The Love of a Lifetime

by Mary Fitzgerald

  Later, that evening I went to the canteen and drank rum until the distasteful thoughts dissolved and when I lay on my bunk that night, I didn’t think of Mother and Major Cleeton but of the tribesmen and the fat babies sitting in the dust.

  After that incident, I threw myself into my work again. It had grown quieter though and very few skirmishes with the rebels occurred so that I didn’t have much to take my mind off my thoughts of home. A new intake of men came out from England in the spring of the following year. A rough lot who had joined up because unemployment was high and had no real desire for soldiering but were prepared to do anything for three square meals a day. One man turned out to have been born in our town and we knew many of the same people. I asked for news of home, but he had none of my immediate family as he knew them only by name, but did tell me about Albert Baker, Marian’s husband. He’d been made Mayor and was now an important person.

  I wondered if Marian would like her new position as Lady Mayoress and all the socialising that went with it. On the whole, I thought that she probably wouldn’t, our Marian didn’t suffer fools gladly and I would expect that plenty of fools were in and about the Council. Mother would be proud of her though.

  It was after hearing about Albert Baker that I decided to take my home leave. I had been out in India for seven years now and was entitled to several months back home. The Colonel was keen that I should take it when I put in my request. “You have to get away at regular intervals, Wilde,” he said, “otherwise you go a bit mad.”

  Had I gone a bit mad? I didn’t know. The years away from home had certainly changed me, but I would have changed anyway, by growing up. But a bit mad? Well, I would have to find out.

  “My wife and I are going home too,” he said. “She is yearning for our boys and for a few months in our house in Ireland.”

  I guessed that they might have a home in Ireland for I met Mrs Barnes at an evening of theatricals to which both officers and men attended. The Colonel introduced me to her as ‘the young sergeant who handled the Waziris so well, the other month,’ and I couldn’t help but blush.

  “Ah, don’t you be so modest, Sergeant,” she said and the lilt of the accent and the toss of her black curls, put me so much in mind of Elizabeth, that my breath caught in my throat and I took a moment to speak.

  “I did nothing, ma’am,” I stuttered, “just looked at a few ears of corn.”

  She wagged her finger at me in a humorous gesture, “but it’s the way you looked at them, that mattered, Mr Wilde. That’s what told the story.”

  I may have grown up, but my social graces were still poorly honed and I could do nothing but shuffle my feet and mutter, “yes, ma’am.”

  “Stop teasing, Caroline,” the Colonel laughed and nodded pleasantly to me before they moved on to the next group.

  “She was a real beauty, when she was young and first came out here,” said an old sergeant who was standing beside me. “I remember her well.”

  I was sure that she had been, for she was still handsome and had a cheerful and gracious nature. Would Elizabeth grow older like that, I wondered and for the first time in many years, the old longing for her came rushing back.

  So with that feeling and the recent business of Major Cleeton, my need to be home was becoming overpowering.

  “I’ll sign the chitty now, Wilde,” the Colonel said. “You can entrain in a couple of days and will be in Bombay by next week. There’s a P&O ship going out. Mrs Barnes and I will be on it too.”

  Needless to say, I saw little of them on the journey, for we were separated by rank, but the day before we docked at Southampton I was on deck watching the coastline loom out of the mist, a solitary figure in a heavy downpour, when a gloved hand gently touched my arm.

  “Will there be someone to meet you, Sergeant?” Mrs Barnes asked. She was holding an umbrella over her grey cloche hat, from which wisps of hair had escaped and had curled into tiny damp ringlets. It was a sight I recognised and added to my longing.

  I shook my head. “They don’t know I’m arriving. Anyway, home’s a long way away and they’ll be busy on the farm.”

  “Ah, sure,” she said and leant over the rail to look at a single gull bobbing on the tossing waves.

  “And you, ma’am?”

  “My boys.” She looked up with a sweet smile. “The boys will be there to meet us. All so grown up now.”

  We were quiet for a moment, thinking, I suppose of those we loved, when she said, “Do you have a sweetheart at home?”

