Easterleigh Hall at War

by Margaret Graham

  His head just cleared a branch. ‘It was good of Harry and Ron to organise this for you.’

  She leaned back against the trunk, her arms crossed against the cold. ‘It wasn’t for me, really. It was for everyone. It has become a talisman, I think.’

  Auberon looked skyward. Some snowflakes fell through the branches to lie on his lashes, cheeks and hair. He wore his khaki greatcoat, stained, worn but a familiar part of him now. ‘It was for us, a talisman I mean. But they did it for you, they told me. They hold you in high esteem. You seemed to be everywhere, making sure that everyone had all they could possibly need.’ He looked at her now. ‘What about you, Evie Forbes? Have you everything you could possibly need?’

  In the darkness of the tree she remembered the camp hospital, the feel of his arms around her, the war stench of his coat, his eyes, the safety. She pushed herself free of the trunk, straightened her shoulders. ‘Yes, Simon is home and we’re going to make a wonderful hotel here, Aub, thanks to you. And I have to thank you too for bringing everyone home safely.’ She reached out her hand. It was frozen from clutching her shawl. He took it, kissed it. ‘I forgot my gloves also, Evie, so we’re both too cold for our own good. We should return to the warmth, don’t you think?’

  He waved her before him. They walked together across the lawn, creating new footprints, the snow squeaking as they did so. She hurried across the gravel towards the kitchen. He went up the steps, waiting at the top, watching her, hoping his love hadn’t shown, nor his despair. But all he wanted was her happiness, he reminded himself, and that was what she had now. It was time he moved on.

  On Boxing Day morning Auberon called into the parsonage. He had walked in the snow, now at least eighteen inches thick, and his trousers were saturated above his boots, and bloody freezing. Charlie had arrived last night and was staying with Jack and Grace, and Mart had obviously been here a while as he was warm and dry. They were all gathered around the kitchen table. Grace had tea on the go and said, ‘I know you wanted the meeting here, Aub, away from the chaos of the Hall with all the flu cases, but I hope you don’t mind the kitchen. It’s the warmest room in the house.’ She led him through the hall into the gas-lit kitchen.

  Auberon sat on the cushioned carver chair at the head of the table, with Jack at the other end. ‘Someone should tell Evie she needs cushions on the kitchen stools,’ he said. They looked at one another, then at him, ironic pity on their faces. Grace said, ‘It would be like telling Matron that perhaps she needs to improve her patient care, so we’ll leave you to charge those particular guns, Aub. We’ll patch you up afterwards.’

  Auberon laughed. ‘Perhaps I’ll not mention the cushions, but I need to talk to you all seriously now.’ He stirred his tea, but why? There was no sugar. There was a pot of honey though, and Jack pushed this towards him. It was Easterleigh Hall’s and the label was impressive, with a pen and ink drawing of the cedar tree, the old one. The new one would grow into its likeness, with Evie guarding its progress. He stopped himself. Enough of Evie, her future in the hotel was assured.

  He took a spoonful of honey and held it over the tea, watching it run from the spoon. As it did so he said, ‘I think it’s a lost cause to suggest Jack and Mart leave the pits altogether?’

  He checked they were listening. They were, and nodding. ‘The rumour mill will have told you by now that Ver, Richard and I own the pits, and I propose that you, Jack, and you, Mart work three days a week at Auld Maud and Hawton, and attend a course the other two days for two years to gain your Certificate of Competence. This means that when Davies at Easton, and Montgomery at Hawton retire, which will be in three years, you can take over the running of a pit each. That should end the endless complaints against the bosses.’

  He placed his teaspoon in the saucer and sipped his tea, watching them over the rim. They were looking at one another, dumbfounded. Good, he’d made them speechless at last. He smiled, adding, ‘Of course you will be paid throughout, and I will carry the cost of the study. We need people who physically understand the mines here, and you two do, and might I say that you deserve every moment of the success I know you will have, and will create the safest pits in the whole history of the mining industry, and no doubt tread on numerous toes while doing so.’ He laughed.

  Jack muttered, ‘Aye, been under enough falls to read Auld Maud like a bloody book.’ But he too was laughing. Grace gripped his hand, her face alight with relief. ‘They needed something to focus on, Aub. But you’ll know that, with the hotel to build. It’ll keep you out of mischief.’

