Further down the platform another officer nodded politely to them before turning back to comfort the woman who was seeing him off. His uniform was more worn and faded than Bertie’s. Probably he had already seen active service and was returning from leave.
I should have been here to see Edmond off, Amy thought, distressed once more at what had taken place.
There was a distant whistle and they caught sight of the train. Now Mother was beginning to cry.
As the engine pounded noisily into the station, Bertie and Florence enjoyed a brief embrace. Then it was Amy’s turn. ‘Promise you’ll write regularly!’ she begged.
His parents wished him well as the train drew to a halt. How fearless he looks, Amy thought, as he strode the last few yards to the carriage. He opened the door and Father helped him heave his kitbag aboard. He stepped up into the second-class carriage and slammed the door. He leaned a little way out of the window for a final farewell. Then the stationmaster blew his whistle and the train began to chug out of the station. He waved, then withdrew inside the carriage. They stood watching as the train gathered speed, until they could see it no longer.
‘I’m so proud of him,’ Father said.
Amy accompanied Florence back to her house. How subdued she was, Amy thought. It was clear how much she cared for Bertie. Amy was not sure how involved he was. She remembered he was a year older than Edmond, but he somehow lacked the same maturity.
‘Bertie asked me for my photograph to take with him,’ Florence confided. ‘I found one for him and made him give me one. It’s a recent picture of him in uniform.’
Before long, Amy returned home. One of the new photographs of Bertie, smartly dressed as an officer, stood on their mantelpiece. He was smiling at them confidently.
Chapter Ten
Flanders and Larchbury, Autumn 1915
Dusk fell earlier now and the trench was bitterly cold. After the evening meal, Edmond made his last patrol of the day; the night sky to the east was lit up with a yellow glow and intermittent flashes. He thought he would never grow accustomed to the stagnant smell of mud, much worse now the weather was wet. He had to make his way as best he could along the trench on duckboards.
As last he reached his dugout, the cramped subterranean area carved into the mud, framed with wooden planks and sheets of corrugated iron, which he shared with a fellow officer. He sat on his camp bed, rereading the latest letter from Amy.
‘Everything well with your young lady?’ asked Frank Bentley, his comrade, lighting his pipe. He was a red-haired, vigorous young man, interested in football and amateur boxing.
‘Yes.’ She seemed content with her training to be a VAD, though she told him repeatedly how she missed him and longed to see him again. And her brother Bertie was in Flanders now, she had written.
‘Difficult to know what to tell them when you write, isn’t it?’ said Frank.
That was the challenge: to write home giving some flavour of their life without revealing exactly what it was like on active service. Once you had described the food, which was dull but adequate, the church parades and occasional trips to a local town or village, there was little left to say that would not alarm your relatives.
You could just about describe the mist, the sodden fields and barbed wire. You could tell your womenfolk of the songs they sang on long, tiring marches, and the gramophones and card games which helped them pass their time off duty.
You had better not mention the cold and stench in the cramped trenches, and the bouts of sickness. Soldiers tried to hide homesickness, which affected some more than others. Horror and dread overcame them when a comrade was lost or badly injured.
You could not convey the suspense and terror of climbing out of the trench to face the enemy around Loos. It was as much as he could do to rally his men and launch himself towards the Germans, trying to maintain an air of confidence. At the end of most encounters there were casualties, men with fairly light wounds, men badly injured or dying, men who were beyond care. Sometimes there were hideous cries from men lying injured in No Man’s Land.
Edmond would steel himself to stay with the injured, applying field dressings and administering water and cigarettes, sometimes even morphia, until the medical orderlies could take over. Some nights it was his task to write a letter to the next of kin. They would receive a telegram, telling them that their son or husband would not return, but it was his job to send a more personal letter. He would express his appreciation of the man’s contribution and assure the relatives that he had died quickly and without much pain. He did his best, even when his account of a peaceful death was far from true.
Before Edmond had left for France, Bertie had told him that his cousin James was determined not to fight when he was old enough. He had been shocked at the time, but now, on days when there had been a high toll of casualties, he too began inwardly to rebel against the relentless mutilation and loss of life.
There was a loud boom from the artillery, then further ones. The noise came from some distance away, further up the line, and they were in no immediate danger, but the racket would put an end to conversation and keep them awake.
How much longer would it be till they allowed him home leave? They had said they hoped he could take at least a week soon, but they had still to give him an official date.
He took out Amy’s photo from its place in his breast pocket. Proudly, he had shown Frank her picture. His comrade had admired her lovely hair and clear eyes, but for Edmond it was her smile and warm expression that chiefly raised his spirits. When he turned out the light he could still see her face in his mind’s eye, as he remembered the softness of her lips. How exasperating it had been when their wedding was interrupted; sometimes he had to remind himself that he had not dreamt that courtroom appearance. By now she should have been his.
There had been that desperate letter from her in the summer, when she had offered to end the engagement, and he had had to assure her of his continuing love. What agony of spirit had possessed her to suggest ending their relationship? He would not be satisfied until they were officially united.
