Love and the Loveless

by Henry Williamson

  Phillip knew what she was feeling, and why. He felt drawn towards her, but held himself back by thinking that he would feel awful afterwards if he behaved with her as he had with Polly. God, what a hypocrite he was, faithfully to Lily and yet—almost wanting to get hold of Nina.

  As though having considered the problem of Nina exclusively, he said, “I think you’re wise to join up. The war won’t last for ever, and it’s a tremendous chance to widen one’s ideas of things. You might go to India, or France, or Gibraltar—anywhere! The friends you might make! Yes, Nina, you get out of the rut! That’s my advice. Now I’d like to ask yours. Do you think it a good idea for me to ask Mavilabeth and Doris to dine in Town with me tonight, and do a theatre? You must come, too, of course! Good! I’ll go and ask the girls now.”

  Mavis said, “I suppose you ask me to come as an afterthought? You really want Nina to go with you, don’t you? Come now, be honest! I saw you two talking together, from my bedroom window.”

  “Very well, she needn’t come if you don’t want her!”

  “How do you know I don’t want her? She’s my friend, isn’t she? Of course I’d like her to come! Only why are you asking us three, all of a sudden? What’s behind it, eh?”

  “Well, I’m on leave.”

  “And can’t get anyone else to go with you, is that it? I know you, you see! What’s happened to Desmond, with whom you used to be so thick?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “I bet!”

  “Oh dear. Anyway, Eugene’s coming. How about it?”

  “Did Nina say she would come?”

  “Only if you came too.”

  There was a ring at the front door bell. Hetty said, “I expect that’s Gran’pa!” and went away. When she returned, it was with Tom Ching. As though knowing that he was unwanted, the caller hastened across the lawn, his hand held out in greeting, saying that it was just his luck to find Phillip at home. He seemed so glad to see him, that Phillip had not the heart to go to the station leaving Ching behind, although he knew that Ching’s interest in him was only a reflection from his hopeless love for Mavis; but knowing what he must be feeling, he said to the old school-fellow he had never liked, “We’re all going up to a theatre. Why not join us?”

  The party went out of the house, except Phillip, who had dashed upstairs for his cigarette case.

  “You will bring the girls safely back, won’t you, dear, I mean Phillip—oh dear, Sidney!” she laughed.

  “Yes, dear; I will, dear. Leave it to me, dear. In fact, why not come too, dear, and have some fun for once, dear?”

  “Oh, I’d love to!” cried Hetty, clasping her hands. “But there’s Father, you see, Phillip. He never feels easy when I go out and leave him.”

  “He never appears to feel easy when you’re with him, either. Still, we’re all like that in our family. Each one has a battle of the brain going on all the time. That’s one reason why I like being in France. It’s peaceful there!”

  “Perhaps we can go to the Old Vic, and see Shakespeare—one day before you go back, Phillip?”

  *

  Five first-class tickets to Charing Cross, a taxi to Piccadilly. It stopped beside the winged Archer on top of the fountain, and they got out beside the flower girls standing there with their great baskets of tulips, carnations, and roses. Across the wood-block road, Eugene could be seen, standing by the Piccadilly cornerstone of Swan and Edgar’s. Watching him from the kerb was one of the new policewomen. She was dressed in a plain blue coat and skirt, blue armlet with the letters WP in white and a hard type bowler hat with a wide brim. She was new to the job, but knew Piccadilly for what it was. She had been watching Gene, with an idea that he, an obvious foreigner, was waiting for an assignation.

  “How funny he looks, doesn’t he? Isn’t he conceited? That eyeglass is sheer swank! Phillip gave it to him, because it kept dropping out of his eye, ha ha!”

  “Please don’t say that to him, will you? Apart from anything else, Eugene is very sensitive.”

  “He can’t be very sensitive, otherwise he would realise how ridiculous he is. Who is he trying to look like, Max Linder?”

  The taximan was waiting for his money, the flag being down. “Let me pay,” said Ghing.

  “No no, really.” Phillip gave the driver a ten-shilling note and, seeing his disabled soldier’s badge, told him to keep the change. Gratefully the driver drove away.

  “Ten shillings!” said Mavis. “What do you want to do that for? The fare was a shilling on the meter, with one and sixpence extra. That’s half a crown! Three shillings would have been ample!”

