Shadow on the Land

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Major Hicks has come to consult you, Emily,’ said Alex, a twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘Now, Alex, this won’t do,’ the tall American protested. ‘I may be on official business, but I will not be called Major Hicks standing in your backyard. The name is Christopher, but no one except my Ma calls me that. So Chris it is. And you ma’am are Emily, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course, it is. Now let’s go in and see if I can find a piece of cake for tea.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry if you can’t, Emily. I’ve brought some cookies and coffee. Just a few things might come in handy,’ he said casually, reaching into the back seat and producing a large, over-filled cardboard box.

  Emily stared at it and then laughed.

  ‘Chris, I haven’t seen coffee since 1940. And I love coffee.’

  ‘That’s just great. I could sure use a cup of coffee, cake or no cake,’ he said laughing. ‘If you’re going to make it for us, can I look around your backyard?’ he went on as he carried the box over to the house and set it down on the doorstep.

  It was Alex who laughed at the startled look on Emily’s face, but it was Christopher Hicks who apologised.

  ‘That’s one down to me, Emily,’ he said shaking his head and smiling wryly. ‘The correct word is ‘garden.’ I forgot again. We have a book, official issue, telling us the obvious mistakes we can make because we all think we speak the same language. That one is on about page two.’

  ‘I’d like to see your book, Chris,’ said Emily smiling. ‘It would help me when I meet your young men navigating cross-country. It ought to work both ways, you know.’

  Chris Hicks nodded vigorously.

  ‘That’s exactly why I’ve come to you, Emily. I need your help. If your good man can spare you, that is,’ he added cautiously.

  He looked sideways at Alex, found him grinning broadly, and turned again to Emily.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said promptly, as she waved towards the flower garden. ‘We’ve a good view of the Mournes, Chris, if you’re not fed up crawling round them already. Alex, dear, try to keep him away from all the neglected bits. It’s even worse than I thought it was,’ she added, as she bent to take off her boots.

  She put the kettle on, pulled a kitchen chair over to the tall cupboards on the wall adjoining the conservatory, climbed up and opened the double doors of the over-cupboard. There, among the stored items, like the pretty, hand-painted water carafe for the guest room, the collection of jam pots for January’s marmalade and the spare mantles for the emergency oil lamps, sat the coffee-pot. Beside it, an empty ceramic jar said COFFEE. They were both perfectly clean but for a thin layer of dust on their lids.

  She brought them down carefully, one at a time, the kitchen chair wobbling slightly on the worn tiles and fetched a pack of coffee from the doorstep.

  ‘Oh wonderful,’ she said aloud, laughing to herself as she took a great deep breath of the rich aroma, remembering how she’d once said to Alex that if she ever passed out he could forget the smelling salts and just wave an open jar of coffee under her nose.

  There was more cake in the tin than she’d remembered, but as she cut it up and waited for the coffee to filter, she thought how kind it was of Chris Hicks to bring his own cookies. But then, he was a kind man, and she’d already had good cause to be grateful to him.

  They’d met on one of the sun-filled May evenings when the town council of Banbridge had given a reception for representatives of all the regiments who had taken up quarters locally. The idea was that they could meet local people. The entire Board of Bann Valley Mills were there with their wives, the local clergy, doctors, solicitors and businessmen. The Who’s Who of Banbridge, Alex had whispered, as they gathered in the Recreation Hall at Millbrook, the largest space immediately available with so many halls and public rooms being used for other purposes.

  Somewhere in the course of the evening Emily had found herself on the edge of a large group and had slipped aside to look out through the tall plate-glass windows which framed the small reservoir outside. Created many years earlier after a bad fire which could have been dealt with had it not been for lack of water, it had been planted with willows and other water-loving shrubs. With its irregular shape, carefully planned by Sarah and Hugh Sinton, it had become an entirely natural part of the landscape. All the more so because there was always at least one pair of swans to be seen moving silently across the still water. This year there had been five cygnets as well.

