‘And, Charles,’ Arthur looked bashful, ‘I’d like you to be my best man. Would you consider…’
‘I’d be delighted,’ he said at once.
His father grunted. ‘Course, Liddon would’ve done the job if he’d lived.’
There was a moment of awkwardness around the table, then Reginald Hauxley spoke. ‘That’s all settled. Charles, come and tell me what’s happening at the Settlement. Are you winding it up for the duration of the war?’
Charles gave him a startled look. ‘Good heavens, no. There’s more need than ever.’
‘Charles is rushed off his feet,’ Flora explained supportively, ‘especially as many of the volunteers have left to join up.’
‘Good for them,’ Sophie enthused. ‘I think it’s marvellous the way everyone’s rallying round to defend our country.’
Flora looked at her in dismay, but Charles replied, ‘If that’s what their conscience tells them to do, I certainly wouldn’t stop them.’
‘And what about joining them?’ his father asked.
Sophie cried, ‘Yes, Charles, you could go as a padre - you and Arthur together in this great crusade. Wouldn’t that be a noble thing to do?’
Charles’s mother cut in quietly, ‘Your brother can be just as effective offering up prayers at home.’
‘Nonsense.’ The major was dismissive. ‘Sophie’s right. Actions are more effective than words when it comes to war.’
Flora could keep silent no longer. ‘But words can be more effective in bringing peace and restoring sanity. I’m astonished, Sophie, that you can want your brother rushing off to war, knowing his pacifist views.’
‘It’s all very well preaching peace and harmony when there’s no threat,’ Sophie bristled, ‘but when our nation is under attack from evil hordes, then the only honourable course is to fight.’
‘Well said!’ the major crowed.
‘And the women?’ Flora questioned. ‘What are we to do in your great crusade?’
‘We must support our men to the hilt,’ Sophie declared. ‘I wish I could go and fight but I can’t, so I’ll do my best to encourage others to go - and for women to volunteer to do the jobs left by the men. We can serve in other ways.’
Flora held on to her temper. ‘So women are to be subordinate once more? We are to accept this war that the diplomats have led us into - that women have had no say in - without a murmur?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie snapped. ‘If we give ourselves wholly to the nation in this time of peril, we’ll win the right to political freedom.’
‘We don’t need a war to prove that right,’ Flora cried in exasperation.
The major thumped the table. ‘That’s enough,’ he bellowed. ‘I’ll not have you spoiling my daughter’s betrothal tea party. I’m proud to be welcoming a son-in-law who will be defending his country in a few short weeks. I hope, Charles,’ he said with a frown, ‘that the least you can do is preach for national unity at such a time - and for victory.’
Charles looked at his wife’s scarlet face under her red hair, her blue eyes furious.
‘I shall pray for Arthur and his comrades - and for Sophie and the other families left behind. And I shall preach for victory as I do every Sunday,’ he said quietly, ‘victory for the Prince of Peace.’
The tea party was strained and the Hauxleys left soon afterwards. The major retired to his study in a foul mood, and Charles helped his mother upstairs. Flora tried to make amends with Sophie, taking her by the arm and suggesting a stroll around the grounds before they left.
‘I’m sorry for arguing,’ she said contritely. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil things. All this has come as a bit of a shock - the engagement, your conversion to a warrior,’ she teased gently.
Sophie was defensive. ‘Suffragettes have always been warriors. The Pankhursts were the first to call a truce with the Government and tell us to get behind the war effort.’
Flora pointed out, ‘We don’t all have to do what Mrs Pankhurst says. There are many women who are speaking out against the war - as mothers, as socialists, as pacifists.’
Sophie pulled away from her, but they walked on in silence. Flora tried again.
‘You are a brave and intelligent woman, and you have every right to hold the opinions that you do. But so does Charles. It’s bad enough that his father ridicules him so openly - he relies on the support of his dear sister. Can’t you at least do that?’
Sophie stopped and fixed her with a direct look. ‘I’ve always stuck up for Charles. But I reserve the right to tell him if I think he’s making the wrong decision.’
Flora held her look. ‘And you, Sophie, have you made the right decision?’
