Not Just a Soldier’s War

by Betty Burton

  ‘Dirty pictures are dirty pictures.’

  ‘And Malou French is now hob-nobbing with the great and good of the Church of Rome. I think she’s hoping to get an audience with the Pope.’

  Richard snorted with derision. ‘Saint Malou of Burgos! Sounds like blackmail, old son.’

  ‘Blackmail has its uses.’

  A few moments of silence ended the exchange.

  ‘I’ll have to muster soon. What are your plans?’

  ‘I have to get these cans on a flight to Switzerland. They have to be in London the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you flying out?’

  ‘No, there’s some sort of motor car courier service. There are dropoff points where stuff is picked up and taken to the airfield.’

  ‘For cans of film?’

  ‘No, it’s a service for visiting nabobs. Nice motors too, requisitioned. They fly Republican pennants on the bonnet.’

  ‘I came across a writer a few weeks back. English. He was at Eton – senior to us. Name of Blair.’

  ‘Blair? Tall thin fellow who sneered down his nose? He’s a writer, you say?’

  ‘And a red. He’s out here with the IB – forget which battalion – what I started to say was, he said something that stuck in my mind when we got to talking politics, “When people become equal, some will be more equal than others.” See, Davey? Visiting nabobs require special motors, your use of them is abetting the system, confirms Blair’s portent. It’s the Gore in you still thinking it’s OK being more equal than the rest.’

  ‘Come off your high horse, Rich. This courier service is blessed by the state.’

  ‘Many of whom still see themselves as the more equal.’

  ‘So what would you do with abandoned and requisitioned Daimlers and Rolls, dynamite them?’

  ‘It’d be a start, Davey. The anarchists have blown up churches because they symbolize injustice and oppression.’

  ‘You always have had an answer for everything, Rich. Listen, Tempus fugit, and I’ve scrounged a lift in a lorry going to Madrid.’

  ‘OK, but I’m reluctant to let you go. At least let’s see if we can find a cup of tea or something. Are you still seeing Fiona?’

  ‘Lord, no. Fiona married, she’s gone to the States.’

  ‘So what then, David, not leading a celibate life?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘It’s different with me, I’ve got my woman, and, Deo gratias, she’s carrying my child. I say, you aren’t still mooning after that mystery woman?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Liar, Davey. I always know when you’re lying.’

  ‘OK, so I still think about her, but the odds against it coming to anything are pretty long ones.’

  ‘She probably wasn’t for you anyway. If Mags could scare her off, as you say, then…’

  ‘Mags with her voice in full flight protecting one of her grandsons would stop a charging bull-elephant.’

  ‘Maybe she was going to chuck you anyway. Arnold met her, didn’t he?’

  ‘I whisked her away from him pretty smartish. I had no intention of exhibiting our family, especially in the person of Arnold Gore.’

  ‘He described her as a truly luscious totty.’

  ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘Did you never discover her true name?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. If I had I might have had some chance of finding her again.’ David Hatton paused and looked directly at his brother. ‘I was really keen on her, Rich, really very keen, I still have dreams about meeting her.’

  ‘Big dreams, at night?’

  ‘Yes, damn it! If I didn’t, then I imagine I might explode with unrequited lust.’

  ‘That’s bad, Davey.’

  ‘Don’t joke, Richard. I can’t get the girl out of my mind. It isn’t finished, I feel it in my bones.’ The feeling in his bones, if he were honest, was nothing more than a fond hope that his love-life would be resolved in the manner of the novels his grandmother read to him, her favourite grandson, in his boyhood. Ah, Davey, she would say, how beautifully Jane Austen sorts them all out – each according to his or her deserts.

  ‘I say, old son, have you thought that this might be a typical Gore affair?’

  ‘I’m not a Gore, I’m a Hatton.’

  ‘So you say, but our male ancestors have never been much attracted by their own kind. Perhaps you’ve been searching in the wrong places. Maybe she’s on the stage, like Mags.’

  Perhaps. For all her imperiousness now, their grandmother had once been an actress. It had stood her in good stead when she came to play the grande dame for real.