  The water was mirror calm, the trees a perfect reflection in the gently paling light.

  ‘Looks so peaceful, doesn’t it, ma’am? That’s the thing I find hardest in this lovely countryside of yours.’

  She turned and smiled at the broad-shouldered figure looking down at her, his uniform immaculate, a variety of markings suggesting he was a fairly senior officer.

  She nodded vigorously.

  ‘Sometimes when I put out washing or pick some flowers for the table, I think how incredible it is that armies are fighting through towns and villages, destroying everything around them as well as each other and here I am …’

  ‘Holding the world together for someone, no doubt,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘as my wife does for me.’

  ‘And she’s so far away,’ she replied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that had sprung to her eyes.

  ‘Vermont.’

  ‘I’ve read about Vermont,’ she said, recovering herself. ‘I’m afraid autumn here won’t be nearly so dramatic.’

  ‘If we’re here.’

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s the other hard thing, isn’t it?’ she said quietly. ‘Never knowing what’s going to happen next.’

  She asked about his wife, found he had a young family, the eldest boy eight, the youngest, a little girl, only just two. Then, he asked about her family and she told him of Cathy, Lizzie, Jane and Johnny, how old they were, what they were doing, and where they were, as far as she knew where. Just recently, both Jane and Lizzie had written to say they were being moved. Obviously, in a letter, they didn’t say where. She would have to wait as patiently as she could for a visit home to find out about the new posting.

  ‘That’s Alex, my husband, over there,’ she said nodding to where Alex stood deep in conversation with a fellow director. ‘I’m afraid he’s being naughty and not doing his social duty,’ she said with a smile. ‘With that look on his face and talking to James Willoughby I’d say he was talking about a damaged countershaft at one of the mills.’

  ‘That’s his line, is it?’

  ‘Yes, he’s Technical Director for the four mills that make up Bann Valley Mills. Trying to repair machines is a nightmare in war time. I’m amazed that he manages to stay sane,’ she added honestly.

  There was something so solid and reassuring about this man, the way he listened so carefully to everything she said, took it all in and asked sensible questions that she found herself setting out the whole problem for him.

  ‘The textile machinery specialists are all on war work,’ she explained, ‘aircraft or munitions. Anyway, materials are almost unobtainable.’

  She paused, lowered her voice and went on. ‘What makes it so bad for Alex is that there has been some deliberate damage.’

  He nodded slowly, his lips pressed together.

  ‘You know I’m an engineer, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘I know I should be able to tell from your insignia.’

  ‘Not important, ma’am,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but I think I might be able to help out. I’ve got materials and my boys need real work, real problems to solve, not just exercises. Why not textile machinery? It’s all part of the war effort, isn’t it?’

  Alex left them after a lively half hour over coffee and cake.

  ‘Board Meeting at six,’ he explained, as he stood up.

  ‘Can’t appear in dungarees,’ he added, looking down at Chris. ‘War or no war, it has to be a suit. Most of my fellow directors are acc
ountants or solicitors and they come straight from work.’

  ‘I sometimes have that problem too, Alex, but there’s not many top brass around here at the moment. I can still wear fatigues.’

  ‘Emily, I need advice and perhaps help,’ Chris began, as Alex closed the sitting-room door quietly behind him.

  ‘These boys of mine are homesick. And how can I blame them when I’m homesick myself?’ he went on, with the open smile she found so endearing. ‘I don’t need to tell someone like you about morale. It’s critical. We don’t know how long it will be before we see action, but if morale is low we get illness, a poor response to training and high casualties when we do go into a frontline situation.’

  Emily nodded.

  ‘I read about the Midwest Giants and the Kentucky Wildcats playing baseball up in Belfast in July. I loved the names,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I guessed that was to try to keep up spirits,’ she went on more soberly.

