‘I don’t think I’d have to go, Poll,’ William tried to reassure her. ‘Working on the railway is classed as important work for the war effort. No, I think they’ve already got everyone they’re going to get from this family. ’Cept of course, Micky. He’ll likely be called up now.’
On 1 July the British and French began an offensive in Picardy near the River Somme. From the very first day the casualty numbers were catastrophic. And now, when she visited her old home, she saw to her horror that Stevie was scouring the papers for news of the war.
Stevie, the merry, outgoing one who always had a smile on his face, became quiet and withdrawn. Polly watched him anxiously and questioned Miriam. ‘Does he talk about – about joining up?’
‘We don’t talk about it at home, Poll. It upsets Dad. It reminds him Eddie’s out there and his son-in-law, to say nothing of – ’ Miriam bit her lip and glanced away before muttering, ‘others too.’
At twelve, Miriam was having to grow up quickly, just like Polly had had to do, but for a different reason. Polly sighed. She’d have given anything to see her little sister having a happy, carefree childhood.
So, though she’d feared it, it came as no surprise when a solemn-faced Stevie knocked at her door late one night.
‘What is it?’ she asked at once, pulling him inside. ‘It’s not Eddie, is it?’
Stevie, his shoulder hunched, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s me.’
Polly gasped and her eyes widened. ‘Oh no, you haven’t done it, have you? You haven’t enlisted?’
Stevie nodded. ‘I’ve got to go, Poll. I can’t be the only one left at home.’
‘But you’re not old enough. You’re only sixteen. Why did they take you?’ She stared at him, but knew the answer before he uttered the words.
‘I told them I was seventeen, nearly eighteen. And they believed me.’
Polly snorted. ‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they? You’re tall for your age and – and they want anyone they can get.’ She touched his arm. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. But they shouldn’t be taking you. You’re too young.’
Her eyes filled with tears. Polly didn’t often cry, but this was too much. Her little Stevie going to war, into a carnage that was so horrific that the men who came home injured or on a brief leave refused to talk about it even to their families.
Stevie and Miriam had seemed like her children. She’d brought them up and the two of them had never caused her a moment’s worry or disappointment. She’d hardly ever had to chastise them and she could only remember that one time, when Stevie went swimming in the river, that she’d been angry with him. He’d been her pride and joy; they both had. And now he was going to become cannon fodder.
‘Oh, Stevie, don’t go. Please, don’t go.’ She rested her head against his shoulder and wept, embarrassing the young boy.
‘I’ve got to now, Poll. I’ve taken the King’s shilling.’
Her head snapped up. ‘I’ll go and see them tomorrow. I’ll go up to the barracks and bang on the door until they let me in. I’ll tell them you’re only sixteen. They’ll listen to me. I’ll make them listen to me.’
‘I – I didn’t enlist at the barracks.’
‘Then where? Tell me!’ She gripped his arms until her fingers dug into his flesh, but Stevie was mutinous.
‘I’ll find out,’ she threatened. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out.’
But Stevie steadfastly refused to tell her and when she rushed to her old home early the following morning it was to find that Stevie had already left.
‘He volunteered a week ago,’ William told her sadly. ‘But he didn’t tell us until he knew he was actually going and it’d be too late to stop him.’
‘I’m still going up to the barracks. I’ll tell them . . .’ She stopped, staring in amazement at her father. She’d thought she could count on his support. Surely he didn’t want his younger son to go to war, but William was shaking his head. ‘Don’t do that, Poll. Don’t make him look a fool in front of his superiors. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘But he’s only . . .’
‘I know, I know. He’s only sixteen and to you and me, Poll, he’s still a lad. But to the army he’s a man now. And there’s nowt we can do about it.’
‘You sound as if you don’t want to.’
William smiled sadly. ‘Oh, part of me does, Poll. Part of me wants to do exactly what you’re suggesting, but the other part . . .’ He stopped and his face took on a dreamy, faraway look.
‘The other part?’ Polly prompted.
