A Family's Duty

by Maggie Bennett

  ‘Yes, my dear, the war has started already, though it hasn’t made much difference to North Camp as yet,’ he said with a smile. ‘There’s no need for you to worry yourself about it, though – we don’t know how long it will take.’

  ‘But they’ve dug an air raid shelter, Granddad!’ she said eagerly. ‘It’s the other side of the green, in case we all have to go down in it to escape from the bombs!’

  ‘I don’t think that’s very likely, dear,’ he answered, straining his ears to hear what Grace and Rob were saying in the kitchen. Grace’s voice was raised, and Tom could guess only too well what they were talking about.

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it, Rob,’ Grace was saying, and Tom could hear the fear in his daughter’s voice. ‘They couldn’t call up Jack, he’s far too useful to us here, I mean he’ll run the business when he takes over from you, just as you took it over from Dad. Which is why we’ve never been able to move away from North Camp,’ she added in an undertone.

  ‘I doubt there’ll be so many jobs now that this war’s started,’ said her husband doubtfully. ‘And as for the call-up, they’re mobilising the reserves and territorials first, and your nephew Paul at Hassett Manor is likely to be called on first.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Hassett Manor, I dare say Isabel will make a great song and dance about him,’ she said bitterly. ‘The likes of Paul Storey and his university pal – they’ll be safely closeted in Oxford while the North Camp lads like our Jack get called up. It’s not fair!’

  Her voice had steadily risen, and Tom Munday got up from his chair, frowning.

  ‘You stay here, Doreen, and finish your dusting while I have a word with Mum and Dad.’ He closed the door behind him, and went into the kitchen.

  ‘Hush, keep your voices down,’ he told them. ‘You don’t want Doreen hearing that sort of talk. It’s too early to start worrying about the call-up. Just think about Ernest and Devora, losing her brother and sister-in-law to these Nazis, and poor Jonny and Ayesha being rushed out of Germany without parents or possessions, landing on their aunt and uncle without a penny to their name, and not even able to speak English. I hope you’ll find time to go over to Everham and see them, Grace. Isabel’s been over with Rebecca.’

  Too late he realised that the last sentence had been unwise. Grace was furious.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, her ladyship of Hassett Manor would be sure to go over there in the Hassett car – or maybe riding their horses? – loaded with home produce from their farm, taking the children out shopping for clothes – and showing off her beautiful, clever daughter. I can’t compete, can I, with my poor, simple Doreen.’

  ‘Be quiet, Grace,’ said her father sharply. ‘Such talk isn’t worthy of you.’

  Rob put his arm around her. ‘How many times have I told you not to dwell on it, Gracie –it’s all a long time ago, and people don’t know, so the less said about it, the better.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, everybody in North Camp knows, you can’t keep a secret like that, especially when the people concerned live scarcely a mile apart!’ she retorted.

  Tom spoke again, very gently. ‘Both those girls are my granddaughters, remember, and I don’t see half as much of Becky as I do of our Doreen, and I prefer it that way. Doreen needs me – needs us, all of us, more than her cousin. Everybody likes her, she’s so sweet and loving, and she’ll never give you any kind of trouble. Little angel.’

  Tom’s voice trembled as he said the two last words, and Grace fell silent. Rob looked gratefully at his father-in-law, for the two men had long shared a mutual, instinctive protection of the mother and the daughter.

  For Doreen Nuttall had been a ‘blue baby’, slow to breathe, and had grown up to be slow to learn. Her parents had removed her from school early, and her grandfather had taught her the alphabet and the basics of reading and writing. A pretty girl with a sweet face, her preferred occupation was to help her mother at the household tasks of sweeping and dusting, washing and ironing, preparing vegetables and gracing the table with her artless smiles.

  ‘Miss Neville! Good morning to you – we’re both up with the lark!’

  Rebecca reined in Sunbeam, and looked down at the young man who had hailed her. His good looks were vaguely familiar, but his name evaded her.

  ‘Good morning,’ she replied, slightly raising her eyebrows in a question.

