But it seemed that William was as eager as his niece to see his family for he, Brigitta and their two sons arrived at the hotel that evening.
‘We couldn’t wait,’ he said, sheepishly. ‘My, Daisy, how you’ve grown and you must be Luke.’ He held out his hand and Luke took it. ‘Hello, Uncle William. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He regarded the older man solemnly, looking him up and down, and then he nodded. ‘I can see what Granny Cooper means.’
William frowned, wondering, for a minute, what village gossip the boy had heard. All of it, no doubt, but Luke was smiling. ‘She says I look a bit like my uncle Bernard, but that I’m going to be tall and strong like you.’
William smiled with relief. ‘You’ve got nicer-coloured hair than I have, Luke, whereas mine has always been described as “mousey” and my eyes are hazel.’
‘What was me dad’s?’ Luke asked candidly.
‘My brothers all had brown hair and lovely dark eyes too. I was always a bit envious of them.’ William laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. He liked his nephew. ‘It’s good to see you. I’m so glad they let you come. I was a bit doubtful that they would.’
‘Me too, but Granddad was all for it. He wants me to visit my dad’s grave and put some flowers on it.’
William nodded and said huskily, ‘We’ll do that, lad. On Monday. I’ve got it all arranged. We’re all going. Now, come and meet your other cousins. You too, Daisy.’
Pascal, at six, and Waldo, at just turned four, both favoured their mother in colouring, with fair hair and blue eyes, but their stature promised to be like their father – tall and broad. They were already big for their ages.
For a few moments the four youngsters stood in awkward silence, eyeing each other, and then Daisy stepped forward and stuck out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Cousin Pascal – Cousin Waldo.’
She spoke in English and they replied in English too. No doubt, Pips thought, the boys were being brought up to be bilingual. With the ice broken, the four moved away from the grown-ups and were soon chattering amongst themselves, leaving William to catch up on family news with his sister. Brigitta, Pips, Robert and George talked amongst themselves.
‘It is so good to see you again, Dr Maitland,’ Brigitta said. ‘And you too, major.’
‘Oh please, Brigitta, it’s just Robert now.’ Robert nodded towards her sons. ‘You have two fine boys.’
‘I’m sorry we couldn’t put you up at the farmhouse, but we want you to spend as much time as you can with us whilst you are here. It’s nice for William to see his family. I’m so glad you’ve brought Daisy – and Luke too. That was a lovely surprise.’
Robert nodded but said no more. Brigitta knew all about the family rift and there was no point in dwelling on it.
Thirty-Seven
William had organized transport for them all and, the following morning, they were picked up from the hotel and driven into Ypres. Pips craned her neck for her first view of the place that she had last seen in ruins.
‘Oh my, just look at all the building work.’
‘Most of the rebuilding work of private houses and the utilities has been done, but the larger buildings – like Cloth Hall and the cathedral – will take years to complete. Work on Cloth Hall is due to start next year,’ William said. ‘The driver is taking us to the Grand Place. From there we’ll be able to walk to the Menin Gate.’
With their medals proudly pinned to their chests, George and Robert joined the long line of relatives and veterans congregating in the square.
‘Come along, you lot,’ Robert said. ‘Walk with us. I don’t want us to get separated.’
Alice glanced about her. ‘Are we allowed to?’
‘Of course. You’re a veteran of sorts too, don’t forget. Come.’ He took her hand and held it tightly, but Alice was astute enough to know that he wanted her close for his own sake rather than for hers. She glanced at him anxiously, but Robert was smiling as he looked about him.
William walked beside Brigitta, clutching her hand, with their two boys on either side of them.
Pips glanced at William. ‘You should have had a medal too,’ she said softly. He shook his head and seemed embarrassed and Pips was sorry she’d mentioned it. But Brigitta glanced up at her husband and smiled. No doubt, Pips thought, his wife’s pride in him was the only thing that really mattered to him and he certainly had that.
Pips walked between Daisy and Luke, who had both gone very quiet as they took in the scene about them.
