by Leah Fleming
It was a misty night and Gary was tired. So Charlie took the wheel along the twisting turning lane in the half-light, not knowing where they were going. It was a relief to see a lone figure trudging through the mist in khaki with a gun slung over his shoulder and leather boots and a cap.
As they drew closer to give the soldier a lift, he didn’t turn round.
‘Look out!’ Charlie hooted the horn for the guy to step aside. There wasn’t room to squeeze around him. ‘Look out, he’s right up your ass!’ Gary yelled in alarm.
‘I know!’ Charlie hooted again but the man didn’t stop or turn round and Charlie was sweating. He was going to hit him. With a sickening thud of his heart, he braked hard, waiting for the impact.
‘The stupid dumb cluck! Are you deaf?’Gary yelled.‘Are you blind?’ He poked his head out of the Jeep.
Charlie leaped out to see the damage but there was no one there. No accident, no prostrate body, nothing.
‘We did see him, didn’t we?’
‘Sure as hell we did! He must have jumped in a dyke… Wait till I get my hands on him,’ Gary shouted. ‘But there’s no ditch…come out, you jerk, wherever you’re hiding.’
They both looked round.
‘There’s no one here.Come on,it’s dark…’ Charlie got back in the car. ‘But we saw a soldier, I’m sure we did. He was walking in front of us…’
‘We’re just tired. Put it down to that…Now where the hell are we?’ Gary yawned. ‘Another fine mess you’ve got us into…’
‘I did see someone, I did.’ Charlie was unnerved. They were lost up a lane in a strange country and now he’d just seen a ghost. This was not looking good.
Mrs Beck came puffing into the kitchen and plonked her basket onto the table.
‘I’ve just seen a ghost,’ she said. ‘At least I think it were, but Doreen at the post office said he was just another of them Yanks. Two of them she saw, strolling round the square as bold as brass, asking the way to Sharland School. I hope they weren’t spies, after that film we saw last week when the Germans came to a village like ours in disguise.’
She paused turning to Hester. ‘Now how are you today, dearie?’
Hester hated being treated like a child. Just because she forgot things, kept having to ask the same questions over and over again, didn’t make her stupid. Some days when she woke up it was hard to know what to do next, her mind took hours to crank into gear. Dr Pickles said something about little strokes that slowed her down but she felt perfectly well. There had been one or two falls in the garden, and now she needed a stick to reassure her creaking bones. If this was old age, you can keep it, she sighed. It took up so much of her time just to get dressed and find something she fancied to eat. Nothing tasted the same any more. Sometimes she forgot to eat all day and then felt faint, and Mrs Beck told her off, making her sit down with a sandwich and hot sweetened tea.
Dr Pickles arranged for a family to be billeted on her, but the children were noisy and the woman rushed back to Hull after a few weeks, saying it was too dull in the country and too quiet.
How she missed Essie’s company, her calming presence. If only she felt stronger to do things. Now the garden was back to vegetables again, and another war was raging round her but she couldn’t be bothered to keep up with events.
She did manage some of the WI work parties when she could remember, but her knitting was slack and she kept dropping stitches. The car was in a stable with the wheels removed. She knew she wasn’t fit to drive after she crashed into a wall on the way back from town. She mistakenly thought she’d knocked someone over on the high road and it had shattered her confidence. This was not the old Hester Cantrell, this slow dithery creature.
‘Where’s the ghost now?’ she said, not really understanding the excitement.
‘That’s what I was going to tell you,’ said Mrs Beck as she put the shopping away. ‘The tall one looked the spitting image of your boys…like they were,of course.I did a double take but he raised his cap and smiled. I can see why the girls like them. They look so snug in their trousers and jackets, so tall and handsome. Now you’ve got me going on, what shall we do today, bathrooms, upstairs or down?’
‘Whatever you like,’ Hester said.
‘Another bad night again?’
‘Never slept a wink, up and down to the lavatory…if only I could sleep. I’d be so much better in myself. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve become so slow.’
