The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Look at all these people – where are they all from? From the town?’

  Matthew laughed again. ‘Naw, they’re the holiday-makers and the day trippers. They come on the trains.’

  Esther shuddered. ‘Ah dun’t like trains.’

  ‘Why, have you been on one, then?’

  ‘Not me!’ she cried. ‘But the railway ran through the village where I lived before. Great noisy thing – an’ dangerous too. Killed a sheep once.’ That, to Esther, was sacrilege.

  ‘Ah’ve never bin on a train,’ Matthew mused. ‘Ah’d like to tek a ride on one some day.’

  ‘Well, dun’t ask me to come with ya,’ she said resolutely, and Matthew laughed at her again. She did not take offence but laughed with him. They wandered around the stalls, watching the folk. Women dressed in their Sunday best and carrying parasols, their long skirts sweeping the sand; the men sweating in their dark suits and starched white collars and bowler hats. A little boy, dressed in a sailor suit, skipped past them bowling a hoop. A small girl in a frock with such stiff petticoats that she hardly dared to move, walked sedately by her mama. Esther watched the child enviously, imagining her Kate in such a pretty dress. But the subject of Esther’s daydreams lay heavily in her arms now, asleep against her shoulder, oblivious to all the shouting and laughter of the holiday-makers.

  ‘Look,’ Matthew pointed out to sea. ‘See the paddle steamer just leaving the landing-stage at the end of the pier. It takes trips out to sea. D’ya want to go?’

  Esther shook her head. ‘I’ll keep me feet on dry land, Matthew, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘I dun’t mind. I gets all the sailing I want on the lifeboat.’

  They walked on in silence for a time, watching the crowds thronging the beach and the pier. Merry laughter filled the air and the shouts of children at play mingled with the sounds of the sea.

  ‘Come on, let’s go on the pier then,’ Matthew said and, taking hold of her hand, he led her up to the entrance, through the barrier and out on to the pier, laughing as Esther caught at her bonnet which was in danger of being whipped from her head. ‘The wind seems stronger out here,’ she gasped.

  They walked on and soon the waves were breaking beneath them. Esther looked down between the gaps in the planking to see the water swirling below. She clung tightly to Matthew’s arm. ‘Oooh, I feel as if I might fall in.’

  ‘Dun’t be daft, woman, how could ya fall through them little cracks?’

  Esther grinned at her own foolishness. ‘I know, but – but it feels as if I could.’

  She shifted the sleeping Kate to a more comfortable position and the child stirred and whimpered. She rubbed her eyes, gave a huge yawn and then smiled prettily at her mother. She wound her chubby arms round Esther’s neck and pressed her pale pink cheek to her mother’s.

  ‘Mamma’ she murmured.

  Esther patted the child’s back. ‘There’s my clever girl.’

  At her side she felt Matthew stop suddenly and having moved on a pace herself, she stopped and turned to look back at him. He was staring at the child incredulously. ‘She’s talking. She – said a proper word.’

  ‘Well, I should hope so!’ Esther pretended indignation. ‘She’s almost two.’

  Matthew moved closer. Kate turned her face towards him and smiled, her cheeks dimpling, her green eyes laughing and her red baby curls dancing in the breeze. She unwound her arms from her mother’s neck and, with a child’s artfulness, held them out to her father. ‘Dadda, Dadda.’

  Matthew’s gasp was audible. ‘She – she called me Dadda,’ he exclaimed unnecessarily.

  Esther almost giggled but then as she watched the softening expression on Matthew’s face, her mirth turned to a deep pleasure. Matthew reached out to take the child from her. He held her carefully, almost like a china doll, his large hands encompassing her waist. He lifted her up to look at her properly. The child gurgled and laughed and repeated the word that had won her such attention. ‘Dadda, Dadda.’

  Matthew grinned suddenly and settled his daughter in the crook of his arm. ‘Ah’ll carry her for a bit, if you like. She must be heavy for you after a time.’

  ‘She is,’ Esther admitted and eased her aching shoulders thankfully.

