The Lost Soldier

by Costeloe Diney

  ‘Oh, Jimmy, of course it’s yours. Whose else would it be? You’re the only man I’ve… been with… since Don died.’

  ‘So you say.’

  Tears filled Mavis’s eyes. ‘Jimmy, you know it’s true! You know you’re the only man in my life.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do say so. It’s our baby, and it’ll be born late June, a summer baby.’

  ‘Well, if it’s mine, it’s mine,’ Jimmy said grudgingly.

  ‘It is… but Jimmy, I don’t want… I mean it wouldn’t be right… I mean we need to think…’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, woman, spit out.’

  Mavis drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t want it to be a bastard, Jimmy.’

  When he said nothing she took her courage in both hands and went on, ‘I want us to get married, Jimmy. Before it’s born. That’s what I want.’

  ‘Married?’ Jimmy sounded incredulous. ‘Married?’

  ‘I don’t want it born a bastard, Jimmy.’

  ‘Married,’ he said again, as if tasting the word.

  She waited, knowing if she said the wrong thing, he would say no, walk out and leave.

  At last he said, ‘I’ll think about it. It’s a big step, getting married.’ He looked across at her. ‘If we get married and I move in here, them girls are going to have to go. I told you, I ain’t taking on someone else’s brats.’

  ‘What do you mean, the girls must go? They’re my daughters. Why must they go? Where must they go? Their place is with me! This is their home!’

  Jimmy shrugged and got to his feet. ‘If it’s their home, it ain’t going to be mine,’ he said. ‘It’s up to you, Mav. If you want me to stand by you, to marry you, make you respectable like, well, I will, but I won’t take on another bloke’s kids. Right? Not with my own kid to think of. You got to find them somewhere else.’ He reached for his coat and putting it on, went to the door. Looking back at her he went on, ‘It’s your decision, Mav. I ain’t going to change my mind.’ And with that he left, closing the door behind him.

  Mavis stared after him bemused. What did he mean, the girls had got to go? They were her girls and belonged with her. She thought of Rita and Rosie as she’d seen them that morning, setting off to school, Rosie with her hand trustingly in Rita’s as they walked along the street. It was Rita who was the problem. Reet could be difficult, especially recently. She’d been moody, not the sunny little girl she used to be. It was Reet who annoyed Jimmy, who wouldn’t do what he told her. It was Rita’s fault that Jimmy didn’t like her. She was being obstinate and rude and it wouldn’t be long before Rosie started to copy her. She always copied Rita. But Rosie was lovely. She looked so like Don.

  Mavis hadn’t thought of Don much for quite a long time. She got to her feet and went to the drawer in which she had hidden his photograph. Jimmy had ‘accidentally’ knocked it off the shelf and taking the hint, she had hidden it in the drawer. She got it out now and looked at Don. He smiled back at her as he always had done, as trustingly as Rosie, trusting her with his children. She looked at his face for a long time. He’d never forgive her if she didn’t look after his girls. But he wasn’t there to forgive her, was he? He was lost, exploded, burned to ashes somewhere over Germany. He hadn’t come back and she’d been left to bring up the girls on her own. Now she had a chance to start a new life, with a new man. Surely Don wouldn’t begrudge her that. Surely he would say, ‘Go for it, girlie. Be happy! Go for it, girlie.’ Girlie, his pet name for her. She blinked back the tears that had crept into the corners of her eyes. She had to be strong. Don wasn’t here, he never would be again, and she had to get on with her life. She had the new baby to think of. She had to provide for the new baby. She couldn’t let it start out life as a bastard.

  Mavis didn’t have to go to her cleaning job with Mrs Robinson today, and walking through the park on her way to the grocer’s she sat down for a rest on a bench, watching a family of tiny ducklings dashing through the water behind their mother. Mavis smiled as one went astray, swimming in the wrong direction. Mrs Duck wasn’t at all concerned; she simply swam on, leaving the lost duckling to cheep pitifully behind her.