‘The other part of me is that damned proud of him, I’m envious.’
‘Envious?’
‘Yes, envious. I’d give anything to be marching off to war with me head held high because, even if he does get killed, he’ll be a hero. His name will be feted and remembered forever.’
‘He’ll likely get blown to pieces and never found, just buried beneath the mud and forgotten.’
‘Aye, aye, mebbe that’s what will happen – the first bit anyway. But as for being forgotten, you’re wrong there, Poll, because our war heroes are never, ever going to be forgotten. We’ll make sure of that.’
Fifty-Eight
Only two weeks after Stevie had gone the news they had all been dreading came to the Longden household.
One Saturday morning towards the end of July Polly wheeled a sleeping Jacob round to her old home.
‘You’ll soon be too big for this pram,’ she murmured. At almost two, the child was growing fast. He was sturdy and could walk well now, but he still liked a sleep in his pram and Polly hadn’t the heart to wake him when it was time to see if Miriam needed any shopping. Polly enjoyed the walks into the city with her sister on a Saturday morning and later on, towards evening, they’d sometimes go again to pick up the best bargains in the market.
It was just beginning to rain, so she pulled the pram through the door and left Jacob in the quiet of the front room.
As she stepped into the kitchen, she found her father slumped in his chair by the fire, still holding the dreaded telegram in his hands. Miriam was standing beside him, her arm around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. She was weeping silently, the tears flooding down her cheeks.
‘Oh no!’ Polly clutched at the doorframe for support as her legs threatened to give way beneath her. ‘No!’
She eased the piece of paper out of her father’s fingers and read the stark message.
DEEPLY REGRET INFORM YOU THAT CORPORAL EDWARD LONGDEN, 1ST BATTALION, THE LINCOLNSHIRE REGIMENT, DIED OF WOUNDS, 20TH JULY 1916. THE ARMY COUNCIL EXPRESS THEIR SYMPATHY.
Eddie was dead. There was no hope to cling to that he was merely missing, believed killed; the wording was definite. Perhaps later they would receive a letter telling them in more detail what had happened to him, but there could be no doubt.
William lifted sorrowful eyes to the photograph on the mantelpiece of Eddie in his uniform taken just before he’d been sent abroad.
‘At least we can be proud of him, Poll. He turned his life around by joining the army. God knows what might have become of him if he hadn’t.’
‘He might still be alive,’ Polly couldn’t help saying bitterly.
‘Aye, lass, he might. But he might have brought more shame on this family than it’s already had to deal with. He might have ended up in prison.’ The unspoken words hung heavily between them. Like I did. William cleared his throat and said strongly, ‘Better to die a hero’s death defending his country. I’m proud of him anyway.’
Polly was thoughtful for a long moment before saying quietly, ‘Yes, Dad, and so am I, but all these fellers dying – it just seems such a terrible waste of young lives.’
‘It is, Poll. But what’s the alternative? Someone’s got to fight for freedom. Someone’s got to fight the Kaiser.’
Polly said no more, she didn’t argue because she couldn’t. She still didn’t understand how – and why – this dread
ful war had come about. And she was sure that countless others throughout the city and beyond didn’t understand it either. All they knew was that when their country called for them they had to go and do their duty. Just as Eddie had; just as Leo and Roland and even Mr Ellis had. And now the first loss to touch their family had happened. And who would be the next? Her husband?
Or Leo?
On her way back home, some inner intuition made her pause at the corner. On a sudden impulse, she turned the pram around and headed back down the street to the house at the very end and knocked on the door. It was a long time being answered and she almost fled. And then the door opened slowly and Bertha stood there.
It only took a glance at the woman’s face for Polly to realize that she, too, had had terrible news. For the second time in a matter of hours, Polly breathed, ‘No, oh no!’
‘Come in, lass,’ Bertha said heavily. ‘And bring the little ’un with you.’
Polly scooped a protesting Jacob out of the pram and followed Bertha inside. She cuddled him against her and the child soon quietened.
