by Weaver, Pam
It had been 1915, and Whit Monday. Back home in dear old Blighty, people would be going to the carnival; they would endure nothing more taxing than having a go at the coconut shy or riding on the carousel. The night before it happened, he relived the memory of kissing his best girl by the hoopla stall the year before. One year was all that separated the green grass of Fryer’s Field and the mudbath of shit and blood, where he now waited for the next push. He hadn’t slept for days, and at a quarter to three in the morning Jerry began a ferocious artillery bombardment. If that wasn’t bad enough, while every man scrambled to his post, Victor had been among the first to realize what was coming. A favourable wind had alerted him to the smell, long before the others even had an inkling.
‘My God! Gas,’ he’d cried. ‘Gas attack!’
The lads had been lucky enough to get their respirators on fairly quickly – Linton Carver being one of the last – but the defenders further down the trench weren’t nearly so quick. Large numbers of them had been overcome before they could even get the things out of the boxes. What followed was a terrible day. Despite their heroic efforts, Jerry broke through around Bellewaarde Lake and they had to wait until early evening before the counter-attack could be mounted. Even that was doomed to failure. Fighting in bright moonlight, they suffered heavy losses. It was then that the chain of events that was to ruin all their lives began.
Now he strained to see who was getting off the train. The station was packed with day-trippers on their way to see the Christmas lights in London. They knew that the train from York would already be crowded, so everyone was anxious to get aboard before the station staff turned people away. Despite repeated warnings, people on the train still opened the doors before it had stopped. Admittedly most passengers only opened it in a small way, but there was always the danger that a door might fly open and hit someone on the platform. It was rush hour and the platform was crowded.
‘Hold a copy of The Times in the air as the train comes in,’ the mystery man had written to him. ‘I have something amazing to tell you about the day Victor died.’
The London express thundered into Newark, people surged forward and George lifted his paper. It all happened so quickly. He moved with the crowd, but then felt a hefty push in the small of his back. Someone cried, ‘Look out!’ but it was already too late. George was propelled towards an oncoming open door, which hit him squarely on the side of his head. The person holding the door realized what had happened and let go. The door swung open with full force, pushing George into the side of the train. From there he was poleaxed to the floor.
A woman screamed and people moved back. As the porter came running, someone knelt beside George where he’d fallen. Although he was helpless and had no words, George knew he was dying. The pain was indescribable; his head felt like it was exploding, and he could taste his own blood in his mouth. He was aware that someone was beside him on the platform. His rescuer leaned and whispered in his ear. None of the horrified crowd heard what was said, but George did.
‘That was for Victor, you bastard.’
CHAPTER 18
The train delay was annoying, especially for the day-trippers. Despite their anger, it wasn’t possible to let the London express go until the police had finished their investigations. A doctor had been called and he pronounced the man dead.
‘Yes, I was right behind him,’ said Percy, ‘but I didn’t see what happened. One minute he was there, then he charged forward.’
‘He was pushed, that’s what,’ said a woman in a headscarf.
‘I saw the train door opening,’ said a gruff-looking older man.
‘That’s when I shouted,’ said Percy.
‘You shouted,’ said the inspector, jotting it down in his notebook. ‘And you are?’
‘Percy Bateman,’ he replied.
‘Chestnuts, roasted chestnuts – thruppence a bag!’ As the vendor’s cry echoed around the platform, the tightly packed crowd dispersed and diverted their attention to him.
The stationmaster peered over the heads of the few people clustered around the inspector. ‘How much longer are you going to be, Squire? Only I gotta get this train moving.’
‘Give me one more minute,’ said the inspector.
To his horror, Percy and the other witnesses were escorted into the station waiting room. A policeman followed them in and stood with his back to the door, effectively barring their exit.
‘How long are you going to keep us here?’ demanded the gruff man. ‘I have a regimental dinner to attend in London.’
‘The inspector wants your names and addresses,’ said the constable. ‘He won’t keep you any longer than necessary.’
