‘Now you can get here so easily, you’ve no excuse,’ William said as they walked back to the plane very early the following morning. ‘This field is always left as a meadow. Is it your plane, by the way?’
‘Heavens, no. I borrowed it from Mitch. I learned to fly at his flying school at Brooklands.’
By the time they’d landed and driven all the way to Lincolnshire, they both felt it was too late to visit the cottage that evening.
‘I did think about trying to find an airfield near Lincoln,’ Pips explained as they drew up in front of the hall, ‘where we could have landed, but the time it would have taken me to get permission and so on would probably have been longer than landing at Brooklands and driving up.’
William nodded. ‘But me dad’ll be at home by now. I don’t want to run into him, if I can help it.’
‘Come along in, then. I’ll show you to your room.’
‘I can bunk in with Jake, Pips. He’s still here, I take it.’
‘Oh yes, but you’ll do no such thing. You’re Robert’s brother-in-law and my good friend, so I’ll hear no more of that nonsense.’
William laughed. ‘You don’t change, Pips, I’m glad to say.’
‘I don’t think my mother would agree with you, though.’
She led the way in through the front door and into the Great Hall where the maid was just laying the finishing touches to the dinner table.
‘Sarah, lay another place for William, would you, please?’ She turned back to their guest. ‘Come, I’ll take you up to the guest room and then you must come and see all the family. They’ll be in the parlour awaiting dinner by the time you’re ready.’
Half an hour later, William was ushered into the Brown Parlour. Henrietta rose at once and came towards him, her hands outstretched. But before she could reach him, Daisy catapulted across the room and flung herself against him. ‘Uncle William, Uncle William.’
He lifted her up and swung her round before setting her back on the floor and kissing her forehead.
Henrietta reached him and, to his surprise, kissed him on both cheeks. ‘It’s good to see you again, William, though I’m so sorry for your sad errand.’
Alice hugged her brother and Robert shook his hand. Edwin, too, stood up to welcome him and William was shocked to see how the doctor had aged since he had last seen him.
‘I’m sorry about your grandmother, William. I saw her this morning and I’m sad to say that she is failing fast now. You have come not a moment too soon.’
William turned to Robert. ‘Ought I to see her tonight? I – I really wanted to visit in the daytime, but – if you think . . .’
Edwin shook his head. ‘No, no, I’m sure tomorrow will be fine. She sleeps a lot now and your best time to visit would be mid-morning.’
‘Now, come along,’ Henrietta said. ‘We’ll all go into dinner. I’m sure you must both be ravenous. All that travelling!’ She nodded at Pips with a look that said, ‘Well done, Philippa’.
They tried to steer the conversation away from Ma Dawson, yet her imminent death hung over them all. The family wanted to know all about William’s life in Belgium, about Brigitta and their two boys.
‘Besides helping on Brigitta’s grandfather’s farm,’ William told them, ‘I now have a permanent job as one of the gardeners looking after the Lijssenthoek war cemetery and the one at Brandhoek too.’
‘That’s wonderful, William,’ Robert said, ‘but doesn’t it revive bitter memories for you every day?’
William smiled. ‘Everyone living in Belgium and, I presume, other countries that were occupied, especially France, have to try to move on. To be honest, I think it helps me. I was lucky to survive – we all were,’ he added, glancing around the table, ‘and I think it still helps me to come to terms with the fact that I refused to fight. I feel I’m still helping those that did give their lives by tending their graves.’
‘Your work as a stretcher bearer was just as dangerous as the soldiers’.’
‘But I didn’t have to go over the top and run towards a barrage of gunfire, did I?’
‘No, but you went into no-man’s-land every day to pick up the wounded and the dead,’ Pips reminded him. ‘And snipers were always active. Look at Robert. He was a doctor, but he was still badly wounded and could have been killed.’
‘If it hadn’t been for the three of you – well, four, if I’m honest . . .’ Robert glanced at Pips apologetically for reminding her briefly of Giles, for he, too, had braved no-man’s-land to help Robert. ‘I would have died out there. Never forget, William, you did exactly what you said right from the start that you wanted to do. You saved countless lives instead of taking them. There should be recognition for stretcher bearers and I hope one day there will be. You should at least have received a medal.’
