Easterleigh Hall at War

by Margaret Graham

  On 30th January Auberon was called into Mathers’ office. He stood to attention. Major Dobbs stood at Mathers’ side and Auberon nodded, but let his body relax out of attention. Mathers said, chewing on his empty pipe as he always did, ‘Sit you down, Brampton. Now I hear Dobbs discovered that you have some miners whose expertise we need. As you know we normally do our own digging, but getting around the foundations has thwarted too many attempts, and the rocks beneath these barracks have proved insurmountable. We need a miracle.’

  He tapped his pipe on the desk, and replaced it. It was extraordinary how easily the man could speak with it gripped between those teeth.

  Auberon wanted to punch the air, but instead smiled. ‘Jack Forbes is used to pulling those out of a hat, trust me.’

  There was no heat coming from the colonel’s stove. He would only light it as the sun went down as part of his war effort; the other was to organise as many escapes as possible. Auberon wished he wasn’t quite so principled. It was bloody freezing. The colonel continued, frowning, ‘Ah yes, Sergeant Forbes.’

  Auberon’s heart sank. What the hell had Jack done now?

  ‘The problem is that I have already contacted him, and word has just reached us that Sergeant Forbes has refused, therefore so have Corporal Preston and the two privates. It would have been a good idea, but as it is, it is a balls-up and time-waster.’

  Auberon felt his jaw drop, saw the fury in Dobbs’ eyes. What the hell was Jack playing at, the stupid bugger? He’d told him he’d bring them out. He coughed. ‘Was a reason given, sir?’

  Mathers scanned a note on his desk. ‘It seems that there’s a fifth miner, Corporal Mart . . .’ He strained to make out the name.

  ‘Dore,’ said Auberon. ‘Of course, Mart Dore.’

  ‘Unless he’s included, they won’t come. It seems that an order is not an order in this man’s army. Another strike on our hands, I feel.’ Mathers’ tone was dry.

  Auberon wanted to laugh with relief. Bugger Jack, bugger him for being as strong and awkward as he’d always bloody been. It meant he was fit and well. He said, ‘Mart Dore worked with them back home, I had forgotten my sister’s news on that. They’ve all been drafted into this mine that’s been reopened. There’s a shortage of coal in our enemy’s house, it seems, though knowing Jack he’s slowed production up a bit.’

  Mathers threw the letter down. ‘Not sure we want trouble-makers here.’

  Auberon felt like crossing his fingers as he lied, ‘Oh no, not Jack. Never caused a moment’s trouble in his life, just doing what we have all been ordered to do, a bit of sabotage and try to escape.’

  Dobbs wriggled, because he was one who had declined to join the escape, preferring, Auberon was pretty sure, to sit out the war playing chess and reading novels. But who could really blame him?

  Mathers pointed to the note. ‘Deal with this immediately in the affirmative, Dobbs. We have a huge intake of officers and we can’t have them denied their servants, can we?’ He shared a glance with Auberon, one of distaste, or was it despair. Perhaps it was both.

  Chapter 10

  Easterleigh Hall, March 1916

  EVIE HEARD THE lorry being driven into the garage yard, and snatched up her shawl, following Annie who was back at Captain Richard’s request, her loyalty to Easterleigh Hall firmly in place. Together with Mrs Moore they ran out of the door and up the steps to meet Harry Travers, and his bees. As they reached the top step they heard Harry’s voice. ‘Steady, old chap. The bees are on their sofas having a snooze.’

  They grinned at one another as he jumped out of the lorry, or hopped perhaps, because his weight was on his proper leg, not his wooden one. Their rush towards their favourite returning ‘son’ was overtaken by the laundry girls, who had been loitering over the task of hanging up the washing, waiting for him. ‘Mr Harry,’ Sally called, a wet sheet bundled up in her arms. ‘Grand you’re back, and not just because we all like honey.’

  The other girls laughed. Harry used just a cane nowadays, his father had told them when he had laid down the conditions under which the consortium of fund-raisers would help to support the hospital and convalescent home. He had explained to Richard and Ron Simmons that his son had not settled at university, because he felt it full of children. ‘All he wants is to return to Easterleigh Hall to do something to help, so that is the first of our conditions, well, mine, as I am the chief, and most willing, contributor: that he is allowed. The other conditions are of an economic nature, and basically we insist that any extraneous expenditure is discussed with the fund-raising committee before being implemented.’

