‘You won’t have heard – ’ Bertha smiled, but the anxiety did not quite leave her eyes – ‘but war’s been declared today. Germany marched into Belgium, and so we’re at war.’
‘How d’you know?’
Bertha lifted her plump shoulders. ‘Oh, the papers get news through very fast these days, don’t they? Telegraph or summat, but the city’s buzzing with the news and our Leo—’
The stab of fear made Polly tremble and the baby in her arms began to whimper.
‘There, there,’ she said absently, but her mind was on Leo. When she should have been concentrating on her newborn son and her husband still waiting impatiently outside the door to see them both, Polly was thinking about her lost love, the man she told herself every day she hated.
‘What about him?’ she whispered.
Bertha came to the end of the bed and said in a low voice. ‘He’s talking about enlisting. Joining up. The whole city’s in a fervour of patriotism.’ Her face was bleak. ‘Oh, Polly, I don’t want my lad going.’
‘But surely, he’s needed here. He’s a policeman,’ Polly said unnecessarily. As if any of them were likely to forget it.
‘They’re calling for volunteers. It seems they’ll take anyone who wants to go.’
Polly felt a fresh shaft of dread. ‘Anyone?’
Bertha nodded miserably. There was silence between the two women as they stared at each other. And they both knew, in that shared moment, that their terror was for one man and only one man.
Leo.
Fifty-Two
‘He’s wonderful, Polly. You’re so clever.’
‘Well, you had a bit to do with it, Roland dear.’ Polly was striving to be extra nice to her husband, though in his joy and pride at the birth of their son she doubted he would have noticed her quiet mood. And if he had, the kindly man would undoubtedly put it down to her preoccupation with the tiny baby. They were both trying not to let the shadow of war spoil what should have been the happiest day of their married life.
But there was no cause for concern over Jacob, who fed greedily and yelled lustily. And it wasn’t as if Polly hadn’t had the caring of tiny babies before; with both Miriam and more recently with Michael, she was an old hand and suffered none of the uncertainties and nervousness of many a first-time mother.
That she couldn’t glory in her baby son was her own fault; she couldn’t forget that any day now Leo might be marching off to war.
As the days passed, her fears lessened a little. There was no word from Mrs Halliday and she called in every so often to check on mother and baby. The subject wasn’t mentioned between them again and yet both women knew it was uppermost in both their minds each time they met.
The papers were already full of war news. Polly tried to close her mind to it, but it kept intruding into her life.
‘Polly, Polly – ’ Her sister came charging in through Polly’s back door, dragging Michael with her.
‘Vi – whatever’s the matter?’
Not more trouble, she thought. Vi and Micky seemed settled at Albie’s. Their trial month had passed long ago and both sides had declared themselves happy with the arrangement. Indeed, Selina had taken a liking to Violet and even more of a one to the little boy. She happily offered to look after Michael whilst Violet went out to work.
‘Polly’s got plenty on now with her little one,’ Selina told Violet. ‘Until she’s better from her confinement, at least, let me look after him. If she wants him back then, well . . .’ But there was no doubting the reluctance in her tone and Violet had smiled as she’d related the incident to her sister.
Albie, too, it seemed had been as good as his word. He’d given Micky the promised second chance and was taking an interest in the young man’s work on the market, even offering him work on his own stall. ‘I could do with someone I can trust to look after me stall when I goes buying,’ he’d said, eyeing Micky severely. ‘Now, lad, a’ you that person?’
Micky, unusually solemn, had nodded. ‘I am, Mr Thorpe. I know I was wild a few years back, but I’m a married man now.’ He’d puffed out his chest. ‘I’ve got responsibilities. Besides,’ he’d grinned, suddenly more like the cheeky young feller of old. ‘What’s it they say about “doing you-know-what on your own doorstep”?’
Albie had roared with laughter. ‘Now, none of that language here, m’lad. But I’ll give it a go. My missus has taken to that little wife of yours and the bairn.’ His eyes had clouded briefly. ‘I wasn’t sure about you moving in with us, I have to be honest, but it seems to be working out nicely all round.’
