Mrs Boots Goes to War

by Deborah Carr

  ‘We’ll have the usual tombola, lucky dip, maybe toffee apples, jam and produce stalls,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘The people with allotments or who grow vegetables in their gardens can sell some on their own stalls if they wish.’ It occurred to her that everyone needed to be useful and keep busy, especially during such dark times. ‘I want people to feel involved, give them all something else to think about for a short while, so we accept offers from locals and staff when they come in. I think we all need a bit of a break from the constant misery.’

  ‘What a wonderful idea,’ Gladys said, taking notes as she spoke.

  Florence liked the idea the more she thought about it. ‘I’ll donate stock for a Boots stall,’ she said, watching Gladys writing everything down. ‘And we need to ensure the Boots Plaisaunce Band is available to entertain the crowd.’ Wanting to include as many people in the entertainment as possible, Florence added, ‘Also, please let’s ask the Girls’ Senior and Junior Choirs from the local school. We’ll also feed everyone involved and ask them all to remain at Plaisaunce after the fête has ended and to repeat their performance for some of the departmental managers and their wives. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure the pupils will enjoy putting on performances. And having to practise for the event will be a pleasant diversion away from what’s probably going on at home with absent father and brothers.’

  Florence agreed. ‘Yes, that’s a good point. The more entertainment and attractions we can bring in, the better.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Margery will be delighted when she finds out what we’re doing for her canteen. Now we just have to pray the weather is on our side.’

  She was grateful to have the fête to focus on. At least that way, Florence thought, sadly, it would stop her from fretting about John and how changed he now seemed. Maybe he would settle back down into civilian life and find a way to put his experiences and the horrors he had witnessed into a distant recess in his mind so that they didn’t constantly trouble him. At least he had his new baby to look forward to, she mused, relieved that her son had a loving home apart from her own. The love she felt certain he would feel towards his first child would hopefully overwhelm all his other emotions.

  Florence woke on the morning of 17 July and without even opening her eyes knew by the sound of the wind-driven rain hitting her bedroom windows that they would not be holding the fête that day.

  She groaned and opened her eyes, pushing herself up to sit, and leant against her pillows. She was going to have to contact Gladys and her assistant Enid as soon as possible to ensure each of them was ready to help cancel the long list of stallholders and entertainers, as well as the guests she had invited. She hoped the women she had arranged to cater for the event hadn’t begun baking the cakes and making sandwiches already.

  By eight o’clock, she was sitting in her office, Gladys and Enid poised with pens in their hands ready to make notes. ‘Before we contact everyone, we need to set a date for the postponed fête, so that you can give it to them when you cancel today’s event. We don’t want to have to start making all the arrangements from scratch again. Letting them know the alternative date now will save a lot of unnecessary administration.’

  Florence looked to her side and checked the date she had circled earlier on her diary. ‘The first clear date I have when Sir Jesse and I are free is the fourth of September. I worry that any later than that, the weather might be too inclement for us to hold an outdoor event and we don’t have a large enough covered area at Plaisaunce to hold it inside.’

  ‘Well, the weather can’t be much worse than today,’ Enid quipped, quietly.

  Gladys gasped. ‘Enid, that’s enough.’

  Enid seemed confused for a second before her cheeks reddened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Boot,’ she said, her eyes wide as she looked from Florence to Gladys. ‘I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I didn’t intend being rude.’

  ‘Well, I think that you—’ Gladys began.

  Florence was far too busy to want to waste time on trivialities. She could see Gladys’s fury at her assistant’s careless remark and didn’t want them to fall out on her account.

  ‘It’s perfectly fine, Enid. You are right. The weather really couldn’t be much worse than it is today. But it could be much cooler if we hold the event too late in the year.’ She circled the date in her diary. ‘We’ll go for the fourth of September.’ She clapped her hands together when both women finished noting the date. ‘Off you go, then, and please hurry. We don’t want anyone turning up in this horrendous weather expecting to find a fête going on.’

  At the end of a long and tedious day, Florence returned home with Jesse to be greeted by Meadows, looking worried.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter, Meadows?’ Jesse said as Florence unbuttoned her coat.

  Florence didn’t recognise the look Meadows gave Jesse. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked nervously. Florence didn’t think she could bear having to deal with another problem after the long day she had endured at work.

  ‘Mr John is in the living room,’ Meadows announced.

  ‘Good grief, man,’ Jesse said. ‘I thought for a moment then you were about to give us upsetting news. Send in some tea. I think we could all do with a cup.’

  Florence pushed Jesse’s chair into the living room, desperate to see her son once again and give him a tight hug. She pushed open the door and she and Jesse entered.

  ‘Darling, John,’ she cried, hoping she wasn’t dreaming only to wake and discover he wasn’t really there. Her smile vanished when she looked at him properly. The man standing with his back to the roaring fire had her son’s features, but there was a marked difference in him that she hadn’t anticipated. She forced herself to speak, desperate to cover up her shock. ‘Why didn’t you send word you were coming so soon, darling? We would have left work much earlier so that you didn’t have to wait for us?’