Colour flooded William’s face. ‘Actually,’ he said quietly, ‘I did.’
Pips’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Why ever didn’t you tell us? You didn’t wear it at the Menin Gate ceremony.’
‘I – I suppose I didn’t feel I deserved it.’
‘Of course you did, my boy,’ Edwin said. ‘Believe me, they don’t hand out medals for nothing. What was it?’
‘The DCM.’
‘Oh my,’ Pips said. ‘The Distinguished Conduct Medal. How perfectly marvellous and so well deserved. Do your family here know?’
William, his face still red, shook his head. ‘And please, Pips, don’t tell them.’
Softly, Henrietta said, ‘You should tell Ma, William.’
He was thoughtful for a moment before nodding and saying, ‘If I get the chance, I will.’
‘She’ll go peacefully, then, knowing your courage was officially recognized.’
‘Oh my boy, my little boy.’ Ma held out a trembling hand towards him as he entered her bedroom. William sat down at the side of the bed and took the wrinkled, blue-veined hand into his. He was shocked at the change in her. She had shrunk visibly. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes dull. She was no longer the woman he remembered. He felt the lump rise in his throat, thinking of all the time he’d missed with her over the last few years.
‘Tell me all about yourself and your family. I want to hear it all.’
For the next hour or so, William talked softly, pausing occasionally when he thought she had drifted off to sleep, but her eyes would flutter open and she would whisper, ‘Go on. I’m listening.’
At last, he said, ‘The Maitlands think there’s something else I should tell you, though I find it difficult.’
‘Go on, lad. Spit it out. You’ve nowt to fear from me. Never did have.’
‘No, I know that.’ He took a deep breath. ‘At the end of the war, I was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for my work as a stretcher bearer.’
‘Quite right too,’ Ma said, mustering what little strength she had left. ‘Me and your mam know what you did. We saw pictures in the papers. Terrible, it was. Let’s hope it never happens again.’
‘How – how is Dad?’
‘Huh! Him! I suppose I should be grateful that he’s let me live under his roof and die in me own bed, but life’s not easy living with him. I worry for your poor mam when I’m gone. But, as for him, he’s all right. He’s pinning all his hopes on young Luke now to take over his business. Anyone would think he’s leaving a huge concern, but it’s only a little village industry.’
‘But it’s important to him.’
‘Aye, well, I suppose so.’
‘I’d like to see Luke again, but I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance. I don’t really want anyone else knowing I’m here.’
Ma chuckled weakly. ‘It’ll not have escaped Bess Cooper’s notice, you mark my words. And if she knows, everyone else in the village soon will.’
‘I understand it’s because of her that I’m here, but I don’t want to bring trouble on you and Mam. Pips came here with me. She’s downstairs talking to Mam.’
‘Is that how you got here? Did she fetch you from Belgium?’
Ma squeezed his hand. ‘Not afore now, but it doesn’t surprise me.’
‘You’re doin’ fine, Ma. Hang on in there, won’t you?’
She moved her head a little on the pillow. ‘Nah, lad. It’s my time. I’m tired, an’ now I’ve seen you . . .’ Her voice faded away and then came back strongly just for a moment. ‘Thank Miss Pips for me. She’s a grand lass.’
Then she closed her eyes and slept.
William sat a little while longer before tiptoeing out of the room and down the stairs.
‘She’s asleep,’ he told his mother.
‘You’d best go, William. Yer dad might be home any – Oh!’ Her hand flew to her mouth as the back door in the scullery rattled and they heard voices; a young boy’s voice and a deeper, man’s voice.
Luke came into the room first and stopped in surprise. ‘Uncle William . . .’ Then he stopped short as the thought struck him as to why his estranged uncle should be standing in his grandmother’s kitchen. His eyes darkened. ‘Is it Ma? Has she . . .?’
‘No, no, love.’ Norah reached out a trembling hand, but her eyes went to the man who now stood in the doorway. ‘He’s just going, Len. He’s just been to see Ma. He won’t come again.’