So Polly was a little irritable when Violet burst into her home as she was peacefully feeding Jacob. ‘What on earth are you getting in such a flap about, Vi?’
‘It’s Eddie. He’s come home. I mean – on a visit. He’s come to say goodbye.’ Violet flung herself to her knees and buried her face in Polly’s lap, dislodging the baby from suckling at his mother’s breast. Jacob at once set up a plaintive wail but Violet was oblivious as she cried, ‘Oh, Poll, he’s going to war.’
Polly felt the blood drain from her face as she put her arm around Violet and the two sisters hugged, each one supporting the other. At last they drew back.
‘You’ve got to come, Poll. Dad’s in tears, begging and pleading with him not to go. I’ve never seen me dad in such a state. It’s not as if he’s even talked that much about our Eddie lately.’
‘I think it was a relief when our dear brother went away, Vi,’ Polly said grimly. ‘I know it was for me. Eddie was in with a bad crowd and goodness knows where he might have ended up if he hadn’t joined the army. In prison, more than likely. I thought going into the army was the best thing he ever did. But now I’m not so sure.’ She paused and the two sisters looked at each other again, dread in their eyes. ‘I’ll come straight away.’
Polly hardly recognized her brother. He’d grown taller and filled out, his shoulders and chest broad, narrowing to his waist, and then strong, sturdy thighs. And he looked so smart in his uniform. He’d aged in his face too, as if he’d seen the world – or a good part of it – and a slice of life that was totally different from the one he’d known. But his grin was as cheeky as ever and his eyes, still as full of mischief and daring, twinkled at her. He held out his arms. ‘Polly – I do believe you’ve grown an’ all. I hardly recognized our Vi and her a married woman. And you too, so I hear? But to Roland Spicer of all people. What happened to everybody’s favourite copper, then? I really thought you’d make it up with him after all the dust had settled.’
There was an awkward silence before Polly, avoiding his questioning gaze, said shortly, ‘It didn’t work out.’
Eddie shrugged and let the matter drop – for the moment. But he intended to find out what had gone wrong. He wanted to know everything that had happened to his family whilst he’d been away.
‘Tell him, Poll,’ William spoke up from his chair by the fire, the chair where he spent most of his days now.
Polly glanced at her father, not quite sure what it was she was supposed to say to her brother.
‘Tell him he’s not to go.’
Eddie sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to explain it to him, Poll, but he’s not listening. I’m a soldier now. I can’t get out of the army even if I wanted to, specially not now. And, besides, I don’t want to. It’s a good life.’
She gazed at him, drinking in the sight of this stranger standing tall and proud in front of her – she knew that army life had been the making of him. She’d been right after all; it had been the best thing he’d ever done. And yet . . .
Polly took a deep breath. ‘Is it true you’ve – you’ve got to go to war? Abroad? Maybe – maybe to the Front?’
There was a sudden fire in his eyes and a straightening of his shoulders as if he relished the idea, couldn’t wait to go. ‘I’m with the First Battalion of the Lincolnshire Regiment. We’ve been stationed in Portsmouth and we’re one of the first battalions to go.’
William groaned and Eddie p
ut his hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘There’s no need to worry, Dad. It’ll be over by Christmas. That’s what they all say.’
Of course it wasn’t over by Christmas; indeed the fighting was getting worse.
The Longden family had had to come to terms with Eddie’s commitment and they’d done their best to make his brief leave happy and memorable. On the day he left they’d all shed tears; even Stevie, who considered himself a grown-up at fourteen, had tried to hold back the tears but had failed. Only Eddie was genuinely cheerful.
There was one brief moment that caught at Polly’s heart as he hugged her and whispered in her ear, ‘Look after ’em, Poll. But then, I don’t really need to ask, do I? ’Cos I know you always will.’ He’d drawn back and held her at arm’s length looking down into her eyes, for a brief moment deadly serious and seeing far more in the depths of her eyes than she intended him to see. Whilst he’d been home, he’d learned all about what had torn the two young lovers apart. Now his voice dropped even lower so that she almost missed the words. ‘Even if it means sacrificing your own happiness, you’ll look after them, though I’m not sure they deserve it.’ Her brother knew her too well – even though he hadn’t been around much over the last few years. He cleared his throat and added, ‘Try to be happy, Poll, as happy as you can be. Roland’s a good chap.’