‘Just sit where you are. A cup of tea will cheer you up.’
‘I wish we had real coffee. What I’d give for a cup of decent Kenyan blend,’ she complained. Complaining was something she was still good at.
‘We have to make do with what we can get these days. It’s Camp coffee or nothing, dearie.’
‘Why is that?’ Hester was puzzled.
‘There is war on, your ladyship…I told you yesterday. We’ve sent Rommel packing in the desert. That’s something to be grateful for.’
‘Who’s Rommel?’
‘I told you…a German general…in the paper, it is. Come on, don’t get agitated. It’ll all come back to you but you shouldn’t be living on your own in this big house. What you need is company, some evacuees or soldiers billeted, a bit of company.’
‘I suppose it is rather large, but I could never leave the garden.’
‘You’ve done wonders with it but now it’s going to pot for lack of a bit of help. Shall I ask round the village again?’ said Mrs Beck.
Hester sipped her tea. It tasted like wet cardboard. What was the point of eating if you had no pleasure in it? At eighty-two years old there wasn’t much to look forward to.
‘What were those ghosts again?’ she asked, knowing it was something to do with her.
‘One of them looked just like one of your boys. I never could tell them apart, Master Guy or Master Angus. Like I said, they were on their way up to the big school. Doreen at the post office sent them up there. One of them said his father had been there as a boy.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Hester.
Mrs Beck looked at her again. ‘It’s not going to be one of your better days, is it, dearie?’
Hester stared blankly into the cup.
Charlie and Gary stood in the corridor speechless at the size of the school. It was like entering some ancient stone fortress set high on the hill overlooking the valley.
The headmaster, Mr Faulds, was a harassed little man brought out of retirement, but courteous enough to the visitors, showing them around the school with pride. ‘You say your father attended the school, young man—what dates were those?’
‘Before the Great War, I think. His brother died in battle but Pa was in the Merchant Navy. He doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘None of them does who was there. Let’s have a look at the roll of honour…his name?’
‘Charles Arthur West,’ Charlie replied. He’d never seen anything like an English public school before, the oakpanelled classrooms and long libraries of books on shelves, boys in blazers and short grey trousers, hair parted neatly, and that smell of chalk and disinfectant that couldn’t mask the sweaty stench of youth. The vaulted roof towered above him like a castle.
‘I’m afraid there’s no one of that name on our roll of honour,’ said the headmaster.
‘Hey, didn’t you say he was one of twins?’ Gary interrupted. ‘This is some place to go to school. Mine was a cabin on the prairie.’
‘Quite so…twins, now that’s different. I recall there were a pair. One died but, as I recall, that was Guy Cantrell.’ Mr Faulds was pointing to a photograph.
‘My God, that could be you, Charlie.’ Gary pointed to the portrait.
‘Let me go and ask Mrs Southall. She’s been here a long time,’ said the headmaster.
‘It doesn’t make sense, but it’s Pa all right, or his twin. If this guy died in the war, Pa must be the other one.’ Charlie felt a stab of alarm. Perhaps he shouldn’t be poking around into Pa’s past. He’d left all th
is behind deliberately. But why?
A middle-aged lady marched in, looking them up and down and then beamed at Charlie as if she knew him.
‘You must be Angus’s boy. Good heavens, it’s like looking at a ghost. Don’t look so alarmed. They were good boys. Guy was a captain. He died at Passchendaele. There he is on the memorial roll. Poor Angus was left behind like a knotless thread. He taught here for a while and suffered from bad turns…America? My goodness, and now he’s sent his son to fight alongside us! That’s typical of the Cantrells; a big military family they were, with a proud tradition. His father drowned at the side of Lord Kitchener. Lady Hester has such a burden of grief. She’ll be so pleased to see you both.’
‘Lady Hester?’ Charlie could hardly take this all in.
‘Your grandmother who lives outside Sharland village, on the hill in Waterloo House. You can’t miss it. What a surprise she’s going to get when she sees you.’
