Songs of Spring

by Amy Myers

  ‘Let us pray for Joe Dibble in Italy …’

  Half past seven the news had come through that the war was over not only in Austria, but everywhere. Their war had been over for a week now, but Joe was going to keep his head down being in a pioneer battalion, for the fighting had been far more bitter than any he could recall on the Western Front. Mines didn’t know there’d been an armistice, and snipers didn’t care. Nothing was going to prevent his getting back to Muriel and the kiddies, he vowed. In fact, maybe he’d pray. It must be being brought up in a rectory, he supposed, because public praying in the Army wasn’t common – except at gatherings held by the padres. He didn’t know anyone who didn’t confess to praying privately though.

  ‘Keep me – keep us all safe,’ he asked God vehemently, as he ate breakfast, if you could call this chow breakfast. He thought of the huge breakfasts his mother used to serve at the Rectory, and wondered if she were still doing it, despite the rations. If not, she would begin again soon. The Rectory would go on for ever, just as it always had. Nothing could change there.

  ‘A prayer for our son George.’

  How were they supposed to know when the war was over? George wondered. Carry on as usual were the orders – until eleven o’clock – and by jingo they had. The squadron was still bombing German airfields, the only difference was that the enemy weren’t putting up much resistance. No sign of a Fokker in the sky. Where were they now, the von Richthofens and the Udets? Their day was over. And so soon would his be, he realised thankfully, consulting his old pocket watch.

  He landed and walked into the mess. No one noticed, such was the hubbub and the drinking going on. His solitary flight in the sky had more to do with armistice than this din. Still, he had to be sociable. Soon the rightful owners would be back in the chateaux so eagerly commandeered by the military and air forces, and signs of war would slowly vanish. It was over.

  George suddenly felt giddy with relief as he realised this was indeed so, and he was ready for the pint of beer pushed into his hand. Tonight he’d see Florence, and life would begin once again.

  ‘Lord, we ask you to bring Jamie Thorn back to his family again …’

  Jamie hadn’t felt much like rejoicing, just a great thankfulness that they could pack up and go home. Stupid, having orders to carry on fighting till eleven o’clock. Some poor sods would get shot all for nothing. He wouldn’t be one of them though, for he’d get home to Ashden if it was the last thing he did. This trench in which he was bivouacking was disgusting; it was a German one now overrun by the Brits, and the way it was constructed showed the Germans weren’t good at everything. There was no sound anywhere for everyone was keeping his head down, determined not to be wiped out at this late moment. They’d been ordered not to fraternise with the enemy after eleven o’clock. To hell with that. 1914 was over, and so were these outdated attitudes. As he and his mates looked at each other in wonder when the gup shot round that it was eleven o’clock, Jamie had decided not to wait.

  ‘Come on, mate.’ He hauled Jack Wilson over the top with him. In the distance they could see German helmets cautiously emerging from their lines. Jamie wanted to run to meet them but he couldn’t somehow. His legs seemed heavy, like in a dream. He got there in the end though.

  ‘How are yer, Fritz?’ He clapped one enormous German on the back.

  Funny, he thought of him as Fritz, not the Boche any longer. Not Huns. Just old Fritz, away from his family, like Jamie was. He wouldn’t be away from Agnes much longer though. Jamie felt faint at the prospect and almost stumbled.

  ‘What’s up, mate?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Feel odd,’ he mumbled. He swayed again, propping himself up with his rifle. Then he realised Jack, his old mate, was drawing away in horror. What was wrong? The truth struck him with sudden and terrible irony. The men had been dropping dead like flies in the last few days, and he’d got it. The sodding Spanish flu.

  ‘No!’ A great wail tore itself from him. He’d come through four years of war, fought at the Somme, Cambrai, every bloody where. He’d won a fucking medal and he was going to die of fucking flu.

  ‘Lord, we pray for my daughter Phoebe and her coming baby and thank you for the happiness Billy has brought to her.’

  ‘We’ll have to celebrate at lunch, love. I’ll be at the Britannia tonight.’ Billy kissed her, as the maroons died away. ‘Think of me. It’s going to be lively.’