  ‘Richardson – John Richardson, don’t you remember? We met at the Embassy cinema when everybody was going to see Wuthering Heights. You were with your friend Miss Pearson, and she introduced us!’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Rebecca nodded. ‘It seems so long ago now, after all that has happened since.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stood beside Sunbeam and looked up at her rider as if he had more to say. Rebecca wondered if she should dismount; they were on a bridle bath that led back to Hassett Manor. She had been out for an early ride, and a chill October mist still lingered over the ploughed fields; it now occurred to her that Mr Richardson was walking out early, and that he might have a reason for being here. His next words answered her.

  ‘It’s because of all that’s happened since, Miss Neville – I’d better be truthful, and confess that I’ve been hoping to meet you again.’ He did not say that he had been hanging around in the vicinity of Hassett Manor on a number of mornings. ‘As you say, being at war has changed all our circumstances, which is why I – well, I’ve thrown aside convention and decided to speak to you again before – well, there is a possibility that I may be conscripted.’

  Rebecca gave a little gasp, and saw how intently he was regarding her. She climbed down from Sunbeam, and held the reins loosely. ‘Ah, well now, Mr Richardson—’

  ‘Please call me John – Rebecca.’

  ‘Forgive me for asking, Mr – John – but is it certain that you’ll be called up?’ she asked. ‘My brother hasn’t received any information as yet, perhaps because he’s an undergraduate at Oxford – though they expect to have their studies interrupted if it becomes necessary for them to join the armed forces. Have you received call-up papers?’

  ‘I expect to receive them any day now, Rebecca, and before I do – would you – will you come with me to see another film that’s going the rounds – The Wizard of Oz?’

  ‘Isn’t that a film for children?’ she asked with a smile, trying to adjust her mind to this unexpected admirer.

  ‘Yes, but it’s for adults too, and all in this new technicolour, with amazing special effects, or so I’ve heard.’ He was close to her, and she could breathe in the clean, soapy smell of his skin, and she blushed. This young man was expecting to be conscripted into the army, navy or air force, and here he was, practically begging her to go out with him. His manners were impeccable, and there seemed no reason to refuse; but …

  ‘But if you’d rather not see the film, we could perhaps go for a walk, or for lunch somewhere,’ he added with respectful persistence.

  ‘Thank you, I’d like to see the film,’ she told him, and his eyes brightened.

  ‘Thank you, Rebecca, that makes me very happy,’ he said, eagerly taking hold of her free hand. ‘Let me know when you’d like to go – one evening next week? Have you any idea where we could meet?’

  ‘You could call for me at Hassett Manor,’ she replied, letting him hold her hand, though she was taken aback when he raised it to his lips and kissed the fingers.

  John Richardson could hardly believe his luck: to call at Hassett Manor would mean meeting Sir Cedric and Lady Isabel Neville, and here was his chance to make an impression on them, for surely she could have no other fellow in mind if she had accepted his invitation so readily. He watched as she remounted Sunbeam, and greatly daring, blew her a kiss as she rode away.

  As for Rebecca, her thoughts were in a whirl, but she was not sorry she had accepted his unconventional invitation. And he was certainly good-looking.

  At the Rectory there was both consternation and bewilderment. Roland Allingham had become even more hostile to his curate whose gl
oomy predictions had proved to be all too true. Joan Kennard was indignant on her husband’s behalf.

  ‘The way he speaks about you is downright insulting, Alan,’ she said after a Sunday morning service when the congregation were leaving and commenting on the war. Mrs Pearson was worried because her daily newspaper was forecasting food rationing because of German submarines attacking merchant ships bringing vital food from overseas.

  ‘Scaremongering, Mrs Pearson,’ the Reverend Mr Allingham had told her, ‘and to spread such alarming rumours is unpatriotic and will only play into the enemy’s hands. Don’t be disheartened by this kind of talk.’

  ‘But Mr Kennard said at Evensong last week that—’

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Kennard says a great deal of things that would be better left unsaid, Mrs Pearson, and I shall have to speak to him about it again. In the meantime let us all show our native British spirit, trust in God, be filled with hope and confidence – and don’t be misled by the likes of Mr Kennard!’

