, she drew a quick breath. ‘You mean… it could all be over soon?’

  Suddenly, he looked less certain – uneasy, even. ‘I suppose what I really meant is that for the best part of a year now, and with the situation in stalemate, the Germans do seem to be losing their appetite for it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Not quite so hopeful, then.

  ‘You see, some time back, the Kaiser decreed that if they couldn’t crush the British Army, then they would crush the spirit of her people.’

  ‘Us? They would crush our spirit? How did they mean to do that?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, the deep furrow once again back to his brow, ‘the actual words of the Kaiser were something along the lines of, “we will starve the British people, who have refused peace, until they kneel and plea for it”. So, for some time now, the German plan has been to use their submarine U-boats to sink merchant ships bringing in our supplies of food. British ships have long blockaded German ports, but these U-boats, well, they have terrified people just as the Kaiser had hoped – not to mention caused all manner of problems to our supply of foodstuffs.’

  ‘And that’s why we have rationing,’ she said. Suddenly, and for the first time, it made sense to her. ‘Until now, I thought we had to make do with less food because it was needed to feed our army—’

  ‘And that is partly the case.’

  —whereas more truthfully, we have less food because the Germans are stopping us from getting it.’

  ‘To an extent that is also true, yes.’

  ‘So, their plan is working.’ How odd, that after almost four years of war – and six months of rationing – she was only now seeing what was behind all their hardships. ‘Will they be able to keep it up – these blockades, I mean? Will they really bring us to our knees?’ Despite asking the question, she wasn’t really sure that she wanted to know the answer.

  ‘The Germans obviously think so. I mean, for how long now have flour and sugar been in short supply?’

  She screwed up her face in thought. ‘Since late last summer, I should say.’

  ‘So, in part, they are succeeding, yes. But, to its credit, our government has us doing everything we can to get by. Pass any farm these days, and you’re as likely to see German POWs put to work, or women in the fields, as you are a farmer. And then there’s what the newspapers call allotment-itis – everyone doing their little bit.’

  ‘But going to all of that effort still hasn’t been enough, has it?’ she said. ‘I mean, we still have to suffer rationing. We’ve had it since after Christmas.’

  ‘That’s true. But it is the rationing that has made the difference. It has meant that everyone can provide their family with enough – the same amount, regardless of where they live – whether or not they are able to grow their own food.’

  ‘Hm.’ His explanation made her stop and think. ‘I hadn’t ever looked at it like that.’ Fifteen ounces of meat, five ounces of bacon, four ounces of margarine, half a pound of sugar: at first, to last one person for a whole week, it hadn’t seemed much. But now she could see how it was helping everyone to get by.

  ‘Some see it as bringing the war home to the people,’ he went on. ‘It’s where we got the expression “Home Front”. People at home are involved in this war – not just the men fighting battles in foreign lands.’

  To Kate, it seemed an incredible thing to suddenly understand. But there was still one thing she was struggling to get straight in her mind. ‘So, why did you say just now that you think the war might be over soon? If the Germans are succeeding in stopping our food…’

  ‘Because, the Germans are going to all that bother but it’s not breaking our spirit, is it? We’re getting less food, yes – but we’re learning to manage with less. Women like Edith in the kitchen are coming up with new ways to make it go further. People are digging up their gardens and growing their own vegetables, and keeping chickens and so on. That very resolve of ours not to be beaten – the very spirit the Germans set out to break – is still strong, which means that the Germans’ plans have backfired. Only the other day I was reading that the people of Germany have even less food than we do. Conditions are far worse for them than they are for us, the result being that, increasingly, they are no longer behind their own government – they’re losing their stomach for the whole business.’

  Goodness. In that moment, her thoughts seemed to be running in all directions. Moreover, she had never heard Rowley talk for so long or sound so impassioned – she didn’t think anyone had. How well informed he seemed –how much in that respect did he remind her of Ned. Even more striking, though, was the idea that the war might soon be over. Finished once and for all. Won. Soon, Luke might be able to come home. They would be able to get on with their lives. Have children: two, three, or even, yes, four of them!

  With a shake of her head, she allowed herself a rueful smile: the very thing she had once told Luke she didn’t want and yet now, here she was, almost unable to contain her excitement at the prospect. Dear Luke. Soon now he could be coming home. Soon now she could become a proper wife and a mother. And oh, how that made her feel as though she might burst with happiness!

  Chapter Eight

  News from the Front

  ‘Good Lord, Kate, wherever did you find that thing? It’s ancient.’

  ‘Ignore him, Kate. It’s brilliant. Thank you.’

  Witnessing the delight on Rowley’s face, and ignoring Ned’s disparaging assessment of her find, Kate smiled. ‘I remembered Ned once telling me that for you, photography isn’t just what you do from an aeroplane – it’s a hobby, too. So, I thought you might be able to make use of it. Although happen it don’t work no more – I couldn’t say.’

