Two Women Went to War

by L E Pembroke

  ‘One would think so, my dear, but no. Madeleine, unlike men, women and girls have very few rights; that is the problem. We must never stop fighting for justice for women. However, there are other ways to make one’s point.’

  ‘Well, it was a terrible experience, so I’ll just have a soak in the bath and change for the party.’

  ‘No, Madeleine, I’m afraid there will be no party for you. I’ll have a tray sent up. You will stay in your room tonight.’

  It was only on rare occasions that Grandmother ever disciplined me. I could hardly believe her words. Gated! Forbidden from seeing the man I loved. After all I had suffered. Life wasn’t fair. But there was no point in arguing; my grandmother could be remarkably stubborn. Nothing for me to do but dream of Charles.

  Some people might have surmised that my feeling for Charles was mere infatuation, but I knew better. This was far more than infatuation. This had to be the real thing. As far as I knew, most girlish infatuations were transitory. Many of my friends were always falling in and out of love with cousins, brothers of girlfriends or some scion of a neighbouring family. I knew my feelings were not superficial as theirs were.

  The following morning when I came downstairs I asked Margaret when we would next be seeing Charles Phillips. ‘Oh, not for years,’ she said. ‘His regiment is leaving for India tomorrow. I’ll have to find a new beau.’

  My heart was broken, but not for long because I believed in fate and was utterly convinced that we would meet again and that Charles would become the love of my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  I didn’t enjoy my adolescence. Many girls take pleasure in their customary activities during the formative years. Not me. Learning how to conduct oneself in a variety of social situations was an utter bore. I wasn’t and never could be the type to subjugate my feelings and opinions in the name of convention, such as those horrible afternoon teas and tapestry and embroidery mornings with the girls at which the trite conversation revolved around Jane Austin’s heroes or lacy petticoats or older sisters’ young men. For me the three years after my experience with the suffragettes was a long and tedious period of waiting. Waiting to be an adult, waiting for Charles Phillips to return to England and waiting for him to fall in love with me.

  My grandfather’s health was fading fast (he only had one leg, having lost the other at the Crimean War years ago). Apparently his blood circulation was poor, and his heart not too good, either. So Grandmother decided we would move to our country place for his last months or years. She employed a tutor, a young boring man just out of school, for me and two of my girl cousins who lived in the district. He taught us French and poetry. I was not what one would call a proficient student mainly, I believe, because he was not a proficient tutor.

  My grandmother strictly supervised my day-to-day regimen. She believed implicitly that the younger generation of the upper classes in England must understand that their wealth and position in society were privileges to be paid for by responsibility. ‘Noblesse oblige’ was the phrase she and her peers used time and time again. Older family members taught us, among other things, that we had a duty to be charming even to the lowliest of servants and that it was bad manners to reveal our emotions willy nilly. In times of stress, they said, it was essential that young members of the upper class keep a stiff upper lip and do their duty regardless of personal cost. In so doing, they set the right example to the lower classes. I really was not interested in the lower classes or setting them a proper example.

  My grandmother had read the up-to-date views of Dr Freud and some of his colleagues; she strongly disagreed with Freudian theory. ‘Who ever heard such nonsense?’ she asked all and sundry. ‘Where would England be today if the upper classes hadn’t set a proper example? This doctor seems to believe that restrained behaviour is detrimental to the health and well-being of young people. He seems to infer that keeping a stiff upper lip could result in dire personality problems. Do these Freudians honestly believe we’d be better off constantly complaining and making a fuss the way the Latinos do?’

  *

  I was sixteen when my grandfather died. My schooldays stopped abruptly because Gran found a new lease of life. She decided we would travel; ostensibly to enhance my knowledge of European culture; in reality, after years of subjugation by a selfish, demanding old man, she was determined to have a last fling.

  We travelled for a year, and upon our return Gran considered me old enough to accept the invitations that began rolling in. I attended dances, musical soirees, the regatta at Henley, the boat race and so on. I suppose young men liked me because of my looks and my attitude. My hair was very fair and my figure petite, although I had decent-sized breasts. People often said my eyes were a rather delightful sapphire blue. My outspokenness amused most of the young men I met, and my affectionate nature rather excited them. Despite always having in the back of my mind a secret image of Charles, that didn’t stop me from enjoying mild flirtations with most of my escorts.

  Every time Margaret came down to visit us at Morton I asked her to listen for news of Charles and the return of his regiment, and shortly before my eighteenth birthday she reported that he was back in England. The timing was perfect because Gran said we would have a coming-out ball at Morton. I made sure Charles received an invitation.

  In my opinion, Morton was a pretentious place. After all, we were only upper middle class, most of the family wealth having been made, first through owning cotton mills and more recently by fortunate speculation on the stock market. Our house at Morton was of Portland stone; it had at least sixteen bedrooms and an ostentatious hall on the walls of which were huge paintings of battle scenes – plunging, terrified horses with wide, staring eyes, dying cavalry and much blood. We also had an especially splendid ballroom. The house was built in the seventeenth century for my grandfather five times removed, who had been given a large grant of land for services to the Crown, being part of the escort when Charles II returned to England after the Puritan years. Anyway, although large and impressive to visit, it was always cold in the winter even with fireplaces in most of its rooms.

