by Diane Allen
‘For fuck’s sake, Billy, keep your bloody head down – a good sniper could pot you off as easy as shaking hands.’ The two men lay with their backs against the trench wall, both caked with mud, breathing heavily after making a dash from one trench to another. Will watched a rat run along the trench wall, squeaking as it went. It had no fear of the two men watching it; there were rich pickings among the dead and dying and it knew how to survive. ‘Bloody flea-infested things! I woke with one of ’em running across my face t’other night.’ Will lit a cigarette and offered it to Billy before he lit one for himself.
Billy inhaled the smoke and then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke rise above the edge of the trench. ‘I hate ’em an’ all. We used to have them on the farm, around the pigpens mainly, but never as big as this. These French rats are nearly as big as dogs.’ Billy turned on his side and examined his canteen. It had taken a battering as he flung himself into the trench.
‘Well, that looks knackered to me. We’ll pick one up somewhere en route, or Sarge will issue you with one.’ Will threw his cigarette stub into the filthy mud. ‘Give us ten minutes and then we’ll make our way over the top, back to our own trench. I’m a bit like your canteen – knackered. It’s hard keeping alive with them bastards always taking a pop at you.’ Will shut his eyes and pulled his cap down.
As he catnapped in the wet and filthy trench, Billy sat watching him. Will had found out everything there was to find out about him, even down to the name of his pet dog. But Billy knew nothing about Will, apart from the fact that if he hadn’t had him as a guardian angel, he’d have been killed fifty times over. The rough Yorkshireman was a crack shot and a good comrade, but he kept himself to himself, never talked about his family or home. Billy closed his eyes; he couldn’t sleep, but he might as well rest while he could. The non-stop pounding of the big guns and the cracking of rifle fire meant someone else was probably meeting their death right this minute. How he wished he’d not joined up. He’d seen things this last fortnight that a man his age should never see. His mind raced with faces that he’d never see again and the cries of dying men. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder.
‘Some guard you are!’ Will was shaking him awake. ‘Come on, get ready – we’ll make a run for it. All’s a bit quieter at the moment.’ He adjusted his tin helmet and stood ready with his rifle. ‘You make the run first and then I’ll follow. I’ll cover you, but be bloody quick – no dawdling like an old fellow.’ Will raised his head over the trench. ‘Go on, then – there’s nothing about. It must be Jerry’s tea time.’
Billy’s heart was pounding; he hated these desperate scrambles between trenches where you felt like one of those ducks in the shooting gallery at the fair. He climbed the wooden ladder up the side of the trench, his boots slipping on the mud-covered rungs and his hands shaking as he hauled himself to the top.
‘Go on, fuck off then, else Jerry’s going to blow you to bits,’ Will urged.
He gave Will a quick glance and then scrambled the few yards to his battalion’s trench, heart pounding, running half bent to dodge any bullets aimed for him. Overcome with relief, he threw himself into the relative safety of his unit. He’d just picked himself up and was about to peer over the trench wall when a shot rang out. So distinct and clear, it was a shot that would be with Billy for the rest of his life. As he stuck his head above the wall, Billy saw Will sink to the ground, a bullet hole straight through his head, blood streaming down his face. His eyes were wide open, staring at Billy as he fell with arms outstretched, trying to reach for the safety of the trench. He was dead; Billy’s guardian was dead. The young man slid down the side of the trench, curled up in a ball and sobbed, every bone in his body aching and shaking. Why couldn’t it have been him? Why Will? He’d always been able to hold his own, he didn’t fear anything, and now he’d left him on his own.
Will’s body lay on the sodden, mud-covered ground of no-man’s-land until nightfall; then he was retrieved along with the other fallen, his details noted and his corpse buried in a mass grave. No ceremony, just another statistic, another life claimed by the endless pounding of the guns of war.
