Tommy was senior in his compartment, scarred, battered, beribboned; the boys stared at him when they thought he was not looking, did not dare address him. He heard relieved voices as he got out at Salisbury, knew they were discussing him and his ribbons.
The local train across the Plain had fewer of the juveniles aboard and Tommy and Smivvels were the sole uniformed figures to step onto the platform at Wilton. The single porter brought Smivvels a four-wheeled trolley and nervously explained that there was no cab any longer. The driver had gone back to the Colours, and petrol had become more expensive as well.
“Thees better take the old trolley to thees ‘ome, like, sir. I’ll come along to pull ‘un back again.”
The porter was well into his sixties and Tommy was not at all sure he could manage the walk there and back, let alone the weight of the trolley. He nodded to Smivvels.
“I’ll bring it back, old feller.”
Smivvels saw the need to be gracious; it would do the master no good at all in the village to be responsible for the porter’s heart attack.
The road was muddy but Tommy could not lend a hand with the trolley – it would have scandalised the whole community for him to do so, and would probably have been a court-martial offence as well.
“River Cottage, Smivvels; home.”
Tommy knocked on the front door, smiled as Mrs Rudge opened to him.
“Oh! It’s you, sir, as ever is! Do come in, sir. What have you done to your poor face, begging your pardon, sir?”
“Just a scratch, Mrs Rudge, and still healing. It looks worse than it is.”
“Madam has the little one out for her afternoon airing, sir. She’ll have gone down towards Mrs Wyndham’s house. Is Captain Arkwright well, sir?”
“He was as of yesterday, Mrs Rudge, and determined to come back to Wilton. This is Smivvels, who is my personal servant. Where can he sleep?”
“In the garage building, sir. The chauffeur’s pair of rooms are empty, him having gone off to the war. I shall see to sheets and pillow-case and towels, sir. He can lay a fire as well, to air the place out. Staying with you, is he, sir?”
“Yes. Smivvels is appointed to me now.”
“Very well, sir. I shall teach him of your little ways, sir, so that he knows how to do the job properly. You will want to walk on down the road to find my lady, sir.”
“So I shall, Mrs Rudge.”
Tommy obeyed orders, trying to avoid the puddles and mud pools that made up most of the road in winter. He found Monkey outside Mrs Wyndham’s house, as he had expected, deep in conversation.
“Good afternoon, my love! How do you do, Mrs Wyndham?”
“Very well, Major Stark. Are you home on leave?”
“Only for fourteen days, ma’am. Captain Arkwright remains in France. Current plans are that we shall be creating a new Bombardment Squadron, but whether that will take place in France or in England is unclear.”
Mrs Wyndham smiled and nodded and withdrew, deciding that she was surplus to requirements. Monkey was overwhelmingly aware that they were in public, that curtains would be twitching in most of the houses in the road. She could do no more than link her arm through his, and that some of the elderly would disapprove of.
“Fourteen days, Tommy?”
“That is all, my love. We must present ourselves at Buckingham Palace on Tuesday as well. Have you the correct dress for an Investiture?”
As he had hoped, the question diverted her temporarily from his face and missing finger.
“Court Dress? I do not know what the ruling is in wartime. There is a modiste in Salisbury who will be aware, and who will charge vast sums to dress me by Monday! But it must be done.”
“It must, my love. I must ensure that I have all of the necessary uniform myself. Damned nuisance, that it is! Is the little one asleep?”
Elisabeth Jane was wrapped very thoroughly against the November chills and almost nothing could be seen of her.
“Time to take her back home, Tommy. What have you been doing to be so wounded? And, what is that on your chest now?”
Tommy explained, making much of luck and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“So, you just happened to engage in an aerial combat with Fokkers, and you somehow were involved in landings behind the trenches in German-held Belgium?”
“It does sound a little unlikely, I will admit, but the thing is, Monkey, that Trenchard believes that I am the best of all pilots under his command. No sooner does he come up with an impossible scheme than he calls me to carry it out.”
She shrugged resignedly.
“You were born to get in trouble, Tommy! Does your hand hurt?”
“Not at all, now. It did for a while – it was bound to. With the face, I was lucky – it is so cold in a cockpit with the wind blowing across the exposed flesh that one cannot feel pain, you know. It was not very pleasant while the quack dug the splinters out, but there has been no infection. We should drive into Salisbury tomorrow, I suppose.”
“We must. Working uniform will do – but you cannot possibly wear civilian dress. There are too many who will whistle and shout at men of serving age who are not in uniform. Many, of course, are widows and mothers who are bitter at the loss of their husbands and sons – it is understandable.”
They ate a generous dinner and talked a while afterwards before retiring early to bed, by mutual desire.
Both tailor and dressmaker agreed that traditional Court Dress was not to be worn in wartime. For the soldier, full-dress was more than adequate; his lady should wear an evening dress, but no train or veil, certainly no feathers.
“Restraint, sir, is the watchword. One must not spend on ostentation when our soldiers are suffering in France.”
“Too many ladies are in mourning, ma’am, for it to be appropriate to flaunt one’s person in silks and satins. Sobriety is demanded of us all.”