Outside on the concourse the rest of the passengers were piling back onto the train.
‘Look here,’ said Percy, moving forward, ‘we’re going to miss the train.’
‘My husband will be waiting for me with the pony and trap,’ said the woman anxiously.
The policeman squared himself up. ‘Sit down, if you please, sir.’
‘But …’ Percy began again.
‘I said, sit down – if you please, sir,’ the policeman repeated emphatically.
‘Can’t you take our names and addresses?’ said the woman in the headscarf. ‘I’ll go to my local police station and make a statement. I must get home tonight.’
‘The inspector will be here shortly,’ said their stubborn jailor.
‘Get out of the way, you moron,’ said the army man. He tried to move the constable, but the man stood firm. There was a bit of jostling and some colourful language, but the guard was already waving his green flag and blowing his whistle. The train juddered, and they heard its throaty roar as it headed up steam and began to move away from the platform. The woman burst into tears, and the men rose up as one person and rushed the constable. Just then the door burst open and the inspector came into the room.
‘Right, you lot,’ he shouted. ‘Any more of that and you can all spend a night in the cells.’
They were all angry and frustrated, but what could they do? Clearly the inspector had the upper hand. The train was gone and, if they were to catch the next one, they had no choice but to give their statements. It was going to be a long day.
Jim met Ruby from work, to walk her home. He quite often did so now and it gave them both an opportunity to talk over the events of the day. In the run-up to Christmas there was plenty going on. It was raining, so they huddled together under Jim’s big umbrella.
‘How are the German lessons going?’
‘I haven’t had that many,’ Ruby confessed, ‘but I’ve enjoyed them so far. John refuses to take any more money.’ She laughed nervously. ‘He says I’m a natural.’
‘Go on then,’ Jim chuckled. ‘Impress me.’
‘Ich wohne in Worthing,’ said Ruby. ‘I was born in Worthing. Wo wohnen Sie – where were you born?’
Jim nodded and pulled a face. ‘I am impressed,’ he said.
Ruby felt a little glow of pleasure. ‘What did you do today?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Jim. ‘We didn’t get anybody in the studio. It’s too close to the Christmas holiday, so I spent the day clearing up. We’ve got a big order in the New Year.’
‘Oh?’
‘The Blackshirts are encouraging their people to be photographed in uniform, so several have booked themselves in for the week after,’ said Jim. ‘We’ve been lucky enough to get a few of the knobs coming.’
‘Is that good?’ asked Ruby. They were crossing High Street and moving into Upper High Street and had to wait for a bus to pass. The rain had become even more penetrating. The hem of Ruby’s coat was saturated and brushed across her already-wet legs as she walked, making it very uncomfortable.
‘If the picture gets in the paper, or printed somewhere else,’ said Jim, ‘it should bring in more business.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like more than an employee,’ Ruby joked.
‘I was going to tell you something when we got home,’ s
aid Jim, ‘but I can’t wait.’
‘Good news or bad news?’ Ruby asked cautiously.
‘Good,’ said Jim. ‘You remember that photograph I took of you on the burnt-out pier?’
‘The one you called “Beauty and the Beast”?’ Ruby asked.
‘You remember I entered it in a competition?’ Jim went on excitedly. ‘Well, it won a prize.’
Ruby stopped dead. ‘Jim, that’s wonderful!’ she cried.
‘It didn’t come first,’ Jim added quickly, ‘but it got second place.’
She reached up and kissed his cheek.
‘It deserves a better kiss than that,’ he said. The sound of the pouring rain on the umbrella didn’t matter, as he put his arm around her waist and drew her close. His lips were warm and tender, and even a trickle of cold water from the tipped umbrella running down the back of her neck didn’t spoil the moment.
‘Put that girl down, Jim Searle,’ said a gruff voice coming out of the darkness towards them. ‘You don’t know where she’s been.’