21
Alice sat at the kitchen table, Gerald’s letter in her hands. She’d just finished reading it aloud to Nancy and was trying to head off the inevitable flood of tears by playing up the few positive points: ‘At least he’s well, Nancy, and he sends us all his love. It doesn’t sound too bad: he’s got food and drink and—’
‘He’s going to die! They are all going to die! He’ll never come back. I’ll never see him again. He’ll be buried out there in one of those filthy trenches stabbed by a Hun carrying a bayonet just like Will will be and all because of me.’ Hair uncombed and still in her nightgown even though it was mid-morning, she began rocking herself backwards and forwards in her chair. ‘Everyone who loves me dies! I’m cursed!’ she wailed, tugging at her hair.
‘Nonsense! Lots of people have bad times in their lives, and right now there are thousands of young men out on the front lines. The one I can’t forgive is my brother – trust him to take care of himself, leaving us like this with his baby due any minute.’ Alice put another log on the fire. It was a cold, frosty day and the autumn leaves were falling from the trees. ‘Go and get some clothes on – you can’t sit around like that all day. We can’t have the local gossips thinking that you are going around half dressed.’
Alice was at her wits’ end. Ever since Will had absconded to join the army, Nancy had been impossible. If it hadn’t been for Jack occasionally popping in on his way up the dale to see his dad, she was sure she would have gone mad. It was Jack who’d brought the mare back after a traveller who’d been staying at the Royal Shepherd in Kendal delivered Will’s message saying that he’d stabled the horse at the inn and asking Jack to come and collect it. He was the one who listened as she poured out her worries and cursed her brother for leaving them and going to fight in a war that had nothing to do with them. The rest of the time she kept her worries to herself, knowing there was nothing she could do and that sitting around moping would get them nowhere.
‘Come on, let’s get you up those stairs so I can brush your hair and make you look respectable.’ She pulled at Nancy’s arm to ease her up out of the chair.
‘Alice, I don’t feel well today. I keep getting a pain in my stomach. I’ve been feeling it for a while. I didn’t want to say anything when you were reading the letter, but now I think I better had . . .’ She looked down at her wet nightdress and the puddle of fluid that had appeared on the floor underneath her chair. Then she screamed, not knowing where it had come from.
‘Shh, shh, keep calm, your baby’s on its way. Now, let’s get you up those stairs and in bed while we can.’ Though her voice remained calm, Alice was filled with panic as she ushered her screaming sister-in-law up the stairs. She needed the doctor, or at least old Mrs Batty, but the thought of her entering the house made her skin crawl. ‘We’ll get you into bed and then I’ll have to run and ask someone to go and get the doctor.’
‘Don’t leave me, Alice, please don’t leave me – the baby’s coming,’ she cried, grabbing Alice by the neck.
‘Stop it, Nancy – it takes hours for babies to be born. My mother was on three days when she had Will, I remember her telling me. It’ll not come yet, don’t worry. Now that I’ve got you settled, I’ll go and put some hot water on – we’ll need it to wash the baby.’ She paused until Nancy, gripped by another spasm of pain, had finished screaming. ‘I’ll not be long. Stop in the bed until I come back up and you’ll be all right.’
She rushed downstairs, grabbing her shawl from behind the kitchen door, and ran as if the devil himself was after her across the fields to the neighbouring farm of Cow Dubb. Banging on the door and fighting for breath, she pleaded with young Ben Harper to go get the doctor from Dent and to be quick about it. As she raced back across the fields to Stone House, Alice looked over her shoulder and saw Ben galloping round the first bend in the road, his jacket flapping
around him. By the time she reached the lane end she could hear Nancy’s screams. It was all she could do to keep going. The muscles in her legs were burning as if they were on fire, her heart was pounding, and her lungs were struggling to take in air.
Somehow she found the breath to yell up the stairs between pants: ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, Nancy. I’m just putting some water on.’ Hurriedly filling the kettle and putting it on to boil, she hauled herself upstairs to Nancy, who was screaming so loud Alice thought her eardrums would burst.
‘The baby’s coming, the baby’s coming,’ Nancy panted, perspiration running off her brow.
There was nothing else for it: Alice was going to have to deliver it as best she could.