  By now they were seated with mugs of tea at one of the long trestle-tables under the canopy of camouflaged canvas which was the cook-house. Richard said the smell put him in mind of the tea scrum at the Badminton Horse Trials.

  ‘By the way, that reminds me. Did you know that Helan Povey – Helan Alexander as she now is – is running some sort of vehicle clearing-house for one of the aid committees? Down in Albacete, the Auto-Parc.’

  ‘I heard. The vehicle bit doesn’t surprise me, she only ever had two topics of conversation: horses and motor bikes. I didn’t know that she had married.’

  ‘Her chap, Alexander, he’s a half-caste, more a quarter-caste. By all accounts, turned out to be quite a character. Got himself into some kind of trouble demonstrating at the Berlin Olympics, and was put on the first plane back to Berne. Black, you see. What with Jesse Owens winning gold, the Germans wanted no truck with an uppity black Jew.’

  ‘Are we talking about Helan Povey of the prancing horses?’

  ‘Absolutely. Half-black, quarter maybe, his mother is white, that’s how he comes to have a Swiss passport. The Alexanders live there when they’re not here.’

  ‘Is he in Albacete too?’

  ‘He came over here, got taken prisoner almost the same day he arrived.’

  ‘Poor bastard.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Rich, you really have gone very red indeed. Is that Maite’s influence?’

  ‘I had a mind before I fell for Maite, I had my ILP membership card, and my Labour Party card even before you did.’

  ‘But you never held a CP card.’

  ‘It was a matter of time, Davey, you know that. After Winston Churchill ordered the rifles to be turned on people in Cable Street, and the brown-shirts went through the East End like Cossacks… you saw it, you filmed it. Didn’t it say to you, enough is enough?’

  ‘Communism’s not the answer, Rich.’

  ‘It’s a damn good start. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re being so argumentative, you couldn’t put a card between our ideals when we were Hatton plus Hatton.’

  ‘I’m not arguing. I haven’t lost my ideals, I want no more Lord Gores or Lord Poveys blighting the lives of Joe Soap.’

  ‘But you haven’t yet picked up a rifle and faced the Moorish hordes.’

  ‘True, Rich, but I’ve faced them with my camera. In fact, I was sniped at for five minutes.’ He broke the strained mood by smiling, then chuckling, ‘I was right down in a trench, with my camera pointed straight at the enemy line, and phut-phut-phut, the only bullets coming over seemed to be coming straight for me. I changed my position three times, and they still found it.’

  Richard Hatton grinned. ‘That silly sod was never you?’

  ‘What d’you mean, “That silly sod”?’

  ‘Well, that’s what the chap called you, wasn’t it, when he pulled you back into the trench by the braces? And saved your life? The camera it was that died. So it’s true then?’

  ‘The camera didn’t die, but I did feel a damned fool not realizing that the sun was reflecting off the lens. But it was my first day at the front line.’

  ‘Don’t take it to heart, the story’s apocryphal. It’s the kind of story about visitors to our war that gives us a laugh.’

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it.’

  ‘The story wouldn’t have stood up as a joke on camp-followers if the s
niper had got you.’

  ‘Don’t needle me again, Rich. I shall not take up a rifle. Somebody has to counter the propaganda the other side is churning out. Desecration, executions, atrocities.’

  ‘Atrocities? I’ll tell you atrocities. Want to make a real horror film? I’ll tell you where to go.’

  ‘Calm down, Rich. Let me do things my way, and you do them yours.’

  Richard sighed heavily, his inward breath catching like a sob. ‘You’re right, Davey.’ He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and sat for a few moments staring out over the tips of his fingers. ‘Yes, yes, sorry, old lad. It’s this business with Maite, keep thinking what they might do to her.’

  David Hatton had nothing to say. Even as he had mentioned atrocities he wished that he had kept silent.

  ‘This girl you seem so keen on, you don’t really think she was scared off by Mags, do you?’

  ‘She barks, Rich, she still thinks she has to reach the back row of the stalls when she answers the telephone. She doesn’t like them, can’t get the hang of them. If Louise wasn’t actually scared off, she might have thought twice about leaving a message with Mags.’