  They could hear the music from the saloon now, music such as Esther had never heard before. Inside, they sat down to listen to the sweet melodies from violins and then a man with a strong, vibrant voice began to sing. She couldn’t make out the words, but she enjoyed watching him waving his arms and closing his eyes and tossing his head. He knows what he’s singing about, she thought, even if I don’t. Then at the end everyone stood whilst the orchestra played ‘God Save the King’ and even some members of the audience were singing now, Esther noticed. Then it was over and they all went out once again on to the pier. It was cooler now than when they had gone in, and the breeze was even stronger so that Esther had to hold on to her bonnet and bend her head against the wind.

  ‘We’d best get back, Esther. Looks as if it could turn to rain.’

  Esther smiled up at him. ‘It’d be worth a soaking. I don’t know when I enjoyed mesen so much.’

  Playfully Matthew doffed his hat towards her and made a little bow. ‘We aim to please, ma’am.’ Then, still carrying Kate in one arm, he put the other around Esther’s waist and held her close to him as they hurried along the pier and towards home.

  Esther was to look back on that day with a sense of regret. There had been, on that bright August Bank Holiday, the tentative hope that things could be better between herself and Matthew; that with a little time, they could become a family.

  But the happenings in the weeks that followed were to smash any chance they might have had of a lasting happiness.

  Nineteen

  WHEN Will Benson’s cart rattled into the yard on the following Friday morning, Esther called out from the back door, drying her hands on a towel as she went to meet him, ‘Whatever are you doin’ coming on a Friday? You was only here yesterday.’

  Instead of answering her question, he asked her another. ‘You heard the news?’

  ‘News? What news?’ Esther was shocked by the solemn expression on his face. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Will Benson without a smile beneath his moustache and a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Will – is summat wrong?’

  He climbed down slowly, a folded newspaper in his hand, and came towards her. Fleetingly she thought, something must be very wrong. He hasn’t even looked around for Kate, or asked about her.

  ‘We’re at war, Esther lass.’

  ‘War? What d’ya mean, war?’

  Will unfolded the newspaper he was carrying. ‘It’s in the paper.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Dun’t you get the local paper that comes out on a Friday?’

  Esther shook her head. ‘No, I dun’t bother with it, though I reckon Matthew sees it at the pub on a weekend. He’s sometimes mentioned bits of news – like a lifeboat rescue he was involved in, that sort of thing.’ A smile flickered briefly on her mouth, but died when there was no answering response from Will.

  He spread the paper out and began to read slowly but unfalteringly. ‘ “War declared. Note rejected by Germany. The following statement was issued from the Foreign Office at twelve fifteen this morning: ‘Owing to the summary rejection by the German Government of the request made by His Majesty’s Government for assurances that neutrality of Belgium will be respected, His Majesty’s Ambassador at Berlin has received his passports and His Majesty’s Government have declared to the German Government that a state of war exists between Great Britain and Germany as from eleven p.m. on August the Fourth.’ ” ’

  Esther gasped. ‘But – but the fourth – that was Tuesday.’

  Will nodded.

  ‘But on Monday, we – we were on the pier with – with all the holiday-makers. We – we had a lovely day . . .’

  Will nodded again. ‘Ah know, lass, and so did a lot more ail over the country, never thinking that the very next day we’d
all be at war. Oh there’s been talk and rumour for a bit now, but Ah dun’t think anyone – well, not the likes of us, anyway – took it serious. But the town . . .’ He jerked his head in the direction of Lynthorpe, through which he had just passed. ‘It’s fair buzzing with rumour and gossip. They reckon there’s boats patrolling along the coast. They say Lynthorpe Territorials left by the eight o’clock train this morning and that boy scouts over thirteen are being required for running despatches and such’

  ‘What will it mean? It – it won’t make any difference to us, will it? Not here at the Point?’

  ‘Ah dun’t know what it’ll mean, lass.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It might all be over very quickly, but – ‘ he sighed heavily – ‘on the other hand . . .’

  ‘What?’ Esther prompted, her tone sharp with anxiety.

  He looked at her with sorrowful eyes and added gravely, ‘It could change all our lives.’

