Andrew Wareham

by When Empires Collide (Innocents At War Series 1)

  “They make me sound more than I am, General.”

  “My report would be weakened if I made you sound less, sir. Let us join the ladies – we have talked long enough on such sombre matters.”

  Mrs Mattingley was at the piano when they entered, playing quietly more for herself than for her mother; when the men entered she swung into ragtime, to her father’s murmured protest.

  “Music to enjoy, Papa – from all you say, I suspect we shall have little pleasure in the coming years!”

  “You may well be right, my dear. God knows, I hope you are not. Are you of a musical turn, Mr Stark?”

  “No, sir, I fear not. There was no instrument in the house that I recall in my early years in Nevada – though I naturally remember only a little of those times – and I wanted nothing more than to fly as soon as I first saw an aeroplane.”

  “May I fly in your aeroplane, Mr Stark?”

  “No, Mrs Mattingley – not in a rotary-engined machine, lubricated by castor oil.”

  “Why… oh! Truly?”

  Charlie confirmed it to be so, laughing ruefully.

  “A week of flying the Avro, or in this case, the Tabloid, can be an uncomfortable experience, Meg!”

  “I shall, if possible, bring a BE2 up later in the summer, Mrs Mattingley, and then I shall be at your command – but you would not thank me for a flight in the Tabloid.”

  She laughed, but said that she would hold him to his promise for she had much wanted to fly, ever since Charlie had described the experience to her.

  “There are several female aviators, Mrs Mattingley, more overseas than in this country. I am given to understand that in Russia, particularly, there are princesses who fly frequently and remarkably well.”

  The following morning Tommy saw industrial England; he did not like it.

  “I shall not take you into what we now call the slums, Tommy. They was used to be ‘rookeries’, if I remember my Dickens correctly; they are still dirty, dangerous, unhealthy and unfit for any human being to live in.”

  “Dangerous, Charlie?”

  “Garrotters, my dear boy! Walk a hundred yards away from the domain of gentility and your pocket watch is at risk from the dippers; go another hundred yards and you may expect a club over the head from behind and everything of value ripped away, possibly including your life. There is an easy rule of thumb for assessing any neighbourhood, Tommy – look out for the bobbies!”

  “Policemen? How and why?”

  “In the areas inhabited by the respectable classes – workingmen or white collar alike – the constables walk their beats singly; in the poorer places, they patrol in pairs. In the depths of the slum they are never to be seen at all.”

  “Truly?”

  “For sure, Tommy.”

  “Yet, you say that these men will flock to the Colours if war is declared.”

  “Many, Tommy – but again, there will be a differentiation. Almost every young man from the respectable poor will volunteer, and many of those who should be old enough to know better; from the edge of the slum, those who wish to better themselves – which will be the majority, I suspect – will come forward. The depths of the darkest alleys will produce almost none – just a few brave souls who wish to escape the degradation of their place of birth and intend never to return having once escaped; they may make the best of men, of course, for being strong enough to get out.”

  “I had not imagined it to be possible, Charlie.”

  “Nor me, until I was shown the reality just a few years ago. Had I been another sort of chap, I suspect I might have put my collar on back to front and become a slum missionary – but it ain’t my style, I fear me!”

  “Nor mine, Charlie, but, even so…”

  Tommy waved at the rows of blackened, red-brick terraces, tiny houses leaning on each other, the homes of the hard-working wage-earners of the poor, all of them with a well-scrubbed white step leading to the front door.

  “I agree, Tommy. No man should work a sixty-hour week to live like this! I can be ashamed for being rich when I see them – but not to the extent that I will give up my life and exchange it for theirs!”

  They returned to the car and drove away, guilty but still glad of their privilege.

  Charlie made a quick tour of the colliery villages – misery on a smaller scale – then returned to the luxury of his own home.

  “My father took me there when I was sixteen. Tommy. Told me how lucky I was, and why I must pay for my way of life with duty. When trouble comes, I must be at the forefront, Tommy – no choice, is there?”

  Tommy nodded; he had not known that he was one of a very few who lived effectively in luxury. Now, he realised, he must justify his existence, to himself at least.

  There were guests to dinner that night – worthies of the County, Tommy and Charlie on display as aviators of man’s estate. The word was passed that Tommy was accounted for in the marriage stakes and the ladies ran their rule over Charlie only.

  He was a younger son, but the family had a sufficiency of funds to pay him an allowance for the whole of his life, so he could expect promotion in the Army. It was never officially the case, but always so in fact, that senior officers of good regiments must have expenses greater than their pay – hospitality; expensive uniforms; the best chargers; membership of London clubs – all cost money and all were essential. The ladies presumed this new-fangled Flying Corps would be the same. The lady of a general had some status in their world, so Charlie would do for a daughter; depending on their opinion of his talents would determine whether it would be a first or one of the younger, lesser girls.

  Mrs Mattingley explained all to Tommy, very quietly.

  “My mother has mentioned that there is a family compact in your case, that you are to wed a young lady who happens to be born to land that marches with yours and might round out the estate very prettily. They all can accept that, and think much the better of you for being so sensible. She informed them as well of your father’s demise and of your carrying on the family tradition in the air. How there can be a tradition when flight is little more than ten years old escapes me – but they will not comprehend mathematics of such a degree of sophistication!”

