‘True,’ Pips admitted as she stood up. ‘And now I’m going to the Dawson household to see if Norah will come with us.’
Robert gave a bark of laughter. ‘You’ve no chance there.’
‘Oh Miss Pips, I couldn’t possibly. Len would never forgive me.’
‘Your own son’s wedding, Mrs Dawson,’ Pips said softly.
‘Miss Pips,’ Ma spoke up from her place by the range, ‘don’t upset her. You know she can’t go. You take Alice and little Daisy and tell us all about it when you come back. When he’s out the way, o’ course. And you can take messages to William from me an’ Norah. Take some photos too, if you can. You’ll do that for us, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will, but—’
‘There’s no more to be said, Miss Pips.’ Ma’s tone was firm and brooked no more argument.
Four
‘William – and Brigitta. How wonderful to see you both again,’ Pips greeted them with open arms. ‘And just look who I’ve brought with me.’
She turned aside to usher Alice and Daisy forward. ‘This is your niece, William.’
‘Hello, Daisy,’ William said gently, not wanting to rush the child, but Daisy, as always, was beaming with delight and stretching out her arms to be taken into his.
‘She’s adorable,’ Brigitta said, gazing at the little girl. Then she seemed to remember that she was their hostess and drew them into the warmth of the farmhouse to introduce her grandparents.
‘It is so good of you to come for William,’ Mrs Dupont said in perfect English, though she had a strong accent. ‘You are very welcome. We have your rooms ready.’
‘We don’t want to impose upon you,’ Pips began. ‘We can easily stay in Pop.’ She used the name that the soldiers had used for the nearby town of Poperinghe.’
Mr Dupont chuckled. ‘My wife would be offended if you did.’
‘We certainly don’t want to offend you, so thank you, madame, we’ll be delighted to stay with you. And if there’s anything we can do to help you . . .’
‘The wedding is only two days away.’ Mrs Dupont’s eyes twinkled. She was small and round, but quick and lively in her movements. ‘There is much to do.’
‘Then let’s get going. We’re not frightened of hard work.’
The older woman’s face sobered as she nodded and said seriously, ‘I know that. I remember.’ Then, shaking herself from bitter memories, she said, ‘Sit down, sit down. Eat. It is all ready. What will the little one have?’
The ‘little one’ ate heartily everything that was put in front of her, but by the end of the meal, Daisy’s eyelids were drooping with tiredness.
‘I will take you upstairs,’ Brigitta said to Alice. ‘We have borrowed a cot from a neighbour. It is beside your bed. You don’t mind sharing with Pips, do you?’
‘Heavens, no,’ she laughed. ‘We shared a tent for long enough.’
‘And I’ll help you to clear away, madame,’ Pips said.
‘Thank you. I’d be glad of your help.’
The two women chatted as they washed the pots and Pips asked, gently, about life in this area of Belgium now.
‘Do you know, Pips, that every building in Ypres has been destroyed? Even the water systems, drains, sewers – everything. Some of the more wealthy people have already sold their properties and have decided never to return. Others, who can afford to, will stay away until rebuilding is done, but for many . . .’ she shrugged – ‘it is their home, what else can they do but come back to this area?’
‘So, is that what they’re going to do? Rebuild Ypres as it was?’
‘Pips, we have a wonderful king in Albert. Do you know, he never left the country? All through the war he remained in the Allied-held part and, now, he is the prime mover in the reconstruction of devastated areas. Since earlier this year, he and his ministry have been providing prefabricated huts in a safe area to the north-west of Ypres as temporary living accommodation for those returning and, of course,’ she laughed, ‘for all the builders arriving here to find work. And they’ll find it.’
‘It will always be a place that people will want to visit. From abroad, I mean.’ Pips placed the plates she had dried carefully in a pile. ‘They will want to see where their loved ones are buried – or where they perished, even if they have no grave to visit.’
