‘I sometimes wonder whether their mothers ever taught them anything’, she grumbled after a particularly trying session of pastry making. ‘I fear they may be destined to spend the rest of their lives eating bread and jam. Bought in a shop, not homemade,’ she added with some scorn.
Ella savoured the time she spent with the babies and small children, for Mrs Ward encouraged their mothers to bring them along and set aside a room to be used as a crèche. Even though she spent most of her time on her hands and knees, rooting out the soft balls and toys that had become wedged under the furniture, or separating a couple of toddlers warring over a possession that they both prized, she wouldn’t have changed a thing. For the first time, it hit her that she was unlikely to ever have any children of her own. It was some small compensation for this that, whenever she felt like it, she was able to scoop up a small child onto her lap and bury her face in his or her neck, blowing raspberries and giving them a squeeze or a tickle before releasing them.
On days when unusually large numbers of children arrived, usually in the school holidays, Beth would be drafted in to help out but otherwise her role involved a variety of sewing tasks that Mrs Ward found for her. This included creating clothing for the families of the widows, generally making new garments out of old by cutting up their husband’s clothes, no longer of any use to them, to make shirts and trousers for sons or pinafores for daughters. She found the task heartbreaking at first, handling the fabric as though it still held traces of its dead owner, but as the weeks passed she became immune to such thoughts. The sewing piled up in her little room so that she said to Ella, despairingly, that it felt as though she was working in a factory, but without the benefits of the camaraderie, or the pay. Mrs Ward had also offered Beth’s services to make garments to send to the troops, such as shirts and pyjamas.
‘I’m not convinced they ever change into pyjamas in the trenches,’ Beth mused as she sewed on yet another set of buttons.
‘I think they’re probably being sent to the field hospitals,’ said Ella, who was helping her out. ‘I’m sure they are glad of them there. And anyway, you’ll get a break next week. I heard Mrs Ward say that there’s a consignment of bandages coming in to be rolled.’
Beth groaned, and rolled her eyes. ‘Like I said, just like a factory.’
She had spoken no more about going into the munitions factory, having heard from Rosa who had a friend there that the hours were very long, the conditions frequently dangerous and noisy and, if you were unlucky enough to be chosen to work with one particular explosive, your skin might turn yellow. It no longer seemed like such an attractive prospect.
It was on a hot July day, when Ella was in the kitchen garden looking to see which fruit was the ripest for the evening’s dinner, that she heard her name being called by Beth. She was reluctant to leave the peace of the garden, where she had been admiring the brilliant blue sky and enjoying the scent of the roses, made powerful by the heat of the sun, as it wafted across the lawn. It felt almost like a return to happier times, as if the war didn’t exist.
Beth’s tone sounded urgent so she sighed, set aside her basket and sun hat, and made her way back to the house. Here she found Mr Stevens and Elsie, grim-faced, in the kitchen, while Beth sat sobbing at the kitchen table, a piece of paper before her.
Ella stiffened and scanned their faces. She instantly feared bad news. Names raced through her mind. Was it Sarah? Thomas? John?
‘I’m so sorry, Ella.’ Stevens stepped forward to support her as she swayed, feeling suddenly faint. He pulled out a chair for her while Elsie hurried to fetch her a glass of water. Finally, Beth raised her head and looked at Ella, her face flushed and tear-stained, her eyes swollen.
‘It’s Thomas,’ she whispered. ‘He’s dead. In France. Ma has just had word. She sent us a telegram.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The next few hours passed in a blur. When Mr and Mrs Ward heard the news of Thomas’s death they insisted that Ella and Beth must return home at once to spend time with Sarah. It was only when Mr Stevens was escorting them to York station that Ella remembered her hat and basket were still in the kitchen garden. How happy she had felt at that moment, only a few hours earlier. Now she couldn’t imagine how it would ever be possible to feel that way again.
‘Mr Ward would have driven you there himself if the use of a car hadn’t been all but prohibited by the war. I hope the journey goes well for you both, without delays.’ Mr Stevens looked along the tracks as the train steamed into view. ‘You must only return when you are ready.’
But after a day or two at home, both Ella and Beth were at a loss as to how to keep themselves occupied, and longed to return to the bustle of Grange House. Sarah had withdrawn into her grief and, beyond making sure they prepared meals for her, there seemed little they could do. Thomas would be buried in France along with his fallen comrades from the Pals brigade, all but wiped out in the Somme, so with no funeral to prepare for there was nothing to keep them busy and no focus for their grief.
They took long walks around the neighbourhood, through Tinker’s Wood and over the moors, talking about Thomas and sharing memories of his childhood. Instead of helping them to grieve it only seemed to exacerbate their disbelief that he had gone. By the third day, when his widow Lilian arrived to spend some time with Sarah, they began to feel that Thomas’s memory might best be honoured if they went back to Grange House and took up their war work again.
‘You must write to let us know how you are, and if you need anything,’ Beth said as they packed their bags again in readiness for departure.
‘Annie and Beattie have written to say they will both come when they can,’ Ella added. ‘With their husbands away in France they’ll have to bring the children along too and they didn’t want it to be too much for you.’