The cost was reduced by more than a hundred pounds, which neither could argue with.
They wandered slowly around the town, drabber in wartime for a lack of fresh paint on the shopfronts, and for the number showing discreet mourning hatchments for the owner’s close family. The more expensive shops seemed to be as well-stocked as Tommy remembered, but the smaller greengrocers and butchers showed thinner shelves.
“Food prices are rising, Tommy. Where we used to put five pounds to Liptons I now pay seven. It does not matter to us, but for many of the poorest – the widow ladies for example - it is becoming difficult.”
“What is being done?”
“Nothing, officially. There are committees in most towns that manage to provide milk and bread for the children – mostly given to them at school, so that they get to eat it. There are plans for a hot luncheon for every schoolchild, and they will probably come into effect very soon. Widows are in receipt of pensions, of course, but they are very small. There will be an extension of Poor Relief, it is being discussed and will almost certainly come into effect. It is not enough.”
“Nothing changes, it would seem. Surely it would be possible to pay a dead soldier’s wage to his widow, at least until his children have come of age.”
“This government seems to think not, Tommy.”
“They are mean-spirited hounds!”
“They are politicians. Who needs to say more?”
They stopped on the pavement as a battalion in training marched by.
“They send them through the city most days, Tommy. People like to see them.”
They were a New Army battalion, tall young men, volunteers from well-paid jobs; Regular soldiers had normally been drawn from the poorest classes, ill-nourished and short and showing weakly against the keen youngsters.
“Good luck to them! They seem the best of boys – but I hope they do not march into a machine-gun nest.”
The RSM caught sight of Tommy and gave the ‘eyes right’ as they passed. He drew himself up in return, coming to the salute.
“Smart men.”
They had a
ttracted an amount of attention and did their best to disappear among the thin crowds of shoppers, ending up in a shoe shop for cover.
“Galoshes, Tommy! The Wellington Boot – ideal for your muddy airfields, surely.”
The shopkeeper was swift to agree.
“Genuine North British Rubber Company boots, sir, to the true Wellington pattern! Waterproof, sir, of course, and the envy of the foe! They are manufactured to standard sizes, sir, not made to measure. An eight, I suspect, your foot, sir – would you care try, sir?”
The boot fitted and would be of the greatest utility, Tommy thought. He bought two pairs and persuaded Monkey to tolerate their inelegance for herself.
“The street is unpaved, after all – you must need protection from the mud as well!”
The shop’s ancient boy took the parcels to the car, as was necessary.
“Fittings on Monday morning, Tommy. We can take the first train from Salisbury on Tuesday and make the Palace on time. I shall telephone Father and he will arrange a car to meet us at Paddington, and to take tea with him afterwards perhaps. Certainly it will be possible to change from formal dress at a hotel and he will organise that. We must take the nursemaid and Smivvels with us – they can deal with our baggage as well.”
Tommy was most impressed by her taking of the reins; he said not a word, delighted that she could cope in his absence.
“What is this of a new Bombardment Squadron, Tommy?”
“The Royal Naval Air Service has been doing the great bulk of strategic bombardment, with occasionally brilliant results. The RFC wishes, obviously, to match the Navy – more important to do the sailors in the eye than to fight the war! Brigadier Trenchard is looking to acquire a squadron of Breguet 4s to be bought from the French and give us a more practical bombardment capacity. There is a three hundred and thirty-six-pound bomb in the making – three full hundredweights, and that is big enough to make a hole in a German factory or aircraft hangar. It needs a plane to carry it – which the Breguet 4 can do. I have the rank to command a squadron and will be permitted to fly on bombardment raids.”
“And Noah?”
“Is expected to be my second, under current thinking. We make a team, you know. He is more sane than me, provides the balance we need, much of the time. Talking of which – Mrs Wyndham?”
“Is much taken by him, Tommy.”
“Will she still be when she discovers that he is a product of the parish orphanage? He has no family that he knows of, and was promoted from the ranks.”
“I do not know, Tommy – I have never had occasion to discuss such a thing with her. I shall do so, and before he returns to England. It could be a difficulty. I know that she has an independent income – quite separate from any monies left by her husband. I believe that she is of a great family of East Anglia – but which family precisely, I do not know.”
They said no more – it was out of their control.
Their arrangements were modified by Lord Moncur; they were to stay at Long Benchley on the Monday night and would be taken up to Town in an official Rolls Royce which he could lay his hands upon for a few hours. It would be easier and it was always wiser to be independent of the vagaries of the railways.
“It don’t reach the newspapers, Tommy, but the railways ain’t what they were a year ago. Too much traffic and too little maintenance, and the signal boxes manned by pensioners kicked out of their cottages to work again to replace the men gone to France to run the Army’s railways there. Been a few accidents that should not have happened, you know!”
“And the newspapers simply do not report any of this, sir?”
“DORA – they can’t!”
“The land of the free!”
