Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  The news comforted Annabel and Martha, but did little to allay Edward’s fears, though he kept them to himself. In September, he had begun to read the first casualty lists to appear in the newspapers, but these he kept from both Martha and Annabel. Several local men had volunteered, two from his own farm and one from Joe Moffatt’s, and he heard on market day that several had gone from Fairfield village. Whilst volunteers would not be sent out to the Front yet – Edward was wise enough to know that if the war went on, as he sadly believed it would do, at first it would be the British Expeditionary Force who would face action and then, possibly, the Territorials – eventually the volunteers would be sent. And with them, the three cousins were likely to go.

  By the time a parade was arranged in May 1915, the makeshift uniforms had been replaced by proper khaki uniforms with Lincolnshire regimental cap badges. They marched from Cleethorpes railway station through the streets into Grimsby arriving at the People’s Park gates where the Mayor was waiting to welcome them. Cheering crowds marked their progress and excited little boys ran alongside the marching men as they again passed through the town to the sound of bands playing until at last they boarded a train back to Brocklesby.

  ‘We’ll be leaving here soon,’ Theo said the following day. ‘Let’s go into town and have our photographs taken. Then we’ll go home to say “goodbye”.’

  Dressed in their brand-new uniforms the three young men faced the camera, keeping rigidly still and staring into the lens, a fear deep in their eyes that they were unable to hide. They each had one taken standing on their own and then a fourth photograph with all three of them together. Theo sat on a stool whilst the other two stood behind him, each with a hand resting on his shoulder.

  ‘How many copies would you like?’ the photographer asked.

  ‘One of each of us on our own, three copies of the three of us,’ Theo said promptly, ‘and then one enlargement of the three of us.’ He held out his hands, measuring in the air. ‘About this size.’

  As they left the studio and stepped into the street, Bertie asked, ‘What’s the big photo for?’

  Theo was grinning. ‘To hang with the rest of the family portraits in Fairfield Hall.’

  The other two gaped at him and then burst out laughing. ‘They’ll never let you.’ But Theo only laughed and put his arms about each of their shoulders. ‘Each one of us has a claim to the estate. Maybe not to the title, but to the estate, yes. And I promise you both, one day that photo will hang in pride of place in Fairfield Hall.’

  On the day before they were due to return to camp, Theo insisted that they should all go together once more to visit their families.

  ‘Uncle James is home,’ he told Charlie, ‘and I want you to meet him before we’re all likely to go to the Front. Did you know he’s a major now?’

  Mutely, Charlie shook his head.

  ‘Right, we’ll start at your place, Charlie, and then go back to the village to see your folks, Bertie, and then lastly, Fairfield Hall.’

  ‘They’ll not want us there,’ Bertie said. ‘Your mother nearly had an apoplectic fit last time.’

  Theo only grinned. ‘Maybe she’ll manage a full one this time.’

  Annabel tried hard to hold back the tears as she hugged each one of them fiercely. Theo and Bertie were almost as dear to her as her own son, but she knew now that there was nothing she could do to stop them going. All over the country, mothers were being parted from their sons, and many from husbands and brothers too.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said bravely, ‘you’ll all be back home very soon.’

  Edward was solemn as he shook their hands, his face looking suddenly so much older, and Martha wept openly, unable to hide her distress. ‘Oh Gran, please don’t cry. Give us a smile, eh?’ Charlie said, hugging her. But it was too much to ask and Martha couldn’t stop weeping for the rest of the day.

  Without saying a word, just before they left, Charlie placed copies of the photos they’d had taken on the kitchen table; one of himself on his own and the other of the three of them together. Whatever happened, he knew his mother would treasure them both.

  Nancy too sobbed against her son’s shoulder, but Agnes’s grief was too deep for tears. If their boy didn’t come back, what had either of them left to live for? Once, he had not been wanted, but now he was the centre of their world. Whatever would they do without him with only the photographs he had left them for comfort?

