A Son of War

by Melvyn Bragg

  Save that he was basking in it. He was like a seal being fed fish. Up he leaped and every time more indulgences would be given. Ellen kept his cup full. Grace had brought out a valuable fruit loaf. The sandwiches were soaked in syrup. His every remark was weighed.

  When Sam entered the stumbling conversation, Colin drew himself up in his chair rather as a boy would have stiffened his back as the teacher addressed him. A certain wariness. A certain preening. No, he had not been in the army or anywhere else for his National Service. Weak chest - Ellen looked alarmed. Failed the medical. Tried three times. Failed three times. Trouble holding down a job. Get a start. Do well. In line for early promotion. Chest played up. Out on his ear. What he needed was a job that did not get to his chest and a boss who would give him a real chance.

  Sam sympathised. Rotten luck. His attitude softened. Without irony, he offered another cigarette. Accepted. Tucked behind his ear for later.

  It was when Joe came in that Sam switched to full alert.

  ‘This,’ said Ellen, unwrapping the biggest present of all, ‘is your uncle Colin.’

  Joe just looked. It would mean no piano practice and that was a relief, although he did not mind the piano. He liked the praise it could bring.

  ‘Colin.’ The young man leaned forward, arms outstretched. ‘None of this “Uncle”. You just call me Colin.’

  Joe looked to Ellen, who did not shake her head. He moved towards the waiting cage of embrace. Calling a grown-up by his first name! And a new uncle! He allowed himself to be hugged, rather winded by it.

  ‘What a great lad! Here.’ He fished in the pocket of the shiny navy blue suit. ‘This is for you.’ It was a shilling. Again Joe looked to Ellen and again she did not shake her head.

  ‘Thank you, Uncle … sorry, thank you …’

  ‘Colin, say Colin.’

  ‘… Colin.’ Joe stalled for a moment at the strangeness of it.

  ‘Can you do this?’

  Colin winked with his left eye, then his right, then his left eye again and again the right, slow to start and then quickening the pace. Ellen laughed aloud.

  Joe could only wink with his right eye.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ said Colin. ‘And what about this?’ He stuck out his tongue and touched the tip of his nose with it. Again Ellen laughed, though not so warmly, but Joe was delighted.

  ‘I’ll have to teach you that an’ all,’ Colin said, when Joe’s best efforts failed. ‘What you going to be, then?’

  Joe weighed up the form.

  ‘A boxer,’ he said, but quietly.

  ‘Good lad!’ Colin raised his voice and raised his arms in the classic English pose. ‘Straight left - bang, bang! On the nose! That’s the one - bang, bang! I could have been a boxer. This chest.’ He hawked and swallowed. It was not a welcome sound.

  He looked around for the applause he had so quickly got used to but the smile of Ellen was not as full and the stillness of Grace was plain disapproval.

  ‘Daddy told me about the straight left,’ said Joe.

  ‘Always know your left from your right and right from wrong, that’s what my daddy said to me, Joe.’

  ‘Did he?’ Ellen’s question was so eager.

  ‘One of the things. This is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Joe. Will Freddie Mills ever win a world title?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joe, loyal to the British champion.

  ‘No is the answer.’ Colin reached out, grabbed Joe’s arm and hauled him to within inches so that their faces almost touched. ‘Always respect your mammy and daddy now. Won’t you? I want you to promise.’

  Joe attempted to look for support but Colin had him in a grip.

  ‘Promise,’ he said.

  ‘Good lad.’ Colin let him go. Joe smiled at his mother as if he had given her a present with the promise and she looked so happy he knew that he had.

  ‘We’d better be off,’ said Sam.

  ‘Joe hasn’t done his practice,’ said Grace, swiftly.

  ‘He plays the piano,’ Ellen explained to Colin, trying to neutralise her tone. ‘Well, he’s starting to.’

  ‘A musician in the family!’ Colin looked amazed.

  ‘I can play three scales and two tunes,’ said Joe, flustered with the excitement of it all. The moment the boast left his lips he was aware of the ice blast from Ellen.

