In Distant Fields

by Charlotte Bingham

  But even his mother’s swift intervention tailed to restore the colour to her younger son’s cheeks. Circe knew that, unlike with Almeric, the military life would never appeal to Gus, unsurprisingly since he was the brother who least enjoyed shooting, hunting or indeed even fishing. At heart Gus was a gentle soul, far more interested in music and painting. His mother smiled reassuringly at him, wishing there was some way she could prevent not just Gus, but both her sons from going into the wretched army.

  Beyond the pass door, down in the servants’ hall, Wavell and Cook were drinking tea and discussing the latest news gleaned from the newspapers.

  ‘Lord alone knows what is going to become of us, Mr Wavell,’ Cook said, putting down the News Chronicle. ‘There’s no going back now.’

  Wavell looked up from the Telegraph to glance at the faces of the younger members of the household, who were all sitting either at the large table or in easy chairs arranged around the servants’ hall, anxious as always to try to keep morale at its highest. He saw a look come into the young men’s eyes every time talk turned to the war, and knew that however boastful their talk about how they couldn’t wait to give the Hun a bloody nose as soon as they could be off, what they would all infinitely prefer would be for the Kaiser to stop his belligerence and for their leaders to come to their senses and put an end to all the rumours and unease. No one wanted to shoulder arms and be off to trade bullets with people who, to all intents and purposes, were no different from them; young men who at this very moment he imagined to be happily drinking their late night beverages somewhere, smoking their last cigarettes of the day, gazing into the eyes of their loved ones and hoping with all their hearts that tomorrow the world would awaken from what could well turn out to have been just a terrible nightmare.

  ‘They say the enemy will be able to attack us in all these purely unimaginable ways, Mr Wavell,’ Cook continued, oblivious of the butler’s warning look. ‘Not just on land and sea, but by air now, would you believe it? And with all these terrible new guns – and there’s even talk of gas now. I mean, what is our world coming to, Mr Wavell? I ask you. All we can do, we people, is to think up some new hell, some new ways of killing each other, I ask you, I really do.’

  ‘Is there any tea still in that pot, Cook?’ Wavell wondered, hoping he might be able to distract her from her present train of thought. ‘I wouldn’t say no to another cup.’

  ‘My sister,’ Cook went on, pouring the tea while she spoke, holding the top of the pot in place with a stubby finger, ‘my sister over at Leeds, now she’s got one boy in Russia, wouldn’t you know it? And another in the Balkans, of course, on his way back from India. Talk about being caught in the cross-fire. She wrote me to say she just hopes and prays she sees one of them home safe and sound.’

  Sipping his lukewarm tea, Wavell knew there was no stopping Cook in this frame of mind, so he did his best to switch off from the stream of worries Cook was intent on expressing, trying to blank out images of all the young men gathered in the hall in khaki, marching off to war with guns slung on shoulders and packs on their backs; trying not to imagine them wounded, desperately trying not to think of them dead, yet knowing this would be the fate of some, never to return to Blighty, to their home – or to Bauders. Wavell knew what it was like, having fought in the Zulu wars, then been invalided out of the army for wounds received at Cetewayo, before returning safely home, and going thankfully into service. He knew what went through young men’s minds when they were faced with making the ultimate sacrifice, just as he knew the only way to fight a war was to believe you would be one of the ones lucky enough to survive it.

  Excusing himself from Cook’s company, he rose and took himself outside to stand on the steps by one of the back doors, smoke a cigarette and look up at the stars in the summer sky.

  And when he did, all he could see far up in the dark blue above him was the face of his son, Harry.

  Chapter Nine

  Off to War

  By the time Circe, her daughters and Kitty had arrived and settled into Knowle House in London at the end of the week, which was also the beginning of the first week in August, it appeared all hope of peace had been abandoned and Germany was mobilising. By Sunday, news was announced that Germany had declared war on Russia and had also attacked the all but defenceless Luxembourg.