  They looked very smart in their uniforms as they marched up the driveway as if they were still on the parade ground. John Searby, older and greyer now, opened the front door.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Searby,’ Theo greeted him, removing his cap as he stepped inside, followed uncertainly by the other two. ‘We’re off this afternoon, so we thought we’d come and say goodbye.’

  ‘Very good, Master Theodore. Mrs Parrish will make tea for your friends if they’d like to follow me.’ The manservant was trying to give the young man a tactful hint. Theo noticed, but chose to ignore it. Politely, he said, ‘That will be lovely. We’ll all come down in a few moments, but first, is Uncle James here?’

  ‘In the morning room, sir.’

  Theo marched ahead again, ‘Come on, you chaps.’

  He gave a brief knock on the door and then opened it. ‘Uncle James – just popped in to say goodbye.’ He turned and said again, ‘Come on in.’

  The two boys sidled in, unsure of their reception. James rose to his feet from his chair by the window. His welcoming smile faded when he saw who was with his nephew. Bertie he recognized at once, as he’d seen him recently working on Chaffinch Farm, but it was when he looked at the other boy that shock jolted him. The young man standing before him was unfamiliar and yet, very familiar. He had the Lyndon hair colouring and James could see that he had his eyes and nose. The boy was undoubtedly a Lyndon and he realized that he was at last standing face to face with his son.

  ‘Uncle James, Bertie Banks I think you know, but this is Charles Lyndon, though he’s usually known as Charlie.’

  Father – and there could be no denying it now – and son stood facing each other.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Charlie,’ James said at last in a husky voice. ‘And you’re off to war, I see.’ He frowned. ‘But you can’t be old enough.’

  ‘I’m seventeen, sir.’ Charlie spoke with more confidence than he was feeling.

  ‘Only just,’ Theo put in. ‘He told the recruiting sergeant he was eighteen and they took him despite Bertie’s efforts to tell them he was underage. Anyway, we’ve done our training together and we’re off now and we mean to stick together – if they’ll let us. We joined the newly formed 10th Lincolnshire. I think they’re starting to call it the “Grimsby Chums”.’ He paused and then added softly, ‘Won’t you wish us well, Uncle James?’

  James’s gaze was still on Charlie, but at Theo’s question he jumped visibly and said quickly, ‘Of course. Of course I do.’ He moved towards them and shook each of them by the hand. ‘Come back safely.’

  ‘And now I must find Mama and Grandmother.’

  This time Bertie said firmly, ‘We’ll wait in the kitchen, Theo. You should see your mother on your own.’

  As they left the room, James watched them go with a heavy heart. Perhaps at this moment, only he, a serving officer, could guess at the horror which all these brave, honourable young men would have to face.

  And his son was going to be one of them.

  How he wished he had time to put things right, he thought, as he gazed down at the two photos he had seen Theo slip onto the sideboard as he left the room. Still holding the photo of all three young men, James moved slowly towards the desk facing the window. He sat down, pulled two or three sheets of writing paper towards him and picked up his pen.

  After a lot of thought, he began to write. The letter took him over an hour to compose, for he had many pauses, several times crumpling the sheets of paper and beginning again. At last, reading through what he had written twice, he folded the sheets and plac
ed them in an envelope, addressing it to Lady Annabel Lyndon, The Countess of Fairfield – in the event of my death.

  He rose from his chair and, carrying the letter, went out into the hallway and then up the stairs to his bedroom. Only a few moments later, he was asking Luke to saddle a horse so that he might ride into town.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, m’lord?’

  ‘No, no, thank you. This is something I must do for myself.’

  As he cantered away, James realized that there was not one of his employees whom he could trust to deliver such an important letter to his solicitor for safekeeping. So ingrained were they all with obedience to Dorothea during his long absences that he had not won their loyalty.

  The thought saddened him.

