Froggett’s son, Fred, new to it, put his head down on the mud. Auberon yelled, ‘It’s child’s play, Fred. Just keep your head down like that until we tell you otherwise.’ No zip zip. No rat-a-tat. Just crump. Auberon dug his toes in harder, balanced himself, and unslung his rifle, thrusting it past Jack to Charlie, who hung on to his ‘branch’ and grabbed at it. Auberon could afford to lose his rifle, with the extra arsenal he had taken to carrying.
Auberon listened. Still relatively quiet. He withdrew his pistol in readiness for action. ‘Less lying about, lads, lots to do, got to get the buggers back beyond the Scheldt river and then the Rhine, so we can get home. Let’s all make it in one piece please, can’t stand the thought of searching through this mud for bits of you. Too damned messy. No heroics now, out of this hole carefully, discreetly, like a bishop leaving a tart’s bedroom.’ They eased their way up, then, doubling over, ran zigzagging into the guns.
That evening Auberon wrote a letter to the Froggetts from the German trench they had taken, while the artillery coughed spasmodically. It was what he called a B letter, just an explanation of a leg injury from shrapnel, hopefully a Blighty one, but the medics at base hospital would decide. It would bring good cheer to that small farm, and the farmer who had stood against the Bramptons and sold the cottages to Jack’s family, and Grace’s, to stop Lord Brampton’s monopoly. Quite rightly too.
Jack was writing a similar one, also bound for the Froggetts, hunkering down, resting on a board. Auberon raised his head, examining the trench, which was a bloody great thing with concrete walls. It paid to capture a town like Lille, one which contained concrete works, bloody poor planning by Haig to let the Germans’ hog it. ‘What the hell are we going to do when we get home, Aub?’ Jack said. ‘That’s if it’s on the way to being over. Nothing seems different, so it’s hard to tell.’
‘What we’ll do is take off our uniforms, have a bath, and yes, surely it will be over soon, Jacko.’ Auberon grinned, looking up at the sky. Frost was in the air.
Mart muttered, ‘What makes you think we’ll be let into the house to have a bleedin’ bath? They’ll hose us down outside, or me mam will. Don’t you think your Lady Veronica will be any different. Aye, and Evie will have something to say about you traipsing around stinking the place out, whether you’re her boss or not.’
Jack was chewing his pencil. ‘You know Evie said Auld Maud had a roof fall a few weeks ago? One of the first things we should do is put the supports much closer together. It might cost more at the start but think of the stoppages these falls cause, as well as the carnage, which is being sorted at Easterleigh as we speak. We could improve on the pumps to keep the methane explosions at bay, and do regular maintenance of all machinery. Makes sense, Aub. D’you think the Bast—’ Mart nudged him to a stop. Jack coloured. ‘I mean your father, would go for it?’
Charlie looked confused. ‘Who’s the . . .?’ Now Mart nudged him. Charlie paused, then resumed. ‘One minute we’re talking about War, Haig and Lille, the next the mine. Well, while we’re at it, you should be thinking of bringing shooting parties back to your estate, and controlling the breeding of the game birds again, sir, when the hospital no longer needs them all year round. The grouse could be ready for next year. I could help. I can still do that, I’m sure I can. Or can I? I think perhaps fighting’s the only thing I’m good at now. It’s what I understand, and not just me, all of us. You too, sir. I don’t want us to break up, I mean, what will I do alone? I’d follow you anywhere, sir. We all would, so I’d like to go on working with you.’
Auberon just nodded. He couldn’t speak. Mart said, ‘I’ll get out the bloody violins, shall I?’ They laughed. Mart poked at the stock of his rifle, and it was hard for Auberon to imagine him with a pick. Jack had broken the pencil in half and was staring at it, but Aub knew he wasn’t seeing it. It was up to him to say something. He tried, but couldn’t. He tried again. ‘Let’s get through this thing first, but I have a plan. Trust me, all of you. Jacko, listen to me. And another thing, you shouldn’t think of just following me. We make a team, we follow one another, and you need to remember that, but don’t tell Colonel Gerrard, or I’ll shoot you myself.’