  ‘Think of you? I’m coming,’ Phoebe replied.

  ‘No, love, it won’t be safe, not with the baby.’

  ‘Then make it safe,’ Phoebe commanded. ‘The war’s over. I’ll ask Caroline and Yves to come with me. Oh, I know.’ She beamed. ‘I’ll ask Tilly to take me by ambulance. Even the thickest crowds will let that pass. And if you’re really worried, we’ll take Felicia too.’

  ‘Lord, we pray for my daughter Felicia …’

  ‘What will you do tonight, Felicia?’ someone asked as she dashed to the cloakroom.

  ‘Nothing in particular.’

  ‘But you must, it’s special. The war’s over. Come with us.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She was exhausted. With all the flu patients in addition to the war wounded, life was hectic and did not stop being so just because eleven o’clock had struck and the fighting had stopped. As she walked out of the hospital at lunchtime, a voice said quietly:

  ‘Hello, Felicia.’

  ‘Daniel!’

  He grinned, then waved his stick threateningly. ‘I’ve come to take you out to lunch, young woman. And I’m taking you to dinner tonight.’

  ‘There won’t be a restaurant seat in London,’ she laughed, well pleased.

  ‘I’ve booked lunch for two at the Carlton for Admiral Beatty. If he doesn’t show up, and we do, the restaurant won’t care.’

  ‘I’ll have to change.’

  ‘Permission granted.’

  ‘Lord, we pray for Lady Hunney and her family …’

  Maud Hunney sat alone in her morning room at the Dower House. John was in London, of course, and no doubt she could join him later in the day if she wished to do battle with the crowds and delays that train travel would bring. John had telephoned the news earlier, and the Rector had called too. He had said he knew how she must be feeling. Did he? Perhaps so, for he was a perceptive man – and, she realised with some surprise, not being in the habit of thinking this way, a good friend. Times had indeed changed, even for her. Before the war the Manor did not think of its rector as a good friend, since it was the patron of the living. Perhaps that too would change now the war was over. That meant no more mothers would be put through what she and most families in the land had endured.

  At the end of this war she had one son dead, the other maimed, that was what she was reflecting on. Once, it had seemed vital to have an heir to carry on the estate. It did so no longer, and, though Daniel would inherit, he would not have children. Once, that too would have been a crushing blow. Now it seemed irrelevant, for just to have Daniel was enough. Once, it had seemed important that Caroline Lilley was not the stuff from which squires’ ladies were made, despite her capabilities in other fields. Now it was irrelevant, and Reggie was dead anyway. Maud briefly wondered whether she had been right to force her views about Caroline on Reggie. She did not know, but it had seemed right at the time.

  Perhaps the Rector had in mind, also, that she was here alone. There was no one with whom she could mark the end of the war – or was there? She hesitated as an idea came to her. It would go against everything she had lived for, and yet the impulse for company, for unity, was overpowering. She pulled the bellrope, but there was no reply. She was about to do so again, when the obvious reason for the lack of service belatedly occurred to her. She rose to her feet, and walked steadily into the servants’ quarters from where there was much noise of merrymaking. Here she was a stranger in her own house. Her butler, her cook and the three maids were involved in a wild dance of some sort, accompanied by a tinny gramophone, and they were celebrating with mugs of tea c
lutched perilously in their free hands.

  Maud cleared her throat. ‘I wonder …’ she asked almost humbly, ‘if I might join you for a few moments?’

  An aghast silence followed for they had not heard her come in. It was Mrs Coombs recovered first. ‘Certainly, madam. May I pour you a cup of tea?’

  ‘That is kind. However, I believe that now the war is over, it would not be unpatriotic to open the cellar door once more. I recall there are at least two bottles of champagne left. That might suffice.’

  They looked at her, Maud thought wryly as her butler scuttled to unlock the door, as though the world had come to an end. But it hadn’t. It had begun again and now would start the long uphill task of rebuilding. Today was a time to rejoice that the slaughter was over, but tomorrow the cost and the grief must be faced.