She’d nodded, unable to speak for the tears filling her throat. And the unspoken words lay between them.
But he’s not Leo.
As before, they heard nothing from Eddie for weeks on end. And now they worried more than ever before. But they were not the only ones. All over the city men and boys as young as sixteen were enlisting, urged on by the patriotic fervour sweeping through the streets into pubs, homes and places of work.
Polly kept herself busy, trying to keep her mind off thoughts of Eddie – and Leo. But she’d heard no more from Bertha Halliday.
Caring for her husband and child, and seeing that her father, Stevie and Miriam were all right too, left Polly little time. And at night she was far too exhausted to lie awake for long. But it was in the early hours of the morning that the fear struck and woke her from her sleep. Then she would lie staring into the darkness until a pale dawn, or her baby’s cries, reminded her that it was time to rise and begin another day.
If only, she mourned, things had been different. If her mother hadn’t died, if she’d been able to follow her dream and become a teacher. And, most of all, if she’d become Leo’s wife. How very different her life might have been.
Fifty-Three
‘Come and sit down to your tea, Roland dear. It’s all ready. Hard day?’ Polly bustled about the kitchen, setting his evening meal before him. Jacob was soundly asleep in his cot upstairs. Seven months old now, he’d been sleeping through the night for a while and was growing into a strong, sturdy infant. Already he could sit up on his own.
Roland sat down heavily and silently placed a tiny white feather on the table.
‘Get that mucky thing off the tea table—’ she began and then was suddenly still, staring terror-struck at the offending feather. The gravy boat she was holding slipped from her grasp and smashed to the floor, splashing the hot liquid on her legs and spilling over the new peg rug she had only just finished making. But neither she nor Roland seemed to notice; she wasn’t even aware of the scalding pain. They were both staring, transfixed, at the white feather.
‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘Not that. Not that.’ She dragged her gaze away and looked at Roland, sitting with his shoulders hunched, his face pale and frightened.
‘Who? Not them bitches at work? Surely not? Ida? Was it Ida?’ She knew it wouldn’t have been Nelly. Nelly was her friend and it had been she who’d told Polly of the white feathers being handed out at the factory to men who were fit enough and the right age to enlist.
Slowly, Roland shook his head and said hoarsely, ‘No, it wasn’t any of them. Surprisingly, because I expect I’m not popular with all of ’em. No.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It was a woman in the street. There’s a band of them, marching up and down the High Street and handing out these – these badges of cowardice.’
‘Roland, no!’ She dropped to her knees beside him. For the first time her concern was wholly and totally for him. ‘You’re not a coward. Take no notice. You’re not to allow them to – to shame you into volunteering. Besides,’ she went on with a surge of fresh hope, ‘you’re too old, aren’t you?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘No, love. I’m not. I’m thirty-four and that’s not too old to – to become cannon fodder.’
‘Roland, don’t.’
At his words, her fears were back. All of them and now with an added worry: Roland too, might enlist.
He continued at his work for another two weeks, two weeks in which he became a changed man. He was quiet and withdrawn, locked in a world of his own private terrors where even Polly couldn’t reach him. At last she could stand the anxiety no longer and she sought out the one woman she knew would understand. Carrying Jacob in her arms, she knocked with trembling fingers, fearing that it might be Leo who came to the door.
She breathed a sigh of relief when it opened and Bertha stood there. Surprise flitted across the woman’s face, but she held the door wider, silently inviting Polly into her home once more.
‘Is – is Leo here?’
‘No, love. Did you want to see him?’
Polly’s head dipped. Of course she wanted to see him; she always wanted to see him. To drink in the sight of him and hold him close in her heart. But she couldn’t say the words. She must never again say those words. Instead she blurted out, ‘Has he – has he enlisted?’
The lines in Bertha’s face sagged. ‘Not yet.’
Polly searched her face. ‘But he’s going to, isn’t he?’
