‘Like pee the bed?’ enquired Lyn. Becky went pink.
‘There was no call to say that,’ reprimanded Charlie. ‘I took her in with me so she’d be spared your moaning. She can’t help it, you know.’ He put a supportive arm round Becky.
Lyn was contrite. ‘Sorry… I agree with you, Beck, we should do something to find Father – but what?’
Beany had an idea. ‘There’s lots of soldiers on the Knavesmire – we could ask some of them if they’ve seen Father.’
Charlie explained the futility of this. ‘They haven’t been to France yet, they’ve just joined up.’ He looked at the collection of blank faces and said optimistically, ‘Don’t worry, something’ll turn up.’
It did. The children found out from the newspaper that there was to be a military parade the next Sunday. ‘If we can get Mother to take us,’ Rowena told the others excitedly, ‘we might be able to talk to someone who can tell us where Father might be. There’ll be thousands at the Minster. There’s bound to be one among them who knows him.’
Sadly, before the children could make this suggestion, Rachel informed them that she would be out on Sunday morning. Not being very adept at business, she had allowed one or two of her customers to run up large arrears. Sunday was the only day she was free to collect these. Though it was a job she did not relish.
‘We hoped there might be somebody who’s seen Father,’ pressed Rowena. ‘Couldn’t you take us after church?’
Rachel felt the usual sickening jolt at the mention of her husband. Every time one of the children brought him into the conversation, she was afraid their next question would be, ‘Is he dead?’, to which she would have to reply honestly. She had maintained the deception very well up to now, saving any tears for the privacy of the night. This ability may have been aided by the fact that she still couldn’t believe it herself, felt numbed by it all. Each time she opened a drawer or a cupboard there were his belongings to bring him back to life. She looked at them all now and steeled herself to say it. They had a right to know – for goodness’ sake, it had been over a month! What if they learnt it from someone else? It was a wonder they hadn’t already. Rachel had told no one outside, of course – with being out at work all day, she rarely had words for her neighbours. She wouldn’t have told them anyway; it was none of their business and would only provide them with more to gossip about. But they may get to know of Russell’s death from the casualty lists in the paper. As yet his name hadn’t appeared – Rachel had checked thoroughly, for it would be dreadful if the children learnt of their father’s death from an outsider. She must, she must tell them.
But even now cowardice prevailed. As on previous occasions she deflected the subject. ‘I’m sure I’d much rather not have to be collecting debts, but I have to put our livelihood first. I’ll be going out very early and won’t be back until dinner.’ A dispirited Rowena asked, what about church? Rachel said that Biddy would take them. Biddy protested that she had her own church to go to. Rachel snapped that she would have to go to an earlier service in that case, and the argument was over.
‘Sure, I don’t see why I should have to get up at the crack o’ dawn on a Sunday,’ sulked Biddy in her mistress’s absence. ‘’Tis the only bit o’ rest I get.’ A thoughtful Lyn asked where Biddy’s church was situated and was told, ‘A leg-ache from yours.’
‘Yes, but where? Is it anywhere near the Minster?’ Biddy told Lyn that it was, but asked why. ‘Because I’ve an idea how you can get your sleep-in and get to church an’ all.’
Sunday came. Biddy had told her mistress on the Saturday night that she had decided not to go to Mass so she wouldn’t have to disturb Rachel by getting up early. After breakfast, Rachel went about her debt-collecting. A short time later, Biddy set off with the children. When they got up to the main road they caught a tram, using their pocket money to do so. Rowena paid for Biddy’s ticket. Bertie demanded that she pay his fare too. Although he didn’t mind missing church, he was adamant that this venture was a waste of time – he didn’t even want to find his father and he definitely wasn’t going to forfeit his pocket money in doing it.
‘You won’t tell Mother, Bertie, will you?’ asked Rowena uncertainly.
‘I might do,’ he said airily.
Lyn rose up at the pomposity of his remark. ‘You big turd.’
Blows were exchanged. ‘Lyn, stop it,’ ordered Rowena, and to Bertie in pleading manner, ‘I’ll buy you some invalid toffee. Please don’t tell Mother. She’ll be angry with Biddy for not taking us to church.’