  ‘Hello, Mother, Father.’ John’s lips drew back into a tight smile. Florence hated to see him looking so drawn and exhausted. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly done that, my boy,’ Jesse said.

  Florence could tell by the tightness of Jesse’s voice that he was as shocked as she to see how much weight John had lost and the haunted look about his eyes. What had her son witnessed to have changed so much?

  ‘Give your mother a hug,’ Florence said, walking over to him and opening her arms. She swallowed the lump constricting her throat when John closed his eyes briefly before walking into her arms and holding her tightly. ‘It’s so good to have you back home again,’ she said. ‘I’ve waited a long time to do this and we’ve all missed you dreadfully.’

  ‘Not as much as I’ve missed all of you,’ he whispered, his voice cracking. ‘I’ve imagined this moment many times since being here for those few days last December. I can hardly believe I’m here with you now.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down, son,’ Jesse said. ‘Rest your legs. The servants will be bringing through tea any minute now.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ Florence asked, noticing the sharpness of his cheeks that had never been apparent before now.

  He shook his head slowly. ‘No, thank you. I’ve come from home, and Margaret, as both of you, I imagine, was shocked to see how much weight I’ve lost. She insisted we eat together before I left the house to come here.’

  ‘Good for her,’ Florence said, grateful to her daughter-in-law for taking charge and looking after him so well.

  They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Florence didn’t like to probe about his time away in France. He was home now, she reasoned, relieved not to have John to worry about any longer. Although, she thought, it seemed that he would need some time to recover from his experiences over the past year.

  ‘Was it too terrible over there?’ Jesse asked, finally.

  John nodded. ‘Far, far worse than even the papers make out. I’ve seen things I never want to think about
again. Although, unfortunately, I find that I can’t dispel them from my mind, however exhausted I might be.’

  It broke Florence’s heart to see her gentle son so tormented. ‘Hopefully, in time you’ll be able to find a way to move on from what’s happened.’

  John shrugged. ‘I would love to think that might be possible, but I can’t imagine ever being able to do so.’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘Maybe I will be able to, though. I don’t want you worrying about me, Mother. Promise me you won’t.’

  Florence didn’t like to make promises she knew she couldn’t keep but wanted to reassure him. John had more than enough on his mind without fretting about her too. ‘Of course.’

  She could see that even though her son had been lucky enough to return home without physical scars he had borne psychological ones and those could take just as long to heal in some cases. She was relieved to think that unlike many other soldiers at least John had a loving, caring wife at home who would do whatever it took to help him come to terms with all he had witnessed. She comforted herself with the knowledge that he and Margaret also had their new baby’s arrival to look forward to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  4 September 1915

  Seven weeks later, Florence stood next to Jesse in their garden at Plaisaunce, her right hand resting on the back of his wheelchair. She watched her son standing with his arm around his heavily pregnant wife’s shoulders. He seemed happy, she thought with relief. He had also begun to recoup a little of the weight he had lost while overseas and his pallor didn’t have the grey he had had on his return from France.

  ‘He’s doing well,’ Jesse said quietly as if he could read her thoughts. ‘He’s a strong chap and I should imagine all his thoughts are taken up with looking after Margaret and planning for their baby.’

  Florence hoped so. She would much rather her son’s thoughts were consumed by something joyful. Surely, nothing could be more exciting than their impending arrival. She turned her face up in the direction of the warm sun and closed her eyes. It was a relief not to have to postpone the fête until the following spring, or have to find somewhere big enough to hold the event inside if they had been forced to hold it during the winter months.

  Florence loved September days like this one. The feeling of summer slipping into autumn gave her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt for a while. Although she suspected that the evening would be slightly chilly, the day was promising to be perfectly warm enough to satisfy even the pickiest stallholder or attendee. She watched quietly as those with stalls finished neatly laying out their produce ready for her to give her short speech and declare the fête open.

  Shrieks of laughter made her and Jesse turn their heads towards the pavilion, where they saw the troupe of school children from the local primary school practising a few steps to their dances. One of the teachers was attempting to tell two of the children off while keeping her voice low as she motioned for others to calm down. Florence hoped they would be quieter, especially when it came time for the servants to begin serving the cream teas and other refreshments in the pavilion a little later on.

  ‘Well, this is a relief, I must say,’ Florence said, grateful that, despite having to delay the event, everyone seemed very happy to be at their riverside home to take part in the fun of the day and raise money for Margery’s canteen.

  Florence recalled her delight at receiving a letter in the early post that morning from Margery.

  Northern France

  29 August 1915

  * * *

  Sir Jesse and Lady Boot

  St Heliers House

  The Park

  Nottingham

  England

  * * *

  Darling Mother and Father,

  * * *

  I hope you are both keeping well and not working too hard. As I write those words, I am imagining you both at your desks planning your next battle to devise the next product in your efforts to fight the war from Nottingham. Keep up the good work.