‘Aunty Pips,’ Daisy whispered, ‘look at all the black flags hanging from the buildings. And there are people lining the streets all the way and people hanging out of the windows from all the new buildings.’
‘This is a very big day for the people of Ypres,’ Pips murmured.
A procession seemed to be forming outside the town hall.
‘Oh my,’ Pips whispered. ‘You see that gentleman there – the one next to the soldier, who has a moustache a bit like George’s? That’s the Belgian king – King Albert.’
‘He looks very grand. And who is the other man with the moustache, the one in the fine uniform?’
‘That’s Field Marshal Lord Plumer. I think he’s going to make a speech. And the other man. He looks like someone important.’
Overhearing their conversation, George butted in, ‘That’s General Foch of France. I’ve found out that seating has been set up on the eastern side, but that it’s only for officials. We would be best going up onto the ramparts, I think, but at the eastern end, where we can see the wooden platform set up for those who will be making speeches and where we can see the military bands.’
‘Are we here? The British bands, I mean?’ Daisy asked.
‘Oh yes. Come along.’
George steered them through the crowds and found them the perfect place where they could see almost everything. Maybe it was the row of medals on his jacket that helped.
By the time the ceremony started, there were no spare seats left or even a place to stand. As they waited, George pointed out the numerous photographers and even the loudspeakers, which would broadcast the events. ‘They’ll be listening to this in England on the wireless.’
Of all the speeches that were made that day, it was Lord Plumer’s that Pips was to remember. Standing on the very spot where thousands of British and allied soldiers had marched out of Ypres, amidst the sound of guns and shellfire, with terrified horses and mules trudging forwards, perhaps for the last time, he spoke movingly of the terrible loss that relatives had suffered, made worse by the phrase ‘missing, believed killed’, which meant their fallen loved ones had no known grave that their families could visit to mourn and to lay tributes. But, he said, that had been put right. For all those who lay somewhere in Flanders fields now had a fitting memorial and, for each one, it could now be said, ‘He is not missing; he is here.’
As the ceremony came to an end, women, their faces lined with grief, dressed in sombre clothes and wearing the medals of their loved ones, laid wreaths. Buglers from the Somerset Light Infantry played ‘The Last Post’ and, standing on the ramparts, pipers of the Scots Guards played a lament.
As the crowds began to disperse, Pips and the others stood beneath the central arch of the memorial gazing around at the thousands of names inscribed on the panels.
‘So,’ she said, ‘the locals got what they wanted. Ypres is being rebuilt as it was and now they have their wonderful memorial. It’s magnificent, isn’t it, but it’s so sad.’
William stood beside her. ‘It was designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield.’
‘The same man who was one of the architects of the Forceville cemetery?’
‘Yes. And since then, he’s designed well over a hundred other cemeteries.’
‘They’re all beautiful,’ Pips murmured. ‘Poignant, but beautiful.’
‘Is my dad’s name here?’ Luke asked quietly, his voice not quite steady.
Pips put her arm around his shoulders. ‘No, your dad has a prop
er grave. We’re going to see it tomorrow. The names here are all those who perished in the fighting, but were never found.’
Daisy slipped her hand into Luke’s and rested her head against his shoulder. She said nothing. Even Daisy could find no word of comfort. But as they walked away, she said in a small voice, ‘All those men. Every one of them had a family. It wasn’t just them that were lost, was it? It was such a lot of lives devastated and generations to come just – gone.’
For a nine-year-old, Pips thought, Daisy had amazing insight.
With her arm still around Luke, Pips said, ‘Come, let’s go and look at all the new buildings in the square. I especially want to see how the rebuilding of the cathedral is progressing.’
The following day, the party journeyed to the Somme.
‘Your dad is buried at Ovillers military cemetery, but your uncles, Bernard and Roy, are buried near Longueval. They were killed together and they’re buried side by side. We’ll go to both places.’
Clutching Daisy’s hand tightly and with Pips close by, Luke stood looking down at the name inscribed on the marker: the name of his father, but a man he had never known. Carefully, he stooped and laid the wreath that William had brought.