  ‘I am so excited I can hardly sleep,’ Partita told Kitty that night. ‘Imagine being alive at such a time as this! With these simply enormous armies all marching through Europe, set on knocking the blazes out of each other! It’s like playing toy soldiers except without the toys.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t find it as exciting as you do.’ Kitty turned away to go to the window, as if by staring hard, she could stop the war. ‘I find it frightening.’

  ‘But something frightening is also quite thrilling, don’t you think? Do you know what someone said the other day? Someone told Papa that not if but when war does break out, there will probably be over fourteen million men fighting. Can you think of such a number because I can’t. Fourteen million, Kitty! That’s like the whole world being up in arms!’

  ‘Fourteen million … ?’ Kitty shook her head, unable to accept such a preposterous estimate.

  But nothing could contain Partita’s excitement, and to judge from the prevalent atmosphere in the city she was not alone. Everyone seemed suddenly to be in a hurry, rushing to buy newspapers that were becoming ever more scarce, congregating on street corners to share the latest news, getting up on soap boxes, either to predict the end of civilisation or the need for all fit and healthy young men to join up and help save France – France, once the oldest enemy, being now the latest, and most unlikely, of Britain’s allies.

  The Monday after the Duchess and her family’s arrival saw everyone joining in the rush to the shops to stock up on what people saw as vital supplies, a particular run being made on gunsmiths who suddenly found themselves selling more firearms and ammunition than in living memory, due to the ever-increasing rumours of possible invasion. These rumours were greatly exacerbated by reports of a naval engagement having already taken place off the coast of Yorkshire.

  All in all, by the time the party from Knowle House and their guests took their seats in the Coliseum on the Tuesday evening for the variety show, it would seem that the entertainment everyone had paid to see was being really rather overshadowed by the news.

  ‘Such a thing!’ an acquaintance of Circe exclaimed to her after they had taken their seats. ‘Armageddon in Europe! Can you imagine?’

  ‘I have no idea what you can possibly mean, Edith,’ Circe replied. ‘Unless you mean that as a result of all this talk of war you are actually looking forward to the end of the world?’

  ‘I mean, dear Circe, that what we have all been hoping for is about to happen,’ Edith replied with great gusto. ‘Namely, teaching Johnny Foreigner to mind his manners – and long over-due, I do say!’

  ‘That is hardly Armageddon, Edith,’ Circe insisted, her voice sounding a little more American, even to herself. ‘And by Johnny Foreigner I take it you mean Germany.’

  ‘Of course! Who else? And all those perfectly dreadful allies of hers! One only hopes this wretched wishy-washy Liberal Government doesn’t go and spoil the party by declaring us neutral.’

  ‘With that you would have to agree, Mamma,’ Partita whispered from behind her theatre programme. ‘It would be simply awful to desert poor little France.’

  ‘Poor little France indeed,’ her mother returned, raising her eyebrows at her youngest daughter. ‘I may be American darling lovey, but as I remember it from my history lessons, France was neither poor nor little when Bonaparte was busy making his empire, and enjoying lying in it too.’

  Even the orchestra striking up the overture for the evening’s entertainment barely silenced the audience, who continued to talk and argue well into the music and at every break in the action. The atmosphere was unlike anything any of the audience had experienced before, and although the theatre was
barely silent throughout the entire bill, the excitement seemed only to enhance both the performances and the general enjoyment. After the performers, led by the bill toppers, Charles Hawtrey and Fedorova, had taken their bows to enthusiastic applause, the theatre manager walked onto the stage and held up his arms for silence.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I have to make an announcement! His Majesty King George has announced that we are at war with Germany!’

  There was a brief moment of hush before the entire audience erupted into even wilder applause, greater than anything that had been heard that night. Cheering broke out round the theatre as men got to their feet and threw their hats in the air, while the women clapped and embraced one another, relieved that at long last the period of waiting and uncertainty was over and now the country could finally pick up its guns and get at the enemy.

  ‘Everyone’s off down the Mall,’ Peregrine informed them all as their party gathered outside the theatre. ‘We’re going to the Palace. Any of you girls want to come?’

  Partita immediately volunteered, taking the reluctant Kitty by the hand as she sought her mother’s permission.