  Examining the camera she had just handed to him, Rowley nodded enthusiastically. ‘It has always been an interest of mine, yes.’

  ‘But where did you find it?’ Ned asked, straining to see as Rowley continued to examine the rather dusty piece of equipment.

  ‘In a box in the attic,’ she said. ‘I supposed it to have once belonged to Mr Latimer. Although it might just as easily have been left here by one of his guests.’

  ‘Any film in it?’ Ned wanted to know, still craning across from his wheelchair.

  Opening a flap on the back, Rowley shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘And actually, it’s not as old as you might think – just in need of a good clean up. I know for a fact that Kodak didn’t start making this model until about ten years ago. I say, Kate, if I were to write down the name of the film it uses, do you think that next time you go into the village you might see whether you could get some for me?’

  Pleased by how delighted he seemed, Kate nodded. She’d had a suspicion he might like it. ‘Not much good to be had from a camera with no film, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Great. Thanks. This will be brilliant.’

  It was now the last day of June, and still the weather showed no signs of breaking. Afternoons remained sticky, nights even more so, the shade of the cedar tree a welcome refuge sought out by all.

  But the heat wasn’t the only thing that showed no sign of changing: despite Rowley’s optimistic prediction, the war continued to rumble on, there
being few indications from anywhere that an end really was in sight. From the front, Naomi received a much-delayed field postcard from Mr Lawrence, the edited statements reading, I have received your letter dated…/telegram/parcel. But, from Luke, there had been nothing for a couple of weeks. Not that she was unduly troubled; it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a month or more to pass without word from him, only for two letters to then arrive within days of each other.

  And it wasn’t as though she wanted for company. The requisite rolls of film procured for Rowley, she continued to accompany him on his strolls, accepting his cane and watching as he supported himself against a tree or a wall to capture images of the house and its grounds.

  ‘I wish you could have seen it before the war,’ she said on one such occasion, as he stood, apparently trying to frame a picture of the long border. ‘Both Mr Latimer and his wife were real fond of their flowers. There were always great bunches of them in the house.’

  ‘I can picture it in my mind,’ he said, and with which she heard the lazy double-click of the camera’s shutter. ‘Though I rather like that it looks slightly forlorn – a metaphor for our time, don’t you think?’

  Although he wasn’t looking at her, she shrugged. Metaphor? Not knowing what the word meant, she opted for sounding non-committal. ‘Mm.’

  ‘I’m sure it will return to its former glory eventually,’ he went on to say, reaching to relieve her of his walking stick. ‘And anyway, aren’t these thistles just as worthy of a place here as any of these delphiniums? The bees would seem to think so.’

  ‘True. And the finches love how these get left,’ she said, reaching to finger the airy heads of a clump of oat grass. ‘They love to peck out the seeds.’

  ‘Which is rather my point.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  When, soon after that, the warmth became too much for him, they began to make their way slowly back to the chairs on the front lawn.

  ‘Another day,’ he said, lowering his voice and glancing ahead to where Ned was amusing Esme with her puppets, ‘if you don’t think it out of order, I should rather like to take your photograph.’ When she stumbled – over nothing in particular – he reached for her arm, his touch sending a flash of heat racing up her throat and over her cheeks. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, quickly withdrawing his hand. ‘But I thought you were going to fall.’

  ‘You want to take a photograph of me?’ Unable now to look at him, she went on to ask, ‘Why?’

  ‘Quite simply, because I believe it would be remiss of me not to.’ To Kate, his tone sounded warm without being overly familiar. Sincere, too. ‘This summer is turning out to be a most singular one. Through becoming injured, I find myself without… well, without commitments, I suppose you could say. Instead, here I am, welcomed into a family with whom I was not previously acquainted, and into surroundings that – almost by accident – are quite enchanting. By rights, given that I am an officer in what is now the Royal Air Force, and that we are fighting a war, I should be somewhere else altogether. But when, in the fullness of time, I am indeed back in that place, I should hate for all of this to fade from my recollection. Thankfully, since you have so kindly furnished me with a camera and some film, I have the means to prevent that from happening. Moreover, to my delight, I find that the camera has a timer device, and so I shall be able to capture all of us in a single photograph. But, since you in particular have given up so much of your time to my recovery – and so much of your patience especially – it feels only right that as well as the house, and the gardens and the views, I have at least one picture of you. When I am gone from here, I should very much like it to remember you by, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  Shocked to feel tears welling, she bit down hard on the side of her tongue. Why on earth should someone wanting to take her photograph move her to tears?

  ‘If that is what you would like,’ she said a moment later, struggling to think of a way to refuse his request. ‘Then I shall agree to it.’

  ‘Tomorrow, on our walk then,’ he said, a newfound purpose about him. ‘At the edge of the copse where the light is soft. With your permission I shall take two – just in case the exposure should be wrong and one of them turns out to be no good.’

  Grateful to be arriving back at the circle of lawn chairs, and hearing someone coming across the gravel, she turned to see who it was.