  Sixty-Four

  Brocklesby was to be remembered by the ‘Chums’ very fondly, when they arrived at their new camp near Ripon, in June 1915. Life there was to be very different. They would live twelve to a tent and undertake musketry courses, hard training on the Yorkshire moors and, of course, drill.

  ‘We’re to be part of a brigade,’ said Theo, who seemed to be the one to hear all the news first. ‘It’s getting serious.’

  ‘We won’t get so much leave then, will we?’ Charlie murmured, silently promising that he would write to his mother more often now they were further away.

  ‘When do you think we’ll go out there? To France?’ Bertie pestered.

  ‘Steady on, old chap,’ Theo laughed. ‘You’re rather keen, aren’t you?’

  Bertie grinned. ‘I rather thought that was what we’d all joined up for.’

  But it seemed the ‘Chums’ were not yet required at the Front. Over the next few months they moved three times, finally being housed in huts at Sutton Veny in Wiltshire.

  ‘We’re getting closer,’ Bertie said, as they boarded the train to take them all home for Christmas.

  Everyone tried to make merry, but a pall of anxiety hung over their relatives whilst the young men themselves were in a fever of excitement. Rumour had run riot around the camp that in the New Year of 1916 they would finally be going to France.

  They agreed that they would say nothing to their families who, after more than a year, had been lulled into thinking that their boys would not be sent into the fighting, that they were being held in reserve – just in case. But the British Expeditionary force and the territorials had sustained huge losses. The volunteers were now needed and the next step would be conscription. Each of them could hardly conceal their excitement and, when they congregated at Meadow View Farm before leaving to return to camp, Edward, Martha and Annabel could feel it, but Bertie side-tracked their thoughts by announcing, ‘Emmot Cartwright and I are walking out together. She’s promised to wait for me.’

  ‘Oh Bertie, how wonderful,’ Annabel cried, thinking back to the solemn-faced, hungry little girl with big round eyes. But Emmot had grown into a pretty young woman who helped her mother in the dairy of their farm. Theo and Charlie clapped him on the back and added their congratulations, though Edward found it hard to say anything. There had been a spate of hastily arranged marriages recently, before young men marched off to war, and Edward found it hard to be sympathetic. So many mothers, wives and sisters would soon be mourning the loss of their young men without adding to their number. Edward sighed. An old man now, he could nevertheless still remember what it was like to be young and in love with the whole of life yet to live. So many of these boys would not have a life to live. However, he smiled and shook Bertie’s hand and wished him well, as he did all three boys, but he watched them set off with a heavy heart and did not share his fears with either Martha or Annabel. There was only one person he confided in – Ben Jackson, when he met him on market days.

  ‘How will Lady Annabel take the news when it does come as it surely must?’ Ben asked Edward and the old man shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I don’t know, Ben. She’s been very brave up until now, but when it comes to it – I really don’t know. How I wish you would visit us. I know she’d like to see you. She asks me every market day when I get home if I’ve seen you.’

  ‘Does she?’ He was heartened to hear that she still thought of him and yet it was hopeless; he dare not visit her, dare not start the tongues wagging again, not even after all these years – at least, not until he heard that her husband had divorced her and, after all this time, there seemed to be no chance of that.

  The night before the three boys were due to return to camp, Annabel had thrown a surprise party at Meadow View Farm. She’d invited Nancy, her mother and Emmot and, for a few precious hours, everyone had been able to forget that the next morning their beloved boys would leave them. They had no idea when they would see them again.

  When the three cousins arrived back at camp, they were told they were leaving for France the next day on different ships. They met up again in Le Havre, from where they marched to a rest camp. After various moves, which seemed to be bringing them closer to the front lines, they came at last to Armentières at the beginning of February, from where they would go into the trenches and Bertie wrote home excitedly both to Nancy and now to Emmot too that they were now under real enemy fire, but that there was ‘nothing much happening here’.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ his mother and Emmot agreed. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  They were in the front-line trenches for a couple of days’ ‘initiation’. The officer in charge told them, ‘We “stand to” twice a day for an hour each time, at dawn and then again at dusk, on the fire step in the front trench with full equipment. In fact, you must wear your equipment at all times, even when you’re carrying supplies. Tough, I know, but it’s necessary. Just remember to keep your heads down. Any movement seen above the parapet invites sniper fire or even shelling,’ he warned them. ‘And be especially careful when you’re bringing supplies or relieving the front line. The enemy is aware of movement and knows it’s an opportune time to shell us. And whenever there’s an alert of enemy activity, or during the night, bayonets are fixed. And now, I’ll show you where you’ll be posted when you’re on lookout duty.’