  They were still standing together, poring over the newspaper and the snippets of news about the war, when Matthew came into the yard a hedge knife in his hand. He had been working in the fields, trimming hedges. His forehead glistened with sweat and there were dark wet stains on his shirt under his arms.

  ‘Ah’ve just heard. Is it true, Will?’ There was an air of excitement about him.

  Will nodded and held out the newspaper towards him. Matthew took it eagerly and scoured the page. ‘It says there’s a rumour there’s been a naval engagement off Flamborough Head.’ He looked up at Will. ‘That’s up north from here, ain’t it, on the Humber?’

  Will nodded. ‘Aye, just north of the mouth of the Humber.’

  Esther glanced in the direction of the sea, as if she suddenly expected to see soldiers appearing over the sand dunes and advancing in steady lines across the land – her land. She shook herself and said firmly, as if by doing so she could refute the possibility, ‘Oh, come in and have a cup of tea, Will. It’ll not affect the likes of us.’

  Just as she turned away she saw the two men exchange a knowing look. The older man sombre and afraid, the younger with an air of anticipation and exhilaration.

  It seemed to Esther that the days that followed were filled with nothing but the talk of the war. Even young Ernie Harris, his eyes bright with excitement, came with news for Matthew.

  ‘The squire’s leading a recruiting rally tonight in the town. Shall ya tell the mester for me?’

  Esther swung round to stare at him, her eyes dark with anger. ‘Ah’ll do no such thing, an’ you’re not to think of going, Ernie Harris!’

  He grinned at her cheekily, a newborn confidence in his manner. ‘Just try and stop me!’

  ‘You’re not old enough, Ernie. Ya can’t—’ But the boy had turned and was running out of the yard, giving a little hop and jump every so often, capering almost, as he ran home.

  Esther shook her head. ‘Madness,’ she murmured. ‘Sheer madness.’.

  When Esther found out that her husband planned to attend the recruiting rally in the town on the first of September, she asked Ma Harris if Enid would come to the farm and look after Kate so she could attend too.

  ‘Aye, she can come, lass,’ Mrs Harris said, but added doubtfully, ‘Yar man’ll not like it. Men dun’t like women interfering in such things.’

  Esther snorted. ‘Then he’ll have to lump it. If he thinks he’s got any grand notion of volunteering, he’s got another think coming.’

  Instead of laughing, as Esther might have expected, Ma Harris merely shook her head and sighed. ‘Dun’t mek a fool of him, lass, ya’ll regret it.’

  Esther stared at her. ‘Ya not letting Ernie go, are ya?’

  Ma shrugged. ‘Can’t stop the young ’uns, lass. Nor the old ’uns, come to that.’

  Tuesday evening was clear and fine when Esther watched Matthew walk out of the yard dressed in his best suit, his watch-chain looped across his chest, and set off purposefully in the direction of the town. She saw Ernie Harris running down the road from the Point, saw him draw level with Matthew and fall into step beside him. She watched them until they turned a bend in the lane and were lost from her sight. At that moment, Enid arrived to sit with Kate, and Esther put on her coat and hat. Pulling the back door to behind her, she set off across the yard. As she drew level with the barn she heard footsteps in the lane and, not wishing to be seen, she hid behind the corner of the building, peeping out to see who it was. She almost gasped aloud. A group of men from the Point, all dressed in their Sunday best, were walking towards the town. She spotted Robert Eland with the landlord of the pub. There was Mr Harris and Beth’s father, Dan Hanley, too.

  Esther clicked her tongue with exasperation. Now she would have to wait until they were well up the lane before she could set out. When they too had taken the curve in the road, she left her hiding place and followed them at what she hoped was a safe distance.

  ‘Esther – Esther, lass. Wait for me!’

  She turned to see Ma Harris hurrying towards her as fast as her little round body would allow. ‘You going to the meeting, lass?’

  Esther nodded grimly. ‘I don’t want Matthew to see me though.’

  ‘Huh, I don’t want my old man to see me either,’ Ma Harris replied with feeling, but tonight there was no toothless grin, no attempt at humour.