  Evie called over the heads of the laundry girls, ‘Wonderful to have you back, Harry. How have the bees travelled, do you think?’

  Annie was slipping round to the rear of the lorry. Raisin and Currant had found their way there, and were yapping. One of the volunteers carried them back to the kitchen. ‘Lock them in, will you, Lily,’ Evie called. ‘Can’t have them upsetting new visitors.’ She and Mrs Moore waved to Harry.

  The tailgate was pulled down by Arthur, the elderly driver, who worked as a gamekeeper on Sir Anthony Travers’ estate south of Washington pit village. Harry joined Evie and Mrs Moore after weaving his way between the laundry girls. His hair had been tousled by old Mrs Webber. He slapped his gloves against his good leg, and straightened his hair. ‘They should be all right, we’ve taken it steady, haven’t we Arthur? Arthur’s going to help me erect the hives if we can have a few helpers to get all this to the meadows. The honey will taste much better if the bees can gather pollen from flowers, rather than down near the ha-ha, which Richard thought might be the best place.’

  Mrs Moore smiled as he clasped her in a bear hug. ‘Right glad to have you back, we so need the honey, bonny lad. The food shortages are mounting . . .’ She patted him and he moved on to Evie, holding her tightly, replying to Mrs Moore over her head.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I passed the queue outside the co-op, and nowhere else is any better. Why the hell the government don’t take control I don’t know. They could use the Defence of the Realm Act to set up ration rules, surely?’

  ‘When you’re ready, Harry,’ Arthur called, climbing up into the lorry and shoving one of the bee carry-boxes towards the tailgate. Harry released Evie, landing a smacking kiss on her cheek. ‘So damned glad the lads are with Aub. Excellent, excellent. Just need the bloody government to sort out the food . . .’

  Evie waved him to silence. He laughed, as he said, ’Sick of hearing it are you, Evie?’

  ‘You could say that, our Harry.’

  Harry smiled as he grabbed Evie’s hand and they hurried through the girls to the lorry. He took one end of the box, and, helped by Evie, lowered it to the ground. She could hear a humming, and a slight vibration. Harry touched her arm. ‘It’s quite safe, and I checked that we’ve a queen in each. They’ve weathered the winter well and will be eager to feed. I didn’t need to give them sucrose, which is marvellous. Let’s get ’em set up and settled, and within days they’ll make a rush for the meadow flowers, you mark my words. I’ve brought three cases of honey too. And Mother is packing up more from the hives at Searton. You said you were looking for an alternative sweetener?’

  Evie touched his sleeve. It was strange to see him in mufti. He looked even younger. ‘You are an angel, Harry. Yes, sugar is short, everything is, and we should be able to supply as much as we can ourselves, surely to God, with Easterleigh land, and Home Farm. Those poor beggars ploughing across the Atlantic and heaven knows what oceans in supply ships are going to get picked on more and more by the submarines, and what’s available should go to those without means. Or so our Richard says. Bangs the table he does.’ Harry roared with laughter.

  Evie continued as Arthur shoved another box along to the end of the lorry. ‘We’ve more volunteers coming every day from the villages, and we have German POW patients who are recovering and want to help.’ She and Harry shared the load again, and settled the box gently on the ground. Mrs Moore tapped
his shoulder as he straightened up. ‘Oh Harry, pet, you’ll be billeted in the under-gardeners’ cottage, or what used to be theirs, and Evie’s right, the Germans are champing at the bit to do something. We’ve got some of our facial injuries too, who are being eased out into the sunshine by Lady Margaret to try and build self-confidence.’ As she said this, the sun went behind a cloud, and the wind seemed to freshen.

  Annie was helping Harry lower another box to the ground. ‘Millie’s nipped off to fetch the prisoners out. Matron’s given them permission to escape for a moment to help with the bees. It’s her they’re afraid of, not the guards.’