Before Auberon could feel any more embarrassed Corporal Devlin, who had been with the North Tyne Fusiliers since the Somme, came along with a clutch of steaming tin mugs. He bore the scars most of them carried around the face, shrapnel here and there, a zip of a flesh wound. ‘Soup, sir. Sergeant Major’s emancipated a spirit stove he found down the end of the trench in the officers’ dugout. The Huns left in a hurry, it seems. There’s quite a cook-up going on with their bits and bobs until the supplies catch us up. Oxtail it is, from a tin, well, several tins, or so we think. Of course, it might be horse, but either way it’ll warm your cockles.’
They hugged the mugs between their hands, and sipped. Auberon knew from Richard that Italy was under pressure, Turkey too, but the men were right, what the hell was going to happen? Would the plan he’d been mulling over work? Would he even live to put it into action? If not, there was always Richard, who had the package he had left in his portmanteau, and a further letter with instructions for the well-being of his men. Across from him Charlie was running his finger around the inside of his mug. No one thought it disgusting, but someone would say it was. Auberon waited. Mart said, ‘That’s disgusting.’
Jack shared a look with Auberon. They both grinned. So often there was no need for words.
Auberon thought of Simon, safe in the prison camp, Simon who had not taken the opportunity to leave, to even snatch at a faint chance to see Evie, but had preferred to build up his friendship with the American director’s son. But who was he to criticise others; at least Simon would live safely ensconced as an orderly, and therefore at least Evie would live happily. That was something to hold to him as he did most nights, and that was also why the plan must work.
Jack threw a small pebble, and it stung Auberon’s leg. ‘Hey, watch it.’
‘Well, get your lugs working. Did you find out any more about that grey that is being ridden by the major, out on the right flank?’ Jack asked.
Auberon flung the pebble back. Jack caught it. ‘Yes, and it’s not Prancer. But I’m not giving up, he’s out there somewhere.’ The others looked anywhere but at him. ‘I know, I know,’ Aub said, ‘but I just feel he is. Bit like the cedar tree. He’s there, it’s there, so life will go on.’
‘And all will be well,’ muttered Mart. Jack barked out a laugh. They all repeated, as one, ‘And all will be well. Bless her huge and kindly heart.’ The artillery was still lobbing shells, flares were sent out ahead of them, but they doubted there’d be any wiring parties with the Germans in retreat.
‘Just keep your heads down and your wits about you. There’s still a lot of damage flying around,’ Auberon insisted, desperate to keep them safe, desperate to get them back, himself too, just see Evie’s smile, hear her voice. She was life to him.
Chapter 15
Easterleigh Hall, 11th November 1918
THE WAR WAS over at eleven in the morning, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918. ‘Neat and tidy, then,’ Evie murmured, shivering as she and Grace stood on the porticoed steps waiting for the ambulances to arrive. Frost covered the grass, and glinted on the gravel of the drive. ‘The war is over.’ It seemed to mean nothing. She tried it another way. ‘Over is the war.’ She tried it again. ‘Is over the war.’
Grace smiled at her. ‘None of it makes sense and yes, neat and tidy for posterity one thinks, until you look at these ambulances and their cargo.’ Her smile faded. ‘Please God, our men are safe. We haven’t heard differently, but how long does it take for a telegram to come? Because Aub would signal the news, wouldn’t he? Unless he himself was killed, then it would be a letter. What do you think, Evie, how long?’
Evie shook her head. ‘I don’t know, lass. I just don’t know.’ The ambulances were coming up the drive now, and would keep coming, because men would have been blasted to sm
ithereens until the last minute, and of this they were more than sure. There was the grinding of gears, the crunch of gravel.
‘It’s teatime,’ Grace said. Evie stared at her. ‘Teatime,’ Grace repeated.
Evie felt panic. ‘Teatime, oh my Auntie Fanny.’ She leapt down the steps, skirting the first ambulance that was skidding to a halt. As she ran into the stable yard the organised chaos behind her began. More awaited her at the top of the kitchen steps, in the shape of Mrs Moore standing with her arms akimbo, yelling, ‘I’ll have your guts for garters, so I will, Evie Forbes. Teatime and where the hell are you? Partying already no doubt, when there are gobs to fill with scones, and party food to prepare.’
Evie skirted round her, expecting a clip on the ear, and it was all so normal that she laughed, really laughed, and fled down the steps into the kitchen, Mrs Moore in hot pursuit in spite of her rheumatics, laughing too. ‘I’m beginning to believe,’ Evie shouted as she entered the kitchen, ‘I’m beginning to believe it’s over.’