  ‘Give us a listen then.’

  With a glance of what he hoped was sufficient apology to his mother - but she would not satisfy him with a forgiving look - he went to the piano and performed the scale of C major with both hands.

  ‘That’s terrific!’ said Colin. ‘No flannel. Can you do another?’

  Sam went out. They would think he had gone to the lavatory. They could think what they wanted. Two more minutes of Colin and he would have hit the ceiling.

  In the cobbled yard he leaned against a wall opposite the row of run-down cottages from each of which came a glow of gas-light intimating a luxuriance of cosiness. He took his time over a cigarette and damped down that sudden flare of intense dislike. The man would go soon enough, he reassured himself. A visit was a visit. He would just have to shut his eyes and his ears and block out the effect the man had on Ellen and Joe. Sam shook his head to rid himself of the images of his wife and son, the one clinging admiringly to this worthless man, the other straining himself to please.

  He ground the butt into the cobbles with an over-emphatic twist of his heel. He could drag it out no longer.

  Only Grace was in the room, in the same seat, forlorn, her subjects all deserted her.

  ‘Colin wanted a walk up the street,’ she explained.

  Sam felt a rare sympathy for her.

  ‘So what did you make of him, Grace?’ The boldness of tone and question caused no offence. She was deep in the well of her past.

  ‘He is my nephew,’ she said, separating one word from the other with a pronounced gap that made them sound like a forced confession. ‘He is my only brother’s son. Whatever I make of him.’

  ‘What did you think of his father?’ It was a question that Sam had wanted to ask in his first weeks with Ellen. Not then. Not since. But now.

  ‘I thought the world of him.’

  Her voice was low and it vibrated with sorrow. Her head was bent and she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Sam. And that proud imperial figure lowered her head.

  ‘I always understood,’ said Sam, after a pause that indicated she would say no more unprompted, ‘that he was a bit of a black sheep, Grace. Word was you were glad to get rid of him.’

  ‘He was a black sheep.’ She nodded grim assent. ‘But I would have done anything to stop him running away.’

  ‘Why did he?’

  ‘Because he was weak!’ She was abrupt. Her head lifted. ‘He couldn’t face up to the consequences of what he’d done.’

  She breathed in deeply and he knew that there was only this opportunity.

  ‘What had he done?’

  She looked square at him again but now the beseeching had faded. Yet there was a sense that having gone this far it was only fair …

  ‘There was a history to it.’ Grace was regaining her caution. ‘Father was bad with him. And he couldn’t handle drink. There were a couple of scrapes. Leonard managed them but it couldn’t go on. He should never have married her. A pleasant little body, from the Newcastle side, sent over here to live with some aunt up in the hills. She was a very good-looking lass - you couldn’t deny that. And there was something about her - quiet, but she had Ellen’s smile about her. He fell hook, line and sinker, of course, and he could charm the birds off the trees when he wanted to. Leonard thought she would be the making of him because he did adore her at first and there was such a lot that was good in him.’ Her head tilted back, just slightly, as if she were swallowing imminent tears. She looked at Sam as if he were an inquisitor. ‘I’ll tell you no more. Leonard tried his best. But he ran away. A card now and then at Christmas and that was it.’ She looked out of the window but by
now her poise was recovered. 'I never even knew he’d passed over until that Colin of his marched in. He’s very like. Very like.’ She paused for a while and by straining Sam heard the music from a wireless in one of the guest rooms - a sound that barely rippled in the silence. Finally she looked directly at Sam, her eyes glazed with unshed tears, and added, ‘But I fear he hasn’t his father’s … good heart. No mind that he was weak.’

  The words were murmured and Sam pursued it no further. He stayed on just for a while, as if he were visiting a patient in hospital and wanted to make sure that everything was settled before he left.

  The cold outside caught him by the throat and a few flakes of snow twisted and swirled in the bitter wind. He clutched his jacket collar around his neck and bowed his head into the weather.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘They sent me a through ticket,’ said Mrs Baxter. 'It means I have to set off from Wigton station.’

