A Family's Duty

by Maggie Bennett

  She felt a pleasant little tingle run down her spine. ‘Well, yes, of course, I’d love to – only it would have to be a Saturday matinee when I’m not on duty at The Limes.’

  ‘That’s what she suggested. Which Saturday would suit you best – this coming one, or the following week? If I let her know, she’ll order the tickets.’

  ‘I think the following one would be best,’ she said. ‘Who will be coming?’

  ‘Same as last time, Lily and Jimmy, plus Kenny and Danny from the Rectory – the Perrin boys and my Nick – remember they’ll be three years older, so hopefully not too difficult to manage. So, shall I let her know?’

  ‘I’d love to go, Philip – it’s very kind of Lady Isabel.’

  ‘Well done! We’ll be Auntie and Uncle again!’ He laughed. ‘Oh, and I’ve just had a thought – you know my aunt has got poor Doreen Nuttall staying with us while her mother’s not able to – er – keep her at home?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a sad business,’ Valerie said.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t it be rather nice to ask her to come too? It would be a real treat for her, making her feel she was helping with the kiddies. Shall I ask her if she’ll join us?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Valerie at once, though a faint, inexplicable twinge of disappointment accompanied the words. ‘Yes, that’s a very good idea!’

  The Allinghams looked tired after the long train journey to and from the RAF hospital in Buckinghamshire, but Mrs Allingham was a little more inclined to talk to the curate’s wife on the following day.

  ‘He’s clearly very ill, that’s obvious, with a temperature that goes up to one hundred and four or even five degrees,’ she said. ‘He has to have the wound cleaned and redressed every day, and his poor bottom is black and blue from these injections they’re giving him. He’s got a long way to go before he’s better, but at least he’s not going out on those terrible air raids. The death rate among those poor, brave young men is appalling. Roland and I can at least sleep in our beds while Lester’s in hospital.’

  Joan Kennard smiled and agreed.

  ‘Roland says he’s going back to full-time service as rector,’ his wife continued. ‘So your husband will be able to spend more time with his children. I must admit it’s reassuring to know that Mr Kennard is here to take over the parish visiting.’

  And a good deal more parish business than that, thought Joan. ‘Alan will visit Lester one day next week,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, no, Mrs Kennard, you must tell your husband not to visit for the time being,’ the rector’s wife said hurriedly. ‘Above all Lester needs peace and quiet, and we don’t want his progress held up by well-meaning intrusions.’

  Alan found this rather puzzling when he was asked to call at Hassett Manor where Lady Isabel handed him a sealed envelope addressed to himself and marked ‘Private’.

  ‘Lester Allingham enclosed it in an envelope addressed to me, and asked me to pass it on to you, Alan,’ she said. He thanked her and did not open the envelope until he was in his study.

  ‘Dear Mr Kennard,’ he read. ‘Will you please come to see me in this place, as I need to have a confidential talk. Do not let my parents or anybody else know I have sent for you, and I’ve told Lady Isabel I need to see a clergyman for personal reasons. My brother Howard told me that you helped him before he went away, and I’m hoping you will also be able to help me. Best wishes, L.R. Allingham.’

  Alan wondered if Lester wanted spiritual counselling and perhaps to make a confession: he made the visit a priority, and went by train to Halton the next day, telling Joan that he was going to see somebody in hospital, and would need to take the whole day. He regretted withholding the identity of that somebody from her, but knew she would guess.

  Picking up a newspaper at the station, he read that in Russia there was rejoicing over the lifting of the two-year siege of Leningrad, although many of its citizens had died of starvation. With Stalingrad and Leningrad liberated, the Red Army was advancing towards the Crimea. It really did seem as if the tide was turning in favour of the Allies, though at home there was no let-up on rationing, and sporadic air raids still occurred. The siege of Monte Cassino continued, showing no signs of surrender by the Germans occupying the Benedictine monastery.

  As soon as he set eyes on Lester sitting in a sunny verandah in dressing gown and slippers, certain suspicions deepened. The young man had lost weight and looked haggard.

