Treason if You Lose

by Peter Rimmer

  Taking her arm, he walked with her away into the afternoon sunshine, away from the deep shade of the cedar trees.

  “Thank you, Tinus, for not talking. Sometimes it isn’t easy… You were saying about the wedding?”

  “Like my esteemed father-in-law to be who will not be at his daughter’s wedding, neither will my mother be at her son’s. Like Lord St Clair, she won’t leave her mother alone on the farm. Grandmother could easily go to one of my sisters but mother won’t hear of it. She’s frightened, I think, of America. Of the whole big wide world outside Elephant Walk. To get my mother in the frame of mind to drive into Salisbury is an exercise all in itself. She doesn’t like leaving the farm where she feels safe. She doesn’t like strangers. She’s been as far as Cape Town. Seen the sea, believe it or not.”

  As he prattled on to distract his Aunt Tina, they walked back to the house. On the newly cut lawn on the side of the house away from the terrace that ran down the length of the front of the house, Uncle Harry was waiting for them at the wrought-iron table, the tea tray ready, the cosy on top of the pot to keep the tea warm while he waited for them. The children were away at school. Mary Ross had brought the tea tray and smiled at Tinus as they passed. Mary Ross from the village, he remembered, had worked part-time at the Court before the war. With her brother Herbert. She was going to be married about the same time as Tinus. Her wartime job at the Goblin factory had come to an end. She was saving every one of her pennies, she had told Tinus, for her wedding. They had had quite a conversation about her fiancé. Apparently there wasn’t much money to be made as a private soldier, even in time of war. In peacetime, the private was a plumber, a man, Tinus was told later by Uncle Harry, on his way to getting rich. Uncle Harry said lawyers and plumbers made about the same money.

  “Why don’t we give her a wedding at the Court?” he asked his uncle. Uncle Harry had stood up as his wife approached to pull out a chair. “Before I go to America. Aunty Tina can use it as a dry run for my wedding in Los Angeles. She’d like that. Her brother Herbert worked here part-time before he was killed.”

  “Why don’t you suggest the idea? She just gave you a beautiful smile.”

  “That’s what prompted me. We actually had a long conversation about her boyfriend this morning.”

  “Amazing what a woman can get with a smile,” said Uncle Harry, ignoring his explanation.

  “I’m about to be happily married.”

  “Tea, nephew?”

  “Thank you, Uncle. Milk and no sugar. I’ve got used to drinking my tea without sugar during the rationing.”

  “Lucky for you. There isn’t any sugar. It’s still rationed. They say in the village there’ll be rationing for years. During the war we couldn’t get it to the island. Now we don’t have the money to pay for luxuries. It’s a strong point in the Labour Party manifesto, sugar. Labour promises sugar. What a smart way to get votes. Churchill is still promising them a hard time until the country gets back on its feet. If he doesn’t try some of the Labour Party bullshit he’s going to lose the election. If you want to win in politics, don’t tell them the truth. I have written to Klaus and Birgit von Lieberman in Bavaria, to make sure they are all right. For weeks I’ve waited for a reply. Posted a third letter this morning. If we can’t get sugar, can you imagine what’s happening in Germany? I’ve got a mind to go back to Romanshorn and enquire of them across the lake. It was the big industrial cities we knocked to the ground with the help of the Americans. Heard from Ding-a-ling the Americans are threatening to drop an atomic bomb on Japan if the Emperor doesn't surrender. Vic’s still at the Air Ministry. Says he wants to stay. He’s going to marry Sarah Coombes.”

  “Doesn’t she own a tobacconist’s? Why doesn’t he get behind the counter? Expand the business. Turn it into a corner shop. The Air Ministry in peacetime must be boring.”

  “I’ll suggest your idea though I doubt you’re being serious. They’re still young enough to expand the shop. Maybe we should look at it if they need capital. A chain of corner shops. How does that sound?”