  ‘How dare he!’ Joan muttered as she took a roast leg of lamb out of the oven. ‘It’s blinkered fools like him who should be disregarded, not realists like you!’

  ‘Hush, Joan my love. Remember the Allinghams have two sons of an age to be called up for military service. Allingham probably dares not think about what might happen. We have no such sword hanging over our heads.’

  Joan was not to be so easily calmed. ‘Howard’s supposed to be going to Bible college, and the younger one’s a trouble-maker. The Seabrooks have forbidden their daughter to go out with him, or so I’ve heard. Their son Robin might have to go, so they’ve got worry enough, without Barbara giving them more.’

  ‘If that’s true, there’s no surer way of encouraging them to meet secretly,’ Alan replied mildly, sharpening the carving knife.

  ‘You’re too kind to the Allinghams,’ Joan said, lifting Josie into her high chair and tying on her bib.

  Alan looked fondly on his two ‘girlies’, as he called them, his pretty young wife and fourteen-month-old daughter. As a clergyman he was not required to fight for his country, but he could volunteer as a chaplain to the Forces if he wished.

  But that was something he did not share with Joan or anybody else.

  In the Munday household in Everham, the two young newcomers were proving unable to forget the experience of being torn from their parents’ side and sent on a terrifying journey that had ended in the home of this kind but unknown aunt and uncle who spoke a different language. Miriam Munday was ordered by her parents to be especially kind to her cousin Ayesha, and help her to mingle with the other children at Everham Council School. Though Ayesha was a year older, she was allowed to sit beside Miriam in class, so as to pick up English at her own speed. It was a slow process, for Ayesha pined for the life she had left behind at Eberfeld; at night she would dream she was back home again with her mother and father, only to wake up suddenly, screaming with terror and frightening Miriam who shared a room with her. Jonathan Pascoe, known as Jonny, was two years older than David, and his efforts to be brave were noted by his uncle Ernest with mixed admiration and pity. The boy was readier to learn English than his sister, and the Mundays engaged a tutor for him, letting him pass on his knowledge to Ayesha, with benefit to them both. Every so often the newspapers had to be hidden from the children when they reported Nazi cruelty to the Jews, and their banishment to sinister camps.

  At home the news was bad enough: the sinking of the battleship Royal Oak in her home base at Scapa Flow brought the war before the nation in a way that overseas events did not. The Royal Oak and her crew had been torpedoed by a German submarine, a U-boat, and these enemy vessels were to become dreaded by Royal and Merchant Navies alike throughout the course of the war. Posters went up in towns and villages all over the country, warning that spies could be anywhere, and that careless talk about positions of ships could cost lives.

  At Hassett Manor Cedric and Isabel were discussing the personable young man who had come to call for Rebecca to take her out.

  ‘It’s a great pity young Bannister isn’t here, he’d soon see the fellow off,’ said Cedric. ‘Cheeky young upstart – a floor manager in a department store, if you please!’

  Isabel shook her head. ‘If he gets called up to serve in the armed forces, he’ll be as good a conscript as any other,’ she said quietly, and Cedric knew she was remembering her own origins as Isabel Munday, the carpenter’s elder daughter.

  ‘As you say, my love, danger is a great leveller,’ he replied. ‘And our young Don Juan will soon be put to the test. Another quarter of a million men are to be conscripted before Christmas, and I’ll be going over to the recruitment board at Guildford.’

  ‘Guildford? Why not Everham?

  ‘Because I’m not known there, so won’t have to face boys who recognise me.’

  She was silent, but he knew her thoughts. ‘Paul and Geoffrey will be interviewed at the university,’ he said gently. ‘And if they pass their medical, they’ll most likely be sent on an officer’s training course, Sandhurst probably, being Oxford undergraduates.’

  She nodded. ‘And we shall ask Geoffrey to come and stay with us before they go.’

  ‘We most certainly will, my love,’ he said, smiling to hide his own misgivings about the destiny of the two young men.

  When Isabel passed on this information to Sally Tanner, she also confided that she would take Geoffrey Bannister aside and tell him that Rebecca had been adopted at the end of the Great War, when so many desperate single mothers had been forced to give up their misconceived babies.