  ‘I don’t think so, Partita,’ Circe replied. ‘I think there’ll be a bit of a crowd and I’m not sure it will be quite the place for you.’

  ‘Oh, no, please?’ Partita begged. ‘This is history being made, Mamma! Please, I don’t want to miss a moment of this.’

  ‘I know, lovey,’ Circe replied. ‘But I think just the boys must go on this occasion. In case things get out of hand.’

  ‘We’ll tell you all about it, Mischief,’ Peregrine assured Partita. ‘I do think it’ll be a bit of a scrum and that your mother may be right.’

  ‘Spoilsport,’ Partita returned sharply, pulling her arm, which Peregrine had taken, away from him.

  ‘Mamma is right,’ Allegra said, taking her younger sister by her other arm to lead her to where their carriage was waiting. ‘It really wouldn’t be very seemly.’

  ‘Well, war is hardly seemly! There are going to be far greater mêlées than a bit of a scrum outside Buckingham Palace!’

  ‘And you’re not going to be in those either.’ Cecilia took Partita’s free arm to take charge of her furious younger sister as she saw Allegra suddenly running after James.

  ‘Now what’s up?’ Partita said, watching Allegra. ‘I thought we were all meant to be going back with Mamma.’

  ‘She thinks James is going to enlist,’ Cecilia told her.

  ‘Not tonight, surely. That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘As soon as he can. Allegra’s sure she’s seen that look in his eyes that men are supposed to get – you know – when their blood’s up? Like out hunting?’

  Partita frowned. It had never really occurred to her before, at least not in realistic form, that this was what was going to happen. Matters such as people volunteering to fight had all been in the abstract, all part of her imaginings and although she had taken in all the talk about suitable regiments for Gussie, and Almeric returning to his own regiment in the near future, somehow she had managed to avoid thinking of them actually leaving the shores of England, crossing the Channel and fighting where fighting was to be. Now with mention of Allegra’s fiancé possibly enlisting just as soon as he could, reality started to make itself felt. War was actually about those you loved going away, perhaps for a long time, perhaps for ever.

  ‘Can we go home now, Mamma?’ she pleaded, seeing James suddenly leaning forward and kissing Allegra tenderly on the cheek as the crowds that had collected already made their way past the couple towards St James’s and on to the Mall. ‘I really do think I would like to go home.’

  Allegra joined them minutes later, silent and preoccupied.

  ‘Anything the matter, dearest?’ Circe wondered as the carriage began to head back to Knowle House. ‘You’re very quiet.’

  ‘Now that war is declared, James wants us to get married as soon as possible, Mamma,’ Allegra replied. ‘By special licence.’

  ‘I see,’ Circe said, taking her daughter’s hand. ‘Then we must speak to Papa.’

  Everyone fell silent now, each wrapped in her own thoughts, watching as the crowds hurried by outside, many of them running ahead to join the ever-growing throng headed for the Palace. It was as if, far from actually starting, the war was already over and the country was celebrating, for many of the throng were drunk, and the rest just high on the emotion of the moment, shouting and singing, thrilled, it seemed, at the thought of giving the Kaiser a bloody nose.

  ‘I wonder what we shall all do?’ Circe said, breaking the silence. ‘We shall have to do something. More than anything we shall have to do something at Bauders.’

  ‘What sort of thing, Mamma?’ Partita wondered.

  ‘We can’t just do nothing, dearest one. It’s all going to be so very different now. We must return to Bauders at once.’

  ‘I don’t see what we can do at Bauders that we couldn’t do in London, Mamma,’ Cecilia said. ‘I suppose we could knit or something. I read the other day that if war did break out, what women can do to help the cause is to knit.’

  ‘I think we’re going to have to think of something more than knitting, Cecilia. We are all going to have to consider our talents, such as they are. We have to use our skills, our talents, our abilities. If the men are to fight—’

  ‘But isn’t that what men are for?’ Partita wondered idly, earning looks from both her sisters. ‘You know what I mean. Women can hardly go to war, can they? War isn’t something women wage. I don’t see what’s so terrible about that. Women … I don’t know … women cook … women knit as well. I know! Women nurse. We could all become nurses. Couldn’t we? They’re going to need nurses, and I have an even better idea. Seeing what a brilliant surgeon you are, Mamma – not forgetting your terrific interest in medicine – we could all become your nurses and turn Bauders into some sort of a hospital!’