  I shook my head. “Not now. I did once.”

  “You will again,” she smiled and nodded goodbye as she strolled on.

  It was afternoon when the train pulled into the local station and I stepped down onto the familiar platform. “You can get a taxi over there, mate,” a porter said indicating the one old cab that I remembered from eight years ago.

  “I’ll walk,” I replied, hoisting my kit bag onto my shoulder and climbing over the wooden fence behind the waiting room. I looked back once and he was still standing on the platform, watching me. It wouldn’t take long before the news of a stranger, a soldier, had percolated through the village. How many would guess who it was?

  The fields, green with spring growth, were squelchy beneath my boots. Must have had a bit of rain, I thought, but it’ll make good grazing later on. I grinned. How strange that I should have dropped back so quickly into farming thoughts after years away. When soldiering, the state of the terrain was only of interest for getting safely across.

  I paused at the fence where I’d said goodbye, suddenly scared and ready to turn round and head back to the station. What sort of reception I would get, I couldn’t imagine. Would they want to know me after all these years? Perhaps not. Perhaps they’d forgotten I existed except for the odd occasion when someone mentioned my name. The confusion and fear grew and I stood holding the rough wood of the fence, unable to make the final step over.

  “Hello!” A voice called from across the yard. “Hello! Can I help you?”

  I looked towards the sound and there she was, climbing over the gate and walking towards me, an old jacket over her dress and a wool hat holding her hair away from her face. A dog trotted beside her and then, at her swift order dashed forward until it was standing in front of me. It was a big dog, a wolfhound, not the sort we usually kept on the farm, but it was well trained and didn’t touch me, merely waited for her.

  She reached me. “Can I help you?” she started again and then, suddenly, her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened. For a moment, the colour drained from her face, but rushed back as she lifted her arms towards me. “Richard?” she gasped, “Richard, is it really you?”

  “Hello, Elizabeth,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  It was a moment I had hoped and feared for, during the last eight years. Sometimes I had seen myself walking up to the house, the door being flung open and the family standing in a group, welcoming me in as a prodigal son. On other, and more frequent occasions, my imaginings had taken a darker scenario where my return was greeted with distain, if not downright anger. I couldn’t blame them because I had, after all, left home in a childish rage and barely contacted them since. So this smiling welcome was better than I could have wished, even in my dreams.

  “Oh, Richard, my dear,” Elizabeth crooned and leaning over the fence, took me in her arms in an embrace that was both motherly and sisterly, but to mind, perhaps more. I chose to think that, right from the beginning.

  I held her close, revelling in the softness of her body beneath that old jacket and breathing in the faint smell of spring flowers that I remembered so well. Her hat fell off and I moved one of my hands up to her hair and stroked it. It was shorter than before, cut to the nape of her neck but still springy with life and energy.

  It was she who broke off the embrace first, leaning back from me but grasping my arms with both her hands and gazing into my face. “You look so, so grown up,” she said. “So manly, but still our Dick.”


  I stared back, smiling and loving her as much as ever. She had changed. The girlishness had gone and with it the innocence and fun that had helped to make her so attractive. Her face was angular and that perfect skin, still peaches and cream, was now finely drawn over her jaw line so that the youthful softness that I remembered was gone. Now she was a woman, a beautiful woman, but quite different from the girl I’d left behind.

  “Have I changed?” she said, frowning suddenly under my constant gaze.

  “No. Not at all, really. Just as beautiful as I remembered.” That last was true, she was as lovely as ever, but I lied when I said she hadn’t changed. The person who stood before me wasn’t my Elizabeth. It wasn’t the girl who had carelessly raced across the hillside, flirted with the boys at the local hop, and certainly not the one who had smacked our Billy in the face with a dead cockerel. But I smiled and gave her another hug. The old Elizabeth was in there, somewhere.

  “Come on,” she said, turning towards the house, “they’ll be so excited to see you.”