‘Why do they call it invalid toffee if anyone can eat it?’ asked Beany.
Lyn bared her teeth. Her shoulder hurt where he had thumped her but she wouldn’t rub it. ‘I hope it makes him into an invalid! I hope his legs rot and his teeth drop out.’
‘Lyn, please!’ Rowena was becoming frantic in her efforts to win her brother over. ‘Bertie, I’ll buy you a full quarter if you don’t tell.’ It appeared that the pocket money she had saved was all going to be spent on him. He made a non-committal gesture and Rowena had to be satisfied with that.
Reaching Duncombe Place, where vast crowds lined the route of the march, they said goodbye to Charlie and the Irish girl, who warned them before slipping into her own church, ‘Now be sure not to move from this here path till I come out.’ She paused to study their innocent faces. The poor wee spalpeens, thinking they were going to find their daddy here… ‘I’ll light a candle for the master,’ she said kindly before taking the last step into church.
‘What does Father want a candle for?’ frowned Lyn.
Rowena didn’t know and turned to face the road. ‘We’ll never be able to see from here.’
Someone in the crowd heard this and made space for the children to squeeze to the front. Lyn smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘What a polite child,’ commented the woman to her neighbour.
Bertie decided with an exaggerated yawn that he wasn’t going to wait around here all day. ‘Give me the money and I’ll go an’ get me own toffee.’ Rowena reminded him of Biddy’s order. ‘D’you think I’m off to take any notice of what that dummy says? If you don’t give me the money I will tell Mother and old Biddy Buggery will get the chop.’
Rowena nudged him for the swear word in public, but was compelled to fund the purchase. ‘But please, Bertie, don’t get lost. Take a note of the landmarks.’
He sighed and gestured at the Minster. ‘I can hardly miss that, can I? Anyway, I’m not coming back, I’m off straight home.’ With this he disappeared into the crowd.
Rowena looked extremely worried and showed annoyance at Lyn, who said, ‘I wish it was Bertie who’d gone missing and not Father.’
‘Oh, they’re here!’ Becky shouted as two columns of men appeared and began to march along the final stretch of route to the Cathedral.
‘Where’s the band, then?’ Lyn grabbed a handful of her eldest sister’s bodice and swung her head out to get a better view. Normally the first indication of the parade would be the distant sound of a band which would gradually become louder and louder and then burst upon the spectators in chromatic brilliance: trumpets, trombones, bassoons sparkling in the sunshine, and of course the blood-stirring thump of the bass drum… There was none of this today. The only rhythm was the clip of boots. Instead of colourful dress uniforms, everyone wore standard khaki. The only splash of red to be seen was at the throats of the boy scouts who marched with the parade.
‘What’re they doing?’ asked Beany as a fleet of VAD ambulances crawled into view.
‘They’re bringing the wounded heroes to attend the service, dear,’ the woman nearby informed her.
Beany cast a worried glance at her eldest sister. But Rowena shook her head positively. ‘Father won’t be in one of those, he’s only missing.’
Then Becky leapt into the air and stabbed a finger. ‘He’s there! Oh, Wena, look he’s there… oh.’ Her face collapsed as the man drew near enough for her to see that it was not her fa
ther after all. ‘It isn’t him.’ The finger fell back to entwine its blighted hopes in a strand of red hair.
‘Clod-pate!’ Lyn was equally disappointed.
Rowena, seeing the downcast face, placed a comforting hand on Becky’s shoulder. ‘We didn’t really expect to find Father here, you know, Beck. He’s probably somewhere in France.’ Oh, I do hope so, came the desperate thought.
The pathetic countenance was lifted to hers. ‘Then why did we come?’
‘To ask any of these soldiers if they’ve seen him.’ The men continued to file past and Rowena leaned forward. ‘Excuse me!’ Her politeness went unnoticed. ‘Oh heck – excuse me!’ she shouted a little louder. One soldier appeared to look at her. ‘Do you know my father, Mr Hazelwood? He… oh, he won’t stop!’ The eyes had left her as the soldier continued past. Lyn suggested that she run alongside. ‘But Biddy said we had to stay here… oh, all right!’ Rowena dashed into the road and tried to keep march with the nearest soldier. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you but do you know my father, Mr Hazelwood? We had a telegram to say he was missing and we’re trying to find someone who might know where he is.’
