by Val Wood
They said goodbye at the Hull railway station and Oswald wished her God speed and Keep safe and as she walked briskly away in the other direction, her cloak swinging about her ankles, he watched her with some restlessness. There were groups of young men standing around, chatting and laughing together, some in army uniform, some in their working clothes, and he wondered if they were in or had just enlisted in one of the Hull pals battalions that had recently been formed. Pasted up on the wall of the station entrance was a recruitment poster with an image of Lord Kitchener eloquently indicating to young men that Britain needed them, and this, added to his admiration of Edie brought on by her news of her mission abroad, brought to the fore a disquiet that had been festering for some time.
His mother opened the door to him. ‘Hello, Mater,’ he said jovially, and kissed her cheek as he stepped inside. ‘I gather you might have lost your precious Ada and have to answer the door yourself, until she’s back again!’
‘She’s left,’ Nora said mournfully, closing the door behind him. ‘She’s getting married on Monday and not coming back. Come on up. Pa and Eleanor will be home in an hour. He went to fetch her as she’s been given permission to attend the wedding – she’s made Ada a hat.’
‘Really?’ He laughed. ‘And is that reason enough for that expensive school to allow her out?’
‘It is an absolutely wonderful hat,’ Nora told him. ‘I’m really quite envious, and as it’s Eleanor’s very first garment made specifically for someone the school made an exception. We were surprised too.’
He dumped his bag in the hall and dropped his coat on top of it. ‘Eleanor probably told them it was a relative’s wedding,’ he joked, ‘and forgot to tell them that she was the family housekeeper!’
‘Ada has been here so long that she seems like a relative,’ his mother mused. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to manage without her.’ She laughed. ‘I never thought that I’d say such a thing.’
‘You’ll find someone else, won’t you?’ He followed her upstairs to the sitting room, where he took off his jacket and flopped on to the sofa.
‘I don’t know if I will. It seems that so many young men have enlisted that women are taking their jobs now. They don’t want to do housework.’
‘I travelled back with Edie,’ he remarked. ‘She’s come home to see Ada, though she can’t stay for the wedding. Will you go?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ll go with Eleanor,’ Nora said. ‘Ada asked if we would. Pa can’t go, of course, as it’s a weekday. What about you, can you stay?’
‘Sorry, Ma,’ he said. ‘I’ve to go back tomorrow. We’re really busy at the lab. Oh, and Lucy sends her love and is sorry that she couldn’t get home this weekend.’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘No. Not recently. She dropped me a postcard and said she hopes to be home at Christmas. I suppose it all depends on this dratted war,’ he added.
She was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘Yes, of course. I suppose she might be on duty, like Edie?’
It wasn’t quite a question, but he took it to be a kind of enquiry. ‘Yes, I expect so,’ he answered, and decided not to tell her that Edie was going abroad to work in an army hospital, in case she got it into her head that Lucy might do the same, which, he thought with a considerable amount of concern, she might if a request came.
He took a stroll into town that afternoon and wondered why it was so busy; groups of young men like those he had seen at the railway station were heading towards Queen Victoria Square, and out of curiosity he followed them. Outside the city hall was a military recruiting lorry and an omnibus, each with a queue of young men and boys, some looking as if they were still of school age. They were all grinning and joking and it struck him that most wouldn’t realize the seriousness of war; to them it would be merely a great and glorious adventure.
Standing at a table by the bus was a sergeant taking details and directing some of the men towards another queue, whilst the very young boys he waved away, shaking his head. Oswald narrowed his eyes. The sergeant was Stanley Morris.
It was two weeks later that the reality of war came home to those who had said that it wouldn’t last, the doubters who claimed that it was just a flash in the pan fomented by ambitious politicians and the military who were spoiling for a fight.
William came home from the bank extremely restless and carrying a well-read crumpled newspaper.
‘Cup of tea?’ Nora suggested. ‘Or something stronger? Have you had a hectic day?’
