Whether or not Corporal Wedlock was any less violent or whether the recruits were simply more able to comply with his demands was difficult to say, though his dislike of Private Melody was never in question. Mick’s name seemed never to be off the defaulters’ list. Much of this was due to his incompetency in getting out of bed, yet Wedlock unquestionably singled out failings that he might overlook in another soldier and often these were punished with violence. It took every effort from Probyn, his self-appointed keeper, to protect the Irish youth from serious injury.
If anyone above the rank of sergeant had noticed that Private Melody spent more time at the hospital than any other man in the garrison it was never mentioned. As if this were not bad enough, Melody appeared to be accident-prone too, forever pulling muscles or spraining ankles.
Even today as Probyn prepared to go to his sister’s wedding, Melody was over at the hospital having his foot strapped up for some clumsy self-inflicted injury.
‘Oh, here you are you, hoppity-elf!’ On his way out, Probyn bumped into Mick in the corridor. ‘I thought they might have had to amputate, the time you’ve been gone.’
‘I was just making the most of it,’ smiled Mick, resting on his good leg. ‘Ye’ve never enjoyed a stay over there have ye? Oh, ye should see the rooms those medical orderlies have, the Savoy’s got nothing on them. And they’ve hardly anything to do, talk about kooshi. Going to your wedding are yese? Well, have a good time.’ He patted his friend on the back.
‘I will. See you tonight!’ Probyn set off.
‘If you’re not too drunk!’ called Mick before hobbling away.
* * *
It took a few hours to reach Ralph Royd. Without a watch he was unsure just what time it was when he arrived but he had made good pace and was not worried about being late for the event. What did concern him was his reception. Guessing that he wouldn’t be welcome at home, he pondered whether to go straight to chapel where he might have a long wait, or for a glass of Dutch courage at the Robin Hood’s Well, for alcohol would not be available at the wedding. He chose the latter course, using the lame excuse that there would be a clock at the pub.
Knowing that Judson might be in the saloon he entered the best room, wherein was a host of Sunday suits, starched white collars, gold watch chains and polished brass. A collection of typically dour Yorkshire faces followed the soldier’s approach to the bar. Their eyes remained on him as he waited to be served.
‘Eh up, it’s young Probe!’ With the aid of a crutch, Peggo Wilcox, an elderly ex-miner, limped up to serve the young soldier.
‘I’m a bit early for our lass’s wedding,’ explained Probyn, indicating the clock. ‘So I thought I’d come and have a chat and a pint with you, Mr Wilcox. Am I all right in here?’ He had seen men in uniform come out of the pub but under the disconcerting gaze of those now present he began to wonder if he might be relegated to the saloon.
The landlord’s reply was civil. ‘You can sit where you like, son, although I don’t think your father’d be too pleased at you being here at all.’
Probyn nodded sourly, viewing it as hypocritical that Monty regarded this purveyor of alcohol as a friend of the family yet would not allow any member of that family to patronize his establishment. ‘Him and a dozen others.’
‘Well, we’re glad to have you. Marion get this lad a pint!’ An avuncular man, Peggo called to the middle-aged barmaid who, in friendly manner, supplied the ale and joined the landlord in asking about Probyn’s new way of life.
‘Doesn’t he look all grown-up in his uniform?’ she said admiringly in her deep soft voice, and to Probyn himself, ‘Eh, I can remember you being born. In fact I remember your Meredith being born! And here she is getting wed.’
Glad of the amicable welcome, Probyn enquired if they would be attending. He was told they would not miss such an occasion and would be going along after closing-time. ‘I’ll walk down to the chapel with you,’ he told them, ‘if you don’t mind being seen with me.’
Marion smiled kindly and said of course she did not.
Taking his pint slowly, so as not to become inebriated, he chatted intimately for the next half hour with the landlord and barmaid, almost forgetting from the natural way he was able to converse with the latter that she was in fact a man.