The guns went on booming. From time to time their unit made some progress, gaining ground across the muddy fields. Once, they had needed to fall back into trenches they had occupied in the summer. They were told that soon they would begin to drive back the Huns and march on to victory, but was it true? Occasionally he was struck by the thought that if he did not marry Amy soon it could be too late.
* * *
It was November before he reached Larchbury once more. He had had sufficient notice of his leave to set in motion arrangements for their marriage by special licence.
It was early evening and he went straight to Amy’s house, hoping to find her at home. Mr Fletcher let him in eagerly and he deposited his kitbag and ran through to the back room, where she looked up from her knitting and a rapturous expression appeared on her face. She flung down the needles and they rushed into each other’s arms.
‘Oh, darling, at last!’ she cried.
Her parents left them alone for a while. His pulse raced at the feel of her soft body and the faint perfume of her skin and hair.
‘Every minute you’ve been away I’ve worried about you,’ she said.
‘You shouldn’t.’ He was afraid his face might reveal the tension of those weeks at the Front. Lately there had been more concern in her letters.
‘I know you’re too brave to tell me everything that goes on in Flanders but I read the papers.’
‘While I’m home I want to forget and be just the way you knew me before.’
Her mother brought him a bowl of soup and he fell on it eagerly.
‘Let me get you a meal,’ she begged.
‘Thank you so much but the family are expecting me,’ he said.
They were asking him about his journey and wearily he began to describe the choppy Channel crossing. He asked after Bertie, who seemed to have settled in with his unit.
‘Friday morning,’ he told
Amy triumphantly when there was a pause. ‘That’s when we’re getting married.’
‘In three days’ time! Oh, how wonderful!’
‘You will be able to get leave from your VAD work?’ How smart she looked in her uniform.
‘Yes – I told them we were planning to marry when you arrived on leave, and Matron has been understanding.’
A dreamy expression came on her face and it was as much as he could do to tear himself away and head for his home.
* * *
‘So, Peter has decided to come back from India!’ The family were eager to give Edmond the news as soon as he reached home. ‘He’ll be on his way by now. He intends to join up.’
‘He’ll feel he must do his duty,’ Edmond said as he sat down and began eating dinner. They had made Cook wait for his arrival before serving it. ‘I only wish he’d be here in time to see me married. I don’t know when I’ll next be on leave and whether I’ll get the chance to spend time with him.’ It was years since he had seen his brother.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to go ahead with this marriage?’ his mother asked, infuriatingly. ‘After all, Amy has a criminal record. It was extremely embarrassing when her offence came to light. I even caught the servants talking about it.’
There was something about Ma’s trim, elegant, pastel-coloured dress and impeccably coiled hair which antagonised him. It was as though her opinions had fossilised in Victorian times and she could not accommodate any new ideas.
‘You’ve found out about her past,’ she went on. ‘There’s no need to honour your promises to her in the circumstances.’ She passed him the gravy boat as though administering food was the ultimate sign of her love. The polished table with its lacy cloth, the vase of yellow chrysanthemums and the array of dishes all seemed irrelevant after his recent life at the Front. He needed her to welcome and love his chosen wife.
Beatrice was nodding her head and only Pa looked angry.
‘You know very well I’m determined to marry Amy!’ Edmond screamed at the women.
He had made it perfectly clear before he left and in his letters home. Thank goodness he was twenty-one now and there was no way they could legally prevent him from marrying her.
‘You could postpone it – wait till the end of the war and see if you still feel the same,’ his mother said.
‘Absolutely not!’
Beatrice fidgeted and looked cross.
‘Edmond has chosen Amy as his wife,’ Pa said firmly. ‘I regard her as a decent young woman, even if she has made one bad mistake. We will all welcome her here when they are married.’
Thank goodness he supports me, Edmond thought.
‘Well, don’t expect me to provide a lavish wedding feast,’ Ma said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I went to endless trouble last time, and look how it ended.’
‘There’s no time to prepare anything elaborate,’ Pa said. ‘We’ll invite our closest family and friends, provided we can contact them in time. Weddings tend to be less lavish now we’re at war.’
‘If you insist on marrying that creature I won’t be there!’ Beatrice declared, setting down her glass of wine. ‘I was prepared to be bridesmaid last time and it ended in the most humiliating fashion.’
Edmond remembered waiting impatiently in the church with Charles that day, imagining that at any moment the organist would play a chord and his beloved Amy would proceed up the aisle on her father’s arm. He recalled the sudden hubbub outside, and Bertie rushing into the church to explain what was happening. After almost collapsing from shock, he had pulled himself together enough to rush out to the magistrates’ court. There he could at least smile encouragingly at her in moral support. He admired her for the way she had behaved in court, expressing remorse for the damage but upholding her principles. Then he had had to accept the barely credible fact that she would not be released to become his bride.
His parents had told him later of the astonishment of the congregation as they left the church without the wedding taking place. He had eventually arrived home to find his mother and sister watching angrily as the vast table was cleared of the banquet intended for fifty guests. There had been recriminations which had lasted almost until they went to see him off for Flanders.