Mrs Dupont nodded. ‘I’ve heard that there are a lot of visitors arriving already, seeking answers and some kind of comfort. But to answer your question, there is a lot of discussion about what should happen to Ypres.’ She was silent for a moment before continuing. ‘You’ve probably heard about the suggestion that it should be left in its ruined state as a constant memorial – and a reminder,’ she added bitterly. Then, more strongly, she went on, ‘But the locals – including my husband and me – do not agree with that and discussions are still going on. There’s also been an idea to have what they’re calling a “zone of silence” somewhere near the ruined cathedral, I believe. But we don’t agree with that either. We think,’ Mrs Dupont smiled wryly, ‘though I don’t expect anyone will take notice of us, that the town should be rebuilt as it was and that a memorial should be built on the outskirts large enough to hold all the names of the fallen in the Ypres Salient who have no known grave.’
‘My goodness! That’s ambitious. There’ll be thousands of names.’
Solemnly, Mrs Dupont nodded. ‘But it would mean such a lot to their families, don’t you think, that their boys are not forgotten? Even though their resting place will probably never be known, at least their names will be remembered.’
‘I agree. It’s a marvellous idea. I hope it happens. But what about your farm? There must be a shortage of food.’
‘We were lucky. We didn’t get much shelling here so we are able to grow some crops again now, but many of the farmers returning to the areas that were badly shelled are having to salvage what they can.’
‘And I suppose it will be quite dangerous. There’ll still be unexploded bombs, ammunition and all sorts of equipment just left there. To say nothing of all the trenches which have scarred the land.’
Mrs Dupont sighed. ‘It will be a huge task. But warehouses are being opened to feed the folks who are returning until the land can be used again.’
There was a pause before Pips asked quietly, ‘And William? How is he settling in?’
Mrs Dupont’s smile was warm and genuine. ‘He’s a lovely young man and we couldn’t be happier that he is to marry Brigitta.’ Her smile faded. ‘He has told us all about his family and we are surprised at their – oh, what’s the word in English?’
‘Attitude?’
‘That’s it. We can’t understand how anyone can disown their own son.’ She shrugged. ‘They should respect his decision. He was a very brave young man to do what he did.’
‘I know. But his father was – is – very opinionated and the patriotic fervour in Britain at the outset of the war was unbelievable. His mother and grandmother have changed their opinion somewhat now, but they are ruled by Len.’
‘It’s very sad. For all of them, not just William.’
‘He’ll be happy here with Brigitta.’
‘Oh yes. And he’s been tending the local war graves, especially the nearest one – Lijssenthoek cemetery.’
‘So, where are they to be married?’
‘In Poperinghe. It’ll be a very small wedding, but we hope to keep a few of our traditions.’ Mrs Dupont smiled. ‘Come, let me show you something.’
They moved back into the living room where Mr Dupont was now dozing by the fire. Mrs Dupont beckoned Pips through into the front parlour and closed the door quietly behind them. From a small table she picked up an embroidered handkerchief. On it were four names.
‘This was my mother’s name’ – she pointed to the first one – ‘then mine, then my daughter’s – Brigitta’s mother – and now, Brigitta has just embroidered her own. The bride carries it on her wedding day and afterwards it is put back in its frame and hangs on the wall. It is
a treasured family heirloom and all the more precious because we lost both Brigitta’s parents when she was very young and we brought her up.’
‘What a lovely idea, madame. What other traditions are there?’
‘One is that as the bride walks up the aisle, she hands a single flower to her mother and they embrace.’ For a moment, her face was sad. ‘Of course, that will have to be me. As they leave after the ceremony, both bride and groom go to the groom’s mother and hand her a flower. The bride and she embrace to show that the bride accepts her new mother-in-law—’ Mrs Dupont paused for a moment before adding, ‘We are sad that William’s mother was unable to come, but I think it will be in order – if she is willing – for Alice to receive the flower. After all, she is representing William’s family, is she not?’
Pips’s voice was husky as she said, ‘I am sure Alice will be delighted and honoured, madame.’
The wedding was a simple one, with few guests. Brigitta had one attendant, one of the nurses who had lodged with her grandparents during the war, and William had asked one of the farm labourers to be his best man. He and William also worked together tending the graves of the fallen and had become good friends.