  Mrs Moore laughed as she chivvied the laundry girls back to their pegging out. ‘Not surprised, the two old boys guarding them must be sixty if they’re a day, and still in the reserve for heaven’s sake. Imagine if they were in the front line. Now I don’t want to hear a word out of you girls about that silly old duffer who thinks he’s God’s gift to cooks, and brings flowers every day. Pinches them from the nursery bed, he does, young Harry. Now, Evie, let’s get back to the coalface. Annie, go and hurry Millie up, she’ll as like as not be dawdling along with that young Heine she’s taken a shine to. No need to speak German it seems, sign language is doing the job just grand, it is for too many of them, including young Maudie.’ Mrs Moore stalked off, and stopped at the top of the step. ‘They’re the enemy, after all.’

  Evie hurried after her, waving to Harry, calling, ‘They’re also young men who’ve been hurt, you old witch.’

  ‘Enough of your cheek.’ Mrs Moore’s words ended on a roaring laugh. In the kitchen they checked that the mixed-grain bread was rising nicely. It was Home Farm barley and wheat, though their own winter-sown grain was doing well and the harvest should be good in the fields around the church, arboretum, and all land in between. The land south of the cedar tree and beyond the ha-ha had been planted with potatoes and the early crop could be lifted any day now, and many more rows earthed up in land behind the stables. Spinach was sown in fields along the lane to Easton, plus spring greens. Old Stan and some of the prisoners had just started tomatoes in the glasshouses, and a whole swathe in the conservatory below the grapevine.

  With the coming of spring more and more land was being given over to food production, as part of Richard’s plan. Pigsties had been set up in three fields and lambing was under way, under the eagle eye of Trotter, of Home Farm. Froggett was trying to train Richard and Ron to handle sheepdogs for next year, because no one could believe that the war would be over by then. They had tried their whistles on the dachshunds, which had provided an hour of hilarity but little progress.

  In the kitchen Dottie was mixing the butter from Home Farm with mashed potato. ‘What the eye don’t see, the stomach won’t mind,’ Mrs Moore muttered. ‘We’ve got to spin it out, but only for the staff, mind. The wounded get the proper butter or I’ll want to know the reason why.’

  ‘Even the Germans?’ Evie wondered. Mrs Moore pursed her lips. ‘They’re someone’s son, or husband, or brother. It’s our duty. It’s not our duty to like ’em, or whatever else these silly girls have taken into their heads, especially that wretched Millie.’ Mrs Moore stopped, coloured, then said as she reached for her recipe bible, ‘Sorry pet, didn’t mean that, not really. Well, you know, I’m just an old witch, as you say. She’s just happy that your Jack is with Mr Auberon now, and out of the mine, you can tell she is.’

  Evie busied herself checking that the pulses and beans set to soak two days ago were sprouting. One of the Indian patients had told them that this treatment of the beans produced something more nourishing and digestible. It seemed that the starch was converted into maltose, allegedly more nutritious. Even if it wasn’t, soaking softened the beggars, and they took less time to cook, which in view of the industrial need for coal, and the shortage on the domestic front, was all to the good. Best of all, they created less wind, which pleased the nursing staff who complained that they had to bend to tend the patients, with catastrophic results all round.

  She poked the beans. ‘Are you sure you agree with introducing them today in the mutton casserole for the patients?’

  Mrs Moore was checking the ovens, all of which contained either the casseroles or the jam-sponge puddings.

  At that moment, there was a knock on the internal door. Evie waved in Veronica, with baby James in her arms, and Richard, who was walking with more confidence, and who had asked that the upper servants call him by his forename. He, Tom the blacksmith, and Evie’s da had devised a way for Richard to kick his false leg forward which seemed to make walking easier. Veronica saw the beans and her face fell. Evie wagged a finger. ‘Enough of that, there’s a war on. How is the lord and master today, Ver, and how is Mart’s mam managing as nanny?’

  Veronica smiled, kissing her son. ‘Angela was named correctly, she was born an angel. We manage together very well now I’m back nursing in theatre. It was inspired, Evie, to ask her to come. You can see that she has this energy, which you say is new, but why wouldn’t it be, if a son has been recovered. Thank heavens he is a prisoner and has a chance of surviving this terrible war.’

  Richard slid on to a stool and stared hard at his wife, who ignored him, saying, ‘I thought I’d just walk James in the garden while the sun is out.’