  “From selling a few packets of cigarettes, not bad. When do I start my new job?”

  “After you get married.”

  “I’m getting bored.”

  “There’s that word again. I don’t even know if Klaus’s family came through the war alive. We can take the train to Romanshorn and make our enquiries. Fly to Zurich and take the local train. Or whatever.”

  Tinus smiled to himself. His uncle was on a roll.

  “See if they reply to your third letter,” he said. “Have you tried phoning?”

  “The Post Office say there isn’t such a number. The only one I have is from before the war. When I phoned Klaus about Horatio Wakefield. Horatio is the one who asked me to find out. Janet wants to know. She says without his help she would never have had a family. She has so many patients now she doesn't know what to do. People came back from the war with stutters brought on by fear.”

  “When do you want to go to Romanshorn?”

  “Give today’s letter a couple of weeks. I’ve asked Klaus to phone me his new number.”

  “Why do you call him Ding-a-ling?”

  “It’s better than Ding Dong. Tina, will you pour the tea? You are much better at it than me. This time you will come with us to Switzerland. If the children are home they are quite old enough to look after themselves. Kim’s turning into quite a cricketer. Must run in the family. Have a piece of cake. Why don’t you go and ask Mary Ross?”

  “You mean, now?”

  “No time like the present. The tea won’t go cold. The sun’s shining. We can use the Great Hall. Ask Fleur and Celia to come down. I feel like a party.”

  Both of them just looked at him. Then Tinus got up and went to have a word with Mary Ross.

  “Do you really want to throw a wedding for Mary Ross?” asked Tina.

  “Why not? Show solidarity for all of us putting our backs to the war effort. Be a chance to invite all the tradesmen. They all know each other. I’m going to invite Sarah Coombes and Vic to the Court for a weekend. Vic’s told her I’m not quite as poor as she thought I was in the bomb shelter. You’ll like Sarah. Now that is a good idea. All our friends together… What did Mary say, Tinus?”

  “She was a bit overawed by the violins and the Great Hall. She’d like something a little simpler in the garden.”

  “There you are, Tina. Not as bad as you thought.”

  2

  William Smythe’s new house in Chelsea was three doors away from the three-storey house of Horatio and Janet Wakefield. He had bought the house at rock-bottom price a month before the end of the war. Next door was a bomb site. The house had taken a direct hit from a doodlebug at the end of 1944. The rubble had been cleared away. Weeds were growing out of the open foundations which was why their house was so cheap. Other people thought the foundations of William’s new house had been damaged by the blast. He didn’t care. At that price he could dig in underneath from the outside and pour concrete to cement the old foundations. Like Horatio’s house it was three storeys high with an attic. The attic was for Ruthy’s playroom. It was a house William had thought he would only afford in his wildest dreams. The river, not far away, was within an easy push for the pram, with trees overhanging the water. When Betty said she was pregnant with their second child, William’s happiness went on a trip to the moon. Even the invitation to Genevieve’s wedding in Los Angeles made no difference to his euphoria. She was all in the past. He was going to write Tinus a ‘can’t make it. Have a good life’ note and with it send a cut crystal wine decanter, not mentioning the invitation to Betty.

  “Are we going? I saw the invitation.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Are you still jealous, my darling? Joe’s going to be home soon. The Japs can’t last much longer.”

  “Will his house be here or Singapore? Won’t he stay out East? His children have as much Chinese blood in them as English.”


  “He’ll have to come home to England to be demobbed if he wants to leave the army. In the army, you go where they tell you. Joe’s a regular soldier.”

  “Why don’t we all take a trip to America? When I see you two together I’ll know. I want to be certain there’s nothing deep in the back of your mind to haunt us later on. People do weird things if they don’t lay their ghosts. We can go by ship. We never took a honeymoon. You can visit Glen Hamilton in Denver. Mix business with pleasure. I’m not too pregnant to travel. Janet will look after our house.”