  ‘Sam’ll carry your cases down.’ Ellen guessed that this was the reason for Mrs Baxter’s uncharacteristic visit and the expression of relief confirmed it.

  ‘If he wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘No, no.’ Ellen discouraged gratitude. ‘More tea?’

  ‘No, thank you. That was lovely, thank you.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Nearly three days. By the time I’ve changed from one thing to the other. There’s people to meet you at London and on to the boat. I wish it was over with.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll have it organised. Mary tells me she’s looking forward to it.’ Ellen smiled at the little girl, who was sitting deep in an armchair, her short legs just jutting over the edge of the cushion, her concentration fully trained on the farmyard she was crayoning in. Joe, thankfully, was at choir practice.

  'I wish I could say the same.’ Mrs Baxter blinked away the emotion that threatened and hid her face behind the cup, searching for a last sip of tea. ‘But there we are,’ she said, when she re-emerged.

  'It’s what he wants. You have to go where they go. What else can you do?’ Ellen felt chill. She leaned forward to poke the fire. ‘He says they give you nice houses. And there’s a school for Mary. But for all that Germany’s a funny place to be going, isn’t it? When you think.’

  "I'm sure it’ll work out,’ was the best Ellen could manage.

  ‘We were calling them everything not so long ago.’ Clearly Mrs Baxter wanted to talk.

  ‘People change,’ said Ellen, as dampeningly as she could.

  ‘But what they did!’

  ‘Sure you won’t have another cup?’

  ‘No.’ The hint was taken. ‘We’d best be getting back.’

  ‘You don’t have to rush off.’ Ellen knew that her guilt was painted on her face.

  ‘It’s time to go.’ Mrs Baxter pursed her lips. ‘And if Sam can’t do it …’

  ‘He will.’ Ellen’s interruption was over-loud. She repeated it quietly. ‘He will.’

  When they had gone, Ellen went into a wholly unnecessary bout of cleaning.

  The two suitcases were obese and Sam had to keep half a pace behind Mrs Baxter on the narrow pavements. Mary and Joe trailed along, saying nothing, both bulked out in winter layers, twin dumplings. Mary was wearing the maroon scarf Ellen had given her that morning.

  They were the only ones in the waiting room, so they could stand right next to the stove.

  ‘Can we go out and play?’

  ‘Not on that bridge,’ said Sam. To Mrs Baxter, ‘He once scared his mother half to death by monkeying along the ledge of that bridge. Not today. It’s too cold. There’ll be no grip.’

  Joe had to accept this. But the urge to get out of the waiting room overwhelmed any exhibitionist disappointment and he led Mary around to the back. There was a narrow space between the black railings and the sandstone building and Mary squeezed in first.

  ‘She’ll miss him,’ said Mrs Baxter. ‘They played well together.’

  ‘They soon make new friends.’ Sam was impatient for the train. His manner became more distant. Where was the train? He broke the silence when he realised it had become embarrassing. ‘What is it you’ll miss most then?’

  ‘I’ve thought a lot about that. And do you know?’ Mrs Baxter smiled rather coyly and Sam saw that she was an attractive woman, the smile transformed her utterly. It’s the whist drives in the parish rooms. Maybe because they let the kiddies come. Silly, isn’t it?’

  ‘They’ll have whist drives in Germany. And housey-housey - it’ll be just the job. Is that the train?’

  Joe had heard it first and he and Mary were standing on the platform, demurely apart.

  ‘One last thing,’ said Mrs Baxter, after Sam had swung the suitcases into an empty compartment and swung Mary in after them. She lowered her voice and looked at the ground. ‘What do I give porters for tips?’

  Sam, whose impatience had been accelerating, almost burst out laughing. ‘Threepence at Carlisle. Sixpence in London. But only if you feel like it because they’re getting paid anyway.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well then.’ Sam put out his hand. ‘The very best of luck to you. And you, Mary. You’ll look after your mother, won’t you?’