Annie and the downstairs servants were doing some sort of dance around the kitchen table, and the laundry staff joined in, led by Millie, with such a smile on her face that it was as though she’d swallowed the sun, or so Mrs Moore grunted. They wound out into the servants’ hall, and then the interior corridor, until Mr Harvey appeared on the stairs leading to the great hall, clapping his hands and shouting. ‘I will not have this when we have injured arriving, and work to do. Decorum, please. You will save this until after dinner is cleared, and only then will you celebrate. Then I will expect you to lift the roof.’
He was so old, so thin, so drawn, but his presence was still larger than anyone’s in the whole world, Evie thought, looking at him, feeling a great swathe of affection sweep her, and was astonished. She stared around. She had felt affection, even if only for a moment, for now it was gone, but she had feared that feeling was dead within her and it was worthy of celebration that it was not.
That evening, after a dinner of treats such as smoked salmon, lamb cutlets, sponge puddings involving sugar and cream, and finally wine from Lord Brampton’s cellars, liberated by Mr Harvey at Veronica’s suggestion, there was a mingling of new patients and convalescents, nurses, VADs, orderlies, downstairs staff, wandering here and there, within the wards and great hall, and downstairs. The celebrations spilled out on to the frosty lawn, and into the triage marquee where refreshments were laid out on trestle tables, and could be cleared within moments if a convoy arrived.
Evie was dragged by Harry to the fiddlers, who were recovering pitmen from Auld Maud’s roof fall. She sang ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’, ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’, ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ and others until her throat was raw. She danced with Harry, and Ron who was there with Posie. Richard trod on her foot as they clambered through a waltz. ‘It’s the wine,’ he said. ‘I have to say, the old man keeps a good cellar. Not sure how Mr Harvey is going to fudge the wine account book to hide this little lot.’
Evie laughed. ‘He’ll find a way, no doubt, and hopefully Brampton won’t be here for a while.’
She saw Richard’s face set, and the lines of worry deepen between his eyes. She said, ‘What will happen to us all now?’
‘My thoughts entirely, Commandant Evie. What indeed?’ He tried a turn, which was unsuccessful, and as their balance went Ron spun up, dragging Posie with him, to act as a bulwark, stabilising the situation. Veronica danced past the near disaster in Harry’s arms, calling, ‘He’s your problem for the moment, Evie. No doubt you’ll make a dancer of him yet.’
‘Never, I know my limitations,’ Evie shouted after her, feeling hot from so many bodies, tired from cooking all day, but joyous. Always, every moment, there was joy.
Richard looked down at her. ‘Evie, may we just take a breather, out in the cool, and the quiet?’
The fiddlers were playing their hearts out, the wine bottles were laid out on the tables at the entrance, and two beer barrels too. They passed them, Richard’s hand on her elbow, partly to help his balance on the lawn, partly as a courtesy. They walked clear of the milling crowds and joined others, less frantic, strolling in the cold, or standing in groups, the men smoking, the few women talking. The sky was frosty clear. Evie looked up, glad there was no cloud, for such a sky made her feel insignificant, as though it expected nothing of her. She was just a speck, and that was how she felt.
Harry was beneath the cedar tree, a wine glass in his hand, beckoning them. They joined him. He had a bottle and glasses at the base of the tree. Evie retrieved two, and poured. They leaned against the tree, silent until Harry said, ‘Now we face the fact that the dead are never coming home but those that are left must go on, with absent limbs, faces and minds. It must be so strange on the Continent. There must just be the greatest silence known to man.’
None of them spoke, just drank, and then refilled their glasses.
The party ended at midnight, and Evie took over from Annie in the kitchen, sleeping on one of the armchairs, with Raisin and Currant asleep on the other. She dragged herself awake, as usual, when a VAD came in for beef broth, or the favourite food that was required by a new patient who had just realised that he was alive, and feeling rather better, or one who wanted the food his mother used to cook one last time, perhaps even just the smell of it, before he died.
