by Pamela Pope
The feeling stayed with him on the special train which carried him south to a camp at Winchester which was being set up for the use of American forces. It disturbed his concentration when he attended the first conference with men of the Royal Engineers to discuss the difficulties confronting them.
‘Some of you are railway men,’ said the engineer detailed to spell out the problems. ‘When you study the situation over there, you’ll see that French railways aren’t going to cope with the strain of transporting munitions and provisions for two million troops.’
The man had an aggravating accent and talked as if he had a golf ball in his mouth. William found his mind wandering. He had discovered that Southampton was only a few miles away, so his father and his Cousin Galina with her ill-gotten gains were within easy visiting distance.
‘The Frenchies go in for safety rather than speed,’ said one of his own number.
‘Just so. We can carry fifty per cent more over a line than they can.’
‘We plan to build new sidings and terminals,’ the American officer in charge told the meeting.
‘You’ll need new tunnels too if you’re bringing your own freight cars,’ said the plummy Englishman.
‘Twenty-ton freight cars and a hundred-and-fifty-ton locomotives,’ said William. ‘Union Atlantic already have some at the docks ready for transportation.’
It was a warm day and flies buzzed round the low-ceilinged room with its black-out curtains for drawing at night. Two weeks earlier there had been a raid on London by the German Gotha twin-engined bombers. Fifty-seven people had been killed and nearly two hundred injured. Air raids were becoming more frequent. William tried to centre his hatred on the Germans, but he couldn’t keep vague memories of his father from surfacing. As the meeting dragged on he knew he’d have no peace of mind until he had delivered a few well-chosen words to Max Berman in person. He had to find out for himself the calibre of the man who had almost destroyed his mother.
The contingent of Engineers was due to sail for France before the end of the month, but two days’ leave was granted beforehand. William decided to use it to visit his father. He remembered him as a frightening, angry giant of a man who had been too rapt in the quarrel with Mama to take any notice of a small boy. If he tried hard, William could recall the scent of his mother’s skirt when he had hidden away in fear. Twenty years separated that day from this but he was still curiously reluctant to arrive at a possible meeting.
Timetables could no longer be relied upon, but there were frequent trains to Southampton. It was the premier port for military embarkation and the train was so crowded he had to stand in the corridor, but it was only a short journey and there was much to interest him. New sidings had been laid out at a place called Eastleigh. The railways here, he’d been told, were carrying everything from men and horses to tanks and ammunition. At one point there was a delay while an ambulance train travelling northwards with a large red cross painted on the side took precedence at a junction.
‘Some more poor buggers copped it,’ commented a British Tommy who was sitting on his kitbag next to William.
‘Guess they’re the lucky ones,’ William said. ‘At least they’re alive.’
The Tommy’s ears pricked up at the American accent and he looked at William’s uniform, from his gaiters buttoned from the instep to the knee to his round-brimmed khaki hat tilted at a rakish angle. ‘Thought you Yankees were sending a bloody great army over. Are you it?’
The British sense of humour might have caused trouble if William hadn’t seen a roguish gleam in the other’s eyes. ‘Advance guard,’ he said. ‘Two more are coming.’
With a roar of laughter the soldier thrust out his hand. ‘Glad to meet you, mate. We can do with you.’
William was on the left-hand side of the train. When it entered a longish tunnel on the outskirts of Southampton he pulled on the leather strap to raise the window and keep out the smoke, but once in daylight again he let it fall in surprise. The first thing he saw as they slowed down to draw into Western Station was a sign in brass letters across one of a collection of buildings which said Court Carriages. His heart jerked.
Half an hour later he entered the main office of the company his family had been involved with since before the turn of the century. He removed his hat. A girl clerk was dealing with a difficult telephone call, but she looked up when he came in and her mouth opened slightly.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, holding the candle-stick mouthpiece against her shoulder.
‘Mr Berman, is he here?’
‘Who shall I say wants him?’
‘His son.’
The girl gave a dazzling smile and replaced the telephone while a blurred voice could be heard calling for her attention at the other end of the line.
‘My goodness, I just knew you had to be related,’ she said, and went off in a hurry, leaving William alone to prepare for the coming meeting.
The telephone jangled. A large railway clock ticked the minutes away with a heavy beat which was at odds with the drumming of his pulse. It was an austere room, the only light touch being a framed cartoon of the Prime Minister, Mr Lloyd George.
A few minutes later the girl returned, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled at the handsome American. ‘Come with me, please, sir. I didn’t tell Mr Berman who you were. I just said I’d got a big surprise for ’im.’
William didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. At least he still had the advantage. As he followed the girl through the administration block he tried to retain his air of confidence, but inwardly he quaked. It was ridiculous. She opened an oak-panelled door across the corridor.
‘Mr Berman’s waiting for you, sir,’ she said, and tactfully disappeared.
The man across the desk stood up, and it was as if William looked at a mirror image of himself, though one which had grown slightly older. The likeness between them was incredible, and they stared at each other in silence while William closed the door. He was the first to speak.
‘Hello, Father.’
Max Berman slowly recovered from the shock, came round the desk, and held out his arms.