‘What’s happened?’
‘We had a telegram, love. Just like your dad’s had. Delivered at the same time, it was.’
‘What does it say?’ Though she feared the answer, she had to know.
‘Missing, presumed killed,’ Bertha said flatly. ‘But we all know what it really means.’
Polly clutched at the tiny hope. ‘No – no, it doesn’t, Mrs Halliday. It means what it says. He’s missing. Ours was different. It said ‘died of wounds’. I reckon Eddie must have been in a field hospital or somewhere, so they know he – he’s really dead. But Leo – there’s still hope for him.’ She touched Bertha’s arm. ‘Don’t lose hope, Mrs Halliday. I couldn’t bear it if you lose hope.’
‘Aw, lass, I know you don’t want to face it any more than I do, but we’ve got to be realistic. You’ve seen them casualty lists in the papers. Longer and longer they’re getting every day. And they get blown to smithereens and nobody ever knows where they are. Or – or they find bodies and don’t know who they are.’ She shuddered and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘We might never know, Poll, what’s happened to him.’
Polly’s chin jutted out with determination. ‘Well, I’m not going to believe it until you get it in black and white that he’s dead.’
Even in her overwhelming sadness, Bertha couldn’t help smiling wistfully at the young girl’s steadfast conviction. ‘If your belief will keep him alive, love, then he’s nowt to fear. Oh, Poll, you still love him, don’t you?’
They gazed at each other until Polly said softly, ‘I’ve never stopped.’
They all had to try to carry on with their lives as best they could. Polly found solace in her work at the school. So many children came into the classroom – even the very youngest – with solemn, bewildered faces. They were mirroring their mothers’ distress. Some knew that their father was never coming home again; others could not understand and yet caught the feeling of hopelessness and despair that pervaded their home, their street, their city. And even at school the children could not escape hearing about the war when Miss Broughton had to tell them that Mr Ellis, their headmaster, had been killed in action.
The printed cards that the soldiers were given to send home, deleting the sentences that did not apply to them, continued to arrive regularly from Roland and often he wrote a longer letter. Polly strove to be thankful. Every Sunday she prayed for the safe return of her husband, for her little brother Stevie and now she could not stop herself from adding a fervent prayer for Leo. ‘Just let him be safe. Dear Lord, just let him be safe.’
William went to work each day, determined not to let slip the second chance he’d been given. Miriam, who was growing up to be the image of her mother, Sarah, worked diligently at school and, with Polly’s help, did her best to look after her father. Perhaps, of all of them, Miriam missed Stevie the most. He’d always been willing to help her about the house and he’d made her laugh. But at least he was still in England and he even got home on leave occasionally. Miriam lived for those days.
Michael started school in the September. Polly collected him from Selina’s when she took Jacob, walked to school with him and back again each afternoon when she collected her own little boy. The arrangement worked well for everyone.
As for Violet, she continued to go merrily on her own sweet way. Even when Micky was called up it scarcely left a ripple on the surface of the life Violet had carved out for herself. Only Polly worried for him.
‘I’m glad really, Poll. I don’t want to be the only one not to go,’ he’d told her. ‘Keep an eye on our Vi, for me, won’t you? And take care of yarsen.’
Polly had nodded, her throat too full of tears to be able to speak. They’d already lost Eddie, Roland was out there somewhere and Leo was missing. And Stevie had now been sent to gunnery school and, young though he was, would no doubt be sent to the Front soon enough.
How was she to bear it?
Fifty-Nine
Every unexpected knock at the door these days filled Polly – and, she was sure, countless other women like her – with dread. Another Christmas had passed and, as not one of their men had come home on leave yet again, it had hardly been a celebration. The adults had done their best to make it a happy day for the two young boys, but their own enjoyment was clouded by anxiety. Even Violet seemed on edge, as if she’d rather be anywhere but in their old home with her family.
One Friday evening in early January, when Polly had just put Jacob to bed and was sitting with her feet on the fender almost dropping asleep after a busy week, a soft knock sounded on the back door.