  The sentry’s position was in a small trench dug at right angles from the main trench and towards the enemy lines where the lookout would listen for sounds and watch for signs of enemy activity.

  ‘That’s just to let us know what it’s like,’ Theo muttered as they made their way back through the winding trench to the support lines. ‘Normally, we’ll be in the fire trenches for about four days, I’ve heard. And then a similar time in the support trenches ferrying supplies and ammunition, some time in reserve and then – oh joy – a period of rest. And then we start the whole cycle again. Of course, that all changes if there’s action.’

  ‘It’s so cold and wet,’ Charlie grumbled. ‘I don’t think my feet have been dry for a week.’

  ‘We’d best have a look at you, old chap. Don’t want you getting this thing they call trench foot.’

  Theo led the way into a dugout as four huge rats scurried out, disturbed by their arrival. Used to the creatures on the farms, the three young men were not fazed by them, though Bertie remarked, ‘They’re big buggers, aren’t they? Can’t say I like the idea of one running over my face when I’m asleep.’

  Theo gave a wry laugh. ‘One blighter ran over mine only last night. Got his back feet in my mouth. I felt like giving him a bite, but I knew his retaliation would be far worse, so I let him go. Get the brazier going, Bertie. Let’s have something hot. But mind the smoke doesn’t give us away. Now, Charlie, let’s look at those feet of yours.’

  It wasn’t long before the ‘Chums’ suffered their first casualty when a private was wounded and suddenly the whole excursion became very serious, made more so at the end of the month when the first fatalities occurred.

  Now the cousins knew they were really at war.

  Theo and Charlie both kept their letters to their families light and jovial, even when the snow came and it was hard to write with stiff fingers, sitting in a freezing
dugout and listening to the bullets whistling overhead, but Bertie wrote home with the truth, telling Nancy and Emmot about the casualties, the comrades they’d already lost and the dreadfully cold conditions, yet always ending with the words. ‘But don’t worry about us. We’re still together and watching out for each other . . .’

  They became used to the ever-changing routine; so many days in the trenches and then so many days behind the lines when they could go to the nearest town, spend time in cafés or at some kind of entertainment if any was available, or even just flirt with the local girls. Theo and Charlie went frequently to one particular café where the two pretty waitresses had caught their eye.

  ‘You go,’ Bertie urged them. ‘I’ll stay here and write to Emmot.’

  It was the only time the three cousins were ever apart for long.

  I haven’t a clue where we are, but Theo (who knows everything) says we’re near the River Somme and there’s a feeling that something big’s afoot, Bertie wrote to Emmot, wondering if his words would ever reach her past the censor, but he wrote them anyway. You know what I mean. It’s like when Aunt Annabel planned that party on the last night. We’d guessed something was up because of all the whispering and the piles of food being hidden in the pantry. Well, it’s like that, but we reckon this is going to be a very different kind of party. Ammunition to blow the enemy sky high is being carried up to the front trenches. It’s rumoured there’s going to be a big push to divert the enemy’s attention from the French at Verdun. They’ve had an awful time. So it looks like it’s our turn now. If we could only move forward instead of just being stuck in the same place for months on end.

  During the last days of June, the allies began a huge barrage against the enemy with weapons of all descriptions. On duty in the front line, Theo, Charlie and Bertie stood shoulder to shoulder watching the gunfire and shelling landing on the enemy’s trenches.