  She was near to tears. In the train her brother had spoken nearly all the time to Nina. And why had he asked Ching to come, when he knew how she disliked him? He disliked Ching, too; he had always said so. Then why, except to spite her? It wasn’t fair. He had always done things like that. He knew very well that Ching was a pest, calling at the house whenever he came on leave, and staying there, making sheep’s eyes at her. She wished she had not come. Poor Mother, left all alone at home.”

  “Come, Elizabeth, we’re all going to enjoy ourselves,” whispered Nina.

  “But ten shillings, don’t you see it would have helped Mother quite a lot. Father gives her precious little housekeeping money, as it is.”

  Ching had an inspiration. He bought two bunches of flowers—the largest in the basket—and offered the first to Mavis.

  “No thank you. I really couldn’t.”

  “I’ll carry them for you until you get back home, Mavis.”

  The use of that awful name made her say shortly, “No thanks.”

  “Oh well,” said Ching. “How about you, Doris? You can have the two bunches, if you like.”

  Loyal to her sister, Doris promptly said, “No thank you!”

  “Lovely wallflowers, lady,” said the flower girl.

  “How about you, Nina? Wouldn’t you like them?”

  “Well, its awfully kind of you, but really——”

  “All right. I don’t want these, after all,” he said, to the young woman in the straw boater held on by a long hat pin, and a shawl over her shoulders.

  “Such lovely flowers, too, ducks! Do you want y’r money back?” The affection in the woman’s voice caused something to break in Ching. “No. I’d like you to have them.”

  “Tell you what, love, I’ll give you y’r money back, and you can treat me to this lovely bunch of lavender. It’ll keep, see. Go on, take the money, ducks. I can sell my flowers many times over, ’tisn’t like before the war.” She gave Ching back his florin. “Now the lavender’ll be tuppence, ducks. Ta! And good luck, dear!”

  Phillip looked across the road at Eugene, who had not seen them yet. The Brazilian was looking at himself in the shop-window glass, as he adjusted bow tie, angle of straw boater, and set of grey herring-bone jacket with its hand-stitched lapels. Unaware of being watched, Eugene admired his own good looks, particularly his mouth, lips, fine white teeth, and almond eyes, which had been praised by many girls and women.

  Led by Phillip, the five “Wakenhamites” left the island, to cross in a gap of the traffic. Eugene saw them coming, and waited with some satisfaction to meet Mavis, whose looks and figure he had long admired.

  Eugene lifted his boater, letting fall the eyeglass.

  After introductions, Phillip suggested their old haunt, The Popular, before Eugene could ask about the Piccadilly Grill. He remembered the last time he had been there with Desmond and Gene—and the bill, nearly five pounds, which, as usual, he had paid.

  “Take the girls there, will you, you two, and order what you and they want while I slip away to book seats for the show.”

  When he rejoined them he noted with satisfaction that Gene and Mavis were getting on well. Leaning over the table, he was telling the girls the story of Madame Butterfly, his eyes returning again and again to the face of Mavis. A bottle of “Popular Huzzar” sherry stood on the table, with five unsipped glasses. “Come on, knock this back
!” said Phillip, emptying his glass. “It’s quite harmless. Where’s Ching?”

  “He’s gone, Phillip.”

  “Why, Nina?”

  “He said he knew when he wasn’t wanted,” said Doris.

  “The truth at last!” said Mavis.

  “Poor old Ching. However, don’t let the talking stop the drinking!”

  The orchestra, by special request, struck up Butterfly. Soup arrived; the empty bottle was taken away with the plates, to be replaced by fish and a bottle of Chablis. Claret with the chicken, but no potatoes—“Sorry, sir, a Ministry of Food order—no potatoes on Saturday!” However, the salad seemed to give the second bottle of claret a better taste than the first. By the time coffee was served, with kümmel, the party was a success. Why was it, Phillip wondered, that whenever he had a few drinks and others didn’t, it always seemed as though others had had as much as he had? He ordered brandy and cigars—for dear old Gene and himself. Damme, Mavis was jolly pretty; at moments, she had a gentle beauty, she seemed to glow. He felt pride that Gene was obviously impressed by her. She laughed gaily at times, her eyes were bright, they had lost their dark and remote look.