‘Surely not the telegraph boy at this time of night,’ she murmured, but even so she was unable to prevent the shiver of fear running through her. As she went to answer the knock, she heard the sound of a crying child and quickened her step, flinging open the door.
Selina stood there with Michael clinging to her hand. ‘Is your Vi here?’
‘Here?’ Polly repeated stupidly, but automatically reached out to draw her nephew into the warmth. ‘No. Isn’t she with you? Oh, sorry, that was a silly question, else you wouldn’t be looking for her.’
Selina stepped over the threshold, closed the door behind her and moved towards the fireplace, stretching out her hands towards the warmth of the fire. ‘Oh, Polly, maybe I should have told you before – ’ She paused and bit her lip.
Polly sat down and Michael leant against her knee and rested his head against her shoulder. His loud crying had stopped, but he still hiccuped softly.
‘My, you’re getting a big boy now.’ Polly looked at him in concern. His face was red and blotchy with tears, but it was more than that. She felt his forehead with the flat of her hand.
‘He’s burning up.’
‘He’s not well, Polly. Hasn’t been for a day or two. I tried to tell Violet last night when she came in – eventually.’
‘What do you mean “eventually”?’
‘I don’t like telling tales, Polly, and I don’t mind looking after Michael. Even my Albie’s taken to the little chap and doesn’t mind him being with us. But – ’ Again, she bit on her lower lip.
‘Tell me, Selina,’ Polly said gently.
The words came out in a tumble. ‘She’s been staying out late for three or four weeks now. At first she made out she was doing overtime at work, but I know that’s not true because the girl across the street from us works there an’ all and – and I asked her.’
‘So where’s she been going?’
Now Selina avoided meeting her gaze and merely shrugged.
‘Maybe she’s got another little job in the evenings,’ Polly suggested, trying to cling to the hope that Violet was innocent of the suspicion growing in her mind. ‘Like – like cleaning or something.’ She knew that the school cleaners and no doubt office cleaners and the like had to work in the evenings when the buildings were empty.
‘Then why hasn’t she told me if it’
s something innocent like that?’
‘Innocent? What do you mean “innocent”?’
Selina looked uncomfortable.
‘Come on, Selina, if there’s something you’re not telling me . . .’
‘She’s been seen in the pubs,’ Selina blurted out. ‘With – with other fellers.’
‘In pubs?’ Polly was shocked. ‘And – and with another man?’
Sadly, Selina corrected her. ‘Men, Polly. Plural.’
‘Oh my!’ Polly breathed, dismayed and disgusted beyond words. ‘But you saw her last night? You told her that Michael wasn’t well?’
Selina nodded.
‘And?’
‘She just shrugged it off saying it was probably nothing. But, Poll, you can see the little chap’s feeling poorly?’
Polly put her arms about him and, big though he now was, she pulled him onto her lap and rocked him, biting back the words that Selina should not have brought him out in the cold night air. Instead, she said, ‘He’d best stay here tonight.’ Her tone hardened. ‘And I’ll see Vi tomorrow.’
A look of relief flooded Selina’s face. ‘Do you want me to bring anything round for him? More clothes or bedding?’
Polly shook her head. ‘We’ll manage. I’ll put him in my bed for tonight and see how he is in the morning.’
Selina rose. ‘I’ll come round first thing. And I won’t sleep a wink, I know I won’t.’ Gently, she touched Michael’s hair, but the boy was already asleep against Polly. ‘I’ll see myself out, Poll.’
‘Thank you, Selina, and if you see Vi – ’ Polly’s tone hardened – ‘tell her I want a word.’
By the morning, thankfully, Michael was much better. His fever had gone and he was bouncing about on Polly’s bed.
‘Well, you look better this morning.’ Polly smiled at him with relief. ‘Are you hungry?’
Jacob was standing up in his cot stretching out his arms to Polly. She lifted him out and carried him downstairs, with Michael following.
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