On Christmas Day

by Rosie James

  She pressed her lips together tightly. Those days were dead and gone, so no use crying about it. But it didn’t take much to make her cry these days, what with everything. The simplest word or act could set her off.

  One bright spot in the darkness was that her employer seemed to have turned a corner lately. In fact, despite the gaping hole left by Alfred’s death, she might even think Mr McCann was … happy. And that seemed to be since his Thursday night commitments had ended. Where on earth had he been going all those years?

  Anna shrugged. She would never understand him – and anyway, it was not her place to understand him. All she knew was that he seemed to have a spring in his step again, and that he usually made sure he was here in the kitchen on Friday nights when Lexi came in with the rents. Despite his somewhat arrogant attitude towards people like the Martins, he was treating Lexi with a certain amount of respect now.

  And so he should, Anna thought impatiently. Everyone should be treated respectfully – whether they were rich like him, or not.

  In his study, Reynard opened one or two files, then closed them again and sat back. Business was pretty good on the whole, in spite of what was going on in France, so he had no particular problems, but he was being eaten alive with anxiety in not knowing what was to happen to Bakewell’s property. Reynard knew the solicitors who were dealing with the matter but they were keeping their mouths shut. Not saying a word. Great Scot – the old man had been dead for three months!

  Reynard pursed his lips. Eventually, of course, the news would have to be revealed and then he would move in with his mighty cheque book at the ready. But he knew how solicitors worked – very slowly indeed. He should know – he’d had his share of solicitors over the years …

  He put the files away and stood up. It was almost time for his coffee … perhaps he’d have it in the dining room for a change, rather than up here.

  On his way down, Reynard suddenly heard two light taps on the front door, and he paused on the stairs for a moment. That was odd. The bell was there to be rung – and legitimate callers always rang the bell.

  More slowly, he made his way down to the ground floor - and on an impulse went to the hallstand and reached for his stoutest cane, the one with the round, hard marble head. Well, the unwelcome visit from those two louts some time ago had made Reynard extra cautious – he admitted it, but on that occasion, he had been unprepared He’d never be caught out like that again, though surely anyone of evil intent would wait for darkness to fall? And yes – it may be daylight, but Grey Gables was quite isolated, being at the end of a long drive, and that tapping sounded secretive and strangely sinister, making the hair on the back of Reynard’s neck prickle slightly.

  There it was again … a furtive tap, tap … and Reynard moved towards the front door, grasping the cane more tightly. He hadn’t even unlocked the house yet this morning. Turning the key, he slid the massive bolt to one side, then carefully opened the door and peered uncertainly into the sharp morning light. After the darkness of the hall it wasn’t easy to make out who was standing there. But at least he could see at once that there was only one of them.

  As Reynard stepped closer, the man – tall, thin and gaunt-featured – was the first to speak.

  ‘Hello Dad.’

  For a moment there was complete silence. Then –

  ‘Good God!’ Reynard mouthed the words through dry lips.

  ‘Alfred?’ he whispered.

  Without another word, Reynard stepped aside for his son to enter, then closed the door quickly and led the way into the dining room., Reynard wondering whether he was in the middle of a nightmare or a wonderful dream.

  Alfred sat down on the chair which Reynard had pulled out for him, and looked up. And from the shocked expression on his father’s face it was obvious that he had not been told.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Alfred began. ‘I mean – I am sorry that you were clearly not informed that I had survived.’

  Reynard sat opposite, but very close, and tried to speak. For a few moments the words would just not come out, and he breathed deeply, in and out, trying to control himself. ‘No … I, we … had no idea, Alfred. Not at all …’ he said faintly, but after a short silence he added – ‘I shall be making my feelings known at the War Office, I can tell you that. I mean … what incompetence! What disgraceful disrespect to those waiting at home! How … how dare they!’

  Alfred gave a watery smile. This war may be changing things but it hadn’t changed his father. Reynard was still ready to fight his corner.

  ‘You may not know how things are everywhere, Dad,’ Alfred said, ‘but I am not at all surprised that my name was missed out as one of the survivors.’ He swallowed. ‘It is chaos out there … absolute chaos. More and more men are being drafted in all the time, with others sent home for a brief leave before going back again. It’s all coming and going, it’s mayhem. Utter chaos. You cannot believe it.’

  At last, the realization that his son was actually here, and safe, hit Reynard, and he got up and went over to the book case to fill two large glasses with brandy. Then he held one out to Alfred who stood up. And the two looked at each other steadily.

  ‘Welcome home, Alfred,’ Reynard said huskily over the lump in his throat. ‘Welcome home.’

  They both drank, and Alfred began, ‘I owe you an apology, Dad,’ but Reynard dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. He knew what Alfred was going to say.