  Now I was nervous again, doubting my welcome. “Are you sure?” I said, “My leaving was so sudden. Maybe Mother and Billy would rather I’d stayed away.”

  “What?” She stopped and looked up at me. “Preferred that you stayed away? What can you be thinking of?” She grabbed hold of my arm again and gave it an irritated little shake. “Listen to me, Richard. Your mother has missed you every day and Billy, well, he talks about you constantly. Don’t be so soft.”

  Reproved, I hoisted my kit bag and climbed over the fence. We walked, arm in arm, like brother and sister, towards the yard and the dog trotted obediently beside her. I was going to ask her about it but then I saw a heavyset figure, carrying a bucket, coming out of the shippon and walking into the yard. It could have been my father and a little gasp of shock escaped my lips. But Elizabeth gave my hand an encouraging squeeze and I came to my senses. I knew who it was.

  He looked towards us and paused, putting his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, which was now low in the sky. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Billy!” I called, “Billy!” and running to the yard gate and vaulted over it in one easy leap. I raced up to my brother and wrapped him in my arms.

  “Oh, Dick,” he said, dropping the pail of feed, “you’ve come home,” and his face worked agonisingly into a grin and then a frown before he burst into sudden and noisy tears. I held him for what seemed an age, smelling the muck from the cows on his jacket and the straw from the barn in his hair. All those years of our childhood, when we had shared our life and growing up, were encompassed in that long fraternal hug.

  “You stayed away so long,” he sobbed.

  “I’m back now.”

  “Yes.” He stepped back and took a long shuddering breath while pulling out a large blue handkerchief, to wipe his eyes. “You silly bugger. You should have told us you were coming, we would have laid on a bit of a party,” he said, now resentful as he sniffed and blew his nose.

  “I don’t want a damn party,” I said, grinning, “A cup of tea would go down a treat, though.”

  He laughed too then and, grabbing hold of my shoulder dragged me across the yard towards the kitchen door. Elizabeth and her dog followed behind

  Mother was at the sink. She had her back to us and didn’t turn round as we came in but carried on draining the pan of potatoes that she was getting ready for the evening meal.

  “We’ve company for supper, Mother,” called Billy, the excitement bubbling out of his voice, “I hope you’ve made enough.”

  I think she knew. I think she’d guessed. Because when she turned round and looked at me, a smile was already spreading across her face and that smile was the one she had always reserved for me. No words were spoken. I walked across the room until I was standing before her.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said and now the tears began to gather in my eyes. All that resentment and the feelings of umbrage that I had nurtured for years, faded away, not lost forever as it turned out, but pushed aside by the overwhelming realisation of how much I had missed her.

  Slowly, she put down the saucepan and took up a cloth to wipe her hands. “Oh my son,” she said, “my Richard.” She put her hand up to my face to stroke my cheek just like she’d done when I was a boy. Our embrace drove away all the reservations that I might have imagined of my right to return. I was home.

  Supper was a jolly affair with much laughter and conversation. Thinking about it later, I realised that to begin with it was Billy and I who did most of the talking. Mother tut-tutted at my stories about the tribesmen and held her hand to her mouth in horror when I spoke about the heads in the sack. She compared my tales to those of Rudyard Kipling and I could tell, being a reader like she was, that she would be going to the bookshelves later on to pull out a volume to re-read.

  Elizabeth was almost silent. She served and cleared away, dishes of meat and potatoes followed by a treacle tart and home-made cream. Later she poured tea for us all, putting the requisite amount of sugar and milk in each person’s cup, without inquiry. She listened to my stories, I know, for I saw her eyes widen sometimes and a smile come to her lips when I recounted amusing tales of my fellow soldiers. But she seemed a shadow of the soft, funny girl that I remembered.

  Before we’d finished pudding, Marian and Albert arrived, alerted by Mother’s telephone call. They had grown sleek with wealth and position and Albert, particularly, was almost unrecognisable. He was portly, if that word could be used to describe a man who had only just reached his fortieth birthday. His fair wavy hair had all but gone, except for a greying half moon around the back of his head, leaving a bald pate, which grew damper and shinier as the evening progressed. I’d always liked him and he was still as cheerful and friendly as ever.

