by John R McKay
Tears began to slowly trickle from Georgina’s eyes. She made no attempt to wipe them from her cheeks as she listened attentively.
Grayson continued, ‘Obviously with the battle preparations to be done and the welfare of the other men to be considered, we decided to put his body in the medical centre until we could look at the case more clearly.’ He frowned. ‘Unfortunately events took over and the episode wasn’t looked at properly. We decided it may be best for him to be buried with his friends and you told that he had been lost in the fighting.’
‘We?’
‘Yes. Colonel Henry and I. We thought it was for the best,’ he looked into her eyes. ‘At the time that is. I’ve struggled with not telling the truth for some time. I don’t know if it’s for the best or not.’
‘You are a very selfish man, Mister Grayson,’ Georgina said suddenly. ‘You are telling me this now to soothe your own suffering, not mine.’
Grayson stared at her without replying. She was right, he thought. What he and Colonel Henry had decided those few short months ago on the battlefield of Arras had been the correct decision. This whole thing had been a mistake. So what, if covering up the way he died did not sit right personally with him. That had been his problem and nobody else’s. He doubted that Henry had given it any further thought.
But then so many men had died under Grayson’s command, so many had perished for a cause that they knew nothing of. The big lie that it was all for the greater good, that somehow the world would be a better place for it and that England and the Empire was some kind of Utopia that the rest of the world should aspire to. He looked out of the window again. Nothing had changed, he thought. People still went about their business like ants in a colony just like they had before it had all started and just like they would when it was all over. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.
He looked back to her.
‘I am so sorry Mrs Cooke,’ he said after a while. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was right to tell you the lie that we did. But isn’t it better knowing the truth? Surely the truth has got to count for something still? I have written many letters to many mothers and many wives such as yourself over the last couple of years, all saying the same thing. That Private Carter was a fine man who died with honour, that Sergeant Jeffers was an upstanding member of the regiment who died protecting his men. Et cetera, et cetera. When the truth of it is that Carter and Jeffers died horribly. One was drowned in the mud of the Somme and the other machine gunned when he got caught on the wire, lying there for hours crying out for his mother until Death finally decided to come for him. There are many others too. Gassed, bayonetted, shot. Blown into so many pieces that we couldn’t find enough of their bodies to bury. But you see, I can’t tell them that. I tell them the end was quick, that they died gallantly and in a way that was honourable and without suffering.
‘Private John Cooke, your husband, did not die on the battlefield of Arras. He died beneath that battlefield on the eve of the action. It was a mystery to us what had taken place but one thing we were sure of is that it was quick when it happened. We didn’t know the cause, maybe it was a heart attack, maybe he had a condition he kept from us or was unaware of, we just don’t know. But be assured, he did not die alone, he did not die screaming out for his mother….or for you. He wasn’t blown to bits or machine gunned. He died quickly and peacefully and if I had the choice then that’s the way I want to go, believe me.’
They sat in silence for a while. Georgina wiped away the tears from her face. They were aware of people watching them and whispering but they both did not care.
‘So what do you think happened?’ she asked after a while.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Lieutenant Jones did think that foul play could have been an option, but on interviewing witnesses there was no reason for me to believe that.’
‘Why would he think such a thing?’
‘He had been a medical student before the war,’ replied Grayson. ‘I think that because he couldn’t understand what had happened, that he could see no reason for a man who was strong and healthy to just die without any obvious cause….that because it was beyond his understanding, maybe……someone must have had a hand in it.
‘To tell you the truth, we didn’t really have the time to investigate it properly what with everything else that was going on. Half of the men from the platoon, including Lieutenant Jones, were dead a few hours later. I suppose now we will never know what happened to him but I never did think there was any foul play at the time and I see no reason to change that opinion now.’
Georgina looked at him. She was suddenly overcome by a coughing fit. She moved the baby to the side, turning away to face the window as she covered her mouth with her free hand.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Grayson, concerned.
After a minute or so she stopped. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’ll be fine. It comes and goes.’
Grayson raised his hand and the waitress came over. ‘Could I have a glass of water please?’ he asked. ‘For the lady.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said the girl and went away to collect it. She was back quickly and Georgina took a few sips.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally.
Grayson took a drink from his cup. ‘I’m sorry to upset you. I think that I have only succeeded in making matters worse for you.’
‘Things couldn’t possibly get any worse,’ she replied. ‘My husband is dead. My child fatherless. I struggle to make ends meet….. But life goes on I suppose.’
He bent down awkwardly to pick up the small box that was at his feet. It had been tied with string so he could carry it easily. He placed it on the table in front of them both.
‘Here it is,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘When I received it, the box was slightly damaged so I got a nurse to find a new one. It has all his personal things in it. Letters, photographs, that sort of thing. Don’t worry, I haven’t read any of them.’