  ‘A hospital?’ Allegra wondered. ‘What do you mean, Tita – what sort of a hospital?’

  ‘That is really a very fine idea,’ Circe said, holding up a hand in warning. ‘A hospital for soldiers, for recovering soldiers. We could never learn all the skills necessary to run a real hospital, but with some sort of training and the fact that Bauders is so huge, we could turn it into a recovery hospital for those unfortunates who get wounded in battle. That is really a very good idea indeed, Tita darling – and one we shall begin to act upon as soon as we get home – which we must do immediately.’

  The following morning, as Circe was making arrangements to visit her London chemist, as well as the family gunsmith. she was nearly knocked off her feet by Gus, rushing precipitously down the stairs, headed for the front doors.

  ‘Has the house caught fire, Gussie? Or have you perhaps caught sight of a particularly pretty girl passing by?’

  ‘I’m off to meet Al, Mamma – don’t worry,’ Gus gasped, taking hold of his mother’s hands and making sure she was all right. ‘I have decided on his regiment, at last.’

  ‘Gussie dearest?’ Circe interrupted him, holding on to his hands. ‘One moment—’

  ‘Don’t have the time, Mamma! I have to meet him at the Ritz! It’s all arranged!’

  ‘No, Gussie,’ Circe insisted. ‘It is not all arranged. You don’t have to go rushing off to enlist now. There is plenty of time—’

  ‘No, Mamma. You are wrong. There is not plenty of time! Nor am I too young! There was an appeal in The Times yesterday for all able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen and thirty to join the army, and there is certainly not all the time in the world because heavy firing has been heard from Margate and there is every chance of a snap invasion.’

  ‘No, Gussie,’ Circe insisted, keeping a firm hold on his hands. ‘Not yet, dearest – please. You must be a little more patient and a little less impetuous. If you are needed at a later stage, then so be it, but for now, please.’

  ‘Mamma.’ Gus eased himself free, and looked at her, suddenly serious, much older than his barely eighteen
years. ‘Almeric is to return to his regiment. James is enlisting this morning, and Peregrine too. I’m not going to stay back like some – like some milksop. I have to go with them. I shall be perfectly all right, Mamma. I learned all the drill, all our basic training at school.’

  ‘No, there really is no need, Gussie,’ Circe heard herself insisting. ‘This morning, in the newspaper, there was every indication this is just going to be a storm in a teacup. The Germans have already been thrown back with very heavy losses at Liège – where apparently the Belgians were quite splendid and put the enemy to flight. People are saying that now Germany has been foolish enough to declare war on France, Belgium, Russia and ourselves, they have absolutely no chance whatsoever.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Gus laughed. ‘Then if that’s the case, Mamma, you have absolutely nothing to worry about!’

  With that her younger boy prised himself free, blew her a kiss and was gone.

  ‘Chloroform too, Mr Russell,’ the Duchess told her chemist, after having inspected the mountains of goods that he had assembled on her behalf.

  ‘Chloroform, Your Grace, most certainly,’ the chemist replied, hurrying away to fetch the anaesthetic.

  ‘For the wounded or for ourselves, Mamma?’ Partita wondered, inspecting the ever-growing mound of medical supplies being assembled on the counter.

  ‘Let us hope just for the wounded,’ Circe replied, checking her supply list. ‘I shall have all this sent on. We shall never manage all this ourselves.’

  ‘If the war is going to be as short and sweet as everyone says, Mamma,’ Partita continued, stacking the bandages into neat rows, ‘shall we really need all this?’

  ‘In the likelihood of it being surplus, lovey, we can always return it to Mr Russell here,’ Circe said, with a nod at the now returned chemist. ‘It is always better to be in hand than out of it. Now we must go on to Messrs Block and Sons before we turn for home.’