Keep the Home Fires Burning

by S Block

  ‘That’s true, but— ’

  ‘Nor has he been found.’

  ‘You’re missing my point, Mrs Barden.’

  ‘No, Dr Nelms. You’re missing mine. I want the police involved. I want a manhunt. And I want it immediately.’

  Dr Nelms reluctantly promised he would contact the police to see if Noah might have been picked up beyond the school grounds and handed into their care. He telephoned an hour later to report that the local police had received no stray children that day. Fortunately for Frances the police viewed Noah’s disappearance rather more urgently than Dr Nelms. But, as Frances said to Sarah – who had rushed over as soon as Frances telephoned her – ‘The police don’t have a reputation to shield, unlike that damned school!’

  The Cheshire police assured Frances they would put all available resources into finding Noah quickly, starting with a painstaking search of the school and its grounds, and then spreading out from there. It was the only thing that kept Frances in Great Paxford.

  They said there was nothing to be gained from travelling up to Warrington, where the school was based. It would only make Frances more anxious. It was far better that she remain at home in case Noah turned up, which was the most likely scenario. They told her to stay near the telephone and wait for news and not to worry. They didn’t tell her not to feel terrible guilt for the whole affair. If they had it would have been futile.

  If you hadn’t sent him away—

  She stopped that train of thought mid-sentence. There was nothing to be gained from returning to a track she had been round many, many times since Noah had left with Claire and Spencer. She had acted in what she believed was the best interests of the child, and in accord with Peter’s wishes.

  Frances had been tempted to pour herself a drink to settle her nerves, but a voice in her head told her not to venture down that particular path.

  In your current state one drink will lead to another, and you cannot afford to be anything other than in complete control of your faculties.

  Sarah asked if Frances wanted to postpone the WI meeting, or would like Sarah to lead it in her stead. Frances considered the option but decided against it.

  ‘To postpone or send you instead would instantly make the entire meeting about me, when it shouldn’t be. In the weeks and months following Peter’s death I stayed away because I couldn’t bear to see anyone, I just couldn’t. And I think the women understood that.’

  ‘They’d understand this,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Perhaps they would.’

  ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I don’t want to send out the signal that the WI isn’t somewhere they can go when they have serious events happening in their lives. On the contrary, it should be one of the very few places they can go to when they may be at their most troubled. Didn’t Miriam receive tremendous support when David was missing? Haven’t you, since Adam was taken prisoner? Erica and Will since they lost their home? Without the great kindness I received from the members, I don’t know how I would have survived the terrible aftermath of Peter’s death.’

  ‘The support from the branch has been invaluable.’

  ‘These trekkers fleeing into the countryside from nightly bombing challenge our sense of charity both individually and as a community. We need to take the situation in hand before it spirals out of control. Lord knows the parish council is all but useless, a collection of mediocre men locked in endless deliberation with no visible appetite for ever actually doing anything. No, Sarah. I need to be at the meeting. The members expect it, and will be unnerved to see me absent so soon after my return to the Chair. If I stay here I shall go mad pacing the floor. I’ve asked Claire to stay at the house in the event the police or Noah’s headmaster should telephone. I’m only minutes away.’

  Frances understood that one of the defining qualities of true leadership is the need to be visible and available, even when there are more pressing calls on one’s time. Though she thought it might be best to be sitting beside the telephone alongside Claire, Frances had to be at the WI, leading what she expected would be a heated debate between those who wanted to assist the trekkers during their time of greatest need, and those who wanted to keep them out of Great Paxford with the aim of ‘protecting the village’. Frances wanted to spend some of the evening examining the question: ‘protection from what exactly?’ As far as she could see, the trekkers were fellow countrymen who needed assistance at a particularly terrifying time. She already knew there was a faction within the membership, led largely by Mrs Talbot, who considered trekkers to be cowards fleeing in the face of enemy fire. Measured confrontation with this faction was, Frances believed, the best way to deal with the situation. Frances was determined to steer the branch towards its best, and not its basest, instincts.

  ‘Somebody has to force all sides to be completely honest about what they fear from the trekkers. No use hiding behind mealy words. Let’s get it all out in the open and move forward.’

  Sarah looked sceptical. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? You don’t want to start something you can’t stop.’

  ‘I have faith in the members.’

  ‘All of them? Mrs Talbot? Surely not?’

  ‘Women like her are frightened of any change. Anything new or unusual. We have to show her there’s nothing to fear. That we are all trying to survive the same war as best we can.’

  Sarah smiled at Frances. ‘There are times I’m very pleased you’re my sister.’

  Frances looked a little put out. ‘I’m pleased you’re my sister all the time.’ With that said Frances turned to call Claire into the sitting room.

  ‘If either the police or the school telephone with news of Noah, however trivial it might be, you are to cycle to the meeting as quickly as you can.’

  Claire nodded, and said, ‘Of course, Mrs Barden.’

  Claire wished her employer had taken more notice of her concerns about Noah being sent off to school. But taking Spencer’s advice, she kept her own counsel.