  Not such a very good mother, thought Mavis, then her smile died. I’m not a good mother either. I want this new baby and Jimmy more than I want my girls. And even as she tried to push the dreadful thought from her mind, crush it before it could take root, she knew, in that instant, that it was true. However fiercely she pushed it away, it crowded back. She needed a man, she wanted the baby, and Rita and Rosie were standing in her way.

  No, she shook her head hard as if to clear the thought away, no of course they weren’t. Of course Jimmy didn’t mean it. She could talk him round. As for the girls, they’d get used to the idea that they were going to have a stepdad and a little brother or sister.

  She left the peace and quiet of the park and walked along the street to Baillies Grocery. Just as she reached it she met her mother coming out, carrying her shopping bag.

  ‘Hallo, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘Mavis.’ Lily looked at her daughter carefully. ‘You all right, love?’ she asked. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. Just a bit tired, you know how it takes me.’

  Lily nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, used to take me in the same way. D’you want a cup of tea? You look as if you could do with one.’

  Mavis was about to refuse, and then she thought, why not? ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That’d be nice.’

  They turned away from the shop and walked the two streets to Hampton Road. Once inside Lily put the kettle on. Mavis dropped onto a chair in the kitchen, watching as her mother put away her shopping. She said nothing. Mavis felt safe in the kitchen of her childhood, in the silence that surrounded them. Lily didn’t chatter, or ask awkward questions. She simply put her food away, put cups out on the table and then made a pot of tea. She poured it and waited.

  ‘I told him, last night,’ Mavis said, at last breaking the silence. ‘About the baby.’

  ‘And?’

  Mavis shrugged. ‘And he was fine about it.’ She sipped her tea. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her, and she went on, ‘A bit surprised, of course, but he likes the idea of being a dad.’ She raised her eyes to meet Lily’s. ‘We’re going to get married… so the baby’ll be OK, you know?’

  ‘D’you want to marry him?’ asked her mother. ‘Really want to marry him? Jimmy, who knocks you about?’

  ‘It’s only happened once,’ replied Mavis defensively, ‘and he was ever so sorry. It was only ’cos he’d had a bit to drink. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘Till he’s had a bit to drink again,’ said Lily wryly. ‘What about the girls? What about Rita and Rosie? What do they think?’

  ‘They don’t know yet, but they’ll be all right.’

  ‘You know they’re scared of Jimmy.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ snapped Mavis, ‘but they’ll get used to him. They’ll have to.’ Her tone softened a little as she added, ‘They’ll like having a baby in the house, a little brother or sister.’

  ‘So when are you going to get married then?’ Lily knew it was no use tackling the question of the girls at this stage. Mavis had made up her mind. Maybe as the days passed…

  That evening Jimmy arrived at the house carrying a suitcase. He dumped it at the bottom of the stairs and pushed open the kitchen door. The children were sitting at the table having their tea, and as he opened the door, they fell silent, watching him with wide eyes. He reached into his pocket and slapped his ration book onto the table.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Now perhaps I’ll get a decent tea. I’ll put my stuff upstairs.’ He turned back at the door and added, ‘And I want my name on the rent book. Right?’ Picking up his case, he marched upstairs to Mavis’s bedroom.

  ‘Is Uncle Jimmy coming to stay?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mavis replied. ‘He’s going to be your new daddy.’

  ‘I don’t want a new daddy,’ cried Rita, jum
ping up from her chair. ‘I don’t want him. I don’t like Uncle Jimmy. He’s horrid.’

  ‘That’s enough of that, young lady,’ snapped her mother. ‘He’s coming to live with us, and that’s that.’ Mavis reached over and shook Rita hard. ‘And I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head.’

  ‘Why’s he coming to our house?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Because we want to be a family,’ Mavis answered. ‘You’ll grow to love him, like I do.’

  ‘I shan’t,’ stated Rita. ‘I shan’t love him. He doesn’t love me.’

  ‘Well, he certainly won’t love you if you talk like that,’ said Mavis. ‘Now, finish your tea and go out to play.’

  Rita crammed the last of her bread into her mouth and without another word went outside.

  ‘Can I play out, too?’ demanded Rosie, slipping down off her stool.