  Marian, on the other hand, had become sterner and older than her years. “Praise be to God,” she said giving me a dry kiss on the cheek, “you’ve returned safely from a heathen land.”

  I thought she was joking, and grinned, looking round the table for a supporting laugh, but Elizabeth gave a slight shake of her head and I realised that Marian was in deadly earnest.

  “I’ve prayed for you,” she said, “prayed to the Lord to watch over you.”

  “Well, it seems that He was listening,” said Albert jovially, “because Richard looks fit and has apparently had an exciting life.”

  Marian pursed her lips at that. Her relationship with the Lord was not to be taken lightly. Mother poured her another cup of tea and brought out a fruit cake.

  As the conversation ebbed and flowed between them, I settled back in my chair to watch and listen. It was almost like the old days. The family together after supper, arguing and laughing under the soft light of the big oil lamp. Oh yes, that oil lamp was still there despite the fact that electricity had been put in when I was away.

  “Best thing I ever did,” said Billy, “makes a hell of a difference in the milking parlour.”

  I grinned, raising my eyebrows in Elizabeth’s direction, commenting silently on Billy’s meanness, but apart from a brief smile back, she made no response.

  I turned to Mother instead. “I expect you like it, Mother. Much easier than filling up the oil lamps.”

  She nodded. “It is easier, Richard, and cleaner and look over there,” she pointed to the corner where a small blue-mottled electric stove stood between the dresser and her marble topped baking slab. “It makes lovely cakes.”

  “But this?” I pointed to the big overhead oil lamp. “You’ve kept it.”

  “It’s a kinder light,” she said and everyone nodded in agreement. Change had to come in small steps towards my family.

  So nothing had really changed, all was as ever and I relaxed in the comfort that feeling brought me. I sighed deeply and looked lazily around the big kitchen, noting the light gleaming off the copper pans and the shirts and underwear hanging on the pulley. Billy’s shirts, Mother or Elizabeth’s under slips and blouses, just like the old days. Then I drew in a breath as
it suddenly struck me. All those clothes belonged to adults. No children were in this house.

  I turned back to the family, formulating a stupid question and found Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on me with a look so despairing that the enquiry died in my mouth. I glanced up again at the washing then back at her and received a little shake of the head in reply. How was it that she knew what I was thinking? I never knew, but she always had that ability. Fortunately, this by-play was unseen by the rest of the family who chattered on, discussing my adventures, so recently relayed to them. As I turned back to them and joined in on the conversation, I thought about her quietness, and still girlish figure. All her affection seemed to be bestowed on the pet dog who was even now at her feet. Poor Elizabeth. Eight years married and as childless as Marian. No wonder she looked so sad.

  It was late when Marian and Albert left and Mother had cleared away the last of the supper things. Billy had already gone, yawning up to bed, promising me to have a ‘good old talk in the morning’ and to take us on a tour of the farm to see the new additions and renovations. Elizabeth had said ‘goodnight’ shortly after that and had gone up too, accompanied by her dog, whose name, I had now learned, was Tess.

  “Where shall I sleep, Mother?” I asked, lifting my kit bag and taking my uniform jacket from the back of my chair.

  “Why, in your old room, of course. I made up the bed, while Elizabeth was washing up the supper things and I’ve put a bottle in, to air it.” She smiled at me. “You should be comfortable in there.”

  “I know I will,” I said, “although I’m that tired, I could sleep on the washing line.”

  “Go on with you,” she laughed and gave me a goodnight kiss before I made my way into the hall and up the familiar staircase to find again the bedroom where I’d slept for nearly eighteen years.

  In the big room at the front, which had been Mother and Father’s, I could hear a rumbling snore. Billy, who always slept the moment his head hit the pillow, must be in there. This was something I hadn’t thought about, but of course, it was obvious. The married couple should have the double bed.