  ‘Mags thought that she was protecting you from some hussy of a fortune-hunter. I really do hope that you’ll find her. I do know how it feels not knowing where the one you love is.’

  ‘I have never said I love her.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  David Hatton gave his brother an understanding clasp on the shoulder, leaving his hand there. Then he squeezed his fingers briefly and stood up. ‘Maite’s going to be safe, Rich. I feel that she must be.’

  ‘You and your bones, Davey. I hope they’re right. Once I hear that she has reached Berne or London, then I’ll be OK and stop shrieking like an old queen. I’ll not leave Spain, of course, I’ll be here to the bitter end. This war is the first frost of a hard winter to come. If they aren’t stopped here and now, Hitler and Mussolini will go for the whole of Europe, and none of us will be safe.’

  Trained as they were in the ways of Englishmen, the brothers parted as though they were just off, as in the old days, to take pictures at a society wedding and would see one another the following day.

  Before he left Madrid on his new assignment, David Hatton went to see an old friend, a man who knew more than even Richard about David’s work for the Republic. A moving film was a great asset when one needed to send unofficial messages between countries.

  Anyone wishing to see the man known as ‘Cero’ had first to be cleared by the tight security that surrounded him. Cero had no official title, no permanent office, but in all the many factions clashing for control of Madrid, he was the one person who had no political or religious axe to grind. Consequently he was trusted. He became an arbiter, a linchpin, a diplomat attached to no embassy. If anyone was able to discover what had become of Richard’s Maite Manias, it would be Cero.

  Nine

  As summer ran into autumn, Eve Anders was not alone in realizing that, as iniquitous as the invasion of a democratic country might be, it was possible that the invaders might be victorious. It was a disquieting prospect. In the north the Basque country and Santander were falling to the Nationalists. Having failed to take Madrid, Franco’s generals turned their attention first to Vizcaya where, in two raids by the Nazi Condor legion on the small town of Durango, hundreds were killed. It was soon seen that terrorizing the civilian population was an element in the strategy of war because it demoralized those fighting at the front.

  In the weeks that followed the Marco episode, Eve was very busy. Although she still thought she would be better employed driving an ambulance or a mobile hospital, she did as she was ordered to do. No sooner was she back at the depot than she would be given the ubiquitous slip of paper containing destinations, routes and times. She did a good many journeys to and from airfields, carrying, as other couriers did, X-ray plates, cans of film and Aid to Spain organizers from many countries. Because she was a woman, she was often detailed to collect some important personage – at least, she supposed that was why she drove such a high proportion of male chiefs, heads and leaders.

  Back at Albacete, heavy rains had started with the onset of autumn, but not heavy enough to wash away the accumulated dirt and rubbish in the streets. The town looked drear and dirty, and Eve had no desire to spend time there. She was glad to be busy.

  At the depot she found a note from Ozz, written in pencil on sheets of Izal.

  Do be careful, Eve sweetheart, there is some real rough stuff going on out there – but then you know that by now. I told Alex that you should be doing other things than the Vipp stuff. She has an old Bedford with a new engine (in Compound ION) ready to be fitted out as a mobile hosp. Make her give it to you. Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but it’s time you had a spot of leave. I’ll be back in a week, maybe then we can do something just for fun. I hope we shan’t keep just missing one another like this.

  Her spirits rose. A few days of Ozz Lavender’s company would be a tonic.

  By the time she greeted the other drivers and mechanics, and had checked in, refuelled, topped-up and checked the engine, she had a request for leave ready, but Alexander forestalled her.

  ‘Oh, good, Eve, I was hoping you’d be back in time. No problems with the Senator? Good. Sit down, have some tea. Ozz scrounged me a packet of Earl Grey from somewhere. I didn’t ask, just thanked whoever put it his way.’ Eve nodded her acceptance of the tea. Alex’s use of her first name was new. Earl Grey meant nothing special to her, but as part of her continuing education in a wider culture, she was always open to a new experience in the ways of people like Alexander.