‘I’ll take a picture of it for you, Luke,’ Pips said softly. ‘I’ve brought my Box Brownie. I’ll take one of your uncles’ graves too. Your gran and ma would like to have pictures, I’m sure.’
The boy nodded, his eyes never leaving the grave. They all waited patiently for some time until Luke himself was ready to leave. He touched the marker with trembling fingers and seemed to be saying ‘goodbye’, then, still clinging on to Daisy’s hand, he turned away.
It was William who now put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and said, ‘Your dad would be so proud of you, Luke, as you have every reason to be proud of him and your two uncles too. They were very brave.’
With unshed tears shimmering in his eyes, Luke looked up. ‘And you too, Uncle William. I know just how courageous you were. I’m proud of you, an’ all.’
Back at the farm where Mrs Dupont had laid on a fine spread for all of them, George said, ‘I’ve only just heard – and I’m sorry we’ve missed it now – but Lord Plumer laid a foundation stone some time yesterday for a church to be built as a memorial for British and Commonwealth troops on a piece of land not far from the cathedral. They plan to fill the church with furniture, plaques and even windows, donated by various British organizations like military units, schools and, of course, families of the fallen. I believe it’s to be called St George’s Church.’
‘Is it called after you?’ Daisy asked innocently.
George laughed, lightening the moment. ‘No, I’m not that famous or important, Daisy. But I understand the designer is once again Sir Reginald Blomfield. It’s just going to be a simple building in keeping with those being rebuilt around it. It’ll be a place for families to come and remember.’
William nodded. ‘I’d heard about it, but I didn’t know the foundation stone was being laid yesterday. I’m sorry we missed that too. I understand that they’re combining it with a school with donations from Eton. Evidently, there were three hundred old Etonians who lost their lives around here.’
‘I’ve heard,’ Brigitta put in shyly, ‘that they’ll be looking for embroidered hassocks with regimental emblems worked in tapestry for the church.’
Pips clapped her hands. ‘How marvellous. There you are, Alice, you can do one for the Lincolnshire Regiment with the sphinx on it, like their cap badge.’
Alice smiled and blushed. She liked the sound of making something for the memorial church. She said to Brigitta, ‘Let me know what is needed for the church, won’t you? I’d love to do something.’
Early the following morning, before they were due to leave, George said, ‘Pips, will you come to Brandhoek with me? I want to visit my friend’s grave.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve already asked William if I can borrow his truck. I thought you’d want to go.’
‘Just the two of us?’
Pips nodded. ‘Of course.’
They set out and soon arrived at the cemetery.
‘It looks so different since I last saw it,’ George murmured as he helped her climb down.
‘I came to visit him for you just before we left.’
‘Did you? That was kind of you.’
They walked to where they knew George’s friend lay and stood beside his grave looking down at the pristine white-marble marker. Pips laid the small posy of flowers she had brought near it. ‘The poppies are over now, aren’t they? I’d like to have seen them again.’
George gestured around them. ‘There are still one or two latecomers, but no, not the profusion we saw before.’ He took her hand. ‘Do you remember . . .?’
Before he could go any further, Pips said, ‘Of course I do, George.’
‘And now I am free to declare my love for you openly and I do. Pips, please, will you marry me soon?’
‘Yes, George, I will. And I’ll even set a date.’
His eyes lit up and he seemed to be holding his breath until she said, ‘Saturday, the seventh of December 1929.’
His face fell. ‘But that’s two years away.’
Mischievously, she said, ‘Then it’ll give you plenty of time to work on Rebecca.’ She linked her arm through his as they walked back amongst the graves towards the vehicle.
‘Seriously, though, I would like another two seasons racing before I give it up.’
‘Pips, I’ve told you I won’t ask you – or even expect you – to give up what you love to do, though I shall, of course, worry.’
‘Precisely, and I don’t want to do that to you. No, George, give me two years and I’ll give up racing, though probably not the flying. Agreed?’