  Mary nodded and then, as bidden, said bye-bye to Joe, who solemnly returned the message. Sam wanted to leave immediately but Mary leaned out of the window and waved and Joe stayed rooted until the small figure withdrew.

  Joe looked up at his father and for a moment or two, as their eyes met, it was as if they could not see each other, did not quite recognise each other. Thoughts too deep for their words were stirred by the fading rhythm of the train as it ploughed through the white fields and eventually disappeared, leaving only a wave of smoke in the air as a last farewell.

  ‘Race you over the bridge.’

  Sam’s challenge was half-hearted, but Joe wrenched himself into a response and made an unenthusiastic dash for the steps.

  Later that afternoon the pain that had been sending out signals for a few days suddenly intensified. It seemed to explode in his jaw into his ear, into his brain, and within an hour or so it was difficult for Sam to remember a time when he had not had toothache. It was too late for the dentist.

  I’ll go across to Alf's and get some arrowroot,’ said Sadie. ‘Let Joe do it. It’s just across the street.’ Ellen did not like the way Joe had been moping all afternoon. ‘Go to the back door,’ she said, and handed him a shilling.

  His exit was rather lethargic. ‘Hurry up!’ Ellen was sharp. ‘Your dad’s not well!’ ‘That should fettle it up,’ said Sadie. ‘You just bite on it.’ Sadie had come to go to the pub and then the dance. Rather unusually, it was Ellen who had decided that she wanted to go out for the evening. She had mentioned this to Sadie who had promptly invited herself to go with them. Ellen was glad of it. Sadie had been her best friend for so long that she would have felt a touch lost on any outing without her. There was a little flattery in it. Sadie had always been devoted to Ellen and ever grateful that such a well-liked, well-known, respectable person, with Sam for a husband, should pick out someone like her. Sadie had no illusions. Her lean and gypsy looks bred unsavoury rumours; her husband’s occasional drunken batterings made her a woman of bad luck, better avoided; her menial existence allowed almost anyone in the town to feel superior if they chose. But she knew that Ellen really liked her.

  ‘You could rub Vaseline on your gums. And put something cold on your cheek. That can numb it.’

  ‘I’ll go and stand in the yard for a minute or two.’

  'It said in the paper it’s going to get very bad. We’ve had the best of it up here so far.’ Sadie loved the feeling of privilege this transient and freakish singularity had brought to the area. 'It says down south they have no electric for five hours a day.’

  ‘That would finish us off, then.’ Sadie missed Sam’s sarcasm.

  ‘There’s trains buried in snow, down south. Just think of that. Buried. And seventy-eight women was trapped by snow in Hull.’ The drama con
sumed her. Sam enjoyed the performance. ‘Coal ships is stuck in ice out at Newcastle. Stuck! Millions of factories can’t work.’

  Sam attempted no tease here. The paper-making factory that employed him as a slitter was on a continuous process and the managers were now letting the process run out until the material in circulation was exhausted. Then the factory would be closed down for maintenance work, usually done in the summer fortnight. They would be glad of Ellen’s wages. That irked him.

  He shifted in his seat as if that would help reduce the toothache. Curiously, for a moment or two, it did. ‘How long is he going to be?’

  ‘Alf'll probably have to ratch around for it.’ Sadie always took Joe’s side.

  ‘There’s ice in Water Street. In that horse trough,’ said Ellen. ‘I could wrap it up in a flour bag. You can hold it to your face.’

  She took the poker and pulled on her coat as she went through the door.

  ‘She’s gone to look for Joe.’ Sam smiled, a smile that turned into a wince. ‘She clucks over him all day.’

  ‘Who better to cluck over?’ Sadie’s indignation was high and instant. ‘He’s a super-dooper little lad. He sang “Yes, We Have No Bananas” for me last Wednesday after his piano practice when he came round with Colin. He’s very friendly, isn’t he, that Colin? Full of beans considering his condition. “Roll on the snow,” he says, “me and Joe’s going to make the biggest snowman in Wigton!”‘

  ‘Any chance of a fresh pot, Sadie?’