‘The latest war news has finally brought doubters to their senses and crowds of people have been into the bank to draw out their savings,’ he said wearily. ‘The clerks have notified quite a run on cash, which I suppose some might think is safer under their beds than in the bank vaults. Yes, a cup of tea would be nice, thank you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure that it is as effective at calming nerves as alcohol.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’ She sat down opposite him, rather than going to make tea.
He handed her the newspaper. ‘German battleships attacked Scarborough early yesterday morning. God damn them,’ he said vehemently. ‘There are less than thirty-five thousand inhabitants living in the town; what kind of threat could they have been to the Germans? People have been killed in their beds and hundreds injured!’
Nora gazed at the front page, which showed photographs of the damaged buildings and houses with the fronts blown out and tattered curtains hanging in shreds from glassless windows. She read on silently. Eighteen people had been killed including a baby, and newly recruited Territorials had been sent on their first war effort to help with the many injured.
She glanced up at him. ‘It says that the battleships went on to Whitby and fired on the town,’ she said. ‘Why? Why these small places? Is it because they knew they would be unprepared? Or is it,’ she went on slowly as the reality became clear, ‘because they are practising for something bigger? A port city like Hull? A city with rail links?’
He nodded. ‘I think you are right. Apparently there was a bombardment in Hartlepool too, so they’ve planned for the east coast. It’s the first onslaught on British soil since the war began.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And I’m very much afraid it won’t be the last. We must prepare ourselves. I know that many people might think I’m a pessimist, but I am not! I am a realist and we must be ready for what is to come.’
When Nora came back with a tray of tea, he got up and paced about and then went to the window and gazed out. ‘I feel as if I should be doing something,’ he muttered. ‘But I’m too old to enlist.’
Nora stared at him. ‘Well, thank goodness you are,’ she said. ‘The way things are moving on so quickly it’s likely that Oswald will be conscripted and I’m worried enough about him without having to worry about you as well!’
He turned to face her. ‘Oswald is doing important scientific work,’ he assured her. ‘It’s doubtful that he’ll be conscripted. Besides,’ he said wryly, ‘if he lost his spectacles he’d be unable to tell if the person in front of him was friend or foe!’
He sat down to drink his tea. That last remark was true, at least, he thought, but Oswald had indicated to him on his last visit that he too felt that he should be doing something, even though he was against war in principle and wouldn’t want to take up arms. He had also told him in confidence of the rumours flying around amongst the scientists he knew, that the Germans were working on a secret destructive process that they were preparing to use. ‘It will be devastating, Pa,’ he’d said. ‘Chemical warfare; and if what we hear is true, we should all be afraid.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Although Lucy and Oswald managed to get home for Christmas, they were both restless; Lucy because she felt she ought to be on duty in one of the hospitals. There were more and more injured soldiers coming back to home shores to be patched up before being sent back abroad when it was decided they were ready once more for active service. She was already doing far more than she would normally have been considered ready for,
but these were not normal times and she reflected that her superiors obviously had confidence in her ability to perform the duties of a more experienced doctor; she wasn’t confined only to taking temperatures or listening for a heartbeat, or standing alongside a fully qualified doctor to watch and learn, but was regularly in theatre helping with surgical procedures and bonesetting.
Oswald, on the other hand, was bothered that he should be undertaking more important work than he was currently doing at the pharmaceutical laboratory, and through the recommendation of a former fellow graduate had received an offer of a more senior position with another company.
‘I’m seriously debating whether to accept,’ he told Lucy. ‘Even though I feel that I should be at the front.’
‘You can’t possibly go to the front!’ Lucy replied. They were setting the dining table for Christmas lunch whilst Nora was in the kitchen helping Cook prepare it. ‘Can you actually see the letters on the optical wall chart?’
‘What?’ he said in mock surprise, pausing before opening a bottle of red wine. ‘Which letters? Which wall chart?’
She laughed, but he put the wine bottle on the dresser and frowned. ‘The news coming out of France is not good,’ he said. ‘They need more men than are enlisting.’