  ‘Yes, it was and I hear baseball at battalion level has been a great success too. Sport is always good. And so are the dances up at the camp, or in the town, or even in that lovely hall where we met at Millbrook. People have been great helping us to find places for the boys to meet girls. The trouble is, Emily, my engineering boys are younger than many of our fighting troops. Some of them were only in first year at college. I think what they’re really missing are their kid brothers and sisters.’

  ‘Ah … yes. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘I didn’t catch on till I saw some of our boys making paper aeroplanes for some of the canteen ladies’ little lads that have to come up to the camp after school. That little group were just in a world of their own.’

  ‘So, the problem is how to get your boys together with families with younger children,’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘That’s it, Emily. I can provide transport and any food you need …’

  He broke off as he saw a great smile light up her face.

  ‘Brownies,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they a favourite form of cookie with Americans?’

  ‘Yes, they are. But proper brownies are home-baked. I’m afraid they wouldn’t travel.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have to,’ she said smiling happily. ‘There’ll be no problem finding children. The primary teachers and the churches can help, but your boys need some home-cooking. They need little presents to give to the children they meet. Do you think your wife could provide me with a cookery book? And have you got a copying machine on the base? I can think of at least four other women who’d bake each week if they could get the ingredients.’

  ‘Emily, you are wonderful!’

  ‘Don’t say that Chris, till you see if I can deliver. But I do have some ideas.’

  ‘That is very obvious,’ he said, shaking his head and looking relieved. ‘I’ll contact home right away and get a requisition in for the sort of stuff you’ll need. That’ll be no problem at all.’

  There were two more attempts to blow up machinery in the course of September, both at Ballievy, where the damaged countershaft had been repaired within days of Alex’s meeting Chris at Millbrook. The devices used had not been very effective, no one had been hurt and repairs were done speedily by a party of Chris’s young lads. Nevertheless, anxiety over who was causing the damage affected everyone, from Alex and the Directors and the whole staff at Ballievy to the managers and senior men at the other three mills who could easily find themselves the next target for sabotage.

  ‘What did the police report say, Alex?’ Emily asked, as they walked out into the flower garden after supper one pleasant evening at the beginning of October.

  ‘Not a lot,’ he replied, reluctantly, looking around him at the fallen leaves splashing colour on the grass path.

  Leaves from the huge chestnut that dominated the vegetable garden had blown over the hedge and now lay pink and gold among those carried down from the avenue, the still-perfect golden globes from the limes.

  ‘Do you want to try and forget all about it, love?’

  ‘Wish I could.’

  Even after all these years, there were times when Emily didn’t know what to say to him, and couldn’t guess what he was thinking. His face gave her no clue, though the set of his shoulders told her how low he was feeling.

  They moved slowly down to the end of the garden and stood looking out at the mountains, the air fresh and full of the smells of autumn but not yet edged with chill.

  ‘How did the picnic go?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Great. It was an enormous success,’ she said turning towards him. ‘Chris was delighted. He said he hadn’t had as much fun in years. Rounders on the beach. Rides in jeeps. Three-legged races. His boys made up take-away presents with sweets and biscuits … and chewing gum. Not sure how popular I’ll be with the mothers over that, but never mind. Kids love it.’

  She looked at him closely as he turned his gaze back from the far mountains.

  ‘Alex, are you missing Johnny? Are you worried about our children?’

  ‘Guilty as charged, ma’am, as our friend Chris would say,’ he replied, with a ghost of a smile.

  ‘Good. That’s splendid,’ she said, slipping her arm round his waist.

  ‘What’s good about it?’ he asked, looking startled.

  ‘Only that now I know. What about that saying you learnt long ago: A trouble shared is a trouble halved. Why do you think I work so hard, Alex, baking and cooking and arranging the Sunday visits and so on? I miss Johnny and the girls and Ritchie too. I’d go mad if I hadn’t something useful I could do, people I needed to phone or write to. Mary Cook to talk to when I go for the milk. Do you give yourself time to go and talk to anyone these days, even Robert, or any of the managers?’