From the front pew on the right-hand side of the church, Alice, Daisy and Pips watched the ceremony. The little girl, as if recognizing the solemn occasion demanded her very best behaviour, was quiet but enthralled by the proceedings, especially when William and Brigitta sat in two large chairs near the altar.
‘They are King and Queen for a day,’ Pips whispered to her. As the wedding Mass ended, William kissed his bride and then led her down the aisle. They paused beside Alice who, with tears of happiness in her eyes, accepted the flower Brigitta handed to her and kissed her new sister-in-law on both cheeks.
Outside the church, Pips unhooked the Brownie camera from her shoulder. ‘Now, I must have some photographs . . .’
The families, now united, returned to the farmhouse where Pips and Alice had helped Mrs Dupont to prepare a wedding breakfast. The three of them had been up since dawn; only the bride had been excused from the work on her special day.
The eating and drinking and the merriment went on until it began to grow dark when, shyly, Brigitta went upstairs with Alice to the bedroom where she was to spend her wedding night with William. The farmhouse was a long building and the young couple had been given two rooms on the first floor at one end; a bedroom and a sitting room.
‘I don’t really believe in young couples living with their parents,’ Mrs Dupont had said to Alice and Pips as she lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘But, with things as they are, we have no choice. At least at the far end of the house, they will have some privacy.’
Daisy had been in bed hours and so it was Pips who took a walk in the deepening dusk with William. ‘We shall go home tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘but I am so glad we came. It’s wonderful to see you so happy, William.’
‘I’m a lucky man,’ he said huskily. ‘I never thought someone like Brigitta would love me.’
‘You underestimate yourself, William. She’s a lucky girl too. You’ll be a marvellous husband and perhaps, one day, a father too.’
‘I hope so,’ he said softly. There was a pause between them before he added, ‘Please give my love to Mam and Ma, won’t you?’
‘I will,’ she promised.
‘And keep sending me pictures of Luke and Daisy.’
‘Of course.’
He hesitated again and Pips prompted, ‘Come on, William, what is it you want to say? I can see there’s something.’
‘It’s about Ma, really. She must be a big age now.’ He smiled wryly. ‘If – when, I suppose – anything happens to her, will you let me know?’
‘Yes, I will. Would you come home?’
He hesitated. ‘If I thought he’d let me see her, then, yes, I would.’ There was no need for William to explain to Pips that he was referring to his father.
As they turned to go back into the house, William took her hands into his. ‘Thank you, Pips, for all you have done for me. I’ll never forget you. You’ve always treated me with nothing but kindness and understanding.’
Once, working as a young man on the estate, William had idolized Pips, but now he was a grown man and he had found a true love that, to his amazement, was reciprocated. But Pips would always have a special place in his heart.
‘Oh phooey,’ Pips said and they both laughed at the expression she had used all the time he had known her.
‘Give my best regards to Robert and to your parents.’
‘I will, William.’ She touched his cheek. ‘Just be happy, that’s all we want.’
Pips, Alice and Daisy left the following morning in a flurry of goodbyes and good wishes. Daisy was in tears, stretching out her arms to William and clinging to him until Alice had to prise her away from him.
‘We’ll come again,’ Pips said. ‘I promise.’
Mrs Dupont wiped the tears from her own eyes as she kissed Daisy and hugged Alice and Pips. ‘You will always be welcome.’
As they journeyed home, Pips said, ‘What a lovely family they are. He’ll be happy, Alice.’
‘I just wish . . .’
‘I know.’ Pips clasped her hand and murmured, ‘I know.’
The families back home – the Maitlands and Ma and Norah Dawson – were eager to hear news of the wedding and when Pips’s photographs were developed, they pored over them.
‘She’s such a pretty girl,’ Norah murmured.
‘She is. You’d love her, Mrs Dawson,’ Pips told them when Len was safely at work. Luke too was out of the house. They made sure that the little boy overheard nothing about their trip.
‘He’s too young to understand. He wouldn’t mean no harm,’ Ma said. ‘But he’s a chatterbox, bless ’im. And if Len got to hear . . .’