  During that summer everyone was talking about the probability of war and the evil intentions of Kaiser Wilhelm. My grandmother was furious with him. I recall her saying, again and again, ‘Grandson to our dear old Queen … almost impossible to believe his disloyalty to the British throne.’ But my mind was on more pleasant subjects, namely my birthday, the ball to be held on 1 July, meeting Charles again and the splendid silk sapphire-blue dress (to match my eyes) I intended wearing. I had thought so much about Charles in the years after our meetings that I felt as if we were close friends. It never occurred to me that he might not even recognise me.

  Margaret had a new boyfriend, one who was in the Guards. She was frightfully keen on him and told me she met him through her all-consuming interest, which was belonging to the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, or FANY, a voluntary organisation of young women whose mission was to assist the army in time of war. In those days, they trained to ride horses into combat zones to pick up the wounded before they bled to death. Margaret was fanatical about this interest and was certain that when – and not if – war broke out, she would be saving the lives of our wounded soldiers. As it turned out, that ball was the last time we ever saw many of our invitees because so many of them, including Margaret’s beau, were killed in the Great War, which began only a few weeks after the ball.

  *

  On the big night, I was so excited by the thought of meeting Charles again that I couldn’t stop looking constantly towards the ballroom entrance. When at last he arrived, I felt quite faint. How desirable he looked in his mess dress. He had hardly changed at all in four years; looked exactly as I remembered him when he picked me up from the police station all those years ago. I couldn’t resist a discreet wave to which he nodded slightly and smiled. He joined those lined up to greet my grandmother, other members of the family and me.

  When he took my hand, he murmured, ‘I am hardly able
to believe that you were that terrified child I escorted from the cells. Was it four years ago? You look splendid, Madeleine.’

  ‘Oh, Charles, I am so delighted to see you again. I’ve thought of you so often since we last met.’

  He raised his eyebrows and moved on to greet other family members. My grandmother turned to me. ‘Do try to be a little more circumspect, please, Madeleine.’

  After that, I couldn’t wait to dance with him, but because this was my ball it was my duty to dance with many others. When at last, in the latter half of the evening, we did dance, it felt like the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. I floated on air. Being in Charles’s arms was a thousand times more exciting than being in anybody else’s.

  I had to ask him: ‘You’re not engaged to marry anyone, are you, Charles?’

  ‘No, Madeleine. What gave you that idea?’

  ‘Oh, just curious.’

  He didn’t speak for a while after that. He was probably flummoxed. After a long silence, he said, ‘May I say how beautiful you have become, Madeleine? Your hair is like corn silk and your gown ravishing. Thank you so much for inviting me tonight.’

  ‘It was very fortunate you came back in time, and when Margaret said your regiment was home, you went to the very top of my guest list.’

  Once again he appeared surprised. The thing about Charles was his modesty. I admired that (not being too modest myself).

  ‘Did you have a pleasant time in India, Charles?’

  ‘Not always pleasant, Madeleine, but not so bad. I spent many years in India when a child. It’s an interesting country, and I like the people and the food.’

  From what I’d heard I didn’t think the food would appeal to me one little bit. All those spices – ugh. The dance was coming to an end. I hadn’t mentioned my main concern. I was forced to speak quickly while he was escorting me back to my seat next to Grandmother. I said that, although I was interested in hearing about India, there was no time just now because, as this was my party, I had to dance with everyone.

  ‘The thing is, Charles, we are going back to Eaton Square in a day or two, and I am hoping you will have the time to call on us. I know my grandmother will welcome you, and we would like to hear something of Stefan and his new wife.’

  ‘Yes, I did run into Stefan once or twice. Thank you, Madeleine, nothing would give me greater pleasure. However, as it looks like war is imminent, I may not be able to get away in the coming weeks.’

  ‘Well, you could write or send a telegram or something. I would be very happy to go somewhere with you before you have to go to a war. I will be busy myself because I am going to join the FANYs and learn to ride into battle to pick up wounded soldiers. Even so, Charles, I would definitely find time to spend with you.’

  ‘Glad to hear you want to do your bit, Madeleine.’

  My last words to him that evening were that I would be eagerly awaiting to hear from him. He promised to write to me as soon as possible. His eyes were twinkling, almost laughing at me, as they looked directly into mine. ‘Good. I will be waiting.’

  For the following few days I worried that I might have been too bold and he wouldn’t contact me. They say men don’t like being chased. I comforted myself with the thought that it had been imperative that he know I would welcome any approach from him. And, if war broke out during the next few weeks, I wanted him to be sure there was at least one girl at home who would mourn his absence.

  I didn’t have to wait too long for Charles’s letter; it arrived only a week after we’d moved back to Eaton Square. He asked me to go with him to a show at the Royal Court Theatre, which was just around the corner in Sloane Square, and afterwards to supper somewhere along the King’s Road. I was feeling triumphant. He didn’t yet know it, but I was sure he was going to fall in love with me. I suggested he come a little early as my grandmother would be anxious to meet him again. My gran always scrutinised and quizzed the young men who invited me to go out with them, and she made it very clear to them if she thought they were unsuitable.