  Mart said, ‘Hawton would be like a home from bloody home. Same seam line. But I reckon Jack would just make a balls-up on his own at Auld Maud, so we’ll stick together there. Be time enough to wear suits and strut off to work when we’ve got the certificate in our hands. It’ll be grand, bonny lad. Bloody grand.’ They came to him. Aub stood. ‘I’ll do my best for you, Aub,’ Jack said, pumping his hand.

  ‘I know you will, Jacko.’ Mart was there too, taking over the pumping. ‘You’ll have the best and safest bloody couple of pits in the region, bonny lad, and no doubt be looking over my shoulder every step of the way,’ he told Auberon.

  They resumed their seats. Charlie was staring into his cup, as though he could see Australia. Auberon said, ‘Now, young Charlie. It seems to me that your idea of organising shooting parties for the hotel guests is a very good one. Of course, unlike your wartime activities you will not be wearing a sniper’s badge, but it will be up to you and our gamekeeper, Thomas, to protect and increase the numbers of our pheasant, partridge and every other damn game bird under the sun. You will stay in the under-gardeners’ house, if that suits you, and that will give these two a bit of time alone.’

  It suited Charlie very well, and as always he was the one who put into words what the others found they could not. He said, ‘You’ve saved us again, Auberon. It’s going to get hard with the soldiers coming home, and the world in chaos. Work will be scarce. But now, we’ll live to see many beautiful days together. All of us together.’ He came to the head of the table, his hand out, pumping Auberon’s and then hugging him. The others watched and Auberon heard a lot of coughing going on and smiled to himself, his own heart full. He hugged Charlie back, feeling his ribs. ‘You need just a bit more feeding up, lad. Make sure you make a friend of Evie, not to mention Mrs Moore.’

  Charlie released him finally, returning to his seat. Grace poured more tea. Charlie finished his in two gulps. ‘Bit small, these cups, Gracie.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll give you a refill.’ She did so, as Charlie watched, and then asked, ‘But what about Simon? Is he going to be head gardener when Old Stan goes?’

  There was a general shifting, and Jack said, ‘What more can he want? He has my sister’s love, and the hotel; the gardens to tend, and the guests to entertain. Old Stan’ll be around for a while yet. It would kill him to have to leave, especially now his son and grandson are six foot under.’

  Auberon spooned honey into his refreshed tea. ‘I feel just that, Jack. There really is nothing more I can offer a man with so much.’

  Grace was pushing ginger biscuits towards him, watching him closely, but she said nothing. A minute passed. He could think of nothing to say, no way to leave. Jack leaned forward. ‘Evie sent these when she heard that you had asked for a meeting. Rustled ’em up in no time. She knows they’re your favourite. Have one, or I’ll tell her you turned your nose up.’

  He smiled then, and took one, placing it on his plate. Grace said, ‘What of you, Auberon? Will you help with the renovation of Easterleigh Hall when the last patients leave?’

  Auberon had known this would come, and checked his watch. ‘Good heavens, is that the time?’

  He snatched up the biscuit, ‘I’ll eat it as I go.’ He looked around the table; Charlie with colour in his cheeks, just a bit, Mart eager now to face the future, Grace staring, a puzzled look on her face. Jack was hot on his heels as he hurried to the front door, helping him on with his coat, he
aving himself into his own. Aub put the biscuit in his pocket and helped settle Jack’s coat on his shoulders. ‘There’s no need, Jack. Stay in the warm.’

  ‘I need some air.’ Jack’s tone was final. In a way, Auberon was glad. He opened the door and the cold gushed in. He turned. Grace, Charlie and Mart were in the hall. ‘See you tomorrow, boss,’ called Mart.

  Aub looked for a long moment, then nodded and set off down the path, with Jack as his shadow. The wind was biting into them, carrying more snow, he didn’t doubt. The smell of sulphur from the slag heap hung heavy; the smoke was more like steam. Auberon looked around, as though drinking it in. ‘Home from bloody home,’ he murmured. ‘You take care of your family, eh Jack. Make a good life for yourself, now it’s all over.’ Jack pulled him round. ‘What’s going on, Aub?’

  Auberon was dragging on his gloves. ‘I’m going away, back to the Somme.’