‘Aye well, best not, though I wouldn’t deny me mam her dying wish.’
‘Uncle William—’ Luke said again and was moving towards him when Len snapped, ‘Come away, lad. You’re to have nowt to do wi’ ’im, else I’ll want to know the reason why.’
But it seemed that the young boy was not as much in awe of his grandfather as Len would have liked to believe. He took a step towards William and held out his hand. ‘I’m glad you came. Ma’s been asking for you this past two weeks. She’ll go easy now.’
William took Luke’s hand and smiled down at him uneasily. ‘I’d best be off,’ he said softly and Luke nodded. ‘I’ll walk out with you.’
There was a low growl from Len, who turned on his heel and left the scullery, slamming the back door behind him. With his departure, Norah sagged and sat down heavily in a chair near the table.
William moved and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you going to be all right, Mam? I don’t want to leave you with him in that mood.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll watch out for her an’ if he lays a finger on her, he’ll have me and Sam to deal with.’
William nodded. There was no one William would rather see bringing up his nephew than Sam and he smiled. Huskily, he said, ‘Thanks, Luke. You’re a grand lad. Now, I really must go.’
Outside, Len was nowhere to be seen, but William could hear the distant crashing of his heavy hammer against the anvil.
Forty-Seven
The family – including William and Daisy, as a special treat to see a little more of her uncle – had just sat down to dinner, when a knock came at the front door.
‘Who can that be at this time of night?’ Pips murmured as she rose from her place, gesturing to Wainwright that she would answer it, but before she opened the door she had guessed and was not surprised to see Luke standing there.
His eyes were wide. ‘It’s Ma. She’s gone. I – I thought I should come and tell you and Uncle William.’
Pips reached out and touched his arm. ‘Come in, Luke. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, Miss Pips. We’d just had supper when me granddad came to tell us she’d gone. He said she went peaceful, like. They never heard nothing.’
He stepped into the hall to face the sympathy on all their faces.
‘Wainwright,’ Henrietta said quietly to their butler, who, as always, was hovering close by. ‘Fetch Luke a cup of tea, will you, please? I’m sure he could do with one. And just ask Cook to hold back dinner for half an hour.’ She rose from her place at the table and came down the long room.
‘At least come and sit with us, Luke, for a few minutes. We’re all sorry to hear the news. Ma was a huge part of the village. She was much loved and will be greatly missed. You will let us know if there’s anything we can do, won’t you? Tell your grandmother I’ll come and see her tomorrow.’
Still a little bemused, Luke glanced around the table and then seemed to remember another message he’d been entrusted to deliver. ‘Granddad asked for the doctor to go to see her. Something about a certificate.’
‘Of course.’ Edwin rose from the table. ‘I’ll come back with you, Luke. Just ask Cook to keep my dinner warm, Hetty, if you please. It’s not fair to keep these poor folks waiting. I’ll just get my bag whilst you drink your tea.’
There was silence around the table. No one knew what to say, but it was Daisy who broke the awkwardness. She pushed back her chair and walked round to Luke to stand beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. Her voice was shaky as she said, ‘I am sorry, Luke. I loved Ma too. She was always so kind – and so wise. She always treated me like a grown-up – not as if I was a silly little girl.’
Luke smiled weakly up at her. ‘Yeah. I know what you mean. Me too.’
As Edwin returned to the room carrying his medical bag, Luke drank the last of his tea and stood up.
‘I won’t be long, Hetty. It’ll be quite straightforward.’ He turned back to Luke. ‘We’ll walk back together. I don’t want to trouble Jake to get the car out.’
‘Then let me carry your bag, doctor.’
After they’d left, Pips said, ‘William, you’ll stay for the funeral, won’t you?’
He hesitated only a moment before his mouth hardened. ‘I will, though I don’t expect I’ll be wanted there.’
‘You are most welcome to stay here with us,’ Henrietta said. ‘And as for the funeral, you can sit with us, if it would be easier for you.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Maitland. You’re very kind.’
In the small community, it didn’t take long for the funeral to be arranged, especially when Len made the coffin for his mother. Everyone in the village attended; even mothers with young children, who had no one else to look after them, stood in the churchyard and listened to the prayers and the hymns floating out through the open door. They stood in respectful silence as the coffin was carried from the church to Ma’s final resting place beside her husband.