  “What of Charlie, Mrs Mattingley? Will he wish to fall in with their match-making?”

  “Meg, Tommy – we need not be so formal! Charlie? I do not know – he sometimes displays a mind of his own. Why is he to be an observer, Tommy, with only half a wing?”

  “He is a very poor pilot, Meg. He has no natural feeling for the air and would kill himself in his first year of habitual flying. He is just sufficiently good to be very bad – he knows what he should do, but cannot perform it. It is not intelligence, nor is it application – he simply lacks a particular talent. He is already a good observer, for being able to look from above and read the ground. He can see all that is of importance in a single sweep of the eye, something that I cannot do; I must check every single part of the land for what is there, but he knows what should be there, what is in its proper place and what is not – such as infantry marching or guns and limbers on a road, not ordinary wagons.”

  “So you will be the pilot and he the watcher – a happy pairing.”

  “We will not be in the same squadron at first – though I suspect that we may well find the squadrons all intermixed in the first few weeks of any war.”

  “I hope so – you are good friends, and Charlie has never been one for close companions.”

  “Nor me, Meg, I have never had time for more than flying, and walking and riding and talking with Monkey.”

  He had to explain the name, and then say that, yes, he did love her – it was not just childhood friendship and parental expectations.

  “She is part of my life, Meg. I can fly and leave the ground behind, but she is still there when everything else is forgotten in the sheer pleasure of riding the winds. More than once have I wished she could be there to enjoy that private delight.”

  “I envy you, Tommy.”
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  He was guilty for a few moments – she had lost her husband, her love. He was rapidly disillusioned.

  “I have never known love, Tommy. I thought I was in love with John Mattingley – but he was no more than a selfish little brat, everything for his own self-indulgence. When he died, nearly six months ago, the only thing I could feel was relief, and thankfulness that I was not with child; a son in his image might have been a very poor specimen!”

  “I am so sorry, Meg!”

  “Do not be, Tommy. One more week and I can come out of full blacks for him, and start to enjoy life again, discreetly. Six more months and mourning is over. He left me well provided for, being rich - probably his sole virtue, now that I consider the case dispassionately – and I shall, I think, purchase my own house and live my own, free life. Chichester, I think – on the coast, well to the south, within reach of Town and within reason genteel. I shall create a scandal by possessing a motor car – and driving it myself!”

  “Well done, Meg! I shall have a house of my own, ready for my marriage, not too far distant, I expect.”

  “Good! We shall be friends!”

  Later that night, Tommy’s bedroom door opened and Meg crept in and proceeded to demonstrate just how friendly she intended to be.

  Tommy protested, weakly, that they should not, that he was not to offer dishonour to his hosts and to her brother, but she soon overcame his qualms; he found the experience delightful – it was almost as good as flying, though lacking the smack of danger that made the air so exhilarating.

  “Meg! What if I leave you with child?”

  “One learns certain things as a married lady, Tommy! I can assure you that I can look after myself. Now, be quiet and turn your mind to business, sir!”

  He was aware that he had much to learn in this particular field, but Meg seemed very willing to patiently teach him, and she came back on the following nights, so he presumed he had not done too badly.

  She left him early on the last night, smiling when he thanked her.

  “You go back to your Monkey, Tommy. She will be thankful to me, one day, for you knowing exactly what you are doing of a night – but there is little need to mention the fact to her – let her believe that it is natural ability on your part!”

  Tommy laughed, and was able to make his farewells later in the morning with neither guilt nor regrets.

  “All well, Mr Bolton?”

  The mechanic had remained out of sight for the week, presumably busying himself with the Tabloid and perhaps with other machinery on the estate – though Tommy had no idea what there might be by way of things mechanical in the agricultural world.

  “Very good, thank you, sir. They have fed me like a king, and the pub down the road does a very good pint – fine stuff, this Yorkshire bitter, sir! Young Jack knows a damned sight more now than he did a week ago, as well – good lad, that one. He wants to join up, sir, so soon as he is sixteen and they will take him on as a boy soldier. An Engineer, he thinks, but he might just look to join the Corps, sir – he would make a mechanic, that lad. A very fine holiday, sir – the missus will wonder what I’ve been doing to come back half a stone heavier!”

  “No need to keep a half-full petrol tank on the way back, Mr Bolton – we know where we are going and will not have to cast about to find our field. What would you say to flying home in a single hop?”

  “Due south to Derby, easy enough because we just have to keep east of the Pennines, sir. Then follow the railway line south to Kettering and then into London at King’s Cross, then pick up the line to Weybridge from Waterloo Station – and that’s easy to spot, being on the river as it is – and we won’t get lost even if it comes on to rain. Nearly two hundred miles, sir – a good test of the aeroplane. Mr Sopwith must approve, sir!”

  They waved their farewells to the family and what must have been every servant and worker on the estate lined up to see an aeroplane at first-hand and took off to the south, ‘daring aviators crossing the Yorkshire skies’, as the local paper informed its readers later in the week.