‘About what?’
‘Marrying Arthur,’ Flora said softly. ‘You’ve always resisted parental pressure before.’
Sophie coloured. ‘This is no one’s choice but mine.’
‘Do you love him?’ Flora asked.
Sophie looked away. ‘I’m fond of him, and we’ll make a success of it.’
‘You’re not just feeling sorry for him because he’s been called up?’ Flora persisted. ‘Because that wouldn’t be fair to Arthur in the long run.’
Sophie gave her a sharp look. ‘Don’t tell me what’s fair! You all made sure I didn’t have the man I fell in love with. Well, at least as Arthur’s wife I’ll have a position in society - as a Hauxley I’ll have power. People will listen to me more than they ever will to Charles in his backwater mission. I’ll be the best recruiting sergeant the army’s ever had. And one day I’ll be a Member of Parliament just like Arthur’s father.’ Her look was passionate, her eyes hostile. ‘Maybe I do feel sorry for Arthur - but I respect him too. I’m proud to be marrying a captain in the British Army, just as I was proud of my brother Liddon. Charles may be loveable and well-meaning, but he will never match up to either of them.’
Flora watched her march off without trying to follow or make up. She stood shaking at Sophie’s angry words, wondering how they had grown so far apart so quickly. Would it ever be possible for them to stand on the same platform again and demand equality, when their views were so opposing? With that bleak thought, she went to find Charles.
They travelled back in the trap, sitting close together, comforted by their proximity, wondering if they would be invited to the wedding after all.
Chapter 16
The consensus in Crawdene opposing war evaporated like the morning dew. Within days the patriotic frenzy of London was being reported in the newspapers and spreading around the country. Recruiting offices were swiftly set up to cope with the numbers volunteering to fight. Posters went up and the national press was filled with vitriol about the terrible Hun.
Peter came back from a trip to Gateshead with the grocer, worried about broken glass in the street outside a pork butcher’s shop.
The butcher’s a German spy,’ Peter reported, wide-eyed, ‘that’s what Mr Speed said.’
‘Daft nonsense,’ Jonas cried in disbelief.
‘Mr Speed says he deserved it,’ Peter frowned. ‘He was trying to poison us. Won’t buy his sausages any more.’
When Jonas swore, Helen put out a restraining hand.
‘Don’t shout at the lad; he’s just repeatin’ the lies he’s been told.’
The next day, Jonas came back from an acrimonious lodge meeting. The village was split over the war.
‘Nothing’s changed since last week,’ Jonas protested. ‘The reasons against the war are still the same. Let the imperialists send their own sons to be butchered if that’s what they want - but not our sons.’
‘Of course things have changed.’ Barnabas Curran squared up to him. ‘We’re under attack from foreigners. This is a holy war against unholy heathen hordes. It’s our duty to support the lads being sent to France - and to work hard at the coal face.’
Jonas was scathing. ‘And I suppose that means working whatever hours Oliphant says and for any wages? The bosses will use this as an excuse to cut back our working conditions.’
‘And what would you rather have? England overrun by Germans?’ Barnabas shouted.
‘Resist the war.’ Jonas thumped the table. ‘Tell the recruiting officers and the armchair patriots to go to the Devil!’
Apart from a vociferous core of socialists and radical nonconformists, the MacRaes were increasingly in the minority. Even Mr Attwater had changed his tune.
‘We do not seek harm to our brethren in Germany, only that they rise up against the evil Kaiser who oppresses them and leads them astray. This is a just war against evil forces. We must support our troops…’
Talk around the Curran dinner table was bullish as a British Expeditionary Force was hastily assembled for France.
‘We’ll have them whipped in a few months,’ Barnabas pronounced. ‘Best soldiers in the world, us British.’
‘Aye,’ Tom agreed, ‘we rule the world; a few Hun aren’t gannin’ to be any bother.’
Emmie sat mutely waiting for Sam to temper their jingoism. But he said nothing and avoided her look. She swallowed her dissenting words, dismayed by the family’s sudden thirst for war. Like her, Louise kept quiet, though she acted as if it had little to do with them.
