A Song At Twilight

by Lilian Harry

  ‘I don’t suppose Mr Hamley thinks it’s funny,’ May said, smiling, ‘nor the sentry. But you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you.’ She looked at her friends properly for the first time, and her smile slowly faded. There was a moment of silence and then she said, in a completely different tone, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ She turned to Alison. ‘Are you all right? There’s nothing gone wrong with the babby, is there? Or Hughie?’

  ‘He’s all right,’ Alison reassured her quickly. ‘He’s in with Mrs Potter, next door. And there’s nothing wrong with me or the baby.’ She stopped, not knowing how to begin …

  ‘What?’ May’s voice sharpened. ‘What, then? Tell me, for pity’s sake.’ Fear dawned in her eyes, followed by understanding. ‘It’s Ben, isn’t it? Something’s happened to Ben.’

  ‘Oh, May,’ Alison said, moving towards her. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  May sat down suddenly on her father’s bed, and Alison lowered her bulk to sit beside her. She put her arms around May and Andrew, still standing, said quietly, ‘He went down in the sea on our way back last night. It doesn’t mean he’s lost. He could still be picked up. A patrol went out at first light.’

  ‘But they haven’t found him,’ May said in a dry, husky voice.

  ‘No, not yet. But—’

  May burst into tears. Her mother moved swiftly towards her and sat down on her other side. May turned away from Alison and buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, and Andrew repeated what he had just told them. ‘We’ll keep looking. I’m going back myself as soon as possible, but I wanted to come and tell you first. We’ll do our best to find him, May.’

  ‘Oh, Ben,’ she wept. ‘We were going to get engaged today.’ She sat up and spread her hands out in front of her, staring at them. ‘We were going to buy the ring.’

  Alison gazed at her in dismay. ‘So that’s why you’re all dressed up.’ She glanced at Mabel and William. ‘You knew about this?’

  William nodded. ‘Asked me for her hand last yesterday, he did, in the proper manner. Mother and me, us’d talked it over beforehand, see. Us had a pretty good idea what was in the wind and I won’t say we didn’t have no reservations, but as Mother said, when a couple of young things are in love there bain’t much you can do about it. And Ben’s a fine young chap, when all’s said and done. So I was happy to give my consent, and they were going into Tavi this morning, on the bus.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Alison said again, thinking how inadequate the words were. She put her hand on May’s arm. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry.’

  ‘I won’t never wear his ring now,’ the girl said dolefully. ‘And I was so happy when I got up this morning – and I never even knew he was gone. Why didn’t I know? I ought to have felt it.’ She sat up a little and laid her hand over her heart. ‘I ought to have felt it here.’

  Andrew squatted down in front of her and put his hands over her wrists. He looked into her face and said, ‘May, we don’t know yet that he’s gone. I’ve told you, we’ve got planes out looking for him now and I’m going myself as soon as I get back. People have been rescued before. He’s got a life jacket. A ship might have picked him up. Anything could have happened. You are not to lose hope.’

  ‘Hope …’ she said slowly, and a new expression came into her eyes. ‘That’s the name of that little girl – the one he’s godfather to, that lives with his mother and father. What about them? Someone ought to tell them. Oh, his poor mother!’ Her own sorrow seemed to be pushed aside as she looked wildly from Andrew to Alison. ‘He told me she’s still grieving over her other boy – Peter. We couldn’t get married yet because of it. This’ll kill her!’

  ‘We don’t know yet that he’s lost,’ Andrew said steadily. ‘But of course his parents will have to be told. A telegram will be sent.’

  ‘A telegram,’ she repeated in a hollow voice. ‘ “Missing” – is that what it’ll say? Or “missing, believed killed”? Oh, that poor, poor lady.’ She began to get to her feet. ‘I’ll go myself and tell her.’

  ‘May, you can’t!’ Alison said. ‘You can’t go all the way to – where is it they live, somewhere near Southampton? And if she was really upset about Ben wanting to get married, how do you think she’ll feel about seeing you?’