  ‘And it won’t make a ha’porth o’ difference to him,’ Sally replied.

  Lester Allingham was incredulous, not to say dismayed, to discover that Barbara Seabrook was not willing to meet him clandestinely after her parents’ prohibition. She had been so deliciously flirtatious on their outings over the past few months, actually encouraging him to take liberties with his hands on her delightful curves, and though he had not yet managed to explore below her waist, he was confident that he would reach his desired objective before the year was out – or before he received his call-up papers. He enjoyed a challenge, and had so far found most girls manageable, so he was taken aback when Barbara, who was old Seabrook’s daughter and had all of her father’s charm towards his customers, but also his hard head, had refused to give away more than was wise. While defying her parents, Barbara had not been deaf to her mother’s warnings, and did not care to be labelled as fast among her friends. She was also aware of Lester’s reputation, but when he told her he was called to serve his country in the Royal Air Force, her resolve wavered, and she might have agreed to one more meeting in the woods above the Blackwater valley; but because he could not hide his annoyance towards her and her parents – and the looks her brother Robin cast in his direction – he lost his chance, and his pride suffered a severe blow.

  Thomas and Gibson’s ordered a dozen bales of heavy black material and a hundred reels of black cotton for the women of North Camp to make black-out curtains for every home. Mrs Joan Kennard invited every member of the Ladies’ Hour to bring her sewing with her, and while listening to the song, recitations and speaker of the week, their hands were not idle. Mrs Kennard’s treadle sewing machine was put at the disposal of any lady who could use it, and those without one took lessons from the knowledgeable. There was silent sympathy for Lady Neville whose son Paul had gone to train as an officer, and Mrs Kennard began and ended every meeting with a prayer for all families with a son conscripted or volunteered into the armed forces. Her husband the Reverend Alan Kennard was the speaker one Wednesday afternoon in November, and although he could offer no guarantee that the conscripts would be protected from danger, his words were comforting. Councillor Mrs Tomlinson thought that some of the ladies would resent being offered comfort from a man, who, however kind and wise, had not got a son away defending his country.

  At least one conscript was able to pour out his fears to Alan Kennard, and that was Howard Al
lingham, unable to confide in his father. Howard’s hands trembled as he took a cup of tea from Mrs Kennard who then left the study, and Alan listened to the rector’s son’s catalogue of woe, one of his problems being that he could not talk to his father, either about warfare or his unreturned love for Dora Goddard: his regret that he had declared himself to her in the delirious but mistaken belief that there would be no war.

  ‘I felt liberated by Mr Chamberlain’s acceptance of Hitler’s promise, sir, and therefore able to tell her how I felt – to grab hold of her and kiss her without first making sure that my feelings were returned. I made such a fool of myself, sir, I cringe to recall it now, the look on her face, the way she drew back from me, almost as if she were afraid – and now that I have definitely to join the army, I can’t ask her to write to me – or to – to pray, sir. I have nowhere to turn, just when I need her most.’ The last words ended on a sob in his throat, and Alan Kennard put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Let’s stop saying sir, or I’ll start calling you sonny. My name’s Alan, and I feel for you, Howard, and honoured that you feel able to confide in me.’

  ‘My father would be so upset if he knew, but he’d never understand,’ muttered Howard.

  ‘Of course he wouldn’t, he’s of an older generation, but he doesn’t think any the less of you for that.’ Alan smiled but inwardly seethed against Allingham for making himself so unapproachable to this earnest young man. ‘Don’t blame yourself too much over Miss Goddard – she’s a sweet girl but very young as yet to know the ways of the world. Just behave normally towards her when you meet, as if nothing had been said, and who knows, she might learn to think more of you, especially as you’re going to be a soldier – very popular nowadays!’

  ‘I can’t ask her to write to me now, though.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but there’s nothing to stop you sending a postcard now and again – as long as you don’t say where you’re stationed or where you’re to be posted! She’ll come to appreciate you in time – in fact we’re all going to change our views on a lot of things before this war’s over – and God alone knows and understands how you feel, Howard. Do you pray? Can you speak to Him?’