When Emmie tried to talk about it, Louise merely grumbled that she would see less of her husband. ‘Sam’ll have to work longer hours down the pit. Give him another excuse to stop away.’
Emmie was at a loss as to what to do. She felt cut adrift. The campaign for the vote had collapsed, the leaders of the major women’s groups calling for a truce with the Government and national unity while the country was at war. The Pankhursts had gone further, exhorting all women to rally behind the war effort. Emmie avoided going round to see Rab and had not contributed to the Messenger for over a month, not knowing what to write. Women were divided by the war and her own feelings were mixed.
Then Emmie heard that the MacRaes had had their windows smashed for opposing the war and went hurrying round. They seemed unconcerned.
‘Was just a couple of bairns throwing stones at the kitchen window,’ Helen said, dismissing the incident.
Jonas blamed the pomp of the recruiting banners and bands marching through the village every Saturday.
‘It’s that Captain Hauxley filling the lads’ heads with tales of glory,’ he growled. ‘You would think they were going on a picnic - no word about the bloody business of killing.’
Helen shook her head in concern. ‘The Guild is in two minds. There’s worry over lads joining up. At least we can make sure their families are properly provided for.’ She put a hand on Emmie’s arm. ‘Have you heard the news about Miss Sophie?’
Emmie shook her head.
‘She’s marrying Captain Hauxley. The banns were read out in Blackton last Sunday, Mannie told our Rab.’
‘Tell her about the message,’ Jonas grunted.
Helen gave an indignant nod. ‘Aye, she sent a message to the Guild. Told us it was our duty to stop any agitation against the war and report anything unpatriotic to the authorities. Said we should be proud if our men volunteered and that women should support them in any way they can.’
Emmie stared in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘She never did?’
Helen snorted. ‘Said if we showed how strong women could be, holding the fort at home, we’d get the vote all the quicker. That Hauxley’s turned her head with his fancy uniform, if you ask me.’
‘It’s to be expected,’ Jonas said angrily, ‘the ruling class closing ranks. For all her talk of equality, she knows where her interests lie. The Oliphants and Hauxleys of this world will do anything to protect those interests - including sending their workers off to fight and die for them.’
‘How’s our Sam?’ Helen asked suddenly.
Emmie caught her worried look. ‘Canny,’ she answered non-committally. ‘Why do you ask?’
Helen flushed. ‘He hasn’t been round to see us in weeks.’
Emmie was surprised. Louise complained that Sam never stopped in the house any more. Emmie assumed he had been spending time round at his parents’.
‘Are the Currans giving him a hard time about the war?’ Helen questioned.
Emmie felt awkward. ‘No, not really. Sam doesn’t say much about it; keeps his opinions to himself.’
Jonas grunted. ‘Best way, with old man Curran. He harangues the lodge like a recruiting sergeant these days.’
‘As long as he’s not avoiding us for any reason,’ Helen said, scrutinising Emmie.
‘Course not,’ she reassured. ‘Probably making the most of the summer weather - ganin’ for long walks.’
‘At least you and Barny are still visitin’,’ Helen smiled, giving the boy a quick cuddle. ‘Don’t know what I’d do if you stopped comin’.’
‘Course we won’t,’ Emmie insisted.
Jonas eyed her over his pipe. ‘But you’ve stopped writing for the Messenger, Rab tells us.’
Emmie went hot. ‘He shouldn’t have said—’
Helen was quick to reassure her. ‘It won’t go beyond these four walls that you wrote as Artemis. And he doesn’t blame you for changing your mind, specially living with a Curran.’
Emmie was indignant. ‘Tom doesn’t tell me what to think. And who says I’ve changed me mind?’
Jonas was blunt. ‘Well, you’re not writing for the paper any more, lassie.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Emmie floundered, holding out her arms for Barny.
Helen handed him back with a wistful look. ‘Course you have.’
Emmie felt awkward in their company and suddenly wanted to be gone. She wished she could be as convinced as they were in their opinions, but could not. Perhaps Sophie Oliphant had a point, and they were being unpatriotic. Should they not all be burying their class differences for the greater good while their country was under threat? She could think of nothing more terrifying than being overrun and conquered by barbarians who the newspapers claimed had murdered fleeing women and children in Belgium and butchered babies.