  It was funny, Tommy thought, but he did not feel in the least an adventurer; he was much more a workman doing a job he truly loved.

  He reached Squire’s house in good time for the dinner to celebrate Lavinia’s engagement.

  When Empires Collide

  Chapter Six

  “You would like the Petershams, Monkey. The General and his lady are kind-hearted and very wide-awake, and Charlie’s widowed sister is a very pleasant person. We must pay them a visit, one day.”

  She was surprised, and inclined to be offended at what seemed to be a very casual approach to her future – she was not to be taken entirely for granted.

  “Must we?”

  Tommy gave no sign of having noticed anything amiss.

  “I hope so. This is no place to talk to you – in the drawing room with your mother and your sister in and out. Tomorrow, in the morning, shall we go for a ride? I haven’t taken a horse out in weeks, months in fact.”

  She nodded, half smiling, accepting that he had not meant to ignore her feelings, to treat her dismissively; he had an amount to learn, that was all, and no doubt she could teach him. Her mother arrived at the trot, decisions to be taken on dress for the dinner on Thursday.

  “Should you appear in civilian guise, Tommy, or would it be better for you to wear uniform?”

  “Civilian, ma’am. The dress uniform is remarkably constricting, or so I found it at Catterick last Friday. There was a regimental function which I attended in the company of Charlie and his father – an uninteresting dinner, far too much wine, and an hour of speechifying afterwards. Then came the need to circulate, to talk and to be introduced to all of the lions. I lost count of the number of moronic majors who ejaculated, ‘Wings, haw-haw, young man! What are they?’

  This was followed inevitably by, ‘Flying Corps! Didn’t know we had one, haw-haw!’”

  “Well, Tommy, it is a new Corps, and it takes a number of years for novelty to penetrate the military mind, or so I am assured.”

  “The only thing likely to penetrate those military minds is a rifle bullet, ma’am. And that may be much slowed by the thickness of bone to be passed through!”

  He became aware that Monkey was giggling behind him.

  “In any case, ma’am – dress uniform has unpleasant connotations. I shall, if it is not a solecism, wear ordinary evening dress.”

  “Perfectly acceptable, Tommy. Was it to be a ball, then uniform would be de rigeur, but for a dinner party and an hour or two of conversation, and meeting members of the new family, then civilian clothing is certainly appropriate.”

  George arrived with his father, returned from London and sitting his examination for acceptance as an officer in the Militia. It was much the same as the entrance test for Sandhurst, designed to be passed by any person who could read and write and had a casual acquaintance with Latin. It was assumed that any person capable of scoring forty per cent would be able to tie his own bootlaces and tell right from left, and hence would be able to absorb all of the education offered at the Royal Military College; there was a persistent rumour that any candidate who was marked at more than sixty percent would be taken aside and quietly advised to discover a different profession. George was fairly sure that he had done well enough and would await the brown paper envelope from the War Office with some confidence.

  “I say, Tommy? Did you ever learn any Latin?”

  “None at all, George. I am certain the loss is entirely mine.”

  “Oh. How did you…”

  George fell silent as his father nudged him, then tried to turn the conversation.

  “Good thing we had the Cadet Corps at school, what, Tommy? Oh, but you never went to school, did you…”

  George decided all was too complex for him and he dropped the topic; he would make a good subaltern, Tommy thought.

  Lavinia appeared, her brow furrowed in thought – she could not decide which of her brooches was best to wear o
n her new dress. Monkey deftly stepped to Tommy’s other side before she could be appealed to for an opinion.

  They walked the horses down by the river, Tommy’s attention drawn to the buzz of an engine from the direction of Brooklands.

  “Longhorn – still as good as anything for a learner’s first lessons. Stable and well-mannered and good enough for a beginner to decide whether or not he likes to fly.”

  “What of the Tabloid, Tommy? Did it behave on the long flight?”

  “Very well. It is faster than many and will do well as a scout. Mr Sopwith has sold several in the seaplane form to the new Royal Naval Air Service and he is looking at a modification to single-seat configuration for us. It is a reliable machine. I believe Bristol are building another single-seat scout as well, and there are the French machines to be considered…”

  She waited patiently until the engine noise had receded.

  “You said that we must talk, Tommy?”

  “Yes, indeed, very much so. Now that you are sixteen, and of age, it would be a good thing if we discussed matters. You know that my father left me some money, separately from my income?”

  She did not, she had assumed that he had inherited some money – everyone had an income, after all - and her father had seen no reason to mention the coins to her.

  “Well, I have sufficient that I could buy a house – a respectable sort of town residence, and rent it out for a year or two. Thing is, that means I could have a place for a wife, Monkey. Not until I am promoted captain, of course, but that will be within three or four years if there is a war. So, what I want to say, is to ask if you would be my wife, if you would wish to marry me. I want to marry you, because you are the girl I love. I thought you were just a friend, you know, Monkey – but I have been away for a few weeks and had to sort things out in my head. You are much more than a friend, Monkey, and I would like to think that you were waiting for the day when we can be wed.”

  She accepted the truth of her mother’s words at last – no man could see further than the end of his nose, not when it came to the emotions.