  ‘Look, I’ve even got limes.’ Alex poured a stream of clear, golden tea, appreciatively inhaling the rising steam. ‘If there were cucumber sandwiches,’ she handed Eve the cup and saucer and offered a dish of lime slices, ‘I could almost believe myself back in my Aunt Phyllida’s little sitting-room.’ Eve, not knowing how to use the limes, ignored them. ‘I adored Aunt Phyllida, she’d been on the stage as a young woman – the family were pretty put out so I believe – but she redeemed herself by bowing out on the crest of the critics’ approval and marrying an estate even larger than her brother’s (that’s my father). So that was all right then. I set out to model myself on her, to be a bit of a rebel, but I had no talent for acting or singing, so I did the most rebellious thing I could think of at the time, I went off to travel America, in a car, on my own. The tea all right?’ She took a lime slice and floated it on the tea.

  Eve had never known Alexander in such an expansive mood. ‘Delicious,’ she said. She waited for Alexander to continue.

  ‘They’ve gone – the horse and the mule.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. They were such a marvellous pair.’

  ‘I know. The one so well-bred and beautiful and useless, and the moke a cross-bred, ill-favoured hard-working old creature. I used to think, well, if those two can get along, then humans ought to be able to. Ridiculous tosh, of course.’

  ‘It only worked for them because the “them and us” element was gone. Before that the horse contributed nothing but got the best deal.’ Alexander might think that Eve included her well-bred family in that generalization. Perhaps she did.

  Alexander smiled. ‘Have some more tea, there’s plenty.’

  ‘Thanks. I think I’ll have some lime in this one.’

  Rinsing the cups and pouring afresh appeared to draw a line under that conversation. Alexander smiled. ‘I think the ritual of tea is half the pleasure, don’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely. It can make an event a special occasion.’ Eve thought of May’s long kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon, a white, crochet-edged cloth at its centre and a round fruit-cake on a glass stand centred upon that, beside May’s best bone china and little bowls of flowers. Did May and Ted know about scented tea with limes? Did Ray? Ray thought the ultimate treat in drinks was freshly made Co-op tea sweetened with condensed milk.

  ‘Are you a committ
ed red, Eve? I say, it’s OK if I call you by your first name?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, are you? I mean,’ she smiled wryly, ‘this is one of the few countries in the world where being red is totally acceptable.’

  ‘I don’t think that I’m anything.’

  ‘Oh, I had you for one of the idealist types, but then I’m not really a judge of all the different shades of red. Before I met my husband, who put me right, I used to think that anyone who was against the status quo was bound to be red. Carl is deeply, deeply red, a card-carrier, his entire family are.’

  ‘Communists?’

  ‘I’m gabbing on. Tell the truth, I was a bit down, had a couple of gins before you came in. No good during the day. I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear my problems. It’s none of my damn business if you are all the colours of the rainbow.’

  Eve had already been led into saying things she had planned not to, first by Adeline Moffat and then by Ozz. She would not do the same again, so she laughed lightly and said, ‘Perhaps that is what I am. I do know that I’m against fascism.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t normally get myself into a state, and it’s not the thing to dump my mood on to someone who probably won’t dump back. I don’t believe fifty per cent of what I say and don’t agree with the other fifty. Take no notice, I’m in a crabby mood.’

  ‘You don’t sound too crabby.’

  ‘Want one?’ She offered the pack of cheroots.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll have one of my own cigarettes.’

  ‘No, don’t. Keep them. Have these.’ She took a full pack of twenty cigarettes from her desk drawer. ‘I was going to give them to one of the doctors, but you have them.’

  Eve took them, half-wondering whether she was being sweetened up, but not caring too much because she longed for a decent cigarette. She enjoyed the ritual of removing the cellophane and pulling back the silver and tissue papers and revealing the two rows of pristine cork tips. ‘Almost a shame to remove one,’ she said, but she did.

  ‘Here,’ Alex handed her a cut end of lime, ‘do your fingers. They look as though you’ve been smoking down to the last half-inch. Ah well, let’s press on. Look, I know you aren’t happy driving the Vipps, but somebody has to do it, and you’re perfect.’