  ‘Whatever’s happening in the meeting, interrupt if you must,’ Frances instructed.

  ‘I’ll come straight down, and straight in.’

  ‘Nothing is more important at this moment in time.’

  Claire nodded, and replied, ‘I agree.’

  ‘Don’t be more than twenty feet from the telephone while I’m out. If, for whatever reason, you have to be, make sure Spencer isn’t.’

  Frances wished Cookie and Thumbs, her housekeeper and groundsman, hadn’t finally retired to Blackpool two months earlier, as they’d long threatened. They had planned to leave for the north-west coast nearly a year earlier, but had stayed on to see Frances through her bereavement. Frances always treasured the implacable calm and grounded wisdom with which they met any crisis.

  Frances left Claire with pencil and paper to write down any information the police might leave, if and when they telephoned, and unenthusiastically stepped into the crisp evening air with her sister.

  Frances and Sarah walked to the emergency general meeting knowing there wouldn’t be a woman present without an opinion on the trekker issue. Since trekkers first began to trickle and then pour into the area from Liverpool and Crewe, everyone in Great Paxford had encountered them in one way or another. Their uninvited presence in the countryside around the village was broadly disconcerting for most. Despite the reason behind their sudden appearance being widely known, farmers simply didn’t appreciate strangers suddenly camping on their land (city folk at that), lighting fires, erecting tents, potentially disturbing their livestock and trampling their carefully ploughed fields. Villagers found themselves unnerved by strange lights appearing at night in woods and forests that were meant to remain dark and undisturbed, except by nocturnal creatures. With so many policemen drawn out of the area to fight in the war, people felt suddenly vulnerable in the face of a low-level invasion that subtly disturbed the countryside’s ancient equilibrium. Sarah understood that the trekkers’ presence was causing disquiet, and ha
d heard some in the village use the words ‘being overrun’ to describe how they were feeling.

  The air had quickly cooled once the sun went down, and a wind had struck up from the west, blowing dead leaves up from the ground, and pulling the final remaining leaves from branches. Sarah turned up the collar of her coat and threaded her hand through the crook of her sister’s elbow, as she had done since childhood. Arm in arm was how Frances and Sarah were usually seen walking around the village together.

  ‘There’ll be scarcely anyone who won’t pass a trekker camp on their way to the hall,’ Sarah said.

  Frances nodded. Sarah knew Frances was silently agonising over Noah’s whereabouts as they walked, and decided to distract her by getting her sister to focus on the matter in hand.

  ‘How are you planning to approach tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Square on. How else?’

  ‘But do you have a position in mind with regard to the trekkers that you plan to lead the members towards?’

  ‘To begin with, I’d like to do away with describing them as “trekkers”. They are a group of refugees from German bombing.’

  ‘So you’d prefer we called them “refugees” rather than “trekkers”?’

  ‘It better reflects what they are, don’t you think? They come here to take refuge from the bombing. Labelling them as “trekkers” detaches them from the very reason they walk such distances each night. I think that’s made it easier for some in the village— ’

  ‘Mrs Talbot . . .’

  ‘No names, but yes, Mrs Talbot and her friends. I believe just referring to them as “trekkers” makes it easier to demonise them. As if their ability to walk is their defining feature regardless of what they are walking away from. If it’s just about them trekking, Mrs Talbot can ask why do they have to trek here? Why don’t they walk somewhere else? But of course, their defining characteristic is their aversion to being blown to pieces at night. And that’s a characteristic we all share. So that’s what I think we should reflect in how we refer to them.’

  ‘Do you want the members to recognise that there but for the grace of God go they?’

  ‘It would be a good place to start the discussion.’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘But where would you want it to lead?’

  Frances turned to Sarah and sighed.

  ‘Personally, I’d like it to lead towards making these poor people feel welcome in some way. But politically, it has to lead to a place where all members of the branch are in complete accord. I don’t want any splits or factions. That would be no good at all going forward. I would sooner accept a fall-back position that didn’t satisfy me personally but retained branch unity than drive the majority to a position with which a minority won’t agree.’

  ‘Do you think that’s possible?’

  ‘All I know is that whatever any of us feel about these poor people, their plight is ultimately our concern. If the membership – the entire membership, Mrs Talbot included – is willing to find a way to help them that deals with all the mounting anxieties, well, excellent. If not, we shall have to accept there are some things we cannot do however much we may want to, and that’s just how it is.’

  Sarah smiled.

  ‘I thought you enjoyed driving the branch to the edge of the abyss.’

  ‘I did it once, Sarah, to break Joyce’s stranglehold and keep the branch open during the war. I can’t do it again. Besides, one can quite reasonably take the view that the trekkers—’

  ‘Refugees.’

  ‘Thank you. They didn’t consult us about coming into our part of the world, so they can’t reasonably have a deep expectation that we should embrace them. Though I certainly think we should help them as far as we can, because— ’

  ‘—there but for the grace of God go we.’

  ‘Yes. But it won’t happen if I try and force it on the members as an obligation. Times are taxing for us all, for some more than others. Our unity as a branch is what holds it together. I won’t put that at risk. Only ask that we do what’s easily possible.’