She grabbed some towels from the bathroom and arranged them under Nancy. ‘Breathe, Nancy, breathe. Try not to scream . . . I think I can see it coming . . . That’s right. I think I can see the head . . . Push, Nancy, push . . . One more big one . . . Go on, you can do it.’
With an almighty scream from Nancy, the baby was born, its red face all screwed up and angry-looking. Alice wrapped the little mite in one of the towels, hoping that her attempt at cutting the umbilical cord would be acceptable to Dr Bailey, who was hopefully on his way. Exhausted and soaked with perspiration, Nancy lay back, grateful that the ordeal was over. Alice wiped the newborn’s face and handed the swaddled bundle to its mother.
‘You have a little girl, Nancy, and she’s beautiful – just look at her!’
The new arrival’s eyes were closed tight, as if she had no desire to see the world she’d been thrust into.
‘She’s beautiful, and she’s all mine.’ Nancy gazed down at her daughter with tears in her eyes. ‘I wish her father was here to see her. Will he ever be able to see her, Alice?’ A tear dropped onto the new baby’s head, christening her with love.
‘I don’t know, Nancy. I really don’t know. But she will always have us two, and we are all she needs.’
‘I’ll call her Alice – after all, you’ve brought her into the world. Alice Rose. Rose was my mother’s name.’ Nancy bent and kissed Baby Alice on the head. ‘Hello, Alice Rose. I’m your mother and this is Aunty Alice.’ She smiled at Alice and yawned.
‘I’ll go and get the cot; then we can wrap Baby Alice up and put her in it. The doctor’s on his way – no doubt he’ll want to check you over on his arrival.’ Alice dragged the heavily draped cot next to the bed and gently placed the sleeping baby inside. ‘Now then, let’s tidy you up a bit, and then you can have a little sleep. You’ll need all your strength with a new baby to feed.’
She helped Nancy into a clean nightdress and changed the bloodstained sheets, then lit the oil lamp in the window before leaving the new mother and baby. As soon as she got to the kitchen she threw the soiled sheets on the floor while she poured boiling water into the dolly tub, adding a good handful of soda crystals. Then she put the sheets in to soak. Once that was done, she sank into the kitchen chair. What a day! Screams, tantrums and now a new baby. Wherever Will was, she hoped he was paying for the sin of walking out on them.
The knock on the door gave her a start. She must have dozed off in the warmth of the kitchen. Alice stirred herself, checking in the mirror to make sure that she looked presentable before opening the door to Dr Bailey. The colour drained from her face when she saw it was not the doctor but the delivery boy from Dent post office. In his hand was a black-edged envelope.
‘Beg your pardon, missus. Message for Miss Bentham.’ The boy looked down at his shoes, his face red. Then he turned and mounted his bike in a bid to get away as fast as possible. This one wasn’t the first he’d delivered and he didn’t want to be around when the contents were read.
Alice was shaking as she opened it. She read the message once and then she read the message again.
It is my painful duty to inform you that Private William James Bentham, No. 289645 of the Northumberland Fusiliers, was killed in action on 4 October 1914.
By His Majesty’s command I am to forward the enclosed message of sympathy from Their Gracious Majesties the King and Queen . . .
Not Will. It couldn’t be Will. He’d have kept his head down. He thought too much of life to get killed! Then Alice thought of the new life asleep in the cot upstairs, oblivious to the cruel world she had just been born into. Poor little thing, she’d never know her father.
Alice sank into the chair, trembling as she read the lines over and over again. There’d been a mistake. Surely there had been a mistake? Will had not long gone. Surely they meant Gerald? Why had it been addressed to her? Nancy was his wife and next of kin. Alice lay her head on her folded arms, the message crumpled in her hand, tears rolling down her face and her small frame heaving with sobs, oblivious to the fact that she’d left the kitchen door open. She felt a hand on her shoulder and lifted her tear-stained face up to see the doctor standing by her side.
‘Alice, are you all right? I met the telegram boy on the road up here.’ Dr Bailey spoke kindly to her in a soft voice. ‘Is it Gerald . . . ?’