  He smiled so warmly when he arrived that I had this almost uncontrollable desire to reach up and kiss him. In the drawing room, he was polite and charming as we sipped sherry. At first we talked about India and Stefan and his new wife, but it wasn’t long before my grandmother brought the conversation around to Charles’s pedigree. She was anxious to know which school he had attended and his father’s occupation.

  ‘I went to the army school in Jaipur in northern India. My father was in the military.’

  That made my grandmother sit up. ‘Yes, I have heard that some officers prefer to have their young children with them. I wonder if this is not short-term thinking when one considers the benefits of attending a suitable preparatory school if one is to be accepted by a Public School.’

  ‘That didn’t occur to my parents ; they never considered sending me to school in England.’

  I could see that Grandmother was now peering intently at Charles. I doubt whether she had ever met a Sandhurst graduate who had not attended Eton, Marlborough or any other of those other, better-known schools. I also saw she wouldn’t rest until she knew more of Charles’s background.

  ‘Did your father retire to the country? So many army men do, don’t they?’

  With a bland face he said that his parents live in Surrey; his father owned a pub just out of Guildford.

  ‘How remarkable!’

  ‘My father was not an officer, Mrs Aspinall. He was the regimental sergeant major. RSMs don’t live the peripatetic lifestyle of officers. They are rarely posted away from their regiment.’

  My gran appeared flabbergasted. I read her thoughts. His father was not an officer! What on earth was he doing here with her granddaughter?

  Charles stood up. He said it was time we left or we would miss the opening of the first act. He thanked my grandmother for her hospitality and said he looked forward to meeting her again.

  I wasn’t too sure whether my grandmother would look forward to another meeting, although, needless to say, if I had anything to do with it, there would be many more. We walked along the square towards the theatre. And we had our first disagreement then and there, all because I was stupid and snobbish.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t told Grandmother that your father was only an NCO.’

  He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘And why is that, Madeleine?’ His facial expression was stern, his voice harsh.

  I was terrified he would walk away from me and had to think quickly. I didn’t do a bad job. ‘Well, you see, Charles my grandmother doesn’t always judge people for what they are intrinsically. Position in society is extremely important to her. I don’t blame her altogether because she has never moved out of her privileged circle of friends.’

  ‘How important is position in society to you, Madeleine?’

  I wanted to say that I didn’t care a fig about who or what his parents were and that I only wanted to be with him. But I thought that might sound as if I thought they were less than me.

  ‘Oh, position in society means very little to me. I judge people for what they are, not how they speak.’ That wasn’t quite the truth.

  ‘Is that so, Madeleine?

  ‘Of course it’s so. People don’t care about position in society the way they used to.’ I put my arm through his. ‘I’m so looking forward to tonight, Charles, aren’t you?’

  He wisely changed the subject and began talking about the show we were going to see. So despite those brief moments of tension , everything worked out marvellously, and when he saw me home he asked if I would like to go out with him again while he was still stationed near London.

  ‘Rather. I was terrified you wouldn’t ask me again. You don’t think I am a snob, do you, Charles?’

  He laughed. ‘Not sure about that, Madeleine. I really would like to see you again, and as I’ll be moving off soon I’ll probably contact you within a few days.’

  I thought the sooner, the better.

  After that, he took me to dinner
twice. On the second occasion he kissed me at our door, and I made sure I was as close as possible to him. I could tell he was feeling passionate, as I was. Even so, he behaved like a perfect gentleman and gently pushed me away. I thought, why won’t he say something like ‘I may be falling in love with you, Madeleine’? It was obvious he was very attracted to me. He didn’t mention the word ‘love’, although he did ask me to write to him.

  ‘Naturally I will.’ Then I couldn’t help myself. ‘Charlie, I hope you don’t think I am in any way precocious, but with the war and the fact that you are going into danger, I think I should say right now that I am awfully fond of you.’

  I could see he was unprepared for my words, so I hurried on to point out to him that after all we had met four years ago and that I’d thought of him frequently in the intervening period. I said, ‘You see, Charles, in peace time, couples take their time and really get to know one another. There probably won’t be any time for that during a war, so, if you’d like, I’d be willing to marry you before you go overseas.’

  He seemed to be lost for words for a moment or two. He then said, ‘You’ve got it all back to front, Maddy darling; that’s what I’m supposed to say to you.’

  I knew all about conventions, but I believed in following one’s instincts and I said so. His reply was so sensible and mature, although I didn’t agree with his point of view. He said – and I will always remember every word – that he would never marry while there was a war on. He held my hands in his and, looking at me steadily, said that he was sorry he wasn’t sure whether he loved me or not. He’d never been in love and didn’t really believe in love at such an early stage in a relationship.

  ‘All I can say just now, Madeleine, is that I think of you often. In fact, thoughts of you are distracting me from my work. You are so young, who knows, someone else might come along and you may well realise that what you now think you feel about me is not real love at all, simply infatuation.’