When the time finally came to enter the chapel he was glad of their moral support, for the moment he encountered his relatives he knew it was not to be the pleasant afternoon he had hoped for. If not openly hostile they were far from welcoming either. A few acknowledged him with brief nods as he edged along the aisle looking for a sympathetic face by which to sit, but he was left in no doubt as to their disapproval. His father would not even look at him. Only Aunt Kit extended compassion. Responding to her smile he left Peggo, Mrs Wilcox and Marion with a few grateful words and hurried to seat himself beside his favourite aunt and uncle and their baby.
‘You look very smart,’ whispered Kit, trying to control her wriggling son.
He thanked her. ‘Me dad apparently doesn’t think so.’
Towering above him, Kit bent to murmur her response, which had a rueful edge. ‘Aye well, we’re both in his bad books. He sent me a stinking letter saying I encouraged you to run off. I tried to put your side but you know what he’s like.’
Probyn apologized and thanked Kit for her support, yet even as he spoke he could hear another more elderly aunt, Gwen, slandering him from behind. ‘Look at the brazen little varmint! Coming here in his uniform bold as brass, spoiling his sister’s wedding – and I can smell drink on him.’
His cheeks flushed to the colour of his tunic and he looked at his feet. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass his sister.
‘Looks like he’s come empty-handed an’ all,’ sniffed Gwen.
More embarrassment! He had not even contemplated buying a gift for Meredith.
Kit threw a reproachful glare over her shoulder at Gwen which had little effect. Her eldest sister had never been shy to air her opinions.
‘Oh look, here comes the bride!’ Kit’s plump elbow nudged her nephew, trying to distract from his abashment. ‘What do you think of her gown? I made it.’ Just as she had done for each of her other nieces.
Probyn would not normally pay much heed to women’s fashions but grateful for this one line of support he said it was lovely. Then there was no more time for talking as the marriage ceremony began.
Afterwards, though, even this slender thread of assistance was broken, for Aunt Kit with her husband and son was ushered away to a distant table whilst he was seated with his sisters and their husbands who shared his father’s disapproval – it was as if it had been done on purpose – and his favourite aunt could only make contact by throwing the odd sympathetic smile whenever he met her gaze. Normally a Kilmaster wedding, whilst not a roisterous occasion, was an enjoyable get-together for its family members but today’s proceedings were extremely stilted. No one at the table had, so far, uttered anything more than hello.
Meredith was annoyed with him too; she hadn’t said so and had introduced him to her groom quite civilly, but he only had to look at her face whenever she set eyes on him to know that all was not well. Waylaying her after the meal was over as she and her groom, Christmas Clegg, went from table to table, sharing niceties with their guests, he tried to explain.
‘Merry,’ he blurted, ‘I hope you don’t think I’ve worn me uniform deliberately to upset you. I’m not allowed out without it, it’s a serious offence.’
‘Mmm.’ Meredith looked down on him, her tight smile showing she was not convinced. ‘Well, if you must you must I suppose. Have you had enough to eat?’
‘Oh ample!’ In truth he had not felt like eating anything.
‘Good, well, I’d better move on I’ve a lot of guests to speak to.’ And with that she left him.
‘Best of luck!’ Probyn sank back against the hard frame of his chair, feeling utterly despondent.
Whereupon those amongst whom he was seated, appeared to take this
as a signal for releasing their own observations, until now suppressed.
‘Well, you’d better not turn up at my house wearing that outfit,’ warned Rhoda, regarding him over her imperious beak of a nose. ‘I won’t answer the door.’
‘I won’t come if I’m not welcome,’ he murmured resentfully. Mother must have thought she was doing good by encouraging her daughters to elevate themselves from the pit community but in reality she had created a family of snobs, all of them looking at him disdainfully down their large noses.
‘She didn’t say you wouldn’t be welcome,’ scolded Ethel, the eldest and the only one unmarried. ‘Just that uniform. And don’t be making out that it’s all of us who are out of step when it’s you who’s the villain. You’ve really upset Father.’