‘Don’t be like that, Bea!’ Edmond confronted his sister now. ‘You’ll come to love Amy.’
‘She’s brought disgrace to our family,’ she said. ‘Her arrest could hardly have been more public.’ Beatrice’s bridesmaid’s dress had remained at The Beeches and his mother had had to intervene once when she wanted to throw it away, persuading her that it was a becoming gown.
‘Amy’s a VAD now,’ Pa reminded them. ‘She’s serving her country. She’s making amends.’
Edmond would have liked to shake Beatrice and ask her what she was doing for the war effort. He struggled to control his anger.
‘This wedding is going ahead,’ he shouted at her, just as the maid came to clear the dishes. She withdrew.
‘Kindly don’t shout like that in front of the servants,’ Ma said. ‘Come in, Janet,’ she called loudly to the maid.
‘I hope very much you’ll be at my wedding, Bea,’ Edmond told her firmly though more quietly.
‘You’d better be bridesmaid, like before,’ Ma urged her, ‘otherwise it might encourage unpleasant gossip.’
Beatrice was unwilling to commit herself.
‘If you refuse,’ Edmond told her, ‘the ceremony will take place just the same and Amy will still become your sister-in-law.’
* * *
Amy could hardly believe the long delay was almost over.
‘There isn’t any other incident of civil disobedience you haven’t told us about?’ Father asked, half joking.
‘No! Believe me, my behaviour before and since has been exemplary.’
Bertie had asked her the same question flippantly before he left for Flanders.
Mother was cutting out fabric on the dining table. The days were cold now and she had barely time to prepare capes for the bridal party. There was enough ivory velvet for Amy and the bridesmaids.
‘I couldn’t match the green of their dresses,’ she said, ‘but the ivory colour will look fine. There’s plenty for Florence and Beatrice.’
‘Edmond isn’t sure Beatrice wants to be my bridesmaid this time,’ Amy said.
‘Nonsense! She’s bound to relent.’
‘What a shame Bertie couldn’t get leave. I believe Charles Shenwood will be best man, though, as planned… What about my dress, Mother? Is it really clean again?’ The trip to prison had sullied its purity.
‘Yes. It was a struggle to remove all the dust and dirt, but Mrs Johnson helped me and it looks as good as new.’
Amy was seeing Edmond for as much of each day as they could manage. She looked forward to every minute they spent together but there was no denying he had changed. He was still merry with her but sometimes fell quiet now, as though unable to shake off memories of his experiences at the Front. His face looked leaner, less boyish than she remembered.
Once they were married they could have only two more days together before his return. It seemed unreal that she would be living at The Beeches when not on duty at the hospital. ‘Are you sure your family have forgiven me?’ she asked Edmond. ‘Will they all be happy with me living with them?’
‘Of course they will!’
She packed up her belongings again, including winter clothes this time, and took them back there. The minutes and hours dawdled towards Friday, when she could at last be Edmond’s entirely.
Chapter Eleven
Larchbury and London, November 1915
Edmond’s uniform had been cleaned and pressed to the best of the servants’ abilities. He was determined to look smart.
Charles had managed to get leave briefly from his unit, and had arrived the night before the wedding, handsome as ever in his uniform, ready to be his best man. At the dinner table Beatrice, beautiful in her newest gown of creamy silk, had eagerly engaged him in co
nversation.
‘It’s so heroic what you men do in the war,’ she had told him, fixing her greenish eyes on him. Her lustrous chestnut hair was piled in curls upon her head and his gaze barely left her.
‘We all do our best,’ he said.
‘I’m determined to contribute,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to join the women’s working group, preparing comforts for the troops, bandages and socks and so on.’
Would she really join the group? Edmond wondered.
On the morning of the wedding she asked to be driven to a friend’s house, saying she had been invited to stay there for the day. It was fortunate that Charles had left the breakfast table and missed hearing the row when Edmond begged her to attend the wedding and Pa refused to instruct the chauffeur to drive her elsewhere. In the end she got up stiffly and left the table.
Shortly afterwards he thought he heard her in the hall on the telephone to someone. Then a car arrived bringing Vicky, eyes bright with excitement at the prospect of the wedding. Edmond went upstairs to change into his uniform. As he started downstairs with Charles close behind him there was a ring at the doorbell and they were in time to see Beatrice’s back view as she hurried out of the house, without her bridesmaid’s dress. Edmond ran after her but she was already being driven off in her friend’s family’s car.
‘Won’t Beatrice be at the wedding?’ Charles asked Edmond as he came back into the hall.
‘She’s refused to take part, because of what happened last time,’ he said, almost spitting out the words, not sure he could ever forgive her for this.
Charles’ eyebrows rose. ‘That’s a bit extreme. Of course, it was disturbing – it’s not often a wedding is called off like that. Amy’s a spirited young girl but decent enough, anyone can see that. She seemed sincerely sorry for that prank in the pavilion. I’m sure Beatrice will come round soon.’
Until We Meet Again Page 10