  The seats were in the tenth row of the stalls: nearly a week’s pay, but what did it matter? He had over a hundred pounds in the bank now. What should he do if Gene wanted to borrow money afterwards? Gene still owed him quite a lot; so did Desmond.

  The orchestra was playing the familiar gay theme of the heroine, who wore the lilac mask, or domino. He knew all the names of the cast, having seen The Lilac Domino several times before. How lovely it was to see and to hear Clara Butterworth and Jameson Dodds again! It was very sad when estrangement came between the lovers, but life was like that. The audience was half khaki, wives and sweethearts sitting close to their men, some on leave like himself, others soon to go out. Here was the world of dream, blossoming before them on the stage as a flower. Soft eyes, moist eyes, deep red plush seats, darkness glowing with romance and the yearning of the heart. Then, during a scene outside the ballroom, when it seemed that the lovers must be estranged by misunderstandings, and that Nina was sending towards him the same feelings that he had for the hero and heroine, he turned his head involuntarily and saw her misty blue eyes opened wide, as though by the swelling of her heart. Fear made him withdraw his feelings into himself. His flow towards the stage interrupted, he looked at Doris on the other side of him. How her face was set! Was she thinking of Percy, buried near Flers? She was the one of the family who had real guts. Then from the corner of his eye he saw Gene’s hand moving towards the hand of Mavis, watched her take her hand away, rather roughly; and was half sorry, half relieved, because Gene was a sort of roué.

  Only when he was lying in bed that night did it occur to Phillip that the term he had applied in his mind to Eugene might have been applied to himself, and that his friend, of whose amours he privately disapproved, was natural. At the same time, was it natural to want to ravish a girl, if you did not love her? Was deception natural? No, it was treachery to tell the tale to a girl, to deceive her in order to possess her, without caring for her as a person. How serious was Gene? He had asked Mavis to go with him to the pictures. Would that mean taking her to his flat afterwards? Anyway, he wasn’t likely to get much change out of Mavis. She was too selfish—or rather too involved in herself to have true sympathy for anyone else. Again, ought he to tell Gene of her attacks? As usual, he could not make up his mind about anything, as he strayed into memories of old scenes, all disastrous, reducing him to thin nothingness, a state of mind in which Lily did not enter, for she was dead, and gone for ever. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much wine at dinner.

  *

  One morning, idly looking at The Daily Trident, he was surprised to see a photograph of Bright, looking grimmer than ever, beside two of his brothers. He got up and ran in to show his mother, and to read to her the account, under the headline, TARRED AND FEATHERED. Bright’s wife had been “receiving attentions” from a young man who was “in a reserved occupation under the Ministry of Munitions”, and having been warned by the brothers to stop seeing her, had refused. The three brothers had kidnapped the lover, taken him to a barn on the farm, stripped him, tarred him, rolled him in white Leghorn feathers, driven him into the market town in a motorcar, and there turned him loose.

  “Oh dear,” said Hetty. “Of course it was very very wrong of his wife to encourage the young man, she must have been terribly unhappy, I think. Still, her husband was at the front—and yet, we must not judge. I feel sorry for all of them, Phillip——”

  *

  He lay about in the garden during the sunny days, thinking of France which, hour by hour, was drawing him darkly nearer to feelings of return. In quietness of spirit he went to the Old Vic with his mother and grandfather, in plain clothes, pretending it was the old days as he rode with them in a tram through the Old Kent Road to the New Cut, where on a corner stood the dingy little theatre. They were early for the matinée, and went down some stone steps into a coffee house, marked GOOD PULL UP FOR CARMEN. That was part of the old days, and welcome. He pretended it was a dug-out, with much-worn American cloth on the tables, sand on the floor, steaming tea-urns, thick horse-flesh sandwiches. They sat at a table where the attendant wiped away tea-stains while lifting up a scallop shell of mustard in which was stuck a bone spoon looking thoroughly sodden.

  “Shakespeare knew places like this,” said Thomas Turney, getting a grip on the sanded floor with the soles of his boots.

  “I was thinking, Gran’pa, if only we had places like this to go to in the trenches! They say the Hindenburg Line dug-outs have canteens in them, and also electric light.”