‘You haven’t had any papers though, have you?’
He shook his head. ‘No, and when I do I know for sure that they won’t want me. But do you know what? One of the young errand lads at Wellcome was handed a white feather a couple of weeks ago. He’s only sixteen and was really upset about it. He told his mother and she said he should lie about his age.’
‘His mother wants him to volunteer!’
Lucy was aghast at the idea, but Oswald went on, ‘His brother, who’s not quite eighteen, was accepted and his mother thinks young Joe would be too. She said she’d never be able to hold up her head again if he didn’t volunteer.’ He pondered for a moment before adding, ‘He’ll never make it home again if he does go. He’s scarcely big enough to hold a rifle. He’s just a skinny little kid.’
‘Things are very serious if they’ll take such young boys,’ Lucy murmured. ‘Do you think the Germans or the French are doing the same?’
Oswald took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I imagine so.’
Cook went home after she’d finished cooking. William had gone to the kitchen to thank her and give her a Christmas box. She’d offered to cook lunch for them, telling Nora that she would be cooking a Christmas dinner for an elderly aunt who liked to eat at seven o’clock prompt and afterwards always fell asleep by the fire. ‘I’d rather be here cooking for you who appreciates it,’ she said, ‘than Aunt Nell who considers it my duty as I’m ’onny niece left.’
She was still a comparatively young woman and Nora had an uneasy feeling that sooner rather than later she would up sticks and leave, probably to run a canteen or something similar.
Lucy and her aunt washed up the dishes after they’d finished lunch, which had had a forced jollity about it, and Eleanor put everything away in the cupboards. When they’d finished, Oswald came into the kitchen and insisted they all went to sit down and he’d make the coffee. He grinned. ‘Pa’s asleep by the fire. That second helping of Christmas pudding and brandy has done him in,’ he said in a mock Cockney voice.
‘I’ll help you,’ Lucy said, picking up a saucepan to warm some milk on the stove. Eleanor dashed away, and then Nora said she’d join William by the fire and would Oswald bring some biscuits from the biscuit barrel.
Lucy turned to get cups and saucers down from the cupboards.
‘Here, let me,’ he said, reaching above her, his hand resting momentarily on her shoulder. He looked down at her. ‘You smell nice,’ he murmured.
She smiled. ‘Antiseptic?’
He put his nose to her thick hair and breathed in. ‘Definitely not antiseptic,’ he said softly, and ran a strand through his fingers. ‘More like roses.’
She shrugged away from him. ‘If you knew how long it took to arrange my hair this morning,’ she admonished him. ‘It’s the perfume your mother gave me,’ she added awkwardly. ‘Attar of roses.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Rose oil.’
Oswald gazed at her. ‘Yes. Sorry. I mean— Oh!’ He gave a start. ‘The milk!’
Both reached for the saucepan to save the milk from boiling over.
‘Idiot,’ he muttered, and saw Lucy’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Me, I mean, not you.’ He gazed round the kitchen. ‘I’ve forgotten where everything is kept. Where will I find the coffee beans?’
Where had the awkwardness come from, Lucy wondered as she drank her coffee and idly turned the pages of one of her aunt’s magazines. She and Oswald had always talked easily together, or at least since they were young adults and had got over their sibling rivalry.
But something had changed and she couldn’t quite put her finger on when it had begun. It wasn’t just now in the kitchen as he’d commented on her perfume, and perhaps she was reading more into his gesture of fingering her hair than he had intended, but there was a stillness about him, a pause in time as his lingering soft-focused gaze had held hers. Neither, she thought, was it the first time.
You’re being ridiculous, she thought, dropping the magazine on the floor. Be careful or you’ll lose his friendship – his companionship, she silently chided herself, but then she wondered why he had excused himself after serving everyone with coffee and biscuits and had taken his up to his room.
On Boxing Day after lunch, when they had eaten left-over turkey and a casserole of vegetables, followed by trifle, mince pies and cream, Lucy said she was going to take a walk and thought she’d drop in on Mary to ask how everyone was. ‘It’s ages since I last saw her,’ she said. ‘And their daughters, what are they doing now?’