  Richard continued to stare at her. Evie and Mrs Moore looked from one to the other, and at Mrs Green as she came in with tea towels, freshly aired, and piled high in her arms to a point where she could barely see. Richard went to her, his arm outstretched. ‘Let me help.’

  Mrs Green shook her head, her expression saying as clearly as her words would not, ‘It’s not seemly, you belong above stairs.’ Yet again Evie wondered if this changed attitude of the ruling classes would outlast the war. But what world would they be living in by then, and would these German POWs be their masters? Would there be any young men left, from either side? So many questions and no answers whatsoever. Richard was still staring at his wife.

  Evie slid on to a stool herself, checking the clock as she did so. Ten thirty, with breakfast a distant memory and lunch looming too quickly. Daisy and her fellow housemaids would be down for yesterday’s tea leaves for the carpets before ten minutes were up. Veronica said, ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

  Her husband said, ‘You’ll be no such thing.’

  Evie and Mrs Moore said at exactly the same time, ‘Come on, out with it, you two.’

  Out it came, with Veronica settling herself down, and talking into James’ hair. ‘Lady Margaret’s friend has been injured, amongst others, in an ammunition factory where she’s been working. Margaret wonders if Easterleigh Hall could manage to take in wounded women too, and I wondered what you think, Evie?’

  ‘There is quite a bit of wondering going on here, and why should it concern me?’ Evie replied.

  Richard was smiling. ‘I told you so,’ he said to Veronica. ‘Now I’ve done the sums, you can do your own dirty work.’

  His wife glared. Mrs Moore asked, ‘Sums? So is there enough money? Have you discussed it with Sir Anthony? We won’t get the government subsidy, will we, and where would we put them? Can’t be in the wards, just imagine the hanky-panky.’

  Richard looked aghast. ‘I hadn’t thought of hanky-panky, and I would think it would be the last thing on anyone’s mind.’

  All four women sighed, and Evie muttered, ‘Shows how much you know about anything, but of course they can’t share a ward. I imagine you’re asking me where I think they could go?’

  At that point the housemaids rushed in for the tea leaves. Evie dragged out the bucket from the end of the ranges. The furnace was gurgling and could do with more coal; she fed it. Daisy rushed her ducklings out again.

  Mrs Green followed in their wake, calling, ‘I’ll leave you to your problems, but perhaps the conservatory? We have spare drapes we could hang from the ridge. We could then tuck them in at guttering height, leaving sufficient material for them to fall to the floor. There is already a stove in there, and a
sink, water, and pipes running along the bottom of the walls to keep the vines from freezing, so I feel sure it is within the imaginings of man to create a haven for women.’ She shut the door.

  Richard was beginning to assume the hounded expression that was becoming more frequent these days, and usually ended with him muttering about cauldrons and monstrous regiments. Evie remembered something. ‘Old Stan’s tomatoes. They will have to share with them, but the smell is nice.’

  The laundry volunteers came clattering up the internal corridor from the yard, the empty clothes baskets on their hips, stuffing their Woodbines in their pockets. Suzy called through the open door, ‘The POWs are helping to get the hives to the meadows. Millie is directing operations.’

  Evie was busy organising the table with cutlery, and longed to snap, ‘I bet she is.’ Instead she called through to the scullery for Dottie to make sure the large porridge pan was ready for use for yet another load of potatoes, this time for lunch. She rejected one of the vegetable knives as too blunt. ‘Right, if that’s that, off you go for your walk and Richard, Sir Anthony called, though I expect Mr Harvey has already told you. When is Ron back from Aldershot? Has he written with news of the rebuilding of his nose?’

  Ver was still here, rocking James, who was crooning in response. Evie eyed the clock. ‘I’ll take that as a no, as neither of you are answering. Don’t worry, he’ll be all right, whether it works or not. He’s such a wonderful young man. Now, Richard, I’m sure you have work to do, because Mrs Moore and I most certainly have.’ Mrs Moore was pulling mixing bowls from the cupboard at the end of the room near the scullery. Richard shook his head at Veronica. ‘Speak,’ he commanded.

  Veronica glared at him, again, then looked at a point above Evie’s head. ‘The thing is, Dr Nicholls agrees that we should take the women, Lady Margaret’s trust can fund it, but no one has quite got around to asking Matron . . .’