  ‘You were spectacularly successful when you stood against Joyce.’

  ‘I achieved my objective. But it was – as you say – a high-risk strategy. Constantly driving the branch to the brink of collapse and Chair re-election are not actions I wish to make a trademark. It will exhaust and depress everyone in equal measure. Not least, myself.’

  ‘What if you could achieve both your personal and political objectives with regard to them? It could happen.’

  ‘That would be a triumph you and I would celebrate over a drink. But it would have to happen without forcing it. I’m confident the branch will want to do a great deal to help.’

  Sarah sighed heavily, causing Frances to turn to her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mrs Talbot,’ Sarah said wistfully.

  ‘Do you know how to neutralise a venomous snake?’

  ‘I did watch Adam deal with a snake once, in India.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He dropped the collected works of Shakespeare on its head.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Not only did it work, but the deadly volume fell open on Hamlet’s soliloquy, “To be or not to be . . .’’’

  ‘To which the answer, from the snake’s perspective, was sadly, “not to be”.’

  ‘Never has Shakespeare had such a profound effect on any living creature.’

  Frances began to laugh almost uncontrollably. Sarah hadn’t seen Frances laugh like this since before Peter’s death, and was moved by the irrepressible sight and sound of it. It was infectious, and the two sisters strolled along, pulling one another this way and that as they struggled to regain their composure. As the village hall loomed into sight, Frances eventually drew a long breath to speak.

  ‘Do you think we might get the same result from dropping the collected works on Mrs Talbot’s head?’

  ‘It might not be quite as successful as the effect on the snake, but it might knock some compassion into her.’

  ‘The quality of mercy would be a good place to start.’

  ‘Aside from assaulting the woman with literature, I think your best chance is to isolate her position by declaring it to be not in the WI spirit, and hope she’ll realise she’s fighting a lost cause. People like Gwen Talbot only have power if they think others can be bullied to their will. When they realise they can’t, they often fold like a cheap suit.’

  The two women hurried towards the village hall up ahead, the silhouette of its slanted roof recognisable in the blackout against the darkening skyline. The wind was now stronger and behind them, buffeting Sarah and Frances into the stream of women attending the EGM, all eager to get into the warmth of the hall and the heat of debate.

  When Sarah and Frances reached the entrance, Frances turned to her sister. By the light inside, Sarah could see that despite the laughter of a moment ago, Frances was concerned.

  ‘I do so hope I haven’t misjudged them.’

  ‘You’re frighteningly persuasive when you want to be.’

  Frances smiled, appreciating the encouragement. She looked into the hall at the rows of women from the village and surrounding farms, standing and greeting one another with smiles and laughter, their pre-meeting chatter already filling Frances with the encouragement needed to make her case. She then turned to look back outside, into the darkness that enveloped the village like a black glove. Her expression darkened to match the night outside. Sarah instinctively understood the thought that had muscled its way into the centre of her sister’s consciousness, and gripped Frances’s hand tightly.

  ‘The police will find Noah. I know it,’ she whispered.

  Frances looked at Sarah, desperate to share her conviction.

  ‘The reality is, Sarah, dear, none of us knows anything . . .’

  Frances went inside. Sarah lingered at the open door for a moment, and realised Frances was preparing herself for the very worst.

  There wer
e two basic arguments about how to respond to what the women of the WI were happy to call – for the purposes of the meeting and until Frances could persuade them otherwise – ‘the trekker question’. The first was to make the trekkers feel unwelcome, with the aim of driving them away to other villages. The second argument proposed engaging with them, and for Great Paxford to welcome them. It was the second argument that Frances supported.

  ‘Ladies, thank you all for coming tonight. You are, I know, aware of why this meeting has been called. Each of us has encountered trekkers over recent weeks, and I think it imperative that we discuss how to handle the situation. Because one thing is clear: we cannot simply ignore these people. I perfectly understand the impulse to push them away. But I believe we must resist it. These poor people have fled their cities for their very lives, with no idea if everything they have will still exist when they return the next day. They walk miles at dusk to keep themselves and their families safe, in all weathers. And then walk back again at daybreak, to return to their jobs and schools. They do not come into the countryside to stay in the countryside. They don’t want to do this. They are visiting only, being forced by the circumstances of war that decree their cities targets for the Luftwaffe. We haven’t been forced to take such drastic action in the name of self-preservation. At least . . . not yet.

  ‘Driving them away doesn’t solve the root cause of their problem—’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ countered Mrs Talbot, wasting no time in presenting herself as the most vocal advocate of the faction for dissuading the trekkers from coming into the area and Great Paxford. ‘But it solves the root cause of ours.’

  Frances was aware of some heads nodding in agreement with Gwen Talbot, but ignored her comment, sidestepped her ever-present concern about Noah’s safety, and continued.

  ‘Driving them away, as Mrs Talbot suggests, merely displaces the problem for others to deal with. For me, that isn’t good enough. Especially when we have it in our power to put ourselves in their shoes and make their daily trek less of an ordeal than it needs to be.’