  ‘And lastly, Lord, we pray for the soul of our daughter Isabel, who lies side by side with the fallen on the field, for her husband, Robert, in his prison camp, and’ – as Laurence’s voice broke – ‘for our dear daughter Caroline and the hard path ahead of her …’

  How odd to be doing this once more, Caroline thought dizzily, as she clung hard to Luke on the one side and Yves on the other, as they were swept along by the crowd with one common aim: to reach the Palace. The last time she had done this was in August 1914 when Reggie – to her mingled horror and pride – had volunteered, and with him she had joined the crowds outside the Palace the night war was declared, as Britain’s ultimatum to Germany passed its deadline. That had been a sombre occasion, but one sound was the same as today: ‘God Save the King’. And King George deserved to be saved. He had done a splendid job of leadership throughout the war, an inspiration to those at home as well as in the trenches. He had led the country in so many ways, not least by signing the pledge and locking the cellars at the Palace. It was said that Buckingham Palace lived on the same rations as any of their subjects. The King had travelled to the front many times, and toured hospitals here and abroad. Queen Mary, too, had indefatigably made her own war effort, opening canteens, creating war organisations and organising their own allotments for growing vegetables, and encouraging her family to do the same.

  The King had already appeared once on the balcony, but the crowds were growing thicker all the time and he must surely emerge once more. It was November, not August as on that earlier occasion, but no one noticed the cold as they waited. Just before one o’clock His Majesty came out again with Queen Mary and his daughter, and the crowd roared its approval, after he had spoken a few words.

  ‘Look!’ Caroline clutched Yves’ arm. ‘The Queen’s waving a flag!’

  For some reason this idiotically small detail seemed significant, and the crowd seemed to agree because they roared their appreciation. The Queen was usually so stately and forbidding, yet here she was like anyone else, waving a flag in happiness. She was human after all. The crowd approved of their monarchs, as the Belgians did of King Albert and Queen Elisabeth. Tomorrow, Caroline realised, she must face her own problems again, but today it was wonderful to lose herself in the unity of the crowd around her which took on a character of its own, independent of the individuals composing it.

  They returned reluctantly to the office that afternoon, but work had no momentum, as outside the noise of celebration increased rather than decreased. There was one fine moment when over the noise of the crowd came a familiar sound.

  ‘Listen,’ said Yves, ‘what’s that?’

  Caroline did listen. ‘It’s Big Ben,’ she cried joyously. It had been muzzled for so long. Yves had probably never heard it before, but now its boom rang out once more and that, even more than the maroons, signalled that peace was here. Just as it finished striking the hour, Tilly telephoned to ask what plans she and Yves had for the evening.

  ‘Plans?’ Caroline echoed, nonplussed. She glanced at Yves, realising the evening might present a nightmare of discussion on their future – or lack of it.

  ‘Billy’s playing at Stratford this evening. I’m taking Phoebe in an ambulance, and we’re proposing to make it a family party. You’re coming, Yves, Penelope, Felicia—’

  ‘Me,’ Luke chipped in on the extension.

  A second’s pause, then, ‘Of course, but—’

  ‘Settled.’ Luke hung up.

  ‘Be advised, bring a picnic,’ Tilly said briskly. A glow of pleasure ran through Caroline. The perfect way to spend the evening.

  ‘I don’t see the need for an ambulance,’ she commented. ‘Phoebe’s perfectly well. A taxi—’

  She was interrupted by hoots of laughter from Luke and Yves. ‘Caroline, my love,’ Yves explained, ‘the crowds are thick now, tonight they will be thicker.’

  ‘And drunker,’ Luke added.

  ‘And – er – lustier.’ Yves was straight-faced.

  ‘Lustier?’

  ‘Tilly obviously realises there will be sights that no well-brought-up rector’s daughters should view.’

  ‘Don’t be pompous, Yves.’ Caroline hurled her chair cushion at him, and he shook his head sadly.

  ‘I am your superior officer. Kindly salute when you throw things at me.’

  Underneath the banter lay the tension, however, and Caroline was relieved that the evening would provide another escape, however brief.