‘Sorry, pet,’ muttered the soldier. ‘Don’t know him.’
Rowena fell back to ask the man behind, only to get the same response.
‘What regiment is he with?’ asked a more sympathetic listener. Rowena’s black stockinged legs moved like pistons to keep up with him, lifting her pinafore. ‘I’m not sure, but I think he’s a captain – or a sergeant.’
‘Captain Hazelwood?’ The officer shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. There are so many regiments, you see.’
‘Please could you find out for us?’ begged Rowena earnestly. ‘Anything at all, we’d be so grateful.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ promised the officer and at her smile of gratitude marched on, leaving her to find her way back to the others.
Infected by her enthusiasm, the younger girls asked, ‘Have you found someone who knows him?’
‘No, but someone’s promised to help,’ she panted through a relieved smile. ‘Oh, I feel much better!’
Her relief was somewhat diffused when she had to explain to Biddy where her brother was. ‘Oh, glorious son o’ heaven! That boy will get me hung. If he should arrive home on his own an’ the missus is there… Come on! We’d best get our skates on.’
* * *
‘Biddy Kelly, can I never trust you?’ shouted Rachel when her arrival on the doorstep coincided with theirs and the maid was forced to admit that Master Robert had wanted to come on his own.
‘Sure, ’tis only a few yards from the church, ma’am,’ said Biddy, praying fervently that Bertie would be inside to greet them.
Her faith was rewarded when they entered to the sound of Bertie’s footsteps creaking the bedroom floorboards. ‘It’s just as well for you!’ Rachel pointed a rigid finger. ‘If anything had happened to that boy – go get the vegetables ready for dinner!’ She herself opened the door to the front parlour; the children followed her in. ‘Was it a good service?’
‘Oh… er.’ Luckily for Rowena, her mother, as usual, didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Needless to say all my footwork was for nothing. Not one penny! Not one penny have I collected. Pretended they weren’t in – gone to church, one neighbour said. Imagine it! I don’t know how they can sit before their Maker with consciences like they must have.’
‘So won’t you get your money, Mother?’ asked Beany, quick to move the topic from the church.
‘Oh, I’ll get it all right!’ Rachel wore her Sunday best – a lilac skirt, a jacket to match with flounced cuffs and a trickle of lace at her breast, amethyst earrings, white shoes and gloves. She tugged these off and laid them neatly on the sideboard. ‘I’m sick of being taken advantage of. They won’t expect me to call again on the same day but I shall. I’ll go after dark so they can’t see who’s at the door without answering it, then let them pretend they aren’t in! Right, I think I’ll just go and soak my feet before dinner.’ Jabber, jabber, jabber, she rebuked herself. It’s no good, you’ll have to tell them. I’ll tell them after dinner. No you won’t, coward. Yes, I will! She started across the room. ‘And you children had better wash your hands and faces too!’ Dashing up the stairs, she opened the bedroom door… and came face to face with a ghost.
Chapter Twenty-three
‘There must’ve been some mix-up,’ said a waxen-faced Russ as the joyful girls danced around him, pulling his head down to smother it in kisses – ‘Oh Father, Father, you’re safe!’ They had heard Rachel scream and immediately poured up the stairs. Charlie hadn’t caught the commotion, being enthroned on the outside lavatory at the time. ‘I’ve been in hospital. I thought you’d been officially informed.’
The girls’ happiness turned to vociferous concern. ‘Hospital?’
‘No, I’m all right now,’ he reassured them, smiling. ‘It was only a whiff of gas that put me out of action.’ Only a whiff of gas… he suppressed a shudder as he relived that moment of incomprehension, then the terrible scouring of his nostrils, his throat, his lungs; the weeks of pain, sickness and diarrhoea – and apparently this made him one of the lucky ones! On release from hospital he had been sent to a training camp where the instructors had set about repairing his lack of stamina by driving him round and round the parade ground, ‘Get those knees up, you bloody waster!’ while his lungs had screamed and his legs had buckled… and Rachel had known none of this.