  “You really want to go down that path, Betty?”

  “I insist, lover boy.”

  “Why not? Maybe I can syndicate the story of the wedding and pay for the new furniture. Do you think Horatio has had an invitation?”

  “Why don’t you ask them? They’re not exactly far away.”

  “We can put Ruthy in the pushchair.”

  “Silly. She can walk. It’s all of three doors. She can run there and back quicker than you.”

  “It’s so nice having friends close by.”

  When Trevor Hemmings picked up his invitation to the wedding at the Royal Air Force Club in Piccadilly he was at a loose end. With only the prospect of the chemist shop in Collins Street as a way to use his degree in pharmacology, he was not inspired to catch the first boat home to Australia and face the boredom of wearing a clean white coat for the rest of his life. His sisters would fuss all over him after his kid brother’s untimely death. They had lost one brother. He had lost his brother and most of his friends. Anyway, he thought, as he opened the invitation standing in the lobby of the club where the doorman had handed him his mail, no woman would want to marry a man with a face scorched like his.

  Being away from the blokes on his terminal leave from the RAF did not help his mood. He was on his own. Why he came to the club. Hoping to see a familiar face after so many years among all the male family of the squadron. He missed the banter. He missed the company. He even missed the war. At the moment of reading the invitation to a film star’s wedding in America he had no purpose left in his life. He was empty. Drained of excitement. He didn’t even want to get drunk. Certainly not among strangers. Certainly not alone.

  “Well, I’ll be buggered. My mate’s marrying a bloody film star. Now there’s an idea.”

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “Don’t worry, Jim. I’m just an uncouth Australian. You ever been to America?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Neither have I. Anyone in the bar?”

  “I haven’t looked, sir. There are usually a few gentlemen in the downstairs bar at this time of the day. The ladies’ lounge upstairs is not open until six o’clock. Of course the ladies you bring to the club must enter through the Park Lane entrance. The back entrance so to speak.”

  “Of course. How silly of me to forget,” said Trevor, his sarcasm going over Jim’s head. “Can you book me a room in the club? Instead of going straight back to Australia on the next boat, I’m going to hang around. Take a boat through the Panama Canal to the west coast of America. It’s halfway to Australia. Tomorrow I’ll go see Cook’s. They’ve got a shop off Piccadilly Circus.”

  “Very good, sir. One single room for Squadron Leader Hemmings.”

  “Thank you, Jim. Suddenly I feel much better. The old fox. Tinus marrying a film star. I’ll be buggered.”

  When he looked back over his shoulder on the way down the wide corridor to the bar, Jim was back at the pigeonholes sorting out the members’ mail, the man unfazed by his Australian habits. On both sides of the corridor, right up the walls, were pictures of aircraft, mostly from the First World War.

  “How Harry Brigandshaw flew those things is beyond my understanding. Stretched parchment. Wood. Held together with piano wire.”

  At the long, mahogany bar a man he had met at RAF Abingdon in 1940, just before he crash-landed his plane on return from a raid over Germany, was standing on his own, a half-drunk pint of beer in front of him.

  “Wally Chapman. This is a pleasant surprise. Trevor Hemmings. Abingdon. 1940. You feel like getting drunk with an old friend?”

  “Trevor Hemmings! What a pleasant surprise. What can I get you?”

  “The same you’re having, Wally. You discharged like me?”

  “Once it’s over it’s over. No point hanging around. Even if they’d let you. Back to civilian life for me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “No idea.”

  “Join the club. What did you do before the war? Where did they post you after Abingdon? Are you staying at the club? Just booked myself in for a couple of nights. Taking a slow boat back to Australia via America. You ever see an actress called Genevieve?”

  “Of course. Everyone has seen her films.”

  “I’m going to her wedding. Have a look at this.”

  “I’ll be buggered,” said Wally reading the invitation.

  “Tinus Oosthuizen was Fighter Command. Met him before the war. They’ve known each other for years.”

