Suddenly realizing what he had implied he added hurriedly: ‘No offence, Biff. I don’t mean the likes of you regulars, I just don’t think the ordinary young of today have the same spirit, the same sense of nationhood and Empire that we had. We lost the best of our generation.’
Biff knew that Rosemary’s father had served as an infantry officer from the Somme to Passchendaele before he had stopped his ‘Blighty one’.
‘Surely, that’s being a bit hard, isn’t it?’
Her father didn’t answer, and fortunately her mother came into the room just then.
‘Biff, how lovely to see you. Have you just arrived?’
He liked her mother very much.
‘Yes, Mrs Peacock.’
‘I’ll have one of those.’ She nodded at his drink as she flopped into a chair opposite her husband, having given him a peck on the top of his head.
‘Now, what are you two boys talking about?’
Her father shot a glance at Biff, then said ‘Just current affairs, darling. Politics.’
‘Oh, not the prospect of a bloody war again, Frank.’
Mr Peacock grinned sheepishly at Biff.
‘That’s what comes of being married to the same woman for thirty-odd years.’
He got the results, and his posting, a week later. Biff had hoped for a fighter squadron. After they had kissed he faced Rosemary in the bar of the tennis club where they’d arranged to meet.
‘I’m going to Blenheims.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t really know what to say. ‘That’s all right – yes?’
Biff grimaced. ‘I had my heart set on a Hurricane or Spitfire squadron – who doesn’t, but Blenheims are fast enough. They are two-engined fighter-bombers.’
Rosemary sniffed. ‘Sounds jolly good to me. When do you go?’
‘I’ve got three weeks’ leave, then it’s back here for a day, then I’ll be off.’
Rosemary couldn’t conceal her disappointment.
‘Oh, I shan’t see you, then, for weeks?’
Glumly he shook his head. If anybody had told him previously that, when he had eventually finished his training and was about to join a squadron, he would be down in the mouth, he wouldn’t have believed it. But he did have one answer to their problem.
He drew in a deep breath, and steeled himself for what he had worried about all day – all week in fact.
‘There’s a solution.’
Rosemary was sitting on a bar stool. She looked up at him, puzzled, then with a dawning expectancy as he continued to gaze helplessly at her.
‘Yes?’
Biff swallowed, audibly.
‘We could … Well …’
With growing excitement she nearly said it for him, but bit her tongue; after all, he was the man, he had to do it.… Well, she would give him another twenty seconds.
At last Biff managed:
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Oh, Biff.’ She fell off the stool into his arms and gave him a whopping kiss. ‘Of course I will, you big idiot.’
‘You will?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s great.’
For a moment there was a silence, both of them stunned with what had just happened. It was broken at last by Biff apologizing: ‘I haven’t got a ring.’
Her eyes twinkled.
‘Well you can jolly well get one tomorrow morning, you’re free now. Is that right?’
He started to feel dizzy.
‘Right.’
They went straight home to her parents. It was asking a lot, but they had already decided that they were going to tie the knot as quickly as they could after the banns had been read – that meant three weeks minimum, then as soon as the Air Force would let him have leave – he would find out when, and apply as soon as he arrived on the squadron.
Her mother was knitting, sitting with the standard lamp behind her armchair, turned on even though it was daylight.
Through the french window they could see her father on the terrace.
Mrs Peacock looked up and spoke, without stopping the clicking needles.
‘Oh, hello dears, would you like some tea?’
‘No mother. One of Daddy’s champagnes.’
This time the needles did stop.
The lamb was excellent. His appetite was still good, at least, when the food was good. He put his knife and fork together and took a sip of wine.
‘Gosh, you were hungry.’
He smiled resignedly. People didn’t expect men of his age to clean their plate. On top of that they now lived in a wasteful society. More good food was thrown away than ever before. Somehow, if there was another war – one that threatened these shores, he doubted whether the modern generation would be able to cope. Not like in their day.
Then he thought of what Mr Peacock had said to him all those years ago, about his generation.
He grinned to himself. What goes around comes around.
He was behaving just like Rosemary’s father had. But the smile faded at the memory.…
The room was now a hubbub of voices, as people moved around the tables talking to friends in other parts of the room. Half the diners at his table were gone, but a man slipped into the empty chair beside him.
‘Hello, Biff, it’s good to see you again.’
It was a friend of his daughter.
She had attended one of the girls-only schools in town, but he had been part of the crowd from the boys’ school. Socially they had all mixed together. He was married now to a daughter of a friend, but at one time he had been always in their house. He might have been a son-in-law.…
He stirred himself, turning in his chair.
‘Peter, didn’t see you earlier.’
The man sat down sideways on the next chair, elbow on the table.
‘No, I wasn’t at the church service, or reception. Had to work for my sins.’
Peter was now a surgeon who, after all his training up in town and jobs around the country, had got a consultancy locally.
‘Called away, I’m afraid. Jill hasn’t forgiven me yet.’
They both grinned. Jill, his wife, was a very strong-willed lady who had probably demanded that there must have been somebody else at ‘that bloody place’ who could do the job.