  ‘Just for a little while,’ agreed Mavis, and Rosie darted out to join her sister in the street.

  Mavis was glad to see them go. She wanted them out of the way when Jimmy came back downstairs. She could hear him moving about in the bedroom and wondered what he was doing, but even as she got up to find out, she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘I’m going out,’ he said as he met her in the hallway.

  ‘What about your tea?’ she ventured as he opened the front door.

  ‘I’ll have it when I come in.’

  When he had gone, she went upstairs to her room. The wardrobe door stood open and half her clothes had been pulled out and dumped on the bed. His were still in his case, but Mavis realized that she was expected to hang his up for him in the space he’d made, and she set about doing so, sorting and rehanging her own meagre wardrobe to accommodate his.

  While she was busy upstairs, Rita came in from the street. She had seen Jimmy leave as she and Maggie had been trying to teach Rosie to skip.

  ‘Back in a min,’ she’d said and leaving Rosie with Maggie, she’d darted back into the house. She could hear Mum upstairs so she crept into the kitchen. Quickly she opened the drawer of the dresser, and there he was. Her daddy, smiling out through the cracked glass of his frame. She’d discovered the photo some days earlier, when looking in the drawer for a pencil. Quickly Rita pulled the frame open and slid Daddy out from under the glass. She looked round for somewhere to hide him. She could still hear Mum moving about upstairs, so she couldn’t risk taking him up there. There was nowhere in the hall to hide him, so she opened the door to the front room. They never used the front room, well, only at Christmas when Gran came, so he wouldn’t be found in there. She picked up the cushion from what had been her daddy’s armchair and slid the photo inside its cover. Then she put the cushion back and slipped out into the street again. Daddy was safe now. She didn’t want another dad; her daddy would always be her daddy. If Uncle Jimmy moved into the house, well, let him, but he would never, ever, be her dad.

  A few weeks later there was a loud hammering on the front door and Mavis, opening it, was surprised to find her mother on the doorstep.

  ‘How did that child get that cut on her forehead?’ demanded Lily. ‘How come Reet’s got a black eye?’

  ‘She… she fell off her stool last night,’ faltered Mavis. ‘She hit her face on the gas stove.’

  ‘Hit her face on the gas stove,’ echoed Lily scornfully. ‘I don’t believe you. There’s much more to it than that.’

  ‘She fell off her stool…’ Mavis began again.

  ‘Knocked off it more like,’ asserted Lily. ‘By that Jimmy, I bet. You shouldn’t have him in the house, Mavis. I’ve told you before. He’s bad news. He knocks you about—’

  ‘No! No, Mum,’ Mavis burst out. ‘Who said that? Has that Rita—’

  ‘He knocks you about,’ repeated Lily, ignoring her interruption, ‘an’ he knocks the girls about, and whatever you say, he’s going to go on doing it. Men like him always go on doing it.’

  ‘Mum, it wasn’t like that. Reet fell off her stool. You know what she’s like. She was fidgeting… she’s always fidgeting, you know she is. An’ she fell off and hit her face, poor little kid.’ Mavis’s eyes challenged her mother to disbelieve her and Lily looked a little less certain.

  ‘That’s what she said—’ began Lily.

  ‘Because that’s what happened, Mum. Did you see her on the way to school?’

  ‘Yes, they were just going in.’

  ‘Look, Mum, I was just leaving. I got to be at Mrs Robinson’s in twenty minutes. Walk with me to the bus, eh? I must go or I’ll be late.’ She edged her mother towards the front door, and Lily allowed herself to be eased out of the house and into the street. Mavis closed the door behind her and, taking her mother firmly by the arm, began walking towards the bus stop.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said, ‘but I mustn’t be late. The cleaning takes me a bit longer these days and I don’t want Mrs Robinson to turn me off. I was going to come and see you when I’d finished. Jimmy’s going to the registry office today to get the wedding sorted. You have to put your name on a list for three weeks or something… not sure quite what, but Jimmy knows and he’s going to do it in his dinnertime.’