  Jack stared, then said very quietly, ‘In search of tranquillity? It’s a bloody ruin, man.’

  ‘Not all of it, only along the front line. The river remains, and it’s long, and full of carp. There are villages to the east with estaminets. Maybe I’ll find something, or someone, there.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Ah, Jacko, how long is a piece of string?’ Auberon smiled, but it was a strained, weary, sad smile.

  Jack gripped his arm. ‘But you’re our marra, my marra. We’re home. You’re home. I need you. I’ll miss you, for God’s sake. You’re part of what I fought for.’

  Auberon couldn’t look at this man whom he respected above all others, who he felt was like the other half of him. ‘You’re my marra, just know that, always. I understand, now, exactly what that means.’

  Veronica stood beside Auberon on the bottom step, looking down the drive. Richard was on Auberon’s other side. No Ted and his rumble-tumble taxi, as James called it. ‘You’ve everything you need, darling Aub?’ she asked, determined that she would not cry. He was safe, the war was over, he was just going on a journey. But why, she wanted to scream.

  He kicked at his kitbag. ‘It got me through the war, it’ll get me through the peace.’ There had been no snow last night after all, but the cold was bitter. ‘Do go inside, Ver. No need to catch a chill with this influenza in full flood.’ He drew out his cigarette case, offered it to Richard, his eyes on the cedar tree now. Snow decorated its branches. ‘It looks as though it belongs on the Christmas cake Evie baked,’ Veronica murmured.

  He patted the end of his cigarette on the case, which he slipped back into his pocket, lit his cigarette and drew deeply, watching the smoke he exhaled as it drifted straight up. They all watched it. Was he working out a sniper’s sighting? Veronica heard him at night, in the room next to hers. Sometimes he shouted, sometimes screamed. Grace said that Jack did too. Well, it was no more than they had been living with at Easterleigh Hall for such a long time. ‘Stay,’ she said. ‘Here, where you are loved.’

  ‘It will grow,’ he said, flicking his hand towards the tree. ‘Give it time.’

  She clung to his arm. ‘Aub, you sound as though it’s for ever. Please, I love you, we all love you. Come home to us.’

  He patted her hand, his eyes still on the tree. ‘You can write through my bank. They’ll know where I am as I send for money. I just need some time, Ver. It’s been so long since I’ve been alone, just to think, to find a way . . .’

  ‘Let him go, darling. I know what he means.’ Richard put his arm around Aub’s shoulders. ‘Come back, old lad.’

  Ted’s taxi was turning into the drive. They watched as it stalled between the gateposts and laughed gently as Ted got out, slammed the door shut and cranked the engine. They could imagine the language.

  Behind them the doors opened. Evie came to them, a hamper in her arms. ‘If you must go, Aub, you will take some remnants of Christmas, and if I find the cake in crumbs on the drive as a feast for the birds, I will hunt you down, with another piece. Is that quite clear?’

  Veronica laughed as Auberon threw his cigarette on to the snow-covered drive and took the hamper, placing it on top of his kitbag. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said.

  Evie was shivering. ‘By, it’s a cold day for you to be going off fishing, Aub. I think I’d prefer a fire and a scone, myself.’

  She stood there rubbing her arms, her hessian apron flour-dusted, her cheeks red from the range. Veronica brushed some flour from her cheek. ‘Quite,’ she agreed.

  Ted had at last restarted the car and all four of them watched as the wheels skidded on the snow, and then gripped, coming towards them. Auberon carried the kitbag and hamper down on to the drive. Veronica wanted the engine to stall again and never restart. She felt Evie’s hand in hers, squeezing, then they both hurried down the steps to stand with him. Ted getting nearer. Evie stood in front of Auberon now, looking up at him. ‘You take care, bonny lad. We’ll be here when you return, unchanged, the hotel on its way. It had better not be for too long, you hear? Our Jack says you’re one of his, and they need you back. Be safe, be lucky.’

  Veronica saw that her eyes were full, as her own were. Auberon just nodded, then said, ‘Look after yourself and Simon. You have your dream, live it. Be happy, for you deserve every second.’

  They heard Mrs Moore then, shouting from the entrance to the stable yard, ‘There are vegetables shrivelling as you three loiter, let the pair of them be, lass, or you’ll end up being put in the boot with the kitbag.’