At four in the morning, she was dragged awake again by something. Had it been a bang? She sat up, looking round. Had a door slammed? She heard voices, and the sound of running, but no one was ever allowed to run. Matron would have their guts for garters. She sat up, the dogs stirred, and barked. There were footsteps on the stairs, shouting. ‘Evie, Mr Harvey, Mrs Moore, Mrs Green, quickly, quickly.’ It was Ken, the orderly who had drawn the short straw and was manning the desk in the great hall all night. Behind him she could hear Sister Newsome calling, ‘We need hoses.’
Evie flew out of the kitchen, along the internal corridor, meeting Ken, panting, at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hoses?’ She asked.
‘It’s the tree, some bugger’s blown it up.’
He was already turning, pounding back up the stairs. Evie followed, her cap askew. ‘What tree?’
Ken burst into the great hall, where patients were gathering. They wove their way through to the double doors which were flung open, and there behind the marquee were flames, leaping into the sky, whipped by the wind. Harry, Ron and several others were lugging Old Stan’s hoses through from the stable yard, Harry calling back to those in the yard, ‘Get that water on.’
The noise of the flames and the crackle of the cedar needles reached Evie as she stood on the steps next to Matron, who was in her dressing gown, her hair in a net, her hand to her mouth. There was a whoosh as something else went up and now Evie was leaping down, followed by Veronica, crunching across the gravel, skirting the marquee, the noise getting louder and louder. They reached Harry and helped with the hose, pulling it in the direction of the tree which lay prone, blackened and burning, branches scattered about. ‘Bastards, bastards,’ Harry was yelling, struggling to control the hose, which was like a live thing. The men hung on grimly, directing the water on the blaze while Ron doused the marquee with another hose to try to stop it going up too. The heat was intense, more so as the wind whipped up the flames.
‘Who did this?’ Evie shouted, gripping the hose behind the men, her hands and arms soaking wet. ‘Who would do this?’
Harry was looking behind him, towards the stables. ‘Where the hell is the woman?’ he shouted, then turned back as the hose seemed to leap to one side, knocking itself from Evie’s hands. She grabbed it again, and now her skirts were soaked but the heat was still blasting at them. ‘Where’s who?’ she shouted back.
‘Millie, she was in the garage. I shouted to her and whoever she had with her to haul out the third hose. Bugger it.’ Harry yelled to young Kev, ‘Get the garage hose, for God’s sake. Get Millie to give you a hand, and the bloke with her. We need another to help Ron with the marquee. Which�
�ll be needed tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar.’
Others had started a bucket line and were dousing the marquee as Kev ran to the garage.
By dawn the cedar tree was a smouldering mess. No one said that it looked like a great dead body, but Evie suspected most were thinking it. She and Harry stood beside it, with Grace, Veronica and Richard. There was nothing to say, because the image of peace and tranquillity that had sustained so many lay destroyed at their feet. Evie said, ‘Bless its heart. It stayed strong the whole of the war.’ But their tears were close.
Somehow they all worked as usual and lunch was created and removed, a convoy arrived, the laundry was hung out, and it was only then that Polly came into the kitchen. ‘Millie hasn’t arrived for her shift. Old Stan said she wasn’t at the pickup point. I expect she’s faffing about now the war’s over. Young Kev didn’t find her at the garage either, last night, and I reckon she’d just cycled home, lazy cow.’
Evie’s head was aching from the wine and tiredness, everyone’s was, but they had all arrived, they had all smiled because the war was over. Soon it would sink in, and the joy would remain and never depart. She smiled at Polly. ‘I’ll ask Mam when she comes. She’ll be biking in after fetching Tim from school. He’ll be crammed into that little seat, grumbling all the way.’
Mr Harvey knocked and entered, panting and even paler than usual. ‘Just to warn you, Lord Brampton has arrived, with her ladyship. They were in the area, intent on arriving this evening, so they say, but have arrived earlier to inspect the damage. A small convoy is expected at any moment, but in spite of this they require tea in the officers’ sitting room for four. Lady Veronica and Captain Richard will be joining them. The officers have been heaved out into the enlisted men’s day room, not that it seems to be a hardship to them. They’ve simply carried their playing cards through with them. Fortunately I have already had Lord Brampton’s empty wine bottles removed to a place of safety.’ Mrs Green arrived with tea towels. ‘The bottles are safely stored down in the bothy, Mr Harvey.’
Easterleigh Hall at War Page 25