  In the event, not one but two ambulances arrived at Queen Anne’s Gate, one driven by Tilly, the other by Felicia.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ Caroline enquired.

  ‘On the grounds that a poor disabled soldier needed one, as well as Phoebe,’ Daniel yelled from the back, and Caroline realised the reason for Tilly’s odd pause on the telephone.

  ‘Do you mind Daniel being here?’ she asked Luke, concerned.

  ‘Tonight, no,’ Luke replied magnanimously. ‘She has two arms, we’ll each take one, and march her into the theatre.’

  For all his joking, Caroline conceded Yves had a point about the crowds. The darkness of a November evening had turned the happy crowd into a potential mob. Through the small windows of the ambulance it was obvious that drink was indeed adding its influence to the celebrations, and there seemed to be embracing couples everywhere. Even so, there was a frenetic, almost sinister quality in the air, in people’s relentless search for an adequate expression of relief, and she was glad she was inside the ambulance and not outside.

  Billy had secured them a large box at the theatre, and miraculously some chicken for supper to add to their individual picnic celebrations, and joined them during the interval. He had brought the house down with his reiteration of the traditional ‘Mafeking has been relieved’ announcement, quickly followed by a correction, ‘Mons has been relieved’. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Canadian and British troops entered Mons today.’ Mons was where the war had in practice begun for the British Expeditionary Force, and it was on his way there that Daniel had been wounded. Caroline glanced at him to see if he was upset by this reminder, but he winked at her.

  ‘That’s in remembrance of me,’ he whispered, and added even more quietly, ‘and all the other poor devils.’

  Caroline said very little during the picnic, content just to enjoy being with so many she loved. It was not only she and Yves who had problems to face; they all did in some way. At the very least readjustment would not be easy. Take Penelope, for example. Penelope was always popular with men, but somehow she never met anyone, she had once confided to her, for whom she felt love. Perhaps it was her strong personality that made her seek something hard to find among the men of her acquaintance. Caroline remembered how jealous she had been of Penelope when she had been Reggie’s girlfriend – until she rejected him. Since then, Caroline had seen Penelope with many escorts; she was cheerful, friendly – but not in love with them.

  ‘What will you do?’ Caroline asked her now.

  ‘No idea. Start a driving school, perhaps. Organising seems to be the only thing I’m good at.’ Penelope spoke lightly but Caroline detected a tinge of bitterness. ‘At least,’ Penelope added, ‘you never say I’l
l meet some nice young man and settle down. Nice young men don’t want to settle down with rackety women like me, even if I am an earl’s daughter. Earls’ daughters are expected to come out and then go straight back. That means back into their traditional role, ladies-in-waiting for marriage.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Tilly observed amiably.

  ‘No,’ Penelope agreed fervently. ‘You’re my inspiration. I could go into politics, I suppose,’ she added. ‘That’s if parliament ever gets round to allowing women to stand.’

  ‘You can have my seat in the Lords,’ her father said generously. ‘I don’t think my dear brother would like that.’ James would be returning from the East with his regiment soon.

  ‘Marry one of those Labour fellows,’ Billy suggested wickedly.

  Penelope rose to the bait. ‘I don’t have to marry anyone. I would stand in my own right.’

  ‘You’re not old enough yet.’

  ‘True, but it won’t be that long, and in any case I won’t marry.’

  ‘Why not?’ Felicia asked, genuinely interested.

  Maybe it was the champagne talking, or maybe it was because it was Felicia asking, but Penelope revealed that in fact she had met someone. ‘Unfortunately,’ she added briskly, ‘he’s not free, as they say. Pa disapproves, don’t you, you fusty old grumpy?’

  ‘No,’ Simon replied amiably. ‘Not if it’s what you want.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Penelope said. ‘He has a child, too, so that’s that. Anyway, he’s never even cast an admiring look at my eyelashes. No, we have to remember there’s a brave new world out there awaiting us women, especially me, Caroline, and Tilly.’

  ‘Not me?’ enquired Felicia.

  ‘No, darling, your path is fixed.’

  Felicia gave her a black look and Simon quickly intervened. ‘That brave new world is going to be your father so far as one of you is concerned.’