Alice added her contribution. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Probyn. You’ve become really wilful.’
‘He always was a pampered little devil,’ muttered Wyn to her husband who, trying to stay neutral, exchanged uncomfortable looks with his brothers-in-law, none of whom came to Probyn’s aid. ‘We were all expected to put him first.’
Rhoda was shaking her head and looking him up and down. ‘I can’t seem to recognize you somehow.’
All his sisters were of this same opinion: their little brother had changed, which was odd because he had been thinking along the same lines. It was almost like being amongst strangers. It wasn’t just that they were cool towards him, regarding him like a naughty child for running off, but that he himself was different. With some irony he found himself longing to get back to his platoon.
After the condemnations had been aired he was left sitting on his own as his sisters went off to mingle. Being strict chapel goers, there was no dancing at the wedding and consequently nothing to take his mind off his troubles, and, with Kit otherwise engaged and no one else apparently keen to speak to him, he sat there looking more and more uncomfortable. Even the old tyrant Gwen began to feel sorry for him and signalled for him to come over. Alert to her summons Probyn approached self-consciously, tugging at his tunic.
‘Well, I suppose you must’ve learned your lesson, nobody inclined to speak to you all afternoon! You won’t be wearing them wretched clothes again on your next visit home I dare say.’
In view of this terrible insult to his regiment, Probyn controlled his feelings well. ‘It isn’t a matter of choice, Aunt Gwen.’
‘And I suppose it wasn’t a matter of choice you running away and not letting your family know where you’d gone for over a week! I hope you’re repentant for all the trouble you caused?’
‘I am.’ He looked suitably apologetic, a quite genuine sentiment, for he accepted he was in the wrong.
‘Well, I suppose what’s done is done.’ Gwen was more amenable now, and though her face had its habitual expression of misery her voice offered encouragement. ‘Sit down and tell me how you’ve been faring. I’ll wager the army was a horrible shock after the good upbringing you’ve had.’
Though he had never liked the eldest of his father’s sisters with her old-fashioned clothes smelling of camphor and her bossy manner, he was relieved that someone other than Kit was talking to him and he began to tell Gwen about his training, though his eyes kept darting across to where his father was sitting, face deliberately averted.
‘Do you think Father will ever forgive me?’ he asked suddenly.
Gwen looked across the hall at her brother. ‘Shouldn’t think so, the stubborn fool.’ Then returning her attention to Probyn she felt immediate regret. Despite his grand airs in that uniform he looked so young and forlorn, the same way he had looked at his mother’s funeral, trying so hard to be a man.
Clasping his knee, she used it to pull herself out of her chair, saying she would not be a minute. Probyn watched her make a beeline for his father, and waited alertly for the outcome.
‘All right, you’ve made your disapproval plain!’ Gwen told her brother without preamble. ‘Sort it out.’
Immediately, the guests nearby began to withdraw to a discreet distance, leaving only Ann seated at the table with her husband.
‘Mind your own business, Gwen.’ Monty turned his eyes away.
Noticing that battle lines were about to be drawn, Kit disengaged herself from the conversation she’d formerly been enjoying and sidled over to check what was going on.
Gwen persisted. ‘Don’t you remember the way our parents died, walked out the door one morning and never came ba—’
‘How could I forget?’ came Monty’s annoyed interjection, ‘’twere left to me to bring you up and all the thanks I got was a deal of grumbling and interference!’
Taking immediate huff, Gwen gathered her frumpy skirts. ‘Right then! If you lose your only son don’t blame me!’
Noting that Kit’s lips were about to form a subscription Monty held up his hand. ‘Save your breath! You’re the last person to give advice.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’ Kit remained dignified, her clear blue eyes holding his. ‘If you want to see all your efforts wasted again that’s up to you.’ At his look of angry confusion, she enlarged, ‘Did you spend your whole life looking after your brother and sisters, keeping the family together, just so you could cut Owen off and never speak to him again? Seems a daft waste to me. Are you going to do the same with Probe?’
