But when Probyn did not raise the subject of his exit from the army, she began to fear the worst.
‘Might we soon have to find another place to live?’ she asked somewhat tentatively as she knelt at his feet trying to rub the ache from his legs after a long day on the parade ground.
‘Oh no, I shan’t be leaving!’ He patted the top of her brown head. ‘I’ve asked permission to complete my service with the colours. So, you’re guaranteed a roof for another ten years if that’s what you were worried about.’
And Grace smiled as if thankful, though her heart plummeted at the thought of having to share her husband with the army for another decade, the prospect of being parted from him to some foreign war, or even losing him altogether. But never would she ask him to reconsider. Had he not said the army was his life?
* * *
The war dragged on throughout 1901, a year that saw Probyn’s favourite general, Buller, discredited and sacked for indiscipline, and vilified by the press. General Lord Kitchener who had succeeded Lord Roberts as commander-in-chief in South Africa had undergone peace talks with Botha but these had not borne fruit. Nothing it seemed could bring the war to an end. Despite the blockhouses and barbed wire the Boer would not be tamed.
The newspapers told of strong agitation from the Cape Dutch on behalf of the annexed republics, told also of concentration camps into which women and children were herded in an attempt to force their menfolk to give in.
Reading such reports, Grace was incredulous. ‘This can’t surely be true?’ Probyn had warned her about the dirty tricks employed by unpatriotic journalists to make out that the British soldier was more brutish than his enemy. ‘Could little children really be dying in these places? Can our soldiers really be killing their animals as ruthlessly as they say?’
Probyn admitted he did not like this calculated elimination of anything that might give the Boers succour, but then, ‘War is a dirty business, Gobbie, and if they won’t give in you’ve got to do something. And as for us starving them, well, there were many times when me and my lads didn’t eat at all either so the Boers don’t have it very different to us.’
Grace wondered what she would feel like if it were she and her child who were imprisoned through her husband’s deeds, but said nothing, for it would only sound disloyal, though if the situation was true then it was indeed horrible.
Not wanting to think of the children who may be dying, she wondered instead if this year would see an addition to her own family. Now that she had stopped nursing Clemmie the chance had increased that she would fall with another, though so far no happy event had occurred.
Again there was no Yuletide invitation to Kit’s but Probyn and his wife saw the reasoning behind it and were not offended. Besides, there was a plethora of O’Briens with whom to spend the festivities and many colourful events at the barracks.
* * *
The year turned, this one starting on a more tuneful note than the last, for, during the first quarter there came a breakthrough in the war. By the end of May the Boers, giving up all hope that one of the sympathetic foreign powers would come to their aid, finally surrendered.
‘I thought you’d be glad!’ said Grace, puzzled at her husband’s air of thoughtfulness over the news that was plastered across every billboard and newspaper.
‘Oh I am!’ He gripped her hand. ‘It’s just …’ With the signing of peace had come amnesty for the rebel leaders. The republicans were vanquished but the promise of self-government for the Boers loomed large in the peace agreement. How could he begin to explain the way he felt about this, his fear that the rot had begun to creep in, that the Empire for which he fought so hard was starting to be eroded? Yes, the Union Jack might be fluttering over the whole of South Africa, except for a few tiny foreign possessions, but despite being the overall victor British pride had taken a huge pounding during that long affray. ‘The Boers have been defeated, Grace, they shouldn’t be allowed a say in anything, otherwise it’s all been for nothing. All those pals who laid down their lives, all the times we tramped back and forth across that wretched Tugela, being shot at, but wouldn’t let them get the better of us and now …’ He gave a despairing gesture.
Then he looked at her young face, just come of age, and saw that she did not understand, would never understand, and he laughed off his own despondency. ‘Listen to me, of course it’s a good thing it’s over! Far be it from me to put a damper on all the fun there’s going to be.’
And there certainly was fun: triumphant marches through the streets, bunting and celebration, Union Jacks everywhere in evidence, soldiers home from the war all tanned and cheerful, arriving in their droves at barracks throughout the country, and to follow this the Coronation of the new King. It certainly was a dynamic year.
Only in the final month was it spoiled by the news that with the war over the 1st Battalion would be going to India, thereby invoking terror in Grace’s heart.
‘But I’ve never been out of York!’ she told Probyn upon his announcement during tea-time. ‘How will I manage?’
‘Nay! You don’t have to worry.’ He suddenly frowned over his bacon sandwich. ‘This hasn’t got any butter on it.’
Looking vague and anxious, Grace swapped their plates over. ‘I knew one of us took butter I just couldn’t remember which one – what do you mean I don’t have to worry? Of course I’m worried.’
With a smiling shake of head for her absent-mindedness, he explained, ‘I mean you don’t need to worry because we won’t be going. Each time the battalion I’m in gets sent to India I get transferred to the other battalion. It happens every single time. You and me are off to Dover.’
‘Nearly as bad!’ complained Grace, though not quite so fearful. ‘What about my family, and Charlotte? I’ll never see any of them.’
‘We can come up for visits, it’s not the end of the world.’