‘My only worry is that Daisy might say something to him,’ Pips said. ‘She’s full of her trip to Belgium.’
Norah shrugged. ‘Ah well, can’t be helped. We’ll just have to deal with whatever happens. We’ve not talked about you attending the wedding in front of Len, but I’d be surprised if he hasn’t heard the gossip already. But all that matters to Ma and me is that William is happy.’
The three women exchanged glances. ‘He said I was to be sure and give you his love. He is happy, Mrs Dawson, very happy, though of course he misses his family. He’ll make a good life out there for himself.’
‘I’m glad,’ Norah whispered and Ma nodded. ‘But I don’t expect we’ll ever see him again.’
‘You never know,’ Pips said. ‘Life takes some unexpected turns sometimes.’
She took her leave, promising, ‘I’ll bring his letters to show you every time he writes.’
It was all Norah and Ma could hope for now.
Five
‘Philippa,’ Henrietta greeted her as she entered the hall, carrying Daisy. They had been out for a brisk walk. The little girl’s cheeks were pink from the early November cold. Pips set her down and Daisy ran towards the kitchen, shouting, ‘Biccick’.
Fondly, both women watched her go. ‘Cook will find her a hot drink and her favourite biscuits, I’m sure,’ Henrietta said. She turned back to Pips. ‘There’s a letter arrived for you with a London postmark.’
Her mother was the only person who called her by her full name. Henrietta Maitland – grey haired, but still slim and energetic – held out an envelope to her daughter.
‘Really? I wonder who it’s from.’ Pips took it and tore it open. ‘Oh, it’s Milly,’ she said, scanning the letter to read the name at the end. ‘How lovely.’
Henrietta frowned. ‘Who – might I ask – is Milly?’
‘Haven’t I mentioned her before, Mother? I’m sorry. She’s—’
‘Come into the parlour. We’re just about to have elevenses before your father sets off on his rounds. You can tell us both all about her.’
With a small smile, Pips followed her mother obediently.
When the three
of them were sitting comfortably in the room known as the Brown Parlour, where the windows looked out over the rear gardens and the panelled walls were adorned with family portraits, Henrietta poured coffee and handed round biscuits.
‘Now, dear, tell us about this Milly. Who is she and how do you know her?’
Edwin smiled at his daughter over his spectacles, his kindly eyes full of mischief. Ever since his marriage to Henrietta, who had inherited Doddington Hall from her childless uncle, Edwin had been the local doctor. At almost sixty, he was still active and always wore a morning coat and a top hat on his rounds. His brightly coloured waistcoats were a cause for amusement amongst both young and old. He was greatly loved by all his patients and not one of them dared to think about the time when he might retire. They’d all believed that when that day came, Master Robert would be there to take up the reins, but now everyone wondered if that could ever be.
Pips took a deep breath. ‘When Giles and Rose left the corps . . .’ It seemed strange to speak of the young man whom she’d loved and thought she would marry. ‘Dr Hazelwood sent out a husband-and-wife team, Matthew and Grace Wallis. He was a qualified surgeon and she an experienced nurse. Shortly afterwards, their niece, Milly Fortesque, arrived.’ She smiled fondly at the memory. ‘We all thought – including her uncle and aunt, I might add – that she was a scatterbrain, who would throw up her hands in horror at the first sight of blood. But she surprised us all. She was shocked, of course, at the injuries we all encountered, but she was so courageous and her lively spirit kept us all entertained. She was as much a tonic for the wounded as any medicine. She’s a wonderful mimic. She really should be on the stage.’
Henrietta frowned. ‘Is that what she is? An actress? Or a music hall star?’
‘No, Mother,’ Pips said patiently, but she could not resist a swift glance of amusement at her father. ‘She’s the daughter of a wealthy businessman of some description. And please, don’t ask me what he does, because I don’t know. All I do know is that he promised to set her up in a flat of her own in London when she returned from the war. And evidently’ – she waved the letter she still held in her hand – ‘he has kept his promise and she’s asked me to go and stay with her.’
The Brooklands Girls Page 3