‘Anyway, how are you keeping?’
Biff pulled a funny face.
‘At my age – brilliant.’
Peter chuckled, then glanced around.
‘I hear your daughter is here.’
Biff nodded. ‘Yes, she’s over on table eleven – go over and say hello.’
‘I will, I will.’
He suspected that Peter still had a soft spot for her, and he was not surprised. Even though he said it himself, his daughter was a good-looking girl, just like her mother; very like her mother.
He could hardly hear Peter as his memories crowded in.
There were a couple of days to go before they got married. Rosemary had persuaded him to get on a horse, not his thing at all, and they had just ridden at a walking pace down a lane. Rosemary didn’t dismount as she opened a gate into a field and he eased his horse cautiously through, conscious of all the wide open space suddenly before him. She was just closing it again when out of the corner of his eye he saw the huge maroon locomotive lumbering right beside them, hissing steam as it cruised slowly past, held by a signal to proceed with caution.
His steed must have seen and heard the ‘monster’ too, for in a flash he was cantering, ears back and flicking, nearly keeping abreast with the engine. Hanging on for dear life, Biff found himself the object of scores of white faces at the windows of the Carlisle-bound express as it slowly overhauled them.
‘Wooh, slow down, you bugger.’ He pulled on the reins with all his strength, just hearing Rosemary’s voice in the distance screaming: ‘Keep your heels down,’ before the horse stopped dead and he was flying in a completely unaccustomed way.
It all came to an abrupt end as his body hit the ground, flat, and all the air in
him came out of every orifice in his body.
By the time Rosemary caught up, dismounting at the run to kneel beside him, the last coach of the now accelerating express, hauled by the Princess Margaret Rose was receding out of sight under a bridge.
‘Biff – Biff darling, are you all right?’
She was desperately worried.
For the first few seconds he wondered whether he was paralysed for life, unable to move a muscle. Then his lungs started up again and he moved a foot. She stroked his forehead.
‘I’m so sorry, darling, I forgot about the railway. My fault, I suppose. I always race the trains. Darling?’
Biff eased himself into an upright position, raised one eyebrow.
‘You mean the horse was only doing what you trained it to do?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
She gave a little scream as Biff pulled her down over his lap and started to spank the seat of her tightly fitting jodphurs.
‘Biff – Biff – stop!’
But when he rolled her over again her face was flushed, eyes hooded.
‘Ooh, you’re so strong and masterful – just like Errol Flynn.’
With that she flung her arm up around his neck and drew his mouth hard down on to hers.
As they carried on kissing the horses stood nearby quietly grazing, only a drifting layer of smoke marked the passage of the train.
‘Are you sure about this honeymoon?’
They were gathered in the drawing room, dressed for dinner. Mr Peacock still stuck to the older ways, which were beginning to change in some trendy new quarters.
It was her mother who spoke, anxious because they had booked their honeymoon in Sorrento, Italy. There and Capri were favourite areas for honeymooners, and Rosemary had set her heart on it. Biff had enquired of his CO and been told that there was no objection.
But in the last few days the Sudetanland question had started to become a crisis again. On 12 September the year before Adolph Hitler had demanded self-determination for the German-speaking area.
Mr Peacock did indeed look serious.
That very day, 23 September, the wireless had informed them that the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, was flying to Munich to see Herr Hitler. He’d made one trip on the fifteenth already.
He shook his head. ‘No use denying it’s serious, but you should both be all right in Italy, even though they are allies of the Germans. Mussolini says he wants peace, and is willing to help. I believe he suggested the talks to Herr Hitler.’
Her father went on, obviously trying to reassure himself more than them. ‘I’ve had assurances from the embassy in Rome that in such an unlikely event—’
Mrs Peacock broke in sharply. ‘You didn’t say – have you been on to your brother?’
Rosemary’s father looked uncomfortable. He had indeed spoken to Charles, who worked in the Foreign Office.
‘Well, I wouldn’t be doing my job as a father if I didn’t look after my daughter right up to the moment she becomes another man’s responsibility.’
‘Daddy, you’re a darling.’ Rosemary, in a full length loosely fitting lilac satin dress with a pale voile overskirt, went up on her toes and kissed his cheek.
‘So it’s all right then?’
He smiled down at her. ‘If I was really worried I’d be pressing young Biff here to take you to the cottage in Gloucestershire and let me pick up the bill for the cancellations, I promise you.’
It was the last time Biff and Rosemary would spend an evening together. Biff’s posting had turned out to be good after all. The squadron was very friendly, a great bunch of chaps, and the CO had assigned him to a Flight Lieutenant Dickinson, a blunt no-nonsense Yorkshire man who was introducing him, via the squadron Anson, to multiengined flight. He was going to have a guard of honour, with ten fellow officers in dress uniforms holding their ceremonial swords to form an arch beneath which he and his new wife would walk on leaving the church.
But he had to get through his stag night first. Apparently things could get pretty exciting in the mess – and cause further expense for him.