  * * *

  I’m taking a break from work to write to you because I’m aware I haven’t been in contact for a while despite promising to keep in touch before leaving home. I worry that you’ll be concerned for me and don’t want that to happen. It is hard work running the canteen. I’m tired most of the time but sleep well each night. There’s always enough food to eat, although finding the time to sit and eat can be a bit of a challenge on occasion. We are very organised though. We each have our duties although are always on hand to assist each other when necessary. All of us are grateful for the supplies you send over to us.

  * * *

  Dorothy wrote and told me about the fête you’re holding at Plaisaunce to raise funds for the canteen and I want you to know how grateful we all are here. I’ll be thinking of you on the day and hope that on this occasion the weather is kinder to you. I wish I could be there to welcome my new niece or nephew but will be thinking of Margaret and John constantly. I also know you will write and tell me about the new baby as soon as you have any news to share.

  * * *

  I have to admit that the sheer numbers of wounded soldiers coming through the station and stopping at our canteen can be rather overwhelming at times. They are calling this the Great War but as far as I can tell there is very little greatness about it apart from the sheer number of injuries. I cannot imagine being able to walk along a street in Britain now without coming across maimed men, and I worry how our country and its people will ever recover from something as damaging as this war. We have so many distressed and tortured souls passing through here and despite their gratitude for what we do for them, I feel like it’s far too little to be of much benefit.

  * * *

  I’m getting maudlin now and that wasn’t my intention. If I had the time I would rewrite this letter, but I really need to finish it now to catch the post and return to work.

  Don’t worry about me though. I might rage about what is happening to the brave soldiers and how tired we all are here, but I am perfectly well, if a little distressed at times. Having listened to many of the soldiers passing through here it helps me imagine what a nightmarish time John must have had while he was serving in his battalion.

  * * *

  My love to you both and especially to John when you see next him please.

  * * *

  As ever, your loving daughter, Margery. x

  ‘It is,’ Jesse said, breaking his wife’s thoughts. ‘I wasn’t sure we would be this lucky when I spoke to someone at the Island Street factory earlier this week. He grows carrots and was concerned the weather might not hold. But it has, and we can all relax now and make the most of all your planning.’

  She smiled at him seated in his wheelchair wearing his favourite dark brown hat. ‘Before we open the fête, I wanted the photographer to take a photo of you with all our guests and the stallholders who have helped make this all look as good as it does right now.’

  ‘What about you being in the photo, too?’

  ‘Not this time,’ she said. ‘I have to go and check on the kitchens where the cakes and sandwiches are being prepared. We’re hoping our cream teas sell well today, they usually do. If we have a photo taken again later, I promise I’ll be there for that one. We must ensure that photographs are taken of groups of guests, including the two choirs.’ Jesse agreed and Florence bent to kiss his cheek. ‘It’s good to see you away from your desk for once. It’ll do you good to enjoy the sunshine today, Jesse. You always did love the fresh air and you need to remember to take time to enjoy yourself. Life shouldn’t always be about work.’

  Jesse laughed. ‘I do love you, Florence.’

  Confused to see his amusement, she crossed her arms and frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What did I say?’

  ‘You act as if I’m the only one working this hard. When was the last time you stepped away from your desk?’

  Florence tried to think when that could have been but realised it had been weeks before. ‘There’s always so much to do though,’ she
said immediately realising that she was guilty of doing exactly what she accused him of. ‘Fine.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’ll take time to come and sit outside with you tomorrow when this is over. Today, I must keep on top of things. We need to make as much money for Margery’s canteen as we possibly can.’

  ‘All right, I agree. You can work, but for today only. Tomorrow we must spend the day enjoying this place. We’ve got a long day ahead of us and many people to speak to. Then, tonight, the managers and their wives will be here to listen to the choirs and enjoy Plaisaunce. Tomorrow, it will be just the two of us and we can quietly enjoy each other’s company.’

  Florence seemed happy with his suggestion. ‘I’m looking forward to our time tomorrow. We could do with a day, just the two of us.’

  Hearing footsteps coming in their direction along the pathway, Florence turned to see Gladys hurrying towards her, a clipboard clasped against her chest with one hand and a fountain pen in the other. She looked slightly harassed, but Florence now knew Gladys well enough to feel assured that her secretary loved nothing better than to help arrange occasions like these. In fact, Florence thought, the young woman seemed to excel at this sort of work. It was a relief, especially as Florence seemed to be spending more and more time arranging to raise money for the war effort, or for entertaining the families of fallen soldiers, or for the wounded soldiers themselves. Florence loved being able to help people in this way. She had every intention of continuing to do so for the duration of the war; she just hoped it would not continue for too much longer, for everyone’s sake.