  ‘It might help her,’ the girl said stubbornly. ‘She’ll know when she sees me that I loved him proper. Anyway, I ought to go. If we were wed, that’s what I’d do. It’d be expected of me.’

  ‘It might be expected that she’d come to you, maid,’ her father pointed out. ‘But I don’t suppose her will.’

  There was a short silence. May sat down again, deflated, and began to cry once more. Andrew and Alison looked at each other.

  ‘I’ll have to go back,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I shouldn’t really have come out, but I knew you’d want to know as soon as possible. We really are doing our best to find him,’ he told May. ‘Men have survived in the sea for hours – even days. If he managed to bale out …’

  ‘Tell me one thing, then,’ she said, looking up through her tears. ‘Was the plane on fire?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t on fire. I promise you that.’

  She nodded. ‘At least he wasn’t burned, then. That was the thing he was most scared of, you know – being burned.’ She covered her face with her handkerchief again and wept.

  ‘I’d better go too,’ Alison said quietly. ‘I promised I wouldn’t leave Hughie too long. I’ll come back later, if you’d like me to.’ She looked questioningly at Mabel, who nodded at her.

  ‘That’s right, maid. Come back later on. She’ll be glad to see you then – us all will.’ She turned her attention back to her daughter and Alison gave May’s arm a last pat and followed Andrew to the door.

  As they walked along the lane, hand in hand and sobered by all that had happened, Alison turned to Andrew and asked, ‘Did you know that about Ben, that he was afraid of being burned?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t. He never said a word about it to me. But he was a brave chap, darling. A very brave young chap.’

  ‘Was,’ she repeated slowly, and looked directly into his eyes. ‘You think he’s gone, don’t you? You don’t think he’ll be saved.’

  Andrew sighed heavily and then shook his head. ‘No. To be absolutely honest, my darling, I don’t think he had a chance.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ben was not found. By the time the dawn patrols were out, searching the area where he had vanished, there was no sign of him. A few scraps of floating wreckage were seen, but no more. Heavy-hearted and as upset by this death as he had been by Tubby Marsh’s, Andrew reported him as ‘missing, believed killed’ and a telegram was sent to his parents.

  Olivia was in the garden, sitting under the apple tree, when the boy rode up on his red Post Office bike. He went to the front door without seeing her and rang the bell. She was already getting to her feet when Jeanie opened the door.

  ‘What is it?’

  The boy turned. He was a Boy Scout from the village and she’d known him since he was a baby, being christened by her husband in the church font. He had red hair and a cheeky grin, but this afternoon his face was sober and uncertain.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Hazelwood. I didn’t see you.’ He held out the brown envelope. ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘For me?’ She stared at it, not reaching out her hand, as if by refusing to take it she could make it go away.

  ‘Well, for you and the vicar,’ he said, an apologetic note in his voice. She wondered bleakly if he knew what was in it. He must know it was bad news. Telegrams always brought bad news. She took a step back.

  ‘He’s in the church.’

  ‘Can’t I give it to you, Mrs Hazelwood?’ he asked. ‘Only, I’m not supposed to take too long.’

  Olivia looked at the envelope and then at Jeanie, who was white-faced. Slowly, she reached out her hand, then drew it back quickly, as if touching the envelope would contaminate her. She shook her head speechlessly, and tears began to slid
e down her cheeks. Her tall, gaunt figure swayed and Jeanie came down the steps swiftly and caught her. The boy dropped his bike and jumped to help her, and as they stood there in an ungainly huddle, the vicar himself came round the corner.

  ‘What on earth?’ He ran forward and took his wife in his arms. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I brought a telegram,’ the boy said, holding it out again. His freckled face was red with embarrassment and distress. Awkwardly, he bent to pick up his bike. ‘I ought to be going but I’ve got to know if there’s any answer.’

  John took the envelope and looked at it. Slowly, he opened it and read the slip of paper, then he shook his head.

  ‘No. No answer. You get back, Bobby.’

  The boy gave a nod and turned away. He wheeled his cycle to the gate and then got on and rode off down the lane. Olivia and John looked at each other.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked in a dry whisper.