She looked at the box without touching it. She picked up her cup and took a sip of tea, the child on her lap now fully awake. He put out his hands towards the box, fascinated by the string around it. Grayson smiled at him.
‘How old is he now?’ he asked.
‘Eleven months,’ she replied. ‘Do you have children?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he replied. ‘It’s something that we put on hold until after all this is over.’
‘You should speak to your wife,’ said Georgina suddenly. ‘I know it’s not my place to say but you really should make contact with her. She must be beside herself with worry about you.’
Grayson looked at her and smiled. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I stopped thinking of myself. Maybe I’ve been looking for answers that simply aren’t there and in the process I’ve become very selfish like you say. I had no right to ask to meet you today. I could have sent the box on but I thought I needed to see you, to explain to you what happened to your husband. In looking for the need to be truthful maybe I was not being truthful to myself.’
‘That’s very deep Mister Grayson,’ said Georgina. ‘Maybe things are much simpler than that. Sometimes you may just have to accept things the way they are and how they turn out. We have no control over a lot of things, like what happened and is happening out there in France. It’s not your fault that so many men under your command have died. It simply isn’t.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘I am going to leave you now, Mister Grayson,’ she said rising from the table. ‘If you could assist me with the box I would be very grateful.’
‘Of course,’ he said rising also.
He took out some money from his pocket and placed it on the table for the tea and then picked up his cane from the side of the table and hooked it over his arm.
Picking up the box from the table he followed her out of the café, the stares of the customers and staff upon them as they left. When outside he stood on the pavement waiting while she placed the baby back into the perambulator. He handed her the
box, which she placed on top. Then she turned to him.
‘Mister Grayson will you promise me something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Please go and see your wife. I think you’ve been too long in the wilderness now and she may be able to help you come to terms with all that’s happened to you.’
He looked at her, not saying anything.
‘We won’t meet again,’ she said. ‘Thank you for delivering John’s things to me. I appreciate what you were trying to do, I really do. But it’s a chapter in your life that’s over now, like it is for me. We have to move on and try to be happy.’
He nodded. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I will. And thank you for coming to see me.’
She turned to leave and then hesitated. Turning back to him she said, ‘We’ve spoken about honesty, Mister Grayson. And I suppose I am grateful, in a way, for you being honest about what happened to my husband.’
She paused, as though she wanted to say something further but something was preventing her.
‘Yes,’ said Grayson, encouraging her to continue.
Then she too made a decision. ‘I haven’t been totally truthful with you either,’ she said. ‘My husband, John Cooke….’
‘Yes.’
‘My husband took my surname when we married, not the other way around,’ she said. ‘His real name was John Holbrook.’
She turned and walked away.
Grayson stood in the street watching her go. She reached a corner and turned, leaving his sight for the very last time. He knew that like she had said, they would never meet again.
John Holbrook, he thought. John Holbrook.
Now there’s a thing.
He turned and walked away in the opposite direction.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
3rd October 1919
Dear Victoria
I hope this letter does not come as too much of a shock to you, as it has been some years since we have last spoken or corresponded and I am not sure if you are receptive to my words. For the love of my child I hope that you are. I have always held you in the highest regard and know that you are a kind and caring person who did not place on me or John any blame or shame for what took place all those years ago.
I am not sure if you have heard but John passed away during the war, leaving me to bring up our son, Gregory, as a widow and alone. (My poor father is also no longer with us having taken ill shortly after we left – his illness was short and he did not suffer). I have enclosed a photograph of your nephew for you to keep.
I have managed to get by, since his death, on the war pension provided and the small amount of work I have been able to obtain. I have been helped hugely by a very kind and considerate neighbour in the looking after of my boy.
However, I have been poorly for some time now and fear that I have picked up this terrible virus that a lot of other young people are finding extremely difficult to shake off. I have sent my son to live next door, with my saintly neighbour, so he will not suffer from it also.
To be honest, Victoria, I fear the worst and it is taking every effort to write this letter to you. My condition has progressively worsened over the last few days.
I know you are a kind-hearted woman and that you were very sad when John and I left, to live in obscurity so to speak, away from the life that he had been born into. However he never regretted leaving that life behind but he was extremely sad, as was I, that he would never be able to see again all those who gave him encouragement, support and love in a time when he needed it most. I know that he was extremely grateful for the support you gave him at the time.
However, as I say, I fear for my own personal future and want to set things right before I pass, to do what is right for Gregory.
I have nothing to leave him and no-one to take care of him. I fear that he will end up in an orphanage with no family ever to tell him how much he was loved by his mother and father.
What I must ask you is very hard for me. And I would understand if you were to say no to my request. If you could search inside your heart, and find it agreeable, would it be possible if you were to take guardianship of Gregory, who is so innocent in all this, when I go? I know it is a huge thing to ask, particularly after all that has happened, but Gregory is your husband Alexander’s nephew.