‘Just a minute,’said the head.‘You said your father’s name was Charles West and you are…?
‘Charleson West. That’s odd he should change his name.’
Charlie sensed a mystery. He nudged Gary. ‘There must be an explanation; perhaps the Lady will tell us more.’
‘Shall I ring ahead and tell her you’re coming? We don’t want to shock her. She’s quite ancient now,’ said Mrs Southall.
‘Sure. Can I look at the photograph again?’ Charlie asked.
‘Come with me. There’s a whole wall full of rugby team and cricket team photographs. The boys were good at sport, as I recall.’
‘You’re kiddin’. My pa would never touch a baseball bat.’ Charlie was puzzled.
It was as if a secret door was opening up to a life he knew nothing about. He couldn’t take his eyes off the line-ups. The images were clear: two of them, as alike as peas from a pod.He thought of his own twin brother,Gus…why,Angus, of course. It made sense. He didn’t know what to make of that but suddenly he smiled. ‘I know it’s an awful cheek but have you such a thing as a postcard I could buy to send to my folks back home? I’d like them to know I’ve visited here.’
‘We’ve got something even better, young man,’ said the school secretary. ‘Here’s our current brochure, only on wartime paper, of course. Put that in an envelope and tell your father all about your visit. It’s always good to meet old pupils’ families. It was such a bad time. We lost so many of our brightest pupils, a whole future generation of scholars lost with them. It’s grand to see someone who survived and has brought his boy up to fight for the old country.’
If only she knew the truth, Charlie thought.
‘How long will you be stopping here? The boys might like to meet some American troops,’ she added.
‘Oh, we must be going soon, back to base, ma’am,’ said Gary hurriedly.
They walked out of the grounds still in shock. ‘I think you’d better get down and give this old lady the surprise of her life!’
Charlie said nothing. Was it fair to go behind his father’s back? Something must have gone wrong for Pa to change his name and abandon his family. Charlie wasn’t sure he wanted to find out just what it was.
Hester was pottering in the garden when she saw the two soldiers strolling up the drive. The Yanks are coming, she smiled thinking of the song: ‘Over There, Over There’, sung at the end of the war with such gusto that you’d think the Yanks had won the war single-handedly.
She hobbled to see them at closer range, and then stopped in surprise. ‘Oh, Guy!’ she smiled. ‘It’s you at long last. What took you so long? Come in…come in. Where’s Angus?’
The two men stood looking at each other. ‘Ma’am, this is Gary Ambler and I’m Charles West…They sent me from the school. I think there must have been a mistake. They thought I was your grandson.’
‘Grandson? What are you talking about, Guy? Why are you talking like an American film? You’ve grown so tall, or have I shrunk? There’s so much I need to tell you…Come in, I’ll make you some tea, or would you like sherry?’
‘No, ma’am,’ said Charlie. ‘We’re fine. We just wanted to say hello before we made tracks. You are Lady Hester?’
‘Of course I am. I’m your mother!’
The young men looked at her and then at each other again.
‘Why have you stayed away so long? I wrote to you but you never replied when I told you about Angus and the village boy. I’ve been waiting so long for you to come back to me. And now you’re home for good? Who’s your friend?’
‘Ma’am, we’re soldiers, American soldiers, on a visit to meet with you, but we can’t stay long.’
‘Oh, don’t tease me, darling. I’m not going to let you go after all this time. I’ll make up your room and some tea. There’s so much we have to say to each other.’
It was so wonderful, seeing Guy so handsome. He’d not aged a scrap in thirty years. He’d been away so long and forgotten all his manners and now had that terrible accent. Amazing, the other one looked a much rougher type. On closer inspection they were both looking at her as if she was not making sense.
‘Come and see what I’ve done in the garden since you left. You shouldn’t have sneaked away like a thief in the night. I know Dr Mac put you up to it. I went to the sanatorium and they told me all about you. Mr West, indeed! You didn’t have to do that. Cantrell is a fine pedigree. There were generals in your father’s family dating back to Waterloo. Where’s Angus again? Oh, I forgot, silly me, poor boy was lost in the war. You shouldn’t have run away. The boy was only doing his best for us all.’ She didn’t notice them back, down the drive, waving and then walking away.