  Esther was drunk when her invitation came in the afternoon mail. The postman opening the hard-sprung lid attached to her front door caught her attention, followed by the sound of the envelope dropping inside the cage. Her friend Joan had come from Lambeth to Esther’s flat in Chelsea, the lease on the flat paid for by Merlin. They had been drinking gin since lunchtime, Esther with nothing to do with her days for most of her life. With the formal, printed invitation purportedly from the Eighteenth Baron St Clair of Purbeck requesting the pleasure of her company at the marriage of his daughter to Wing Commander Martinus Oosthuizen, son of Mrs Madge Oosthuizen and the late Barend Oosthuizen of Elephant Walk, Mashonaland, Rhodesia, came a handwritten letter from Genevieve which she read and handed to Joan before pouring them both a stiff gin. While Esther was reading the letter, Joan had read the fancy invitation after a struggle in her handbag to find her reading glasses. Joan was a few years older than Esther.

  “Well, ducks, are you going to America? Who’s the relative who’s going to do all the arranging and going with you on the aeroplane?”

  “Not Merlin. He won’t go. Given some reason. Didn’t send the invite neither. Men know how to get out of things they don’t want to do.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Esther.”

  “Of course I am. She’s my daughter.”

  “You’ll have to keep off the gin.”

  “I only drink gin for something to do. During the war Genevieve sent cases of gin from America when we couldn’t get it. Weren’t we lucky?”

  “There’s still a war with Japan.”

  “One o’clock news says they’ve had it. Weeks they said. Now the Japs will have to do what they’re told. They’ll be run by the Americans.”

  “Don’t know nothing about that. What’s the boy like?”

  “Bit younger than Genevieve. She’s had her eye on him since the lad was seventeen. He’s twenty-eight. She’s thirty-one.”

  “Long time to wait.”

  “He wouldn’t marry her when the war was on. In case he got killed. Came right through the war from the very beginning. Battle of Britain. His uncle taught him to fly.”

  “I thought she was going to marry Gregory L’Amour? So tell me, Esther. Who’s the bloody relative she’s referring to?”

  “Her Uncle Barnaby runs her money. He has a bastard son. Must have found his conscience. They do you know.”

  “Come off it. Would you have married Merlin?”

  “Don’t be daft. Mind you, he’s been good to me, Merlin. He’s been good to Genevieve. Stick me away in the countryside, no thank you. Anyway, they’d never have let us. Even for the kid. Turned out all right.”

  “She wants you to live in America.”

  “Saw that. Have to behave myself. Here I can do what I like. No one to boss me around. I like my flat. What would I do without you, Joan? Want another gin, love?”

  “Haven’t finished this one. Aren’t you frightened of going up in an aeroplane
?”

  “Why should I? My future son-in-law’s a fighter pilot.”

  “Does he come and see you?”

  “Never seen him in my life.”

  3

  Six weeks later, Gerry Hollingsworth was sitting on his porch at Long Beach, California, looking at the sea as workmen erected a marquee on his lawn. The previous day an American bomber had dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, obliterating most of the people and buildings. If the Emperor did not surrender they were going to drop another one according to a man Gerry knew in the army. The Pacific was blue, with no indication of the holocaust inflicted on the other side of the ocean. Three people were walking the beach in the hot sun, others were swimming in the sea. Further out, a man was fishing from the back of a moving boat. To all intents and purposes, there was peace on earth. When Gerry called to his wife inside the house there was no trace of a British accent in his voice. To the outside world, Louis Casimir and his Jewish religion were gone forever, like his son David killed in the war. Inside his heart, his son still lived along with his religion. When Carmel came out from the house she sat in a chair. Together they contemplated the ocean.

  “Now the war’s almost over, don’t you think it’s time we went to shul?” said Gerry. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. In Europe they are putting the Nazis on trial for war crimes. Never again will they massacre the Jews.”