Alice rubbed her red eyes and blew her nose. ‘It’s Will, Dr Bailey. He’s been killed in action.’
‘My dear, I didn’t even know he’d gone to war! My condolences. I always seem to be bringing bad news to your door. Now, I must see Nancy, but I will talk to you once the baby’s been delivered.’ Dr Bailey was already on his way to the stairs, upset to think one of the local lads had become a war casualty.
‘The baby was born about half an hour ago. Both mother and baby are doing fine. Nancy’s exhausted – you’ll need to take a look at her – and the baby’s tiny, but she’s all in one piece. I delivered her.’
‘Does Nancy know about Will?’
Alice shook her head. How could she tell her on the day their baby had been born?
‘It would seem you have had your fair share of worry today, my dear.’ He patted Alice on the shoulder. ‘Put the kettle on and we will have a talk once I’ve examined mother and baby. I’m a good listener!’ He smiled and picked his black bag up, taking his time as he climbed the stairs. He was beginning to feel his age and the cold northern climate was not kind to his rheumatics.
By the time he came down, Alice had stoked the fire and made a fresh pot of tea.
‘Mother and baby are fine, Alice. You did a good job. Now, what are we to do with you? Are you all right, my dear? Life does seem to be throwing everything at you.’ He pulled a chair up to the table and stirred a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk into his tea while studying Alice’s face. ‘Will you be able to manage tonight with all this responsibility? The death of your brother is bound to take its toll, and on top of that there’s the baby – I doubt Nancy will be able to cope with her. I’d keep the death of your brother to yourself as long as you possibly can. It’s liable to send Nancy over the edge, and we want the baby to have the best start in life now, don’t we? After all, she may well be the next heir to all the Frankland estates. God willing, Gerald will come back in one piece, but if he doesn’t, that little girl will be worth a fortune. Of course, I shouldn’t be commenting on this, but it would be in your interest to look after the baby, keep her safe, and one day you’ll get your reward.’
Alice was taken aback. She’d known Dr Bailey was the Franklands’ family doctor, but she didn’t realize he knew so much about the family’s affairs.
‘I’ll take care of her as if she was my own. And I’ll break the news to Nancy when I think she can handle it.’ Alice offered him another cup of tea.
‘Good girl, I knew I could count on you. Now, I’ve given Nancy a sleeping draught for tonight. Have you everything you need to feed the baby by bottle? Ben Harper’s cows give good creamy milk; it’ll not hurt her to be on that for a day or so. It’ll take a bit of pressure off Nancy – that is, if you think you can cope with giving the baby her night-time feeds? You don’t want Nancy up and about, wandering on her own in the early hours.’
Alice nodded. She’d rather be in charge of the baby; at least that way sh
e’d know that it was getting fed.
The doctor rose and put his hat on. ‘Take care, Alice. I’m so sorry for your loss. I have a feeling there will be many more to follow, leaving behind a lot of broken hearts. I’m getting too old – I know what this world is capable of.’
Alice watched the aged doctor mount his horse with some difficulty. As he trotted off down the lane, her eyes filled with tears. She needed peace to mourn her brother. She longed to go up and talk to her Maker on the wild fell, but instead of the balm of fresh mountain winds on her tear-stained cheeks she would have to make do with the snug warmth of the kitchen.
22
Alice held the letter from the solicitors in Kendal in her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. What a state of affairs! She couldn’t believe how men ruled the world when it came to money. She’d had a much better business brain than her late brother, yet here she was, left with nothing. Worse still, Nancy was penniless too. On Will’s death, Nancy’s inheritance had reverted to Gerald, leaving them with nothing to live on except the vegetables in the garden. What were they going to do now?
She stared out of the kitchen window, trying to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan as to what to do next, but it was impossible to think with Baby Alice screaming the house down. It seemed to Alice that her namesake had started crying the moment she was born and hadn’t stopped since. Perhaps the baby could pick up on the tension that was building in the cottage. Alice clenched her hand in anger, screwing the letter into a tight ball. Shut up, just shut up for one hour, just sleep!