‘William,’ he breathed.
Afterwards, the unexpectedness of his own reaction never ceased to astonish William. He took two steps towards the other man and they embraced so tightly that each was aware of the other’s trembling.
*
‘Tell me about your mother.’ Max could no longer keep the request at bay. ‘How is she? Is she still as beautiful?’ His voice throbbed with emotion.
He couldn’t think of a time when he had been more overwhelmed. Seeing his son in the doorway had been the biggest, most wonderful surprise of his life, and he felt lightheaded. He’d longed to bombard him with questions straight away, to hear of everything that had happened over the intervening years, particularly to Ellie, but it had been necessary to talk first of generalities. They were strangers meeting virtually for the first time.
They’d talked of William’s journey to England, the task before him, his time at Harvard, his rank in the army. Max had spoken of the changes in Southampton and the movement of troops through the docks. The Court Carriages repair sheds were overloaded with work, women were making munitions, and where construction of royal cars had once been carried out there was now a full-time crew of workers building and converting trains for use as ambulances.
Now, at last, he dared to breathe Ellie’s name.
‘She’s more beautiful,’ said William, His son used the same adoring tone when speaking of her. It was obvious he loved his mother.
‘Tell me everything she’s been doing,’ Max begged. ‘Does she still keep the fashion writers busy?’
‘Not any more. Her charity work seems to be the most important thing in her life. It has been for years.’
‘She doesn’t give parties, then.’
‘Only in aid of the Red Cross. She’s quite a leading light. Went to Washington and met the Presid
ent when there were Red Cross meetings there at the start of the war. She wanted to be sent to France but apparently she’s too useful at home.’ Max sighed, his eyes clouding with memories. ‘I can imagine how dedicated she’d be. She’s got a lot of courage.’ He leaned across his desk and offered his son a cigar from a carved wooden box. William declined. ‘Did you know that in Pullman your mother saved your Cousin Galina from a fire?’
William shook his head. ‘She doesn’t talk about you or Galina.’
‘I can’t blame her.’
The young American soldier got up and went to the window, his back ramrod straight. ‘Where is my cousin?’ he asked.
‘In France.’
‘Nursing?’
‘No.’ Max lit his own cigar and smoke curled into the suddenly charged atmosphere. ‘She drives a motor ambulance. She’s a very spirited young lady, and she decided to learn to drive a motor car before the war started.’
‘I wonder she didn’t want to stay, with so many women employed in industry. Shouldn’t she be taking an active interest in her company?’
Max detected a hint of malice. ‘Only half of it is hers,’ he corrected. ‘I’m afraid Galina and I have frequent disagreements over the issue.’ He stood up. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you over the Works. We have to supply the War Department with everything from water-carts to eighteen-pounder gun carriages, and we’ve a new factory entirely staffed by women assembling shell-fuses. We’re answerable to the War Office these days so everything is dictated by them.’
He took his son across the yard and into areas where construction sheds were ringing with the sound of hammers and drills, and welding sparks filled the air. In the paint-shop, a completed khaki-coloured railcar was having a huge red cross painted on the white roof, and Max showed him inside the vehicle which had been enamelled white throughout.
‘This one is a conversion,’ he told William. ‘It used to be a parcels van. See, it still has the sliding doors. Now it’s a ward-car and we’ll fit three tiers of Furley-Fieldhouse cots along the sides, enough for thirty-six patients.’
‘And is this for overseas?’
‘No. We have to build larger ones to conform with French railways.’
‘You’ll need to modify the couplings and fit Westinghouse airbrakes, then. How many vehicles to each train? What weight are they?’
‘Sixteen bogies. Four hundred and forty tons.’
Max embarked on a discussion with William which did his heart good. His son, the engineer, was obviously very knowledgeable in everything to do with railways, and all his hopes were realised.
At the end of the tour he took William upstairs to a window which looked out on a view covering most of the workshops and yards; they were humming with activity.
‘Take a good look, William,’ he said. ‘One day the other half of these Works will be yours. A few years ago I bought out Julian Cromer, and now Galina and I own equal shares of Court Carriages. My share is willed to you. I know now it’ll be in the best of hands.’
William absorbed the information slowly, his expression changing. ‘Shouldn’t my mother be the beneficiary in any will of yours? Don’t you owe it to her?’
The wonderful camaraderie faded, replaced by accusation, and Max responded to it with truthfulness.
‘I owe Ellie for everything, don’t think I don’t know it. But she made it absolutely clear twenty years ago that she didn’t want me, or anything of mine. I’ve respected her wishes because I love her.’
‘Does she know that?’
‘I hope so. I’ve lived a bachelor existence here ever since I came back with Galina because I’ve always hoped your mother might one day forgive me. But the next move, if there ever is one, must come from her. I tried and failed.’
‘I guess you’re both too proud,’ said William. Then: ‘You betrayed her. In my opinion you’d have to do a god-damned lot to prove you loved her before she’d ever let you near.’ Long after William had returned to camp Max mulled over what had been said, but he didn’t know of any way to prove how he still felt about Ellie after all these years. In the past, all attempts had resulted in a strengthening of her resistance, and clearly she hadn’t changed.