‘So he reckons.’
‘I – I think Roland’s going too. He was given a white feather in the street two weeks ago and he’s been so quiet and withdrawn since. Oh, Mrs Halliday . . .’ Suddenly, tears overwhelmed her.
Bertha put her arms around her and drew her against her ample, comforting bosom. Sensing his mother’s distress, Jacob began to whimper. ‘There, there, Poll. Give the bairn to me. You’re such a brave lass. Don’t give way now. We’ve got to be strong. All of us.’
But Polly couldn’t stem the flow of her misery. All the years of hurt welled up. She’d had to keep her family going after the death of her mother, through the humiliation of her father’s imprisonment and then, worst of all, she’d been forced to turn her back on the man she loved, the only man she would ever love. She was very fond of Roland – fond enough never to hurt him. But he wasn’t Leo. And no one, however good and kind and upstanding, could ever replace the love of her life.
‘Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’ It was Bertha’s answer to all troubles, whatever they were. She settled the child on Polly’s knee and whilst Bertha busied herself, Polly mopped her face on her apron. By the time Bertha set the hot, sweet tea in front of her, Polly had stopped weeping.
‘Now, love,’ Bertha said firmly, ‘it’s high time you an’ me put our differences behind us. We’re facing far more serious worries than we’ve ever had in the past. Oh aye,’ she added swiftly, before Polly could say anything, ‘I know yar dad going to prison was bad enough, but this – ’ Bertha sighed and shook her head – ‘is summat else.’
Polly didn’t answer immediately, but she knew the woman was right. William had brought all his troubles on himself. She could see that now.
The older woman’s voice was laden with anxiety and a sorrow that, although it was yet to come, she knew was inevitable. ‘We’re going to lose a lot of men from our city. Fathers, husbands and – and sons. It’s started already. You’ve seen the casualty lists, haven’t you?’
Polly nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
‘We’ve got to face it, lass,’ Bertha went on. ‘They’re going to go whether we like it or not and there’s nowt we can do to stop them. Not mothers, wives nor – n
or sweethearts.’ Then disbelief crept into her tone. ‘Why, they’re even making out that any woman who doesn’t encourage her man to go is being unpatriotic. Well, Polly, if it’s being unpatriotic not to want my lad to get killed – ’ now there was vigour surging back into Bertha’s voice – ‘then I am.’ She thrust her head forward across the table, as if defying Polly to argue with her. ‘And I’ll stand up in front of anyone and say me piece if I have to. There’s nobody more loyal to King and Country than me and mine, but I can’t see the sense in going to fight someone else’s war. Can you?’
Polly smiled wanly as she felt the courage seeping back into her tortured mind. ‘No, Mrs Halliday, I can’t. But then, I don’t understand rightly how it’s all come about. Roland tried to explain it to me, but I can’t understand why some foreign Archduke getting killed makes half the world go to war.’
‘It’s all to do with alliances,’ Bertha scoffed. ‘Alliances, indeed. They’re not worth the paper they’re written on.’
‘But why are we in the war? That’s what I don’t understand.’
‘Me neither, lass, but like I say, it’s all to do with promises we’ve made to other folks – other countries. Why we can’t keep ourselves to ourselves and mind our own business, I don’t know.’
Bertha fell silent, realizing she was treading on dangerous ground. If she said more, it might sound as if she was harking back to the riot and all the trouble that had caused. But Polly’s mind was too filled with her present worries to notice.
Heavily she said, ‘Then there’s nothing we can do?’
‘I’m sorry, lass, but I don’t think there is.’
And there wasn’t. Ironically, Roland and Leo enlisted in the Lincolnshire Regiment on the same day in April.
‘I’ve done it, Polly.’ Roland said when he returned home and sat down heavily in his armchair near the range. ‘I’ve joined up.’ His tone was flat, completely devoid of any of the excitement that had been in Eddie’s demeanour. Her brother hadn’t been able to hide his enthusiasm for the cause and his keenness to ‘get up and at ’em’. He’d been excited at the prospect, but Roland had been forced into it because he didn’t want to be branded a coward or thought unpatriotic.
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