  ‘It’s Ben, I’m afraid, my dear.’ He heard Jeanie’s cry and stretched out his other arm to take her into his embrace as well. ‘I’m most terribly sorry. It’s Ben.’

  ‘He was our youngest,’ Olivia wept. ‘Our ewe-lamb. Our Benjamin. Oh, John …’

  ‘I know.’ He held her close. They were on the sofa in the drawing room and Jeanie, her eyes red and tears still slipping down her cheeks, had brought them a tray of tea. John thanked her and asked her to stay and have a cup with them, but she shook her head and went back to the kitchen. Olivia barely seemed to know that she’d been there.

  ‘Drink this, my dear,’ he said. He was having a difficult time holding back his own tears and could manage only if he distanced himself from his feelings. If he could just pretend this was happening to a parishioner rather than his own family, use his years of training and experience to batten down his grief and focus upon his wife’s … It was the hardest thing he had ever done. The hardest, at least, since they’d had the news about Peter. ‘Just a sip. It’ll help you.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’ She was too weak too refuse, however, and sipped obediently when he held the cup to her lips. Jeanie had put in several teaspoons of sugar, he realised when he tasted his own, yet Olivia – who hated sweet tea – didn’t even seem to notice. Perhaps you didn’t, when you really needed it. She drank some more and then waved it away and began to cry again.

  ‘Oh, John! This awful, awful war. When is it going to end? When is it going to stop taking away all our children? When is God going to do something about it?’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ He felt helpless. If she really had been a parishioner, he would have known what to say – all the usual things about God knowing best, working His purpose out, about having faith in Him, trusting Him … But none of these would do for Olivia, and he wondered suddenly if they would do for anyone. How did his parishioners feel, when he said these things to them? Did they listen out of politeness only, and respect for his cloth, while all the time inside they were rejecting his words? Would they really like to ask what Olivia would ask – how could a benign God let these terrible things happen? What was the point of trusting Him when at the very minute when you were on your knees in church, praying to Him, your own flesh and blood was being brutally murdered? It would be in vain, he knew, to point out that God’s own Son had died in agony on the Cross. The only time he had said that to Olivia, she had simply retorted that it just went to prove that there wasn’t anything He could do, not really. If He existed at all …

  And it was at times like this that John felt his own faith severely tested. He had told Olivia months ago that he had once almost lost it completely, but that it had returned to him. Now, with the loss of two of his boys, he wondered just how strong it was, and whether it would go on sustaining him. And what sort of faith it could be, to falter at his own loss, when he knew so many people had lost even more?

  ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while?’ he suggested gently. ‘I’ll bring you some aspirin. You’ll make yourself ill if you go on like this.’

  ‘What does that matter?’ she sobbed. ‘What does it matter if I’m ill? Two of my children are dead, John!’

  ‘And two of them are still alive,’ he said. ‘Hold on to that, my dear. And we don’t know that Ben is dead. The telegram says he’s missing—’

  ‘Believed killed.’

  ‘But not known for certain. There’s still hope.’

  Olivia withdrew herself from his arms and stood up. He rose with her, looking down at the face that had once been so serene but was now thin and lined and blotched with tears. Her fine, grey eyes were reddened and exhausted and her hair was lank. She looked like an old woman, and his heart went out to her even as he longed for the Olivia he had known and loved for so many years.

  ‘Go and lie down,’ he repeated, and she nodded wearily and went slowly from the room, her footsteps dragging as she climbed the stairs.

  John watched her go, his heart filled with pity. His own grief welled up within him, but he thrust it down, telling himself he must wait, and went out to the kitchen where Jeanie was sitting with her elbows resting on the big wooden table, her head in her hands. She looked round as he came in and her lips trembled.

  ‘Oh, Mr Hazelwood …’

  ‘I know,’ he said, coming to stand beside her and laying his big hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s a shock to us all.’ He sighed. ‘We all know it can happen at any time – we’ve known it all through the war – but it’s still a shock. I’m very sorry, my dear. I know how fond you were of Ben.’