Twenty
Ellie was devastated by William’s departure for Europe, and she blamed Drew for encouraging him. Surely there was a need for highly skilled engineers in the States, now that the railroads had been taken over by the government?
‘There’s need for manpower, you’re damned right,’ said Drew, ‘but William is fresh from University with all the most up-to-date knowledge, and that has to be put to use in the field, not in the backwoods. He’d be wasted here.’
Once her son had sailed she devoted more and more time to the Red Cross so that she wouldn’t have to dwell on the danger he faced. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t even read reports of the war without feeling that every gun was pointing directly at William, and she knew she had to become more involved with the war effort herself, if only to feel that she was doing everything she could to support him.
Letters she received spasmodically from France told her nothing of significance to do with his work and nothing at all of his whereabouts, but at least she had the assurance that he was safe. The first contained only news of his visit to Southampton.
‘I’ve seen my father,’ he wrote. ‘He looks prosperous and told me he has bought out Julian Cromer. Apparently his share in the company will one day be mine, though Galina, who is driving motor ambulances in France, doesn’t seem to approve. The meeting went off well and I’ve revised my opinion of Father, not because he’s put me in his will, but because he has remained faithful to you in spite of your refusal to forgive. He’s a good man, Mama. He genuinely regrets leaving you. Things are clearer in my mind now and in a way I can understand how he felt the need to escape. You are very strong-minded and perhaps a little too determined sometimes to have things your own way. I know because you’ve tried it with me so often, and until our differences over my joining the army you always succeeded. Dearest Mama, this doesn’t mean I love you any the less.’
The letter hurt. It made her angry. She ought to have been pleased that William was no longer so bitterly against Max, but the criticism of herself was unkind and it stirred up new resentment. Max must have put on an impressive performance to bring his son round to his way of thinking. She imagined them in close conversation, discussing her faults. It was impossible to put up a good defence on paper, but she stored up her wrath in readiness for a confrontation with her husband if she eventually got the chance to go to England again.
The news that Julian Cromer was out of the business came as a surprise, and it was another source of disquiet. No part of Court Carriages belonged to anyone in her family now, and it was all Max’s fault. Ellie hadn’t heard anything of Julian for many years. The last communication had been after Grandfather Cromer’s death when Mama had written to inform him, and there had been only a short, uninteresting letter back. She had hoped he would regain control of the company, but it seemed Max had been the more powerful. She should have known he would succeed, if only to prove he didn’t need her. Only the fact that he hoped to leave something for his son was in his favour, but her experience of promises like that left her cynical.
Subsequent correspondence from William contained only permitted references to his life in France. ‘There’s so much to do I hardly have time to grab a few hours’ sleep,’ he grumbled. ‘Refrigeration is the key to feeding the troops well and there have to be rail-links with the plants. I’ve been working on the largest of these. Now I’m moving, on to another town and taking charge of several hundred men engaged in track-laying. Speed is essential for getting to the front line, and to join up with the British and French troops.’
Mention of the front line terrified Ellie, but all she could do was pray for the continued safety of her son and trust that nothing would happen to him. She just had to be thankful that he was not in the trenches.
In the autumn of 1917 she went to New York to join in the great Red Cross Demonstration. Crowds lined Fifth Avenue to view the contingents of nurses in their white uniforms, stretching back as far as the eye could see, who met with a rousing reception as they marched past. The Old Glory flags and Union Jacks flew side by side from windows along the route. Women throughout America were taking up Red Cross work with enthusiastic dedication and they were applauded wholeheartedly. Many would soon be going overseas to nurse the wounded, and affection and gratitude was voiced by every parent and every wife in the land who had someone in France. To Ellie Berman the shouts and cheers were a most gratifying sound, but more important was the fund-raising, and she hoped there would be a repeat of the twenty million sterling raised in one week at a previous rally in June.
It was summer of the following year before she was finally sent to Britain. She was to help in the organisation of an American hospital just outside London. It had been previously decided to provide large hospitals in France for the American wounded, but King George V had graciously offered land on which to build one in Richmond Park. It was erected and equipped with 500 beds, and offered as a gift from the British Red Cross, to be handed over before the autumn. The gift was gratefully accepted, and Ellie, as a senior administrator, was among the first to arrive there with a group of American nurses.
It felt strange to be in England again. So much had changed, and though she had been prepared for the austerity, Ellie found it hard to realise this was the same country where she had once watched the extravagant celebrations to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. Another monarch had come and gone since she had last been in London, and now it was the grandson of that old lady she had seen in her widow’s black who sat on the throne. This made Ellie feel old.
She didn’t look in the least bit old, however. British newspapers printed a picture of the American nurses on their arrival at the hospital, and Ellie appeared no older than girls in their twenties who posed with her for the photograph. A straight grey skirt showed the neatness of her ankles, her cape with the small red cross stitched below her left shoulder had a mandarin-type collar which emphasised her long, unlined neck, and a dark felt hat covering her elegantly coiled hair was worn at just the right angle to display her flare for fashion. She still had a sophisticated air which made her stand out even among a group of women all dressed the same.