After her first expostulation, ‘I thought you were dead!’, his wife had made no other offering, too faint for speech. But now the fury surged through her at the Army’s incompetence. ‘Come along now, children, you can see your father later,’ she said in a voice that advertised its anger. ‘He must be tired and I want to speak to him privately.’ She shoved the happy girls from the room, then spun to glare at him. ‘Would you like to tell me how on earth the Army could say you were dead when you were in one of their own hospitals?’
‘I wish I knew! Bloody staff. I can only think…’ Russ sought for explanation. ‘Well, after a battle, men aren’t always in one piece.’ His voice had softened and he glanced at her. ‘Some of them literally disappear off the face of the earth.’
‘But you didn’t! You’re here!’
He sighed. ‘I know, I know… but there’s hundreds of thousands of men over there, Rachel. There might be two or three or even half a dozen with the same name and rank…’
‘But you all have different numbers!’
‘For Christ’s sake, I’m just trying to think of an explanation! It could be something as daft as a staff wallah picking the wrong form up!’ He controlled his temper and said firmly, ‘I’m sorry, if I’d known what was going on I would’ve let you know I was safe, but I expected they’d have told you where I was. I thought when you didn’t bother to come and visit me at the hospital that you didn’t care… There didn’t seem much point in writing when you hadn’t replied to any of my other letters.’
‘I burnt them – but that’s no excuse for the Army’s laxity! They told me you were dead!’
He stared at her for two seconds, then turned away to rest his weary body on the bed they had once shared. ‘I’m sorry, it must be very disappointing for you to have me turn up like this. I’ll try to oblige when I go back.’
‘Oh, you are going back then?’ She stood, arms akimbo, watching him.
‘Try not to sound too upset about it, Rachel.’ He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Now that they got me back in A1 condition they’ve given me seven days’ leave before sticking me back in the jam.’ He moved his head emphatically. ‘Oh, if I could get out of it I would, believe me. I must’ve been mad to go in the first place.’
Her response was brusque. ‘It was your own decision, wasn’t it? No one drove you to it.’
‘No… they didn’t. Were the children very upset when they thought…?’
‘Thankfully I hadn’t got round to telling them! They only knew that you were missing.’
&n
bsp; ‘Well, that’s something I suppose.’ Russ leaned on his knees and stared at the floor.
She studied his slumped posture. ‘I can’t nurse you, you know.’
‘I don’t expect you to,’ was his subdued answer. ‘Anyway, I’ve told you I’m fit and well.’
He certainly didn’t look it – looked old and worn out, his skin pasty. She would have had to look twice to recognize him on the street. ‘Yes, well… as long as you understand that I have the shop to see to… can’t be running up and down for invalids.’
He looked up. ‘Jimmy’s gone to the war, then?’
‘Oh yes, I forgot, you wouldn’t know about that.’ She crossed her arms. ‘In fact there’s a lot of things you don’t know – the main one being that the boy is still here.’ Surprise ejected him from the bed.
‘Still…? I knew he was here at Christmas, but…’ He tried to make sense of this. ‘Well, why hasn’t the priest come?’
She told him of Father Guillaume’s decision to go to Belgium and at his gasp cried, ‘Yes! He’s another one who’s more concerned with helping a bunch of foreigners than seeing to his duties here.’
‘Oh, Christ…’ He fell back on the bed, hands pushed under cheekbones. ‘I’m truly, truly sorry for putting you through this, Rachel. I’d never have gone and left you with it if I’d thought the boy would be staying this long… How long does the priest intend to leave him here, did he say?’
‘For the duration of the war,’ said Rachel evenly. ‘But that will be over by Christmas, won’t it?’ She turned her haughty face away, then noticed his kitbag and bridled. ‘I hope you aren’t expecting to sleep in here?’
His blue eyes toured her face for long moments. The spark had gone from them. Then, wordlessly, he pressed himself from the bed and went to pick up his kit.
A stab of conscience urged her to say, ‘You don’t have to do that now… Biddy will set up the other bed later. I expect you’ll want something to eat?’ At his grateful nod she opened the door. ‘Come down to the kitchen then.’
My Father, My Son Page 37