He smiled wistfully. ‘If I must, but why as late as December? The last races of the season are usually in October, aren’t they? Or November at the latest.’
‘Oh I couldn’t possibly allow our wedding to interfere with Daisy’s birthday. And Luke’s too, of course. And now we’d better get back to say our “goodbyes”.’
Thirty-Eight
‘I am loath to admit it, Pips, but you were right,’ Robert said. ‘I never thought it would, but going back has helped.’
Pips had returned to Lincolnshire with her family, leaving George in London with the strict instruction: ‘Now, don’t forget to tell Rebecca about our plans. I’m going to tell my mother.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t wait to see her face.’
Now she said to Robert, ‘I’m glad. I took a risk, persuading you to go, I know.’
‘It’s high time I faced up to life and realized just how lucky I am not only to have survived at all, but to have a loving family, who cares for me.’
‘You are.’
Robert grinned. ‘My darling sister, who pulls no punches.’
Pips shrugged. ‘I never have and I don’t suppose I ever will now.’
‘Don’t change, Pips. We all love you just the way you are – warts and all.’
Pips’s eyes widened and she gave a mock gasp of surprise. ‘Warts? And what are my “warts”, might I ask?’
Robert held up his hand, counting off on his fingers: ‘You’re bossy, self-opinionated, impetuous, you like your own way, you’re too daring for your own good . . . Ah – with only one hand, I’ve run out of fingers.’
Pips snorted with laughter as Robert added, ‘And you can be most unladylike at times. Poor Mother, she’s done her best, but she’ll never be able to launch you into the upper echelons of society, I fear.’
‘Well, I do have one piece of news for her that might brighten her day.’
‘Do tell.’
Pips wagged her finger. ‘Oh no, you must wait until dinner when I will tell all of you together. And now, I must go down the road to see the Dawsons. I have some photographs to show them that even Len will want to see.’
‘Just be careful you don’t show him that one of William with his arm around
Luke’s shoulders. He’ll blow a fuse.’
Norah and Ma pored over all the photographs, lingering over the ones which included William. ‘He looks well,’ Norah murmured.
‘He is, Mrs Dawson. And happy. And those are his two sons. Your grandsons.’
‘They’re big boys. Look, Ma, here are Pascal and Waldo.’
Ma gazed at the photograph. ‘Fine boys.’
There was a rattle at the back door and Pips hastily gathered up any photographs of William and his family.
‘It’s only me,’ came Bess Cooper’s familiar tones.
‘Don’t show her them photos of William,’ Norah hissed. ‘She’ll gossip and Len will hear.’
‘Aren’t you afraid Luke might say something?’
Norah shook her head. ‘He knows not to. He understands now. Though I’m hoping he won’t say much in front of young Harry. He’s a little chatterbox.’ She raised her voice. ‘Come in, Bess. The kettle’s on the boil. I reckon you can smell my tea mashing.’
Bess manoeuvred her large frame into the kitchen and headed for Len’s chair on the hearth opposite Ma. ‘It’s not that, duck. I know you allus have elevenses . . .’ She grinned. ‘So that’s when I come. Nah then, Miss Pips. Did you have a good trip?’
‘We did, Mrs Cooper. Would you like to see some photos I took of the boys’ graves?’
‘Aye, I would.’ Bess held out her hand to take them. It was several minutes before she glanced up. ‘There’s none of William and his family. Now, I’m not daft, Miss Pips. I know you’ll have seen him and brought back pictures of him, his wife and boys to show Ma and Norah. But you daren’t show ’em to me, because you think I’ll blab about it all around the village. Oh I know what everyone thinks of me. That I’m an old gossip, who can’t keep a secret and loves to stir up trouble and, yes, in me time I’ve had a dig at the shenanigans in this house. But I’m very fond of Ma and I’ve grown closer to Norah over the years, ’specially now we share Luke as our grandson. Believe it or not, Miss Pips, I have learned when to keep me mouth shut.’
There was silence in the room before Ma said, ‘Oh show her, Miss Pips.’
The Brooklands Girls Page 25