‘Percy!’ cried Ruby, as the two of them broke apart. All else forgotten, she threw herself into her brother’s arms.
Their laughter and happiness spilled over as Percy walked through the front door of the house. Bea was beside herself with joy to see her son – all apologies and explanations momentarily brushed aside. Percy was kissed and hugged so hard that he thought before long he’d have no breath left in his body. May came downstairs and threw herself into her big brother’s arms. ‘You came back!’ she cried. ‘Did you bring me a present?’
Once he had been stripped of his wet coat, they could see Percy’s uniform.
‘You actually joined the Blackshirts?’ said Bea faintly.
‘I did,’ said Percy. He had been plonked into the best chair and given a towel to dry his hair. A modest brandy had been placed beside him. ‘But I’ve jacked it in. I told them I have family commitments, so I’m back home now.’ May climbed onto his lap and helped to dry his hair. ‘I’m sorry about Father,’ he told Bea. ‘I only found out two days ago.’
‘I went to the BUF HQ at least four times,’ said Jim indignantly. ‘I guessed you were there, but they wouldn’t help.’
‘And Edith and I tried the area office,’ said Ruby.
‘I would have come back, but they withheld the information from me,’ said Percy. ‘I was damned annoyed, I can tell you.’
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me you’d looked for him?’ Bea complained.
‘We weren’t absolutely sure Percy was there, Mother,’ said Ruby, ‘and we didn’t want to worry you.’
Bea placed a brown paper bag in front of her son.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Your father’s effects,’ she said. ‘We thought we should keep them for you.’
Percy pushed them away. ‘I don’t want them.’ He picked up the brandy and downed it in one. ‘I originally wanted to complete my training before I made contact with you again,’ Percy went on, ‘but they should have overridden that. No one seemed to understand the urgency of the situation. How are you coping?’
‘We’ve taken a lodger called John,’ said Bea.
Percy’s mouth dropped open. ‘In my attic room?’
Bea shook her head. ‘We got rid of the front parlour,’ she replied and, noticing his shocked expression, she added, ‘Nobody ever used it, and I got quite a few pounds for the furniture.’
‘It was the only way we could survive,’ said Ruby, putting the brown paper bag in the drawer, out of sight. She felt uneasy. Was her brother angry or simply a bit surprised?
‘Your mother and sister have been pretty amazing,’ said Jim. Ruby was spreading Percy’s wet coat over the clothes horse near the fire. ‘My landlady virtually threw John out on the street.’
Ruby gave him a nudge. She didn’t want Jim to mention that John was Jewish. Percy was a Blackshirt, and so was Mrs Grimes’s new lodger and he had some very disparaging opinions about the Jews.
‘If they hadn’t opened up their home to him,’ Jim went on, ‘I dread to think where John would be.’
‘Why did she chuck him out?’ asked Percy. ‘Couldn’t he pay the rent?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Bea.
‘She had a fancy man,’ Ruby said quickly. ‘John was in the way.’
‘He’s a good man,’ Bea continued. ‘He’s opened a little cobbler’s shop in the shed at the back. He’s already proving to be very popular, and we’ll soon get double the rent: one for the room and the other for the shop.’
Percy burst out laughing. ‘And here’s me, thinking you couldn’t do without me.’
‘Oh no,’ cried Bea, ‘don’t say that, Son.’
Percy stood up and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s good to be home, Mother.’
While everybody had been talking, Bea had warmed up the leftover stew from dinner-time. She placed a dish on the table and encouraged her son to sit up and eat. It was a small portion but, with two doorsteps of bread, it would do nicely.
‘Back to bed now, young lady,’ she said to May. Percy let her down and went to the table. May protested, but knew it was no use arguing. The grown-ups smiled one to the other as her thunderous footsteps reached the top of the stairs and her bedroom door closed firmly.
‘This looks good,’ said Percy, reaching for the salt cellar. ‘I’m absolutely starving, and you won’t believe the journey I’ve just had.’