‘Both working,’ Nora said. She and Eleanor were busily knitting. ‘Sally works in one of her uncle’s shops, and I can’t recall what Daisy does.’
‘I’ll come too, if I may,’ Oswald said. ‘I could do with stretching my legs after all that food. Mary lives near her sister, doesn’t she? I’ll call in on Dolly and ask if there’s any news of Josh or Stanley.’
‘Stanley has been home recruiting but has gone again, and the last time I saw Dolly she was waiting for a letter from Josh.’ Nora counted her stitches. ‘She gets very anxious.’
‘Do you want to come for a walk, Eleanor?’ Lucy asked.
‘No fear,’ Eleanor said. ‘It’s too cold for me.’ She grinned up at them. ‘I’m a hothouse flower. I’m going to get a job in a glasshouse when I leave school.’
‘I thought you were going to be a fashion designer?’ Oswald stood up and stretched.
‘I was. Perhaps I might still be,’ she answered blithely. ‘But I’m rethinking my options because of the war.’
‘We’re all having to do that,’ her father said.
‘You too, Pa?’ Oswald said. ‘Surely you won’t leave the bank?’
‘No, I won’t do that, but I’ve applied to join the boards of some hospitals and first aid units. There are two wards at the Infirmary that are being earmarked for the military, and then there’s a refugee centre just round the corner from the bank where I could maybe be of practical help, you know.’
‘Edie mentioned that when I last saw her,’ Oswald remarked as he headed towards the door to get his coat. ‘She said her mother was helping out there.’
Nora looked up. ‘Why don’t we both do that, William?’ she said. ‘It’s all very well knitting socks, but I can do that at any time.’
Eleanor cast off her work and said, ‘There. That’s twelve pairs of mittens since Christmas Eve!’
‘Twelve pairs of mittens?’ Oswald echoed.
‘Well, fingerless gloves,’ she said. ‘The fingers are free so that the soldier can fire when holding a rifle. Look.’ She turned one inside out. ‘I’ve put a kiss in a different colour inside.’ She giggled. ‘I thought it might cheer up a homesick soldier who’s missing his wife or fiancée. I’ve already taken some into
the York recruiting office, but these can go to the Hull one.’
‘What a lovely idea, Eleanor,’ Lucy said. ‘Not firing at anyone, but seeing the kiss inside.’
‘I thought I could make shirts too,’ Eleanor said, casting on more stitches. ‘But I suppose they’d have to be regulation flannel or something and I’d need a bigger sewing machine than the one I’ve got now.’
She continued knitting and Lucy ran upstairs to get her coat and hat.
‘Of course, what I could do, Papa,’ Eleanor concentrated on her knitting as if her life depended upon it, ‘is leave school and set up a small business making shirts and – what do they call those long pieces of cloth that soldiers wrap round their calves?’
Her father sat up straight and looked at her. ‘Puttees,’ he said. ‘What are you talking about, Eleanor?’
Her mother put her knitting down too, and they all heard Lucy call out, ‘We won’t be long.’
‘I’m talking about doing something for the war effort, Papa,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m very good at designing and sewing and knitting. I’m not as clever academically as Lucy or Oswald, although I’m not bad at maths, and staying on at school for another year or two is not going to make any difference to my education. There are other women – girls – like me who could do that kind of thing just as well as working in a factory or being postwomen. They might even prefer it,’ she added.
Her father and mother looked at each other. ‘Well!’ her mother said, and her father sat back again in the chair and folded his arms, which Eleanor took as a very bad sign, but after a long silence he pursed his lips and rubbed his beard, and said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps – let’s think it over for a day or two. I’m not saying yes or no at this point, but it needs seriously thinking through. What did you say you’d need? Bigger sewing machines – you’d need more than one – and where would you open this little workshop? You realize it would have to come up to a satisfactory standard for the military to be a proper profitable business?’