  On a green stretch of grass on the sea front, a huge crowd had gathered. At one end on a raised dais were a table and several chairs where some of the local dignitaries had gathered. When Esther arrived and joined the throng, weaving her way through the crowd in order to hear better, Squire Marshall was on his feet addressing the meeting, shaking his fist in the air.

  ‘We are fighting for our very existence, for freedom and democracy. In Belgium ordinary men are being shot and their women violated . . .’ A horrified gasp rippled amongst the crowd. ‘And when they have overrun Europe they will turn upon us, upon Britain. We must unite for God, for our King and for our country . . .’

  Cheers broke out all around Esther, as the squire thumped the air with his raised fist. Then he turned and gestured towards a middle—aged man in army uniform, with several medals on his chest. He was introducing him to the crowd. ‘We are privileged to have Major Langley with us this evening. He is a recruiting officer for Lincolnshire. Major Langley, I invite you to address the gathering.’ The squire almost bowed towards his honoured guest as he rose and stepped forward.

  The major’s booming voice rang out over their heads, echoing in the dusk of the evening. He entreated all the local men between nineteen and thirty-five to enlist. ‘You all stand and sing the National Anthem or Rule Britannia, but now we ask you to prove your patriotism by your sense of duty.’ His voice suddenly softened, and yet it still carried out into the night air. ‘I pay tribute to the great self-sacrifice of the women of our country during the past few weeks. Bravely, they have waved goodbye to their loved ones who have given themselves – their very lives – in the service of their King and country.’

  His voice rose. ‘No young woman should allow herself to be seen with a man between the ages of nineteen and thirty-five unless he wears the King’s uniform.’ A few in the crowd applauded and he leaned towards them. ‘For any man who does not wear the uniform will make a rotten lover . . .’ the crowd cheered – ‘and a very much worse husband,’ The cheers grew louder.

  Oh, he’s clever, thought Esther, he’s very clever. First he fosters a sense of outrage by his stories of the violation of women and children in Belgium, then he appeals to a man’s pride and sense of honour and as a final weapon he states blatantly that only a man in uniform is worthy of a woman’s love and pride. He’s making it a matter of a man’s virility.

  Major Langley was speaking again, issuing a veiled threat. ‘If the young men of our country do not answer the call, the same fate will befall our women and children as those in Belgium. I know our fine young men cannot – will not – let that happen!’

  Loud cheering and applause broke out and there was a surge towards the platform as from all
sides young men moved forward to volunteer.

  To a great roar from the crowd, the squire’s elder son, Rodney Marshall, was the first to step up on to the platform and be greeted by a vigorous handshake from the major. The squire beamed and surveyed the crowd, holding out his arm to show off his boy, as if it were the proudest moment in his life.

  Others were following, climbing up on to the platform to be greeted by Major Langley.

  Esther grabbed Ma Harris’s arm. ‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘There’s Ernie! We’ve got to stop him.’

  Ma Harris, though her eyes were fixed upon her son, remained motionless.

  ‘Come on, Ma. We’ve got to—’

  Ma was shaking her head. ‘No, lass,’ she said quietly, so softly that Esther had to bend her head closer to hear what she said above the excited hubbub. ‘No, let him be. He’ll not thank me for interfering. Neither would his dad.’

  ‘Ma, you can’t let him go. He’s not old enough anyway.’

  Ma shook her head ruefully. ‘That’ll not stop him – nor them taking him.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell them,’ and Esther made as if to push her way through the crowd towards the platform.

  ‘’Ere, who you shoving?’ The man in front of her turned round to see who was trying to elbow their way through. ‘Wait ya turn . . .’ When he saw it was a woman, he grinned and his tone changed. ‘Hello there, darling,’ he leered. ‘Want to do ya bit for King and country, eh?’

  ‘Let me through,’ Esther said, outraged. ‘One of the volunteers on the platform is under age and I mean to stop him.’

  ‘Oho, I can’t let you do that, me darling. If the lad wants to go, then—’

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Esther spat and pushed the man in the chest with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Esther, don’t—’ Ma Harris tried to intervene, but no one was listening to her.

  At once anger replaced the man’s teasing tone and he grasped Esther roughly by the arms. ‘Oh no, you don’t . . .’