  Alex dropped his eyes and looked sheepish.

  ‘Maybe, love, we’re homesick too. Homesick for the life we made for our family and the life we all had before the war. But if we accept that we are, perhaps we could do something about it. Why don’t we ask Chris to come for a meal one evening?’

  Alex said nothing. He just nodded.

  But Emily saw the way he looked when they walked back to the house and she offered him a cup of coffee. Loneliness had been such a part of Alex’s life for such a long time, he still didn’t know when that was what he was feeling. Nor did he remember there was any comfort to be had.

  CHAPTER SIX

  With the eyes of the world on a Russian city on the Volga no one in the Banbridge area had ever heard of before, November unrolled its chill and fog over the low green hills and mountains of County Down. Young men in uniform crawled though ditches and slithered over stone walls as if these impediments were of as little moment as the cushions and pillows which Emily and her friends spread out on the floor of the Recreation Hall at Millbrook, to provide an obstacle race for lonely college boys, the temporary steeds of excited children already looking forward to the tea and cookies which would follow their games and races.

  These were not the same young men who had played rounders and given jeep rides along the beach at Newcastle when Major Chris Hicks first enlisted Emily’s help. Those young men, now trained to bridge gorges, mend tanks, throw up defensive works and support the fighting men had been despatched to North Africa with the Winnipeg Rifles, one more of the many groups to be seen tramping the roads round Banbridge developing stamina between bouts of practice on the rifle ranges and assault courses.

  Their departure one chill, misty afternoon had brought Banbridge to a standstill and struck a blow to Emily’s good spirits in a month she had always dreaded, the month in which her own mother had died after a long illness, the chill and misty weeks when, year after year, all her bright plans seemed to fade with the dankness of the weather and her energy to ebb away in sympathy with the shrivelling of the daylight hours.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s champ again tonight, Alex,’ she began apologetically as he came into the kitchen, wisps of cold moisture clinging to his dungarees. ‘There was a big tailback when I was in town this afternoon and I couldn�
�t get across the road to go to Quails.’

  ‘And when have I ever objected to your champ?’ he replied. ‘You can save the coupons like you did for Jane’s birthday and we’ll have another roast when one of them comes home.’

  ‘It was Chris’s regiment, Alex,’ she continued. ‘Some of the lads spotted me and waved. I didn’t see him, but he’d have been up front wouldn’t he? So it looks as if he’s gone. He always did say he’d not get much warning. He’d be off one day and Goodbye would only be a note in the post,’ she ended sadly.

  ‘Well, I have good news for you.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes. Chris phoned me this morning. He hasn’t gone. He’s staying. Top brass think his contacts on the ground are so valuable they want him to go on training here,’ he explained, raising his eyebrows. ‘So his boys have gone, but there’ll be a new lot arriving at the end of the week. He’s got a few days breather till they land, so he phoned to ask us to come up and dine at the camp tomorrow evening. His new officers are flying in ahead of the boys. Full regalia,’ he said, teasing her, as he saw relief and pleasure spread across her face. ‘And don’t tell me you’ve nothing to wear.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she replied, pretending to be cross. ‘If Scarlet O’Hara can make a dress out of the curtains, why can’t I?’

  ‘Which curtains had you in mind?’

  ‘Oh Alex, I’m only joking,’ she responded with a little laugh. ‘I’ve a perfectly nice dress. I just haven’t worn it since … oh goodness … I can’t even think when the last time was. Perhaps it was Cathy’s twenty-first. Something like that’

  ‘It is good news, Emily,’ he said, dropping down wearily on a kitchen chair, as she lifted the lid of the saucepan and gave the champ another stir to keep it from sticking. ‘I’d have been as sad as you if he’d gone. He’s a good-hearted man and great company and he’s taken a weight off my shoulders with the repairs he’s done for us. I’d have been waiting still for that work on the countershaft if I’d had to go through official channels, as the saying is.’