  As soon as he saw the curate, he got up and shook his hand.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Kennard, you’re a life-saver. Like to take a seat?’ He indicated a wicker armchair next to his own. ‘We’re on our own in here – I told the other chaps to give me a chance to speak with the Reverend Kennard undisturbed.’

  ‘I’ve come a long way to see you in confidence, Lester, and have told my wife a downright lie, so fire away,’ said Alan briskly.

  ‘You’re a brick, Kennard. Look, it’s like this. The powers that be have said I can go home, but I have to attend a clinic each week for a check-up. The nearest clinic to North Camp is at Aldershot, an army hospital out-patients.’

  ‘Go on, Lester, I’m listening.’

  ‘Well, the fact is I don’t want to go back to North Camp, to be fussed over by my mother. There’s a small hotel a few minutes’ bus ride from this clinic, and I’d rather stay there.’ He looked at Alan with a question in his eyes, as if to test his reaction. Alan’s expression was blank as he waited to hear more.

  ‘The fact is that I don’t want the old dears to be unduly worried, so I’ll have to write to them as from this hospital, and they’ll write back to me here.’

  ‘I’m still listening, Lester.’

  ‘It’s like this, you see, Kennard, if I could use you as a sort of, er, go-between, I’d write a letter to them, stick it in an envelope and post it to you – and you could post it on to them. Then when they reply to this hospital, I’ll have asked for all my mail to be redirected to this small hotel. Do you follow?’

  ‘What about the postmark?’

  ‘I doubt the old dears will spend much time poring over that.’ Lester’s face was flushed, and strands of hair stuck to his moist forehead. ‘Then it would be reversed, Kennard. They’d write an answer, it would come here, and be redirected to the hotel. I’ll tell them that I don’t want visitors, any visitors, until I’m better able to face them. It shouldn’t be that difficult, and I’d pay you, of course, starting with your train fare today.’

  ‘How long do you reckon this would go on?’

  ‘I don’t know quite how long, and perhaps we might have to think it through again at some point. You’ll do it for me, won’t you, Kennard?’

  He stopped speaking, and his eyes pleaded with the curate. Then Alan spoke.

  ‘Whereabouts is this wound of yours, Lester?’

  ‘At the top of my left thigh – not a place where people would look.’

  ‘Your mother told my wife that you’ve been on a course of painful injections. Do you know what they are?’

  ‘Oh, these women and their tittle-tattle! Some new treatment they’re trying out, made from a mould, they say. Anyway, Kennard, can I rely on you?’

  Alan looked into his eyes. ‘Is it syphilis or gonorrhoea, Lester?’

  ‘Bloody hell, you’ve been talking to the staff. Both. Oh, for God’s sake, help me, Kennard. It would kill my mother if she knew.’

  ‘So you want me to help you deceive the old dears, as you call your parents, by telling yet more lies? In my capacity as a clergyman, you expect me to practise deceit? And in any case, what you suggest would be bound to fail. Some official notice might arrive, from your bank, say, and your father might telephone this hospital. The idea is full of holes, and I’ll have no part in it.’

  Lester swore and tears came to his eyes. ‘I just don’t know what to do, Kennard.’

  Alan drew a deep breath. ‘Here’s my best advice, Lester. I agree that this knowledge would be a fearful shock to your mother, and might well break her heart, so
I’d agree to letting her remain ignorant. But your father should know, and you’ll be better for telling him.’

  ‘Oh, no, no! I couldn’t bear it! Oh, God, help me!’ Lester was now openly sobbing, and Alan rose to put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘All right, old chap, all right. You’ve got a few choices. You could tell your father alone, face-to-face, or I would be willing to be present when you tell him, or I would tell him first, to pave the way for you. Failing all of those, you could write it to him in a letter. Once he’s been told, he can work out a way of keeping it from your mother. Come on, Lester, these things are seldom as bad as we think, not if we’re honest and ready to take the blame for our own misdoings. Think about it. I shan’t tell a soul, and I’m sure the rector won’t either!’

  Lester looked stricken. ‘I couldn’t face the old man – he’d go mad.’

  ‘I doubt that. Anyway, it’s time I left. Would you like me to say a prayer for you here before I go?’