‘So, that’s all the details, then. Nothing left to chance.’
Her mother winced. ‘Rosemary, never say things like that.’
‘Oops, sorry Mummy.’
Rosemary bit her lower lip.
Just then their housekeeper and cook entered the room.
‘Dinner is ready when you are, Mrs Peacock.’
‘Right – let’s go in. I’m famished.’
Mr Peacock held his arm out for his wife who downed the last of her pink gin and slipped her arm through his.
‘Lead on, Macduff.’
Biff did the same for Rosemary who whispered: ‘Next time we do this we’ll be man and wife.’
His stag night was a riot. He ended up naked, with his balls painted with blacklead, and tied to the CO’s chair in the latter’s office.
Fortunately, although he was there all night – or for what was left of it, he was discovered by the adjutant’s clerk when he brought in some early-morning signals to put on the CO’s desk. He could hardly walk, he was so stiff, but the effects of an excess of beer and spirits had helped pass the night quite quickly.
The big worry was his privates. Despite repeated washing his anatomy remained a disgusting-looking grey colour. He worried about the wedding night. Would Rosemary actually get to see his tackle? He had no idea really what would happen. He consoled himself that, in the dark, he would get away with it.
He was not flying on his last day – in fact the MO would probably have had a fit if he had examined him, but Dicky Dickinson had made sure he was only occupied with ground school.
That evening he packed. They were having their first night at the Connaught in London. Next day they would go to Victoria Station and take the boat train to Paris. After a night there at the Ritz they were booked on the Rome Express. The final leg was to Naples and then a local train to Sorrento.
Rosemary was thrilled, and most of her packing was already done. She’d spent the morning riding, galloping her horse across the meadows, even taking a fence. It was as if she had so much energy pent up in every part of her body. Rosemary was a virgin, but it had been a struggle – especially after she had met Biff, and known he was the one for her. A few cads before him knew that she was very sensual and had tried their luck. At the last moment she had always backed out of going all the way. But she had done some naughty things.
Now she was in her bath, lying with foam bubbles all around her. She looked down at the pink tips that were her nipples. Rosemary had the idea that Biff was a bit slow in these matters – a typically British public-schoolboy who had healthy instincts, but who, having never socialized much with girls in his earlier years, was rather afraid of them – or at least of hurting them, and who was painfully shy at times.
She lifted her hand up from the water, second finger and thumb making a circle with a soapy film between. She brought it to her lips and blew very gently. For a moment it ballooned out, then burst with a faint dampness.
She giggled. Just like her hymen – tomorrow night.
Biff ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon in the mess, surrounded at various times by the ten brother officers who were forming the guard of honour. His best man was an old school-chum who had stayed in one of the guest bedrooms.
‘Well Biff, this is it.’
He nodded, his mouth full.
‘Any second thoughts?’
He swallowed. ‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life – except perhaps joining the Air Force.’
James, a man he’d first met in The Inky, their prep school, and had had a fight with, thus establishing a lifetime’s friendship, grinned, ‘That’s good because I don’t fancy making your apologies after you’ve absconded.’
Biff grinned. ‘Don’t worry so much. Just make sure your speech is up to scratch.’
His best man winced. They ate in silence for a while until James spoke again.
‘Have you any concerns about going abroad at the moment?’
‘You mean this Munich crisis?’
James buttered a piece of toast.
‘Yes. War could break out at any time.’
Biff shook his head.
‘With Halifax as foreign secretary and Chamberlain as PM, they’ll appease him – you can bet on that. Besides …’
James raised an eyebrow quizzically.
‘Besides what?’
Biff placed his knife and fork together.
‘Frankly, we are not in a fit state – at least the Air Force. We need all the time we can to get up to strength.’
Chapter Three
‘Biff, Biff.’
A hand was shaking his arm.
‘Biff, do you want the lemon meringue pie?’
He took in the young woman at his side, then looked up at the waitress waiting expectantly with a plate ready to put down before him.
‘Oh, yes please.’
People were mostly back at their tables. He couldn’t remember saying goodbye to Peter, who wasn’t around.
He turned to his dining companion.
‘Could I have some water please?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She half stood up and reached out for the bottle of spring water. When she got it she poured some into his tumbler. He was feeling very thirsty.
‘Thank you, my dear.’
The pie was good, dissolving in his mouth which was just as well as he was beginning to feel full up.
He made some small talk for a while, then sat back as the coffee was poured and little dishes of mints were placed on the table.
He noticed the high sheriff had got up and was coming his way, albeit stopping to talk to people. Biff guessed what it was: he was going to commiserate with him about the death of his wife; he hadn’t seen him since.
Bugger. He could do without that just now. The last thing he wanted was to blub in public, but it could easily happen, even after these weeks.
He took a sip of coffee, finding it already difficult to swallow. His mind wandered back again to 1938. It had been a great wedding, he could still remember that archway of swords, and the young fresh faces of the airmen bearing them, laughing as the bells pealed out with joy.
Tears of Autumn, The Page 3