‘Come back! You’ve not had your tea,’ she cried. ‘Don’t leave me not when I’ve found you again, Guy…Guy!’
There was no one there and for a moment her mind went blank. ‘Did I dream that? Had Guy really come or was it another trick of her mind? But there were two of them. The mist in her muddled head cleared for a second. Yes, two American boys in uniform. If he wasn’t her son, who on earth was he?
Charlie hardly spoke on the long drive south back to the base at Burtonwood. He was too stunned. Had he dreamed it all? Knocking down the soldier who wasn’t there? People smiling at him and welcoming him back to West Sharland as if they knew him, and the school secretary with the team photos of his pa and his brother. Guy and Angus Cantrell, one dead and one still alive. He was so confused he couldn’t recall which was which and then that old woman in black thinking he was her son, calling him Guy, pleading with him to stay home. What had happened to his pa that made him change his name and flee his native land?
Anyone could see his grandmother was mad, a pitiable sight, waiting for the son who never came.
Whatever had happened wasn’t good news and he didn’t know what to make of it, but he did post the school brochure. That would rattle some bones back home. He suddenly felt sick with uncertainty at such discoveries, but one way or another he was going to make his pa face the truth and give him the real story.
Whatever it was, it had driven that old lady crazy. Perhaps he ought to go back again on his own and apologise for their rudeness.
‘You OK?’ Gary asked.
‘Sort of…one hell of a crazy day,’ Charlie replied.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear. I think next time we’ll go and see London. Check out the city and have ourselves some fun.’
‘You’re on!’ A trip to London would take his mind off all this mystery. At least in the big city, he wouldn’t go bumping into ghosts from the past.
24
It was in the lull between Christmas and New Year that Ruth and Sam took Shari on the train back to her mother’s village. They stopped off in Sowerthwaite to find a little café that was open. It had been a cold Christmas and now people were getting into the country to walk and take the air.
Shari was taken with the stone square and fine Georgian buildings. It was just as she had imagined and she bought a postcard to send back to Mom.
&
nbsp; They sat on the single-decker bus to West Sharland and Shari posed by the square outside the Hart’s Head. There was nothing that said the full name, no road signs or fingerposts. The church bell was tolling and a funeral procession went past slowly. Men stood by the roadside doffing their caps, all the curtains were closed and doors shut in respect. Ruth asked someone whose was the burial.
‘Lady Hester from Waterloo House,’ came the reply. ‘A right cantankerous old beggar who went queer towards the end. They found her in the garden searching for her son, would you believe, and him dead years ago.’ The woman paused.‘I mustn’t speak ill of the dead…Like many others she had her cross to bear, gentry or not.’
Ruth turned to Shari. ‘It was the lady who looked after your granny when she fell sick, the one I told you about. She owned the cottages over there that your granddad rented next door to the forge. There was a bit of a romance when your mam was young with one of her son’s during the war, but Hester put a stop to that. There was no mixing in those days.’
They watched the procession, the black horses pulling the glass hearse. There weren’t many mourners.
‘How sad she had no relatives,’ murmured Shari.
‘That’s because there’s no one left to mourn her, I expect. Essie once told me Hester was the daughter of an earl; the youngest one and they’re all passed on and the title with them. She was a bit of a martinet but your gran spoke highly of her. Gentry or not, that’s what we all come to in the end: a box and a few feet of soil. I heard as how Lady Hester stood her ground on some things, all that war memorial business. I see they still haven’t erected anything. Happen they’ll get round to putting something up now she’s gone.’
‘What took so long?’ Shari said.
‘Complications, village politics…Come on, let’s have a grand tour. There’ll be neighbours who still remember your mother. They’re getting used to visitors poking round the churchyard, looking for ancestors and relatives.’