  ‘No, thanks. If you won’t help me, there’s not much use in praying.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll pray for you and your parents in my private prayer times. Goodbye, Lester, and think about what I’ve said.’

  The outing to the pantomime went well, and Doreen Nuttall felt very important as she helped to shepherd the children on and off the train, walked them along to the Hippodrome, and assisted Miss Pearson in taking the girls to the lavatory during the interval.

  ‘It was a good idea to bring her, Valerie,’ remarked Philip Saville while Doreen was on one of these necessary visits. ‘It’s doing her a world of good to recover a sense of self-esteem, and to feel she’s doing something useful, don’t you think so?’

  ‘Yes, and she’s enjoying the pantomime,’ agreed Valerie. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’

  She had noted the double-entendre when the princess leant out of the palace window and looking to the left and right, wailed, ‘Three months gone, and still no sign of Aladdin!’ There were some knowing chuckles among the audience, but Valerie had kept a straight face, wondering if Philip had noted it.

  When they arrived back at North Camp station, Lady Neville met them in the pony-trap, and took all the children except Nick back to their homes. Philip, Doreen and Nick saw Valerie home, then went off into the dark winter evening, Doreen hanging on to Philip’s arm, and chattering happily about the pantomime. Valerie told her mother it had been a great success – the children had all enjoyed it, and so had Doreen Nuttall.

  ‘How kind of Mr Saville to take her with you,’ said Mrs Pearson. ‘She seems to have settled very well with Miss Temple and that nice boy. You never know, it might prove to be the beginning of a new life for both of them! He’s a lot older than her, of course, but maybe that’s just what she needs, in the circumstances.’

  But is it what he needs? thought Valerie, feeling strangely flat.

  The stalemate at Monte Cassino had dragged on for week after cold and comfortless week. With the Germans commanding an all-round view from the summit, it was impossible to attack it without being seen, and lives had been lost in attempts to do so. Lady Neville was again plagued with fear for Paul, and Rebecca knew that the Italian POWs were anxious for their relatives and for the ancient beauty of the Benedictine monastery, now desecrated by enemy occupation; when Paolo, Mario, Stefano and other POWs came to Sunday dinner at Hassett Manor, the subject was firmly excluded from the table-talk. By mid-February a decision was made by the generals and approved by the British Prime Minister Churchill, and the American President Roosevelt, and orders were given for bombs to be dropped directly on the monastery.

  There followed the total destruction of an architectural treasure that had been turned into an enemy fortress.

  ‘There was a series of huge explosions, and a pillar of smoke rose hundreds of feet up into the air,’ Paul Storey wrote home later. ‘We were all awestruck. It hid the building from sight, and when it finally cleared there was nothing but a heap of smoking rubble and body parts spread for miles around. It was a breath-taking sight with a kind of sinister beauty. None of us who saw will ever forget it, and the mixed feelings we had afterwards.’

  When Rebecca went down to the prison camp, she found many of the POWs sorrowing over this utter obliteration of the monastery.

  ‘The ghosts of the holy Benedictines from centuries past must surely weep at the sight,’ sobbed young Guiseppe, and Rebecca had no words to answer him.

  But Stefano had. ‘We are friends, not enemies, to you and your family, Signorina Neville,’ he said quietly. ‘We pray for our families and countrymen, and I pray also that your brother Paul be not lost in all this waste of life.’

  Rebecca’s heart leapt, and not only for his sincerity in caring for her family at a time like this. Trembling, she held out her hand in friendship, but he took it and held it to his lips in a fervent kiss. ‘May God return him safely to his family, Rebecca.’

  She could only whisper ‘thank you,’ and no other words were exchanged.

  From then on there was new hope in the air. British and American troops, Paul Storey and John Richardson among them, were being withdrawn from the war in Europe, and coming to bases along the south coast of England, giving rise to speculation of a forthcoming invasion of Europe; the Germans were spreading their defences along miles of Normandy coastline. When news came that American bombers were pounding Jap forces caught between two lines of fire, there was fierce jubilation.