But she knew the MacRaes were good people and not dangerous agitators, as the Currans would have them. The look of disappointment on their faces when she left them haunted Emmie and she could not settle back into her mundane life. The news of Miss Sophie’s forthcoming marriage to an officer unsettled her too. What did Rab think of it? What of Sophie’s brother, Charles, and Dr Flora who had been so outspoken against the war before it began?
The desire to visit the Settlement fuelled Emmie’s restlessness. She longed to speak with her old friends and discover what they felt.
One mellow sunny day in September, Emmie hitched a ride on Peter’s delivery cart as far as Swalwell and took Barny into Gateshead. The town looked unchanged apart from the sprouting of recruitment posters on walls.
The Mousys greeted her warmly and took Barny off for a drink of milk.
‘You go and see Mrs Oliphant,’ Mousy said with a wink, ‘cheer her up. We’ll look after the bairn.’ When Emmie asked what the matter was, the old man shook his head and would say nothing more.
Emmie found the doctor writing letters in Charles’s study. She leaped up at sight of Emmie.
‘My dear!’ she cried, rushing forward to embrace her. They hugged and Emmie felt the numbness that had gripped her for weeks melt at Flora’s torrent of warm words and questions about the family and village. She swept her into the kitchen and made a pot of tea.
Emmie asked about the wedding. Flora gave her a stricken look.
‘We weren’t invited. Oh, this wicked war,’ she railed, ‘dividing families and friends. Charles’s father won’t speak to him because he preaches pacifism. That was to be expected. But for Sophie to cut him off too … it’s hurt him deeply.’
Emmie was surprised at the doctor confiding in her, but was encouraged.
‘Perhaps she feels torn between her brother and husband,’ Emmie suggested.
‘Not torn at all,’ Flora answered angrily. ‘She has sided completely with her father and the Hauxleys. She sees it as some new crusade she can throw h
erself into - going around on the arm of the dashing captain at recruitment rallies and challenging the men to enlist. I think she’s enjoying it all.’
‘Surely not.’ Emmie was shocked.
Flora laughed mirthlessly. ‘Oh, yes. Sophie never cared for Arthur Hauxley until war broke out. I think she married him because she felt sorry for him - he’s already left for France.’ She stopped and glanced at Emmie, perhaps regretting her frankness. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I just find the whole thing too depressing. To think we have lifted ourselves so little above the barbaric that we can contemplate going to war with our neighbours.’
Emmie had a sudden thought. ‘Frau Bauer? Where is she?’
Flora hung her head. Quietly she said, ‘She was arrested a month ago. We did what we could to have her released but it made no difference; she’s been deported. Dr Korsky too. They’re somewhere in the chaos on the Continent. I’ve written but heard nothing. Perhaps my letters never get through …’
When she looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears. Emmie went to her and touched her shoulder. She was suddenly filled with anger at the injustice meted out to their suffrage friends. They had been fighters for greater freedom for all, yet cast out as enemies. Kind, funny, talkative Frau Bauer was not her enemy. Neither were millions more women on the opposing side whose fathers, sons and husbands would soon be fighting their own.
‘This is madness,’ Emmie said in bewilderment.
Abruptly, Flora wiped her eyes and turned away. Leaving the tea half made, she marched over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.
‘Sit here and read this,’ she ordered, pushing a pile of newspapers towards her. She picked a pamphlet off the top. ‘The Runcies passed it on to me. It’s written by a missionary’s wife - head of the local suffragists in India.’
Emmie sat down and began to read.
… women get no benefit from war. Whatever is of glory, it is for men. The fascination of war, its pomp and pride of uniforms, gold lace, medals and pensions are for men … The Church colludes in war, yet two-thirds of its members are women. We must appeal to the Church to work hand in hand with the mothers of mankind in this crusade against the war. Christianity demands of women this crusade of peace! Mothers, wives, daughters, sisters! Go forward - God wills it.
THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love Page 17