  ‘You really want to marry him, Mavis?’ asked Lily, trying to walk more slowly. She wanted to talk to Mavis, to have things out with her, but knew that here in the street wasn’t the place.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Mavis asserted. ‘He’ll make a great dad.’

  ‘Oh, Mavis, you know—’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, here’s my bus.’ Mavis stuck her hand out to hail the bus and scrambled aboard as soon as it stopped. She turned back, looking at her mother still standing on the pavement. ‘I’ll come in and see you tomorrow, Mum. Tell you the wedding date and that.’

  The bus began to draw away, and Mavis moved inside, waving to her mother through the window.

  Lily watched her go with distinct misgivings. She remained unconvinced that Rita had simply fallen off her stool. No, Jimmy Randall had something to do with it. Jimmy Randall was not good news, not good news at all.

  Available now!

  The Shot at Dawn Campaign

  Tom Carter is fictitious, but he stands for the three hundred and six soldiers of the British Army who were shot at dawn during the First World War for alleged desertion, cowardice, or for refusing to carry out an order. Little account was taken of medical conditions such as shell shock; courts martial were brief and the executions were used as a deterrent to other would-be deserters as much as for a punishment for the alleged offence.

  The Shot at Dawn Campaign for posthumous pardons for these men has been growing steadily. The government still refuses to pardon the men, many of them only boys in their teens when they were shot. It maintains you cannot rewrite history, but the campaigners are undeterred. They fight on. History, they say, is continually being rewritten as new evidence emerges. Evidence of these executions was kept secret for seventy-five years, but now it has been released action should be taken to put right an undoubted wrong.

  Many of the regiments from which the men came have reinstated their names to their regimental Rolls of Honour. It is now time for a government which supported the campaign whilst in opposition to follow the government of New Zealand and grant pardons to these men. They died for their country as surely as did the men who went over the top.

  For more information about the campaign visit:—

  http://www.shotatdawn.org.uk

  or contact

  John Hipkin

  45 Alderwood Crescent

  Newcastle-upon-Tyne

  NE6 4TT

  Since the first edition of this book, The Shot at Dawn Campaign has now achieved its aim and the 306 men who were executed between 1914 and 1918 are to be pardoned.

  “The campaign for posthumous pardons has been rejected by the Ministry of Defence for no other reason then their belief that without the power to kill British Troops who cannot stand the strain it would not be possible to force them to kill the enemy.”

  Tony Benn

  About The Lost
Soldier

  In 1921, eight ash trees were planted in the Dorset village of Charlton Ambrose as a timeless memorial to the men killed in World War One. Overnight a ninth appeared, marked only as for ‘the unknown soldier’

  But now the village’s ashgrove is under threat from developers.

  Rachel Elliot, a local reporter, sets out to save the memorial and solve the mystery of the ninth tree. In so doing, she uncovers the story of Tom Carter and Molly Day: two young people thrown together by the war, their love for each other, their fears for the present and their hopes for the future. Embroiled in events beyond their control, Tom and Molly have to face up to the harsh realities of the continuing war, the injustices it allows and the sacrifices it demands.

  Reviews

  THE LOST SOLDIER

  (previously published as The Ashgrove)

  “A powerful and moving account of the brutality of war itself.”

  Tony Benn

  “This book bears powerful witness to a grave injustice.’’

  Martin Bell

  “Diney Costeloe has tackled an important subject. We should never forget this terrible injustice.”

  John Humphrys

  DEATH’S DARK VALE

  “A treat from the very first page. I could not put it down!”

  Historical Novel Society

  “A compelling tale beautifully written.”

  George Baker

  “A vivid insight into the work of the French Resistance under the German occupation.”

  Betty Rowlands

  About Diney Costeloe

  DINEY COSTELOE published several successful sagas in the 1980s, before family life intervened. She lives in Somerset.

  Visit her website: dineycosteloe.co.uk

  Or follow her on Twitter: @Dineycost

  Also by Diney Costeloe

  The Throwaway Children

  Gritty, heartrending and unputdownable – the story of two sisters sent first to an English, then an Australian orphanage in the aftermath of World War 2.