Bea was alone in her bedroom. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the next day, Sunday, the shops would be shut. If she needed anything more for the holiday, today was the last day she could get it. This promised to be the best Christmas for a very long time. Ruby had gone to work; May was playing with her dollies under the kitchen table; and Percy had gone out. The wonderful thing was, she had all her family at home, and Bea was determined to make this Christmas one to remember.
She was looking at John’s ring. Should she sell it now? It was very tempting. She was almost at the end of the trinkets she’d found among Nelson’s things in his drawer. She had recognized some as his mother’s jewellery, but the rest was a bit of a mystery. Still, it had kept the wolf from the door. Ruby had no idea how or why they still managed to eat fairly well and keep the bills paid, but as winter came on, it would get harder. Bea could already feel her chest getting tighter, and the coal in the coal-hole was going down quickly. Now that John was here, she couldn’t expect him to live in a cold room, so she had two fires to keep going.
She turned the ring over in her hands. It could easily bring in fifteen shillings – maybe a lot more. She had planned to use it only if she had to. She’d wanted to hang onto it and give it back, if ever that was possible, for the poor man had so little. As difficult as things were for her, she and her family still had each other, and there was no danger of her family being taken from her. Thank God she owned the house. She had already eked out what little Nelson had left behind, but there was still the boat and his fishing gear in his locker on the beach. Now that Percy was back home, he would need that. The thought cheered her up. Of course, what on earth was she thinking? When Percy started fishing again, they would have food – and plenty. She wrapped the ring up in a clean handkerchief and pushed it to the back of the drawer.
As she took her hand out again, her fingers brushed Nelson’s pocket watch. She would wrap it up in some paper and give it to Percy as a Christmas present. He and Nelson didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and the watch had little value, but it was something to remember the man who had fed and clothed him all his life.
Downstairs, she opened the jar on the mantelpiece and peered inside. There was three shillings and sixpence left. She would buy a little fresh fruit, as a special treat. It would be nice to use the fruit bowl again. Fruit had been the first thing to go when Nelson died. It was funny, but life was one of two extremes. When Nelson was alive, she’d had plenty, but was desperately unhappy; and now that he was dead, she was a lot happier, but life was a struggle.
She gla
nced at her reflection in the mirror. She’d lost weight. It wasn’t a drastic loss, but she was a lot slimmer. Eating only two meals a day had its benefits, but by going without herself, to make sure the family had enough, she hoped she wouldn’t end up like some. Mrs Stanton had eight children and had dropped dead in her own kitchen – malnutrition, they’d called it. Her husband had been out of work for three years and, with all those mouths to feed, they’d made her sell just about every stick of furniture in the house before she could qualify for the dole. Even that was means-tested, and their eldest boy’s paper-round money was deducted from the amount they received.
Bea shook away the dark thoughts. Thank God that wasn’t going to happen to her. She would be all right. With John’s money and Percy fishing again, things were looking up, not down. Taking the money from the jar, she called May to come out from under the table and, grabbing their coats and her bag, they set off for the shops.
CHAPTER 19
Ruby thought the hotel room was empty, but by the time she’d been working there for a few minutes she realized that she wasn’t alone. Mrs Harper, a frequent guest at Warnes, was rummaging through a washbag in the bathroom.
‘Oh,’ said Ruby, surprised. ‘Excuse me, madam. I’ll come back later.’
She opened the door wide. Outside in the corridor, Winnie was putting the finishing touches to a flower arrangement. Ruby turned to leave, but when Mrs Harper looked up at her, Ruby was surprised to see that she was in tears.
‘Have you seen it, dear? I know I put it down somewhere.’
Ruby came closer. ‘Seen what, madam?’
‘The brooch,’ said the old lady. Judging by her clothes, she was clearly a wealthy woman and her fingers, wrist and neck were already covered in heavy jewellery. ‘I can’t find Louisa’s brooch.’