  ‘Give it to ’em, the little yellow bastards!’ was the consensus of opinion at the Tradesmen’s Arms, but then came news that Jonathan Pascoe, fighting in the Far East, had been taken prisoner, and elation turned to fear for the young man. There were terrible stories about the treatment of prisoners of war in Burma, and a shadow fell across the Mundays of Everham, waiting every day for news that they dreaded. Added to which David Munday had turned eighteen, so he too had been called up and posted to an army training centre near to Aldershot, and expressly forbidden to share any details with his family, who at least could give thanks that he was not with his cousin.

  Mrs Pearson was taking an afternoon rest, so Valerie was able to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon walking beside the river Blackwater, an idyllic spot at a time when the earth was awakening to another spring. She recalled how six years ago she had spent her Wednesday lunchtimes here, dreaming of a romance with John Richardson, imagining them exchanging confidences, sharing their mutual interests in poetry and music – and kisses, shy and gentle at first, then becoming more fervent – and talk of marriage. How naïve she had been! The man she had yearned over had never existed, and the real John Richardson had turned out to be very different from her secret dreams, and held no appeal for her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a man and a woman some way ahead of her, walking in the same direction, and she slowed her steps, having no wish to intrude on their privacy. She stared at the man’s back: surely she knew that slight limp and the once golden, now greying hair? Yes, of course, he was Philip Saville! And the young woman holding on to his arm was Doreen Nuttall who now shared Miss Temple’s cottage with him and Nick, the nice evacuee. She hesitated, then walked no further; the sight of the two of them was unexpectedly disturbing. Philip Saville, veteran of the Great War, now in his forties, was known to have a hopeless infatuation for Lady Neville – in fact it was a joke in North Camp. Poor Philip, they said, whose experiences of trench warfare had turned him into a one-legged semi-recluse living with a maiden aunt – that is, until Lady Neville had asked him to play the piano for the Ladies’ Circle, and then to give piano lessons to her groom’s twin boys; and yes, it had been Lady Neville who had arranged for him to take five children, two of them cheeky evacuees, on an outing to the cinema, to see Pinocchio. He and Valerie had laughed together over the children, and agreed how thankful they were not to be their parents, yet Valerie had wondered what having a real family would be like, with herself as a wife and mother. The outing to the pantomime Aladdin had not been quite so much fun with
Doreen there to help. And now Doreen was living under the same roof – a sweet, simple girl less than half Philip’s age, who had given birth to an illegitimate daughter and given her up for adoption. Could it be that Philip had at last got over his hopeless longing for a happily married woman, and chosen instead to offer a protective, almost fatherly, love to a girl like Doreen? And had Lady Neville actually encouraged him in this?

  Valerie stood very still, watching the pair walk further along the bank until they disappeared from sight round a bend in the slowly flowing river. She could imagine them kissing, gently and shyly …

  She turned to retrace her steps, giving herself a little shake. She had to be sensible and face up to the reality of life. She had benefitted enormously from her work at The Limes with children who trusted her, and little Georgie Tonks who unashamedly declared, ‘I loves ’oo, Val!’

  She was no longer the silly, romantic girl who had dreamt about John Richardson, and would not make the same mistake with Philip Saville.

  The news from the Russian front, often scanty, now continued to be good: the Red Army had recaptured the Crimea, and were making headway in eastern Europe, practically unopposed. Reading this account in the daily newspaper, Tom Munday could have wished that his domestic situation was as hopeful. Grace continued to be unpredictable, and he had been woken in the small hours of the night by the sound of furious argument and a smell of burning; he had leapt out of bed to find Rob trying to restrain Grace.

  ‘She’s going mad, Tom!’ he shouted. ‘Only trying to set the bed alight and burn the house down! We can’t go on like this. She’ll have to be put away, no alternative!’

  Dr Lupton shook his head when sent for. ‘The trouble is that there aren’t many mental hospital beds available these days – they’ve been taken over by the military for the wounded. There’s the old workhouse at Winchfield – that’s used for mental defectives – and the private place at Hollingbridge would be expensive. I’ll have a word with Dr Stringer. Meanwhile I’ve given her a sedative by injection, and she’ll rest for the next few hours.’ He shook his head sympathetically. ‘I’ll be back, Nuttall.’