  ‘It’s not just me,’ she said brokenly. ‘It’s Hope. He was her godfather and she loved him. Now she won’t even remember him when she grows up. And it isn’t even just her.’ She looked up at him, her brown eyes filled with tears. ‘I keep thinking of that other poor girl. The one in Devon that he wanted to marry. How is she going to feel, when she finds out? Will anyone even tell her?’

  John Hazelwood stared at her. He had not given a thought to the girl Ben had wanted to marry – the girl he loved. He felt a great wash of shame as he realised that he didn’t even know her name and address – he’d been so concerned with Olivia’s distress that he’d never even asked. He had sent Ben away thinking that he didn’t care.

  May, however, did know the Hazelwoods’ address, and wanted desperately to write to them. She talked it over with her parents and grandfather.

  ‘I was Ben’s fiancée. I know we didn’t have the ring yet and I know they didn’t give him their permission to marry, but we were engaged. You know we were. I ought to write to them. It would be rude not to.’

  ‘That’s right, maid, but it’s poor Mrs Hazelwood I be thinking of,’ Mabel said. ‘Poor dear lady – her must be distraught at losing another of her boys. And if she were that upset about the idea of him getting married, a letter from you might upset her all over again. You know what his father said – that she were close to a complete breakdown. You don’t want to make things even worse.’

  ‘It seems wrong, all the same. It’s not as if we were going to get married against their wishes. Ben was coming round to the idea that we’d have to wait till she could see things clearer. We wouldn’t have done anything to hurt her.’

  ‘And suppose she’d never come round?’ William asked.

  ‘Well, we could have crossed that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, it don’t matter now, do it? It’s never going to come to that. And I still think as I ought to write to them.’

  ‘Why don’t you just address the letter to the vicar?’ her grandfather suggested. ‘Let him decide whether to show it to her or not. Then you’d have done what’s right without causing no more trouble.’

  May turned and looked at him. He had been as saddened as the rest of them by Ben’s loss, and seemed to have aged a year in the past week. But his eyes were as wise and kindly as ever and filled with compassion.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’ll do. After all, he’m a vicar and he’ll know we weren’t doing nothing wrong. I’ll tell him all about it – how Ben
and me first met, and how we used to go walking and sometimes went to the pictures together or a dance, and how we came to think so much of each other. I’ll tell him how Ben asked me to marry him and how upset he was about his mother and how he wanted to help her, and I’ll tell him we were going to wait until she was better, even though Ben wanted us to wed straight off. I’ll tell him I’ll always love Ben, however long I live. That can’t hurt him, can it? None of that can hurt him. And maybe one day he’ll be able to show it to Ben’s poor mother as well, so she can see that Ben was happy with me, and how happy he made me feel too. Maybe that’ll help her.’

  Tears were sliding down her face as she finished speaking, and there were tears in the eyes of her three listeners. As she fell silent, her mother got up and came over to her, sitting beside her to take the weeping girl into her arms.

  ‘That’s right, my blossom,’ she said softly. ‘You tell him all those things. He’ll know then that Ben chose a good girl to be his wife. Even that’ll be a comfort to him, and let’s hope to her as well. Poor dear soul,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Losing two boys like that, and the other one still in danger – where did Ben say he was? In Italy?’

  ‘They think he’s at Cassino,’ May said, and her mother folded her lips ruefully. They had all heard of the fighting at Cassino and the monastery which stood above it, and although Ian was a chaplain he would still be in danger. ‘Oh, I hope nothing happens to him as well. I don’t think she’d ever get over losing all three of them.’

  ‘I don’t know how any mother could,’ Mabel said gravely, and gave her daughter another hug. ‘There now, my flower, you get on and write your letter. Take your time over it, mind – it don’t do to dash important letters off all in a few minutes – and I’ll tell you what, you can use that lovely writing-pad Mrs Huccaby gave me for Christmas. I thought at the time, I don’t know what sort of letters she thinks I write that I’d want such good paper for, what with there being such a shortage anyway, but you use as much of it as you like. I’ll go and fetch it now.’