  Evie waited a moment, then reached up and touched Auberon’s cheek for a second, and rushed away. Veronica watched her, and then her brother, as Evie disappeared from view. She had never forgotten the diary entry and it was only now that she knew why he was leaving, and her heart broke for Auberon, but what could she say?

  Ted chugged up, turning a circle, keeping the engine running as he clambered out. He was even more grumpy than usual, the black shiny cap which he insisted on wearing when he came to the big house slipping to one side. He was murmuring under his breath, ‘Bloody old bag, that’s what she is, got no manners, not one.’ He meant his car.

  He carried the hamper to the boot. His cap slipped right off, into the snow. ‘Bloody bloody cap . . .’ Veronica, Richard and Auberon exchanged a laugh, a quiet one. ‘Look after everyone,’ Auberon told Veronica, and held her.

  She said into his coat, ‘You know very well who does all the looking after in this establishment, a monstrous regiment of one.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘Then look after her, and everyone else will be all right.’

  He shook Richard’s hand. Richard said, ‘We’ll miss you, old chap. Really we will.’

  Suddenly the steps were crowded with nurses, VADs, orderlies, Dr Nicholls, Matron, and staff who used to be called servants, Veronica said to herself, glad of the change. They were calling, ‘God speed,’ ‘Come back to us,’ ‘Goodbye, good luck.’ There was one last wave from Auberon, and then he was in the car, and Ted was chugging off towards the road. Veronica looked towards the stable yard. There were all the kitchen staff with Mrs Moore, Evie and Simon, waving with tea towels. Veronica wanted to strangle Simon with one of them, because he had the happiness that her brother deserved.

  Chapter 19

  Easterleigh Hall, 1919

  AS JANUARY TURNED to February, many of the wounded had now recovered enough to be moved to convalescent homes in their own areas, or to be discharged completely. Millie had sent a card from America for Tim’s eighth birthday, saying that she and Heine were well and would see him again one day. In the meantime he was to be a good boy for Jack. Grace sat next to him on Susan and Bob Forbes’ sofa after they’d had tea and said to Tim, ‘Sometimes something happens in a life and a person has to go away. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you.’

  Tim looked from her to Susan Forbes, who had been there, always. He held up the drawing he had done of one of Grandad’s pigeons. ‘It’s a belter, isn’t it, Granny? Mam’s all right. She’ll be back if she wants. She always does what she wants, doesn’t she?’
>
  Influenza was still raging world-wide, and that included Easterleigh Hall, where it was taking lives. Returning POWs were arriving, skeletal, with injuries often resembling those of miners, which was what many of them had been in the hands of the Germans. Throughout the country there was discontent at the slowness of demobilisation. Yet again Evie blessed Auberon and Richard for bringing their men home so quickly, but Richard wouldn’t want her thanks again as he and Veronica suffered with influenza in their suite of rooms. Angela Dore kept James well away in her own quarters, which were now in the cottage that Lady Margaret had vacated.

  Matron insisted at the morning meeting around the kitchen table that today, 10th February and her birthday, was the day on which as many VADs as possible must be given notice of release, and nurses too, because they were also getting demobilisation fever, and she had enough to deal with without a load of hysterical females cluttering up the place.

  She added, ‘I, however, will remain until the end, because I feel that the huts erected beyond the formal gardens could still be used for anyone in need of convalescence, when you start considering accommodation for your hotel clientele.’

  Evie looked up from her note-taking, Ron too. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged. Matron’s look made it clear that she had every intention of so doing. ‘Well, it’s common sense, isn’t it? Our wounded are not just going to disappear from the earth in a puff of smoke. They will exist until the day they die, with injuries that will change their lives. We should be here to look after them. Young Harry feels his father’s fund-raising group would be prepared to provide money for their care, and indeed, their families, should they wish to come too. These people may come for holidays, for help with false limbs, for whatever is needed, or for longer stays. I hope that whoever else cares to be involved will remain here, at Easterleigh, in that rather nice little cottage which is at present almost derelict. Dr Nicholls has agreed that there is a need, and has intimated he is happy to be involved, as has Sister Newsome. Grace will be happy to join us, on a day-to-day basis.’