I am sorry to burden you with such a decision and realise that Alexander and his father would have to agree to it but if you could find it in your hearts to find a way to make this happen, then I would go to my grave knowing that he would be well looked after and I would be eternally grateful.
I look forward to your reply.
Love and regards
Georgina Cooke
#
Victoria Holbrook read the letter and wept.
She sat alone at the dining room table in Ardleigh Manor, the estate in Suffolk that had been her husband’s family residence for hundreds of years. Alexander was out hunting with friends and acquaintances he knew through his businesses and would not be back for some time. She always found his friends to be utterly boring and somewhat rude, much like her husband if she was honest and she was grateful that he had not invited their insufferable and nauseating wives for the weekend, as he was prone to do on occasion, often without any warning. Victoria hated these hunting weekends as they gave Alexander a chance to boost his ego and show off more than he would normally do, which was often enough anyway.
Victoria had married Alexander Holbrook, the younger of the two sons of the Baronet of Ardleigh, five years previously, at the age of twenty, a couple of months before the outbreak of the war. Her mother had thought it very young, but her father had seen it as an opportunity to create ties and business opportunities with one of the wealthiest and most influential families of East Anglia. When she thought back to those times it was with a deep sense of regret. Regret that she had not stood up to her parents and prevented herself from entering into a loveless marriage, at such a young age, just to pacify her father’s passion for social standing and power. However, it had not been all bad. She had gained two beautiful children from the union. Her twins, Elizabeth and Francis, were now two years old and she adored the both of them.
She knew also, that Alexander had not been too enamoured with the arrangement and that he had been pushed into the marriage. She was well aware that he was not faithful to her and his indiscretions would often go criticised by his parents as he would make no effort to hide them. He had been known to chase the maids and servants and the turnover of staff over the past few years, particularly amongst the pretty ones had been considerably high, more so since he had left the army at the end of the war. In fact, they had not slept together for a number of months and they now occupied separate bedrooms, which suited Victoria.
She re-read the letter two more times before putting it back in the envelope. This had come completely out of the blue as she had not heard from either John or Georgina since they had left in such haste in the summer of 1913. She had known the Holbrooks for some time before her marriage to Alexander and had got to know John quite well. She had also become aware of his affair with Georgina Cooke, the daughter of the estate gardener, way before it had become apparent to the rest of the family and when Sir Albert Holbrook, John and Alexander’s father, had found out about the relationship between them, he had completely lost control. He had terminated Georgina’s father’s employment, banished them from the estate and ordered John to stay in London for a few months, ‘to cool himself down and take stock of his future.’ This had completely backfired as the couple had met up many times in London to continue the relationship and had eventually been married, in secret, behind the back of his father.
When they had both turned up at the Manor a couple of weeks later, Sir Albert had banished John and threatened to disinherit him from the estate should he not get the marriage annulled. John had refused and then the couple had disappeared, John preferring to live away from his family and create a new life with Georgina. She had not heard what had happened to
Georgina’s father until now, which she found profoundly sad as he was a very gentle, humble and likeable man.
Victoria had had a lot of sympathy for the couple. Whereas she and Alexander had been forced into a loveless marriage at the behest of their fathers, John and Georgina had gone into it for the only reason marriage should be undertaken. Love. Even if that meant a new, less materialistic lifestyle.
And so, she smiled, they had had a child. A young boy. She looked at the photograph that accompanied the letter and saw immediately the Holbrook family resemblance. He was the image of his father but also had the striking good looks of his mother. The dark eyes and slightly turned up nose. He looked beautiful.
Her immediate thoughts were that they should take in the boy right away and provide whatever care that they could to ease Georgina’s suffering but she knew that Alexander would have none of it. Sir Albert, she thought, could be swayed, as the child was of his own blood and blameless. As the head of the house the ultimate decision would be his. However, her husband had completely disowned John and had grown to hate him in his absence and would probably put up some kind of resistance. Victoria knew that what Alexander wanted was the Baronetcy. Well, she thought sadly, he will get his wish, now that John is dead.
She began to weep again. John had always been so nice to her and had sympathised with her when the marriage was announced. He could see immediately that it was not what she wanted and he had offered her a shoulder to cry on should she need it. Maybe I should have married him instead, she thought, and not his younger brother. Things may have turned out better if that had happened. But it had not, she sighed, and so she had to live with the hand that life had dealt her.
She was disturbed by Lydia, one of the housemaids, who entered the room in order to clear the breakfast things away. On seeing Victoria still sitting at the table she apologised and left the room. Lydia, thought Victoria, so pretty and naïve. Another of Alexander’s conquests she was sure. What was it with the Holbrooks and the staff? They were all at it. At least John had done the honourable thing and married the one that he had fallen for.