‘If I do then you’re to blame!’ Monty did not grant Kit time to put voice to her expression of amazement. ‘Ever since you gave him that wretched box of tin soldiers he’s been obsessed by the idea. Now go away, Kit,’ he finished tersely. ‘You’re spoiling my daughter’s wedding.’
As usual, Kit complied with her elder brother’s demand, though her expression said all as she made her way over to Probyn.
Mouth set in an angry line, Monty only fractured it to grumble to his wife. ‘What gives them the right to gang up on me with the troubled lives they’ve had? I’d like to see Gwen’s face if either of her lads wanted to be soldiers.’
Ann was in wholehearted agreement, offering a consoling pat to his forearm. ‘And Kit’s got that dubious pleasure still to come; her Toby’s only a year old. People are always quick to advise others how to bring up their children.’ After a further period of censuring others’ shortcomings, she asked with casual interest, ‘Tell me, dear, how did you envisage Probe’s future?’
Monty opened his mouth to give immediate reply, then looked rather lame and was forced to yield a foolish smile. ‘A life down the pit – doesn’t sound very auspicious, does it?’ He stared thoughtfully into mid air. ‘But it wasn’t as if I forced him to go down, Ann, I’d have been glad for him to do anything he chose, but the stubborn little tyke said if he couldn’t go soldiering he might as well choose the pit. Certainly his mother had big ideas for him but he didn’t have the brains, if he did he wouldn’t have joined the army. Well, so much for her big ideas now.’ He groaned and squirmed in his smart wedding attire. ‘Oh, it’s not just that he’s defied me, Ann, it’s the whole thing between us, our personal differences. I remember so well the afternoon he was born – I were that proud!’ His expression fleetingly mirrored the joy he had felt at the arrival of a boy after so many girls. ‘I thought we’d do things together, man to man, you know.’ His joyful visage faded and he sighed, rubbing unconsciously at his painful knees. ‘But he always seemed to prefer his mother’s company to mine. Well, that was inevitable. Sarah had more influence on him, him being with her all day and every day till he went to school. I only saw him for an hour before bedtime or on a weekend, or when he needed a thrashing. Perhaps if I’d been allowed to spend more time with the lad …’ His voice trailed away. With a hint of petulance he seized a lone currant from his plate and nibbled on it. Then, feelings of guilt brought an addendum. ‘I suppose that’s not really fair: even as a tiny chap he was so different to me.’
‘Yes, completely different,’ nodded Ann. ‘You always got on with your father didn’t you.’ A gentle smile showed she was teasing.
Monty searched her face. ‘
You think I should be the one to repair the damage?’ He became awkward. ‘Well … I might, if only he’d show some sort of contrition for his wilful behaviour.’
Ann looked apologetic at having to correct her husband. ‘Well, he did write and say he was sorry—’
‘Not face to face though!’
‘He seems embarrassed,’ Ann pressed forth. ‘Pushed into a bit of a corner what with Gwen and the rest of them putting their two pennorth in.’ She could not abide the eldest of Monty’s sisters but had to side with her now. ‘Give him a chance, dear. I know he was wrong to go against you but you can only force your children to do so much, and in the end wouldn’t you rather they be happy?’
Monty’s mind was reluctantly drawn to his thirty years of unhappiness with Sarah. Life with her had been one constant verbal assault. ‘What gives him the right to be happy? I had to do as I was told.’
She became concerned for her own wifely powers. ‘But you’re happy now, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, of course! Of course.’ In the absence of eavesdroppers he squeezed her knee under the table. Ann was so different to his first wife. ‘With you at any rate.’ He sighed again. ‘I can’t make up my mind what to do about the boy.’
Family of the Empire Page 13