* * *
Grace seemed to think it was and poured out her heart to Charlotte who luckily chose that weekend to call. Probyn had taken Clemmie to watch a parade, leaving his wife free to air her emotions.
‘I suppose I should count myself lucky we’ve been allowed to remain at York so long, but I don’t want to leave everybody, Lottie! I really don’t.’
‘But do you have to?’ Charlotte seemed equally anxious over the parting, her big square face full of woe.
‘What choice do I have?’ asked Grace helplessly.
‘Well, the army might tell Probe where to go but they don’t have the right to give you orders. I mean if he were only to be in Dover a short time you could stay up here and …’
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’ Grace looked shocked at the very suggestion. ‘He could be posted there for years and I can’t even stand to be away from him for two days.’
Charlotte smiled sadly and nodded, knowing how deep was her friend’s love for her husband.
Grace issued a sigh of resignation. ‘No, I have to go where Probe goes and he doesn’t seem to regard it as that far away. I suppose it isn’t to him who’s been all over the world.’
Charlotte tutted. ‘He’s lovely is Probe but I do think he’s a bit selfish expecting you to up sticks and move away from everyone you know.’
Grace defended her husband now. ‘Well, he can’t really help it can he? He has to go where the army tell him to go.’
‘No, but he didn’t have to sign on for another ten years did he?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t ask him to give it up, Lottie. The army’s his whole life.’
‘He’s lucky having you,’ declared Charlotte. ‘I couldn’t stand being uprooted like that. Oh, I’m going to miss you!’ And she leaned forward to embrace her friend.
‘I’m going to miss you too.’ Grace fought tears. ‘Oh God, and I’ve got to go through all this again when I break the news to my sisters.’
* * *
As feared, it was hard to broach the subject of her imminent departure when she and Probyn gathered with the O’Brien clan at Christmas, to in
form them it would be their last for who knew how long.
Grace held off telling her relatives until the end of the afternoon, allowing others to enjoy their Christmas dinner and the afternoon games, before finally taking a deep breath and divulging, ‘I’ve got some news. Me and Probe are off to the Infidel Barracks at Dover—’
‘The Citadel!’ Probyn laughingly corrected her. ‘Mindst it does house a load of infidels I must admit.’ But his amusement was lost amid an outpouring of grief as each took their leave of Grace, of such a magnitude that one would think there had been a bereavement.
And indeed for Grace so close to her sisters it was a kind of bereavement, over which she was privately to weep many times when her husband was not looking.
Conversely, for Probyn there was to be reunion almost the moment he moved in at Dover. Having seen Grace and the baby settled, he was answering her request to take himself from under her feet and was strolling over to the sergeants’ mess when an officer came by, returning his salute but also making friendly announcement.
‘Why, Sergeant Kilmaster!’ The officer took quick stock of the chevrons before greeting his old servant, ‘How jolly to see you!’
‘And you too, Major Fitzroy!’ Probyn had heard that his old captain was to be commander of his company, and showed pleasure as they now shook hands. ‘I heard that you were home from India, sir, and been looking forward to making your acquaintance again.’
‘Splendid, splendid!’ No mention was made that they had not parted on the best of terms. ‘I wish I could say the same about this dreary weather. I miss India dreadfully.’
Probyn looked up at the grey sky. ‘Yes, I rather miss the sunshine too, sir.’ Whilst his own tan had faded to a healthy glow, the major looked like a kaffir.
Fitzroy then enquired about Probyn’s movements since last they had met, envying his role in the Matabele Relief Force but particularly in the war against the Boers. ‘I was awfully disappointed to have been excluded from the show.’
Probyn nodded thoughtfully. ‘It was a lot different to fighting the blacks I can tell you, sir. Yes, a hard job we had.’
‘But we British did it,’ came Fitzroy’s encouraging response.
‘Yes, sir, we did.’ Probyn was quietly proud.
‘And I shall look forward to having you work alongside me, Sergeant.’ Fitzroy seemed genuine in his proclamation. ‘I’m delighted that you have fulfilled all my expectations of you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
The major seemed about to go.
Probyn was respectful but friendly. ‘Sir, I was just going over to the mess, would you do me the honour of being my guest?’
‘I should be delighted to accept your invitation, Sergeant.’ Major Fitzroy smiled broadly. ‘But we had better dispense with all this shop talk before we get there.’ The two contrasting figures moved off side by side, Fitzroy tall and still athletic of build despite being middle-aged, his sergeant much shorter but more thickly-set. ‘Tell me, is there anyone at home awaiting you?’
‘Yes, sir, I have a wife and a son.’
The major, unmarried, pretended to be disappointed. ‘Ah, so we shall have to share you.’
‘Oh no, sir.’ Probyn quickly disabused him of this notion. ‘Mrs Kilmaster is as loyal to the army as am I, she’s devoted her life to it.’
‘A most noble woman,’ praised Major Fitzroy.
‘She is, sir, she is,’ Probyn told him fondly.