Sarah, normally only too delighted to see her grandchildren, made a face. ‘Tell them not to bother. I can’t be doing with a lot of fuss.’
Beth and Ella exchanged worried glances. ‘They want to come, Ma,’ Ella said firmly. ‘Maybe seeing the children will be a distraction for you?’
But Sarah had retreated back into her thoughts, although she hugged them both when they left, thanked them for coming and then she and Lilian waved them on their way.
So, five days after the dreadful news had arrived, they found themselves back in the kitchen at Grange House, catching up on events that had happened while they had been away. The major piece of news was that John was due a few days’ leave and would be home in the next day or so.
‘He’s written to say that he’s desperate for some home cooking, so Mrs Ward wants to pull out all the stops.’ Elsie was positively beaming at the prospect of cooking something more elaborate than the basic fare the diminished household had become used to. Then she became suddenly sombre as she remembered that Ella and Beth were grieving. ‘I’m so sorry. That was tactless of me. It’s hardly a time to be thinking about celebrating.’
Ella was quick to respond. ‘No, please don’t think like that. Beth and I came back because we felt that Thomas would have wanted us to try to get on with life as normal. Well, as normal as it is possible to be in these times. Of course we are terribly sad but having John home will be a good antidote for a few days.’
John’s return did indeed give the household a much-needed boost. It took the focus away from all the worthiness of their war efforts and back onto the family, and everyone appeared the better for it. Mr and Mrs Ward seemed rejuvenated at the prospect of the visit, and even more so when John eventually arrived at the front door, full of apologies over hold-ups and late trains, but looking very dashing in his uniform.
He called into the kitchen to see them all that evening and to thank Elsie for a splendid dinner.
‘I can’t tell you how often I have dreamed of your roast dinners. You have no idea of the type of food that gets served up in the mess – it’s worse even than my school dinners. And that’s saying something!’
John didn’t app
ear to have lost weight, however; on the contrary, he appeared to have filled out and he was tanned ‘from all the drills we have to do outside every day,’ he said, laughing, when Elsie commented on how well he was looking.
‘Your uniform does you credit, sir,’ Mr Stevens said. ‘I’m sure we will be seeing an officer’s pips before too long.’ Ella wondered whether he was envious, wishing himself a few years younger so that he too could have played a part.
John laughed off their admiration. ‘I can’t tell you how I long to get out of it. It’s far too hot for this weather. It’ll be mufti for me for the next few days.’
Beth had been silent up until now, but John sought her out with a wry smile as he spoke, then he turned and left with promises to return soon with tales of his time spent in the training camp.
Ella found him deep in conversation with Beth in the garden the next day. She had gone out to see why Beth hadn’t come back with the runner beans that Elsie needed and found her sobbing, basket still empty, while John looked on in concern.
‘I’m so sorry, Ella. I only found out about your brother this morning. I saw Beth out here and came out at once to tell her how upset I was to hear the news. I didn’t mean to cause her more distress.’ John ran his hands through his hair and looked despairingly at Ella.
‘It’s all right; I’ll take her back inside. Please don’t worry; it’s all still rather raw.’ Ella ushered Beth back into the house, turning to smile reassuringly at John. As she soothed Beth and fetched her a drink of water when her sobs turned to hiccoughs, she wondered why she couldn’t feel like this herself. Her heart felt like a nugget of ice in her chest and her tears seemed to be frozen inside.
John came down to the kitchen again that evening to tell them more about his experiences over the last few months at his training camp near Newmarket. Much of it sounded similar to the tales they had heard from Thomas – pranks in the classroom and a good deal of joshing and ribbing amongst the men. There seemed to be a lot of focus on sport, too. Was it designed to keep them occupied and prevent boredom, or to breed aggression and competitiveness, Ella wondered. One thing was clear: John was enjoying the drills, running and fitness routines, but was less than delighted by the hours spent at a desk.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Once John’s leave was over and he had returned to training camp, Ella noticed that Beth started to pay more attention to the news filtering through from the Front. Although Mr Stevens cautioned that not everything in the newspapers would be accurate, it was impossible to stop word spreading via those who had returned home injured. The loss of men seemed to be huge and the battle was still dragging on as summer turned to autumn with no end in sight. Names such as St. Quentin and Arras were added to others such as Thiepval and Ypres that British tongues had already become accustomed to threading their way around.
‘Is this it?’ Beth said to Ella despairingly. ‘It feels like stalemate, as though the war will go on forever across a patch of land that isn’t even the real problem. So many men lost, and so little gained.’
John’s next leave was cancelled and it appeared to be inevitable he would be sent to the Somme too. With so many men dying there each day, Ella and Beth found it hard to believe that this could mean anything other than certain death, but neither of them could voice this to the other. As the weeks passed with no news from John, Mr and Mrs Ward looked increasingly drawn and Ella frequently found Beth weeping over her sewing. Even Elsie’s grumbles about the price and scarcity of food did little to distract everyone.