As the mourners turned away at last to go to the hall for a spread which Henrietta had laid on in the Great Hall there, Sam Nuttall approached William and held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry we have to meet again on such a sad occasion, William, but it’s good to see you. How are you?’
Before William could even open his mouth to answer, an angry roar rose above the murmur of voices and Len lumbered towards them. ‘Don’t you be shaking his hand, Sam Nuttall, else you’ll find yoursen without a job come the morning.’
Sam turned to face his employer. Slowly and clearly, so that those around could hear, he said, ‘Mr Dawson, I respect and admire you in many ways and I’m grateful that you employ me, but that does not give you the right to dictate whose hand I can shake. You’re a foolish man to carry on this – this vendetta against your own son.’ He raised his voice and glanced swiftly around, making sure that more folk than just Len heard his words. ‘I never had the privilege of being in action where William was but I saw what the stretcher bearers did, all day, every day and often through the night. William did exactly what he said he would do. He saved lives out there – most likely hundreds of them. And I’ll tell you summat else you might not know, there’s a rumour going round the village that he was awarded a medal, the DCM, for his courage.’
‘Oh aye? And what does that stand for?’ Len sneered. ‘The Dirty Coward’s Medal?’
Sam shook his head as if unable to understand the man’s thinking. ‘No, it doesn’t. It’s the Distinguished Conduct Medal and if I had my way, he’d have had a lot more. I don’t mean to belittle your great loss, Mr Dawson. Your three lads were all brave and gave their lives in what they thought was an admirable cause, but, once they’d volunteered, they just did as they were told. Wi
lliam chose to go out into danger every day and bring back the wounded. He didn’t have to go, he didn’t have to stay, but he did, through four long years of Hell. So, yes, I’ll shake his hand and if you sack me tomorrow, so be it.’
With that, he turned his back on Len, put his arm about William’s shoulders and led him out of the churchyard and up the driveway towards the hall.
‘How did you know about me medal?’ William asked. ‘I’ve never told anyone until the other night at the hall.’
Sam chuckled. ‘That’s one thing about servants in a place like the hall, they become invisible. Wainwright was just leaving the room when you told them, but he overheard you.’
‘And he told the rest of the staff?’
‘Aye, and Betty couldn’t wait to tell us.’
‘And so now they all know.’
‘Aye, an’ so they should.’
William sighed. ‘Well, there’s one thing I am glad about. I did tell Ma before she – left us.’
Sam squeezed his shoulder. ‘Good.’
‘But I wish you hadn’t put your job in danger for me, Sam.’
Sam guffawed. ‘Don’t you worry about that, William. If I know Len Dawson at all, nowt more will be said about it. Besides, I don’t want to sound big headed, but Luke’d never let him get rid of me. We’ve got our future all mapped out, Luke and me – and young Harry.’
‘Mam, would you mind if I went to stay with Gran for a bit?’
Peggy stared at her son. ‘Why, Luke?’
The boy shrugged, but avoided meeting her gaze now. ‘I reckon she’ll be lonely now Ma’s gone.’
‘But your granddad’s there.’ Peggy was mystified.
Sam, sitting by the range, rattled his paper. ‘I think the lad wants to be sure his gran’s all right.’
Peggy glanced from one to the other as the man and the boy exchanged a look of understanding. ‘What? What is it? Tell me.’
Sam got up, threw down his paper and put his arm about his wife’s shoulders. ‘Your son, my love, is a very sensitive and caring lad.’
‘Aw, Dad,’ Luke said, squirming with embarrassment, but Sam only smiled and went on. ‘We all saw how Len was with William today at the funeral. He’s never forgiven him and it seems now that he never will. Norah agreed to William coming into their cottage to see Ma before she passed away and Len will blame her for that. And now the old lady’s no longer there, there’s no knowing how he will be with his wife. I think Luke wants to go to live there – just for a little while – to make sure that – well – he doesn’t treat her badly. Am I right, Luke?’
The Brooklands Girls Page 31