And later he was to relate this conversation to Grace, hoping that the major’s praise would help to rouse her from her misery over her faraway relatives, telling her too how much he himself valued her assistance in working towards his goal of regimental sergeant-major, for he could not do it without her.
Thenceforth, his loving wife was to put aside her own loneliness and with typically generous heart consign herself to making the best of her new home.
* * *
With such good deeds that had made her so popular in York, it was not long before Grace had endeared herself to her neighbours at Dover too. This was fortuitous, for within months a new baby was on the way and it could have been a time of intense loneliness had the army wives not rallied round to reciprocate her acts of kindness, their attendance going some way to replacing absent family.
Named after the month in which she was born, Augusta was a good baby totally lacking in the demanding habits of her elder brother, this giving Grace plenty of time for the letter-writing which maintained the link with her loved ones. Though not going so far as to include Aunt Kit in this category, Grace nevertheless did feel obliged to inform her of the new arrival.
Kit had today responded with a hand-stitched gown for Augusta, the accompanying congratulatory letter also containing a piece of news that she hoped would amuse the parents.
‘You’ll never guess,’ she wrote, ‘after all the fuss that Wyn made about you two getting married she’s gone and married a Catholic herself! Naturally, she tried to keep it secret, but Ethel managed to wheedle it out of her so now she’s the one being ostracized! I just thought it would bring a smile to your lips that she’s getting a taste of her own medicine …’
‘Aye, and I’ll bet she never comes to say sorry to us!’ declared an annoyed Probyn on reading this news at the end of the day.
Grace found it more entertaining. ‘Never mind we don’t need their sorries, do we, Gus?’ She changed the baby to her other breast, watching in amusement as Probyn went to the wall and straightened a picture. Sergeant Kilmaster was a stickler for having everything in its place. ‘What’s that you’ve brought home?’ Finished with the picture, he was setting out books on the table.
‘I’m taking the plunge with my first class certificate,’ he announced with a look of enthusiasm. ‘Are you any good with algebra?’
‘Afraid not.’
The enthusiasm paled somewhat. ‘Neither am I. I was hoping you’d help me. Oh well, if Mick Melody can teach himself so can I. Wonder what he’s doing these days?’ He had not seen Mick for years.
The baby had fallen asleep at the breast. Grace stroked the little cheek to wake her and the rosebud mouth started working again.
‘Will this make you a colour-sergeant? What else do you need to do?’
‘Maths, English Literature, geography, history…’ He groaned. ‘I’m almost put off before I start.’
Grace smiled encouragement. ‘I’ve every faith that you can do it, dear.’
And it was for this reason over the following months that she was to put up with his text books and soldier’s paraphernalia all over the house, knowing how much it meant to him, and wanting to help him in his ultimate ambition of being sergeant-major of the regiment.
* * *
Alas it was a much more difficult examination than Probyn had feared and the first class certificate was to remain elusive that year and also the next. By nineteen hundred and four he had begun to despair that his cherished goal might also evade him, for in recent years time had simply flown. Why, it had only seemed like the blinking of an eye since he was bemoaning the approach of his thirtieth birthday and now he was thirty-one! If he did not make colour-sergeant soon there would be no hope of winning the supreme accolade.
An air of desperation crept into his efforts. With Clemmie ready for school, Sergeant Kilmaster sought his commanding officer’s permission to enrol too, thus instead of having to confine his studies to an evening he could swot at every opportunity. What with this and the bouts of annual training and visits to the School of Musketry to improve his chances of promotion, Grace was hardly to see him, but she unselfishly set aside her own needs, happy just to sit there sewing on an evening after the children had gone to bed whilst their father pored over his books, and to contemplate how it would feel to be the wife of the regimental sergeant-major.
Yet despite her popularity in the garrison, Grace still could not prevent a feeling of loneliness from welling up at times, and it therefore came as such a marvellous surprise when in the new year her husb
and brought home the news that he was to be posted to the 3rd Battalion, which meant they would be moving to Pontefract. At least there she would be nearer her kin.
Having hoped that Probyn would share her view, and that once back in Yorkshire he would vary his studies with trips to see their relatives, Grace was to be disappointed. Blind to anyone else’s needs, his lust for promotion becoming no less energetic, Probyn could waste none of his valuable time in taking her visiting, and it was rare that she had the opportunity to go on her own. Occasionally Charlotte would visit but, still unmarried and with work to go to, she could not come often enough for her friend. With no more children born, Clemmie at school and Augusta so undemanding, Grace found herself at a loose end and volunteered to take on the officers’ laundry, finding some solace in the laughter shared in the wash house amongst other military wives and comforting herself with the thought that the extra money would help.
But this was not to say that life was all drudgery, for there were regimental dances and garden parties, plus a Royal visit to the north and all the pageantry that entailed. It was wonderful to watch her husband line the route of the procession in his scarlet regalia, to point out this splendid figure to her children and tell them, ‘That’s your father!’ And it was at times like this, despite all the enforced absences, Grace truly was proud that her husband was a protector of the realm and swore to do her utmost to help him achieve his dream.
Family of the Empire Page 53