Finally, it looked as though the battle was over, or perhaps it had just petered out. Either way, there was no resounding victory. A letter arrived at the house from John at last to say that although they had finally made it to France there had been no call for his company’s services. He was being sent back to Newmarket to complete his training. His tone was very disgruntled, according to Mr Stevens who had been shown the letter, but Mr and Mrs Ward looked noticeably happier and the atmosphere in the house was lighter.
Within the month, John’s commission as a second lieutenant was announced in the London Gazette. The family was proud but nervous; he had been seconded to a unit that was back out in France. Although the war dragged on, reports that were coming through suggested minor skirmishes only. Any plans for major campaigns were clearly being kept under wraps.
Christmas passed almost without being marked in Grange House; it seemed wrong somehow, with so many lost and so little to celebrate. Ella remembered pre-war Christmases with a sense of wonder. Had it ever been possible to feel safe, happy and affluent; to celebrate with a tree, presents and an abundance of food? John’s letter thanking his parents for their Christmas parcel reported a sense of guilt that he had still seen no action, a feeling which had been exacerbated by the spending of Christmas in comparative comfort, way back from enemy lines.
The early part of New Year 1917 saw the focus of the war move away from the land and out onto the seas where German submarines were wreaking havoc on shipping. Beth confessed to feeling relieved that an uneasy stalemate seemed to have been established at the Front. Mr Stevens said rather gloomily that he feared that both sides needed to draw breath and find more troops to bring forward to the front line, an image that silenced Beth and worried Ella.
News in April that the United States was entering the war offered a ray of hope although Beth and Ella were both puzzled as to why a country would choose to involve itself in a war so far distant from its shores. It all made more sense when Stevens pointed out that Germany had been deliberately provocative, sinking American ships and making it almost impossible for the United States to remain neutral.
While the news seemed more hopeful, it offered no immediate respite since it would be several weeks before American troops would arrive in Europe. John’s letters, however, were full of excitement, according to Mr Stevens. The butler himself thought it inevitable that another big push forward was planned and, although John was circumspect in what he said, to avoid his letters home falling foul of the censor, it seemed clear that they were preparing to be on the move at last.
Elsie found it hard to engage with Beth, Ella and Mr Stevens in the intense discussions that they had on many an evening. ‘I’m more worried about where the next meal is coming from,’ she complained. Flour was hard to come by and expensive, making a loaf of bread now as much of a treat as cake. Households had turned to potatoes to bulk out their meals, resulting in a widespread shortage.
‘It’s a good job my cousin has gone to help out on a farm near Knapton,’ Elsie said. ‘If it wasn’t for a bit of bartering I don’t know how we would get by.’
Fresh fruit from the kitchen garden was now regularly exchanged for a wild rabbit or two along with a few potatoes. Elsie had suggested that they should turn over more of the garden at Grange House to growing food and Mrs Ward promised to give it serious consideration, with a view to starting the planting in the spring.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, John was home again on leave. He suspected a big push forward in the near future so his guess was that the troops waiting in reserve were being given the chance to return home briefly. Once his leave was over and he was back in France, he thought his company would be working its way forward to the Front, with no chance of further leave for some time.
He had come down to the kitchen after dinner on his first evening, full of praise again for Elsie’s cooking. He described the monotony of pretty much everything in camp: the food, the drills, the tasks they had to perform to keep the camp running smoothly.
Beth was puzzled. ‘Are you all living in tents?’ she asked.
John smiled. ‘It’s not that sort of camp – at least not for us. We’re living in the outbuildings of a farm so we’re lucky. It’s pretty run-down where we are but I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot worse when I get back out there. There are plenty of others living in tents, though.’
He sounded quite cheerful about it and it was clear that he was impatient to return and see some act
ion. Ella found it hard not to be caught up in his boyish enthusiasm as he described their longing to show the Huns a thing or two and to put into practice all that they had learned. He confessed it was tricky being in command of men much older than himself, some of whom had served in the army for years.
‘Mostly they try to help me out rather than catch me out,’ he observed wryly.
Otherwise, his company was made up of new recruits, men who had never intended to go to war: office clerks and factory workers in the main. Ella was touched by the sense of pride with which he spoke of ‘the lads’; as their second lieutenant he clearly saw himself in some sort of protective or paternal role even though he was one of the youngest in the company. He spoke with great enthusiasm of a man who had become something of a hero among them all.
‘Imagine, he’s only twenty-four and a Lieutenant-Colonel already, with a Military Cross and a Victoria Cross to his name. Some say he’ll be a Brigadier-General before long.’ He sounded wistful.
Mr Stevens appeared to understand the achievement this represented, while Beth and Ella were simply baffled, although they could see how the meteoric rise of someone of a similar age to John could hold such appeal for him. His eyes shone and his cheeks were flushed as he tried to express how all the men felt about their role in keeping the country safe from invasion and how they all longed to prove themselves. Ella tried to suppress her misgivings about the human cost of war, for now that it had started what was the alternative? She noticed that Beth seemed mesmerised as John was talking and it didn’t surprise her that both of them hung back as first Elsie and then Mr Stevens made their excuses and took themselves off to bed.
Ella's War Page 19