“Nothing to say, Tommy. I am part of the bloody mess now – and there is no way I can get out of it. You will be pleased to know, by the way, that your funds are growing at an impressive rate. They have been invested in the States to a great extent, and the American economy is booming on the back of the war. Tax may be a bit of a problem, of course.”
“As I am an American citizen, sir, will that help?”
“Are you sure, Tommy?”
“Born in Nevada, I believe, sir. I am quite certain that the birth was not registered with the British Embassy in Washington.”
“We shall have to check that, Tommy, but I think you have just become a director of a number of American companies.”
The King was dressed in Admiral’s uniform, having been for some years a sailor before becoming heir to the throne. He did not seem a particularly martial gentleman despite this, but gave the appearance of a man who was genuinely moved by making awards of honours to his subjects. He said a few words to all of those who stood before him, and not, to Tommy’s hearing, the same ritual sentence to each.
Tommy noticed, and approved, that the ceremony recognised the precedence of the awards themselves rather than the rank of those receiving them. There were three private soldiers and a naval rating in front of him to receive Victoria Crosses, the ultimate recognition of self-sacrificing bravery. He listened to the brief citation of the actions leading to the award, full of admiration and respect for men who could perform acts of cold-blooded courage; it was easier in the air, he thought, where everything was over in seconds and bravery – if that was what it was – resulted commonly from instinctive impulse.
He had been set into his place in the line by a Palace equerry, working from a carefully planned list, and waited, sandwiched between a Naval Commander and a Brigadier with red tabs. He reflected that the DSO was given not only for conduct in battle but was used as well to reward hard and long work for the benefit of the service. A man who sat toiling over ammunition returns hour after hour, night after night, was making a great and necessary contribution to the war. Against that, the Brigadier was plump and red-cheeked, looked much more like a man who sat many hours with his bottle.
Tommy’s name was called and he stepped forward, listened to just what a bold chap he was and recognised that he had actually performed the acts they referred to – but none of it had seemed so earth-shattering at the time. The medals were set onto the little hooks sewed onto his dress uniform and he came to his salute.
“I am told you are married, Major Stark. Is your wife present?”
“She is, Your Majesty. Carrying our daughter, next to Lord Moncur.”
“Ah! I believe I see her, judging by the proud smile. My congratulations, Major Stark!”
The equerry nodded and Tommy took the requisite paces backward and to the side, noting that the King had no notes in his hand – he made the effort to remember his briefing.
Another half of an hour and the ceremony was complete and Tommy was freed to join Monkey at the rear, and to be led away by an RFC captain from General Henderson’s staff.
“We have the press here, sir.”
He had thought for a moment that he might have been able to escape in the crush, but it was not to be. Fortunately, it was no more than the photographers – they did not require the pearls of wisdom that dropped from his lips.
“My wife? Grace, second daughter to Lord Moncur.”
It seemed to Tommy that as she was stood at his side the photographer could have asked her in person, but she was no more than an adjunct to his glory, it seemed.
“Oh, very good, sir! I shall send my shots to the society magazines as well – they will all carry them. Pity that she looks so bookish – the ladies do not like the bluestockings, you know. However, she is holding the baby, which is much as it should be in their minds. I think, sir, if it is not too great an imposition, we could take a shot of you with the infant in your arms. You will have to hold it to the side, so as not to hide the medals.”
“I am sorry, but I am not in the way of thinking of my daughter as an ‘it’.”
The photographer put on his best long-suffering face, offered a perfunctory apology. It was very clear that he was used to the vagaries of the idiots he had to deal with on a daily basis.
“Some of those shawls should come off – we need to see the baby’s face.”
“Not in this bloody weather, man! Are you completely…”
Tommy was firmly cut off by his mentor from the staff.
“It is cold and wet, sir. It would be seen as gross irresponsibility to expose a baby to the elements on a November day!”
“I suppose so, if you must! I don’t know what all the fuss is about babies.”
Tommy felt a sharp hack on his ankle as he opened his mouth; he fell silent.
A few minutes and he was led away.
“Tut, sir! Your face showed that you were going to explain to the photographer just why he had no understanding of babies! I agree that he probably is of that particular inclination, but it would do the war no good to say so! Tact, sir! General Henderson’s congratulations, by the way, sir. I am to tell you as well that it has just been agreed that the Breguet 4s will go to the Royal Naval Air Service, not the RFC. Brigadier Trenchard is not yet aware of the decision, by the way. You are to remain in England for the remainder of your leave and must await your new orders. There are a number of possibilities under consideration, but the primary concern will be to offer RFC support to the battles due to come in the summer. The Bristol Scout will continue in service, but there is a need for a machine that will carry a heavier load to attack the reserves, possibly at a range of more than one hundred miles. I am sure you will be placed into an important role in that particular function. You may expect to be called to speak with the General next week, sir.”
“Thank you. I see Lord Moncur over at the railings; I must join him – and take Elisabeth Jane out of this weather. She has been outside long enough, I believe.”
“I am sure that you are right, sir. I, too, know nothing of the care of infants – though not for the same reason, I assure you, sir! Till next week, sir.”
No Longer A Game (Innocents At War Series, Book 3) Page 20