  ‘Lend a hand?’ Naomi called towards her, the tray she was carrying stacked with crockery.

  ‘’Course,’ she called back and, hastily excusing herself to Rowley, headed away to the porch.

  Heavens, what a muddle her thoughts had suddenly become! And how embarrassingly flushed she must look! Was it wrong of her to agree to let Rowley take her photograph? How could it be; his request was made in all innocence, wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was: he was a gentleman if ever there was one. He was respectful. So, why, now, with hindsight, did she feel so uncomfortable? Why, of all the feelings she had at that moment, did the foremost of them seem to be guilt? Perhaps she should have told him no. Perhaps she still should. Perhaps she should say that upon further reflection, the idea made her feel uncomfortable. Or would that just make her look foolish?

  Stepping into the porch, she reached to the kitchen trolley for the basket of cutlery and picked up the stack of napkins. Yes, of course she was being foolish. What harm could a photograph do – especially if… yes! Especially if she were to ask him for a copy of it, saying that she would like to send one to her husband. Not only would it reinforce to him that she was married, and that any ideas he might have in that respect were out of order, it would also be the perfect opportunity for her to send a picture to Luke.

  Heading back across the gravel, her shoulders softening with relief, she smiled warmly at Naomi, coming in the opposite direction. What a daft woman she could be at times – of course there was nothing wrong in letting him take her picture!

  Later, over tea, the topic of conversation remained that of photography – only this time it was because Ned and Rowley were recalling some of the missions they had flown.

  ‘Do you remember that first time we thought we weren’t going to make it back?’ Ned asked, his grin suggesting that he found the memory amusing.

  ‘Shan’t ever forget it,’ Rowley answered emphatically. ‘Never been so scared in all my life.’

  ‘We’d been reconnoitring over Belgium—’

  ‘We had.’

  —when all of a sudden the engine started to splutter, and it felt as though at any moment she was going to cut out.’

  ‘We flew the entire way home lurching and jerking along. But, somehow, she stayed up, and we got down quite safely.’

  ‘And then there was the time we were struck by that enormous bird.’

  ‘Over Belgium. Again.’

  ‘Canada goose, you told me.’

  ‘Huge thing. Damaged the rudder.’

  ‘Spent the entire homeward leg flying pretty much sideways.’

  ‘And we were still finding feathers weeks later.’

  ‘It’s a good job Mamma doesn’t know any of this,’ Naomi said, looking at her brother over the rim of her teacup. ‘Or she would write one of her intemperate letters to the RFC and demand—’

  ‘It’s the RAF now, not the RFC.’

  ‘Yes, apologies,’ Naomi corrected herself. ‘She would write to the RAF and demand that they find you a job on the ground.’

  Sitting alongside Naomi, Kate stared down into her lap. The more weeks that passed with Ned doing no more than stand, supported on either side but unable to take a single step, the more she was coming to think it unlikely he would fly again anyway. And, though no one else might be saying anything, they all had to be thinking as she did – that for Ned, this war was over.

  ‘Mamma! Motorcar come!’

  When, from the rug on the ground in front of them, Esme scrabbled to her feet and pointed across the lawns, Kate turned to see that coming through the gates was the station taxi.

  ‘Please don�
�t tell me that by simply talking about her, we’ve somehow managed to summon Mamma,’ Ned remarked, laughing as he did so.

  Beside him, Naomi got to her feet. And, as the taxi continued to make its way up the drive, it was clear that, from inside, someone was waving. ‘Good heavens,’ she said, reaching for Esme’s hand and setting off with her towards the porch. ‘It’s Lawrence!’

  ‘You didn’t tell me he was due leave,’ Ned called after her.

  Dropping Esme’s hand and starting to run, Naomi called back. ‘I didn’t know he was!’

  Instinctively, Kate rose from her chair. Was Mr Lawrence on his own – or was anyone else with him? In her head, something cautioned against getting her hopes up: just because Mr Lawrence had been granted leave, didn’t mean that Luke would have been too, even though they had come home together before – several times.

  Watching the taxi turn on the gravel and then lumber to a halt in front of the porch, she hardly dared to breathe. Seemingly fixed to the ground, her feet wouldn’t allow her to move, but, when just a single door to the taxi swung open, and only one uniform-clad figure stepped out, her heart plummeted far enough to join them on the grass. Shoulders sagging, she exhaled her disappointment in a long stream of breath. How cruel was that? Mr Lawrence had been granted leave to come home but not Luke.

  Unable to think what else to do, but with no desire to watch Lawrence and Naomi embracing, she bent to pick up her plate and put it on the tray. Then, in mechanical fashion, she started to gather up the rest of their tea things. Reaching for the cup and saucer on the table alongside Ned, she was prevented from doing so by the feel of his fingers closing about her wrist.

  ‘Next time,’ he said softly. ‘His turn will come. Just you see.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, feeling him let go, and feigning a brightness she didn’t feel.

  ‘And Lawrence is sure to have news of him for you.’