  “Very clever, the Germans. However”—with lowered voice and looking over his gold spectacle frame—‘“guard well thy tongue’, m’boy.” Three mugs of tea came. “Gunfire!” said Phillip, sniffing it. “Gunfire tea. Early morning char. Thick, rank, and sweet. Cheerho!” He played a game with himself, pretending that he was glad he had come.

  “This theatre where we are going,” said Thomas Turney, “was built on what originally was a swamp. The foundation stones were taken from the old Savoy Palace in the Strand, when that building was cleared away to build Lancaster Place. It was called after Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg——”

  “Gran’pa!” smiled Phillip, raising warning finger. “‘Guard well thy tongue’!”

  “Well done! But as I was saying, it is now the Victoria Hall, so we’re quite safe, he-he-he!”

  He went on to say that, although it was in a squalid neighbourhood, the best roses grew out of a clay soil heavily larded with muck.

  “Famous actors have played here, like Edmund Kean, Booth, and Buckstone. And Paganini, the violinist.”

  Then, the doors being opened, they crossed the street and bought tickets for the dress circle. It was The Tempest, and soon Phillip was transported. The innocence and faith of Miranda and her “Brave new world!” when she met the ship-wrecked sailors! Poor Caliban, bad because he didn’t know any better! The magnanimity of Prospero towards lesser men who had injured him! The farewell to Ariel, the final decision to break his wand, and sink his book into the sea, lest goodness in the wrong hands be changed to badness! And, above all, Miranda and her young lover playing chess under a tree, so calmly and happily, while the older men discussed their affairs. How wonderful to live among such people! But they lived only in the mind. He sighed as the curtain went down. Mother was clapping, smiling and with shining eyes.

  He said goodbye to them outside in the street, and went by bus over Waterloo Bridge, and so to Charing Cross, to walk up the Haymarket to Flowers’ Hotel. There he had tea, and, seeing no-one he knew, left soon afterwards and went by bus to Reynard’s Common, to wander in places once known, and the heather where he had sat with Lily. Could it have been more than a year ago when he had brought her on his motorcycle, and they had wandered by the lakes, on his last afternoon before going out to France for the opening of the battle of the Somme? Ar
iel, Prospero, Miranda, Lily—from afar, faintly shivering the calm evening air, came the sound of guns in Flanders.

  Chapter 11

  PROVEN

  On the way up from Boulogne the weather was dull and cloudy. A slow journey added to his depression, with the morose Bright, among others, for company; the carriage was full. When the train gave its final jolting stop at Steenwercke there were no grooms with horses awaiting the train.

  “We’re in Downham’s bad books all right,” he said to Bright, who merely grunted. The two reported at the orderly room. To Phillip’s relief Downham was not there, but only Pinnegar, sitting back in a canvas chair, moodily trying to enclose, within smoke-rings from his cigar, various flies clustering inside the walls of the tent. When Bright had left, Pinnegar said, after glancing around, in a lowered voice, “Did you read about that tar and feather business? I can just imagine him doing a thing like that, can’t you? Rough-looking chap, isn’t he? It’s all over the B.E.F. Still, that slacker deserved what he got.”

  After awhile Phillip said, “Did my telegram from Boulogne about Black Prince get through, Teddy?”

  “Yes. I was going to tell your sergeant to see to it, but Downham stopped it.”

  “I see.”

  “I should worry! The windy bastard is like that to all of us. Calls himself a Sharpshooter! The only thing he shoots sharply is his precious carcase into a dug-out!”

  Pinnegar went on to ask what London was like, what he did, what shows he saw, was there a shortage of food, were prices up, was London very windy over the daylight Gotha raid, and (eagerly) personal questions about any girls; and seemingly disappointed about the last item, relapsed into pessimism.

  “The old feeling in the company is gone. I’m fed up. The bloody Sharpshooter’s all spit and polish. And is he windy! We had a few bombs dropped the other night, and you’d think, by the way he carried on, that the old Hun had broken through our lines! Blowing a whistle, yelling to everyone to scatter, telling Rivett to get the drivers to disperse the mules. And all because Jerry’s hickaboo dropped three twelve-kilogram eggs a hundred yards off!”