  ‘No – there is no need to apologize that you enlisted without my approval,’ he said. ‘You are young, and the young are hot-headed.’ He paused. ‘I have been that way myself from time to time.’ He took another large drink. ‘No, I am proud of you, Alfred, proud that you wished to fight for your country, and I give thanks that someone, somewhere, decided that it was not your turn to die.’

  His own words made Reynard’s hand shake briefly. He had lived with his terrible grief all these months, and to have his son here now, and alive – and it seemed in reasonable health – was proving almost as difficult to deal with as the enormous sorrow had been. As if he could not take the news in all at once, as if he needed time and space to absorb the miracle.

  But there were practical issues to deal with. ‘And … you are going back?’ Reynard asked cautiously. ‘When … how soon … how soon are you going back, Alfred?’

  Alfred shook his head. ‘No, I have been demobbed, invalided out,’ he said slowly. ‘My war is over, Dad.’ He sat down heavily and Reynard brought his own chair over and sat as well.

  ‘Well, thank heaven for that! Thank heaven!’ Reynard exclaimed. ‘You have done your bit, Alfred, done your best! And you can be proud of yourself! I am proud of you! Very proud indeed!’

  There was a very long pause after that, then Alfred said, so quietly that Reynard had to lean in further to hear what he was saying. ‘I do not deserve it that you should be proud of me,’ Alfred said slowly, ‘because there are many, many others who deserve acclaim, but I am not one of them.’

  Reynard broke in. ‘How can you say that! Because you have returned in one piece does not negate the fact that you volunteered – and you fought! Alongside others, you fought for your country!’

  Alfred put his glass down on the table and stared at his father. ‘I did volunteer,’ he said, ‘But what you do not know – and neither does another living soul know – is that I ran away.’ Alfred lowered his head to hide his shame. ‘I ran away.’

  ‘You – did – what?’ Reynard whispered.

  ‘I ran away from battle,’ Alfred said dully, ‘I just turned and ran. Away from that noise, Dad … you cannot imagine the noise, the terrible, terrible noise, the continuous bombardment.’ Alfred took a huge swig before going on. ‘Of course you would not have been told, but my unit was sent straight to the Somme, the heart and soul of the battle, where we went into training straightaway. And where we were to experience a baptism of blood and fire which none of us could ever have imagined.’ Now it was the turn of Alfred’s hand to shake visibly, as h
e recounted that time. ‘Soon, we were attacking twice a day, carrying our guns and full magazines on our backs, sometimes walking for miles before the whole battalion would hole up in some wooded area which was always inches deep in thick, filthy, oozing mud …’

  Alfred had to take a deep breath as he relived his nightmare, before going on. ‘We had a huge concentration of artillery, and we’d been bombarding for over a week with high expectations of success – but we were soon to find out that the Germans could match us with no problem, no problem at all! Their counter attack with a barrage of high-explosive shells being something out of hell … hell itself could not compete with that sound! That desecration!’ Alfred’s voice rose higher. ‘There were bodies everywhere … mutilated bodies … in and out of the trenches … and the casualties kept on coming and coming so that all the flanks got mixed up, and one day …’ Alfred lowered his voice to a whisper as if he didn’t want to be heard. ‘After a particularly terrible attack I got to my feet and when the smoke had cleared I saw at once that there was no one else there, no one at all! I realized it straightaway – it was just me, me by myself, surrounded by the bodies, or parts of bodies of my comrades …’ Alfred shuddered with renewed horror. ‘My first and only instinct was to escape from that noise and find somewhere safe. Find somewhere to sleep, somewhere to close my eyes. None of us had had any rest for days. So…..I just dropped my gun, and walked.’

  Alfred’s shoulders slumped. ‘So that’s it, I’m afraid, Dad. I walked away as far as possible from that din, that total hell – and I wished with all my heart that I had died, too, along with all my comrades. Because death is peace and that is what I craved more than anything else in the whole world. Peace and quiet. To shut life out for ever.’

  There was complete silence as Alfred’s words sank in, then Reynard said quietly –

  ‘But where did you go?’

  ‘I had no idea where I was going, I just kept walking until that noise … that ghastly, unforgettable noise receded,’ Alfred’s tone was listless now, as if talking had exhausted him. ‘But some hours later I saw a farmhouse in the distance and wondered if anybody was still there, still alive. The whole territory seemed in deathly isolation.’

  ‘And was there anyone there?’

  Alfred nodded. ‘I didn’t find out until later because apparently I was found semi-conscious slumped in their doorway where I had collapsed, and then I slept for a week. I don’t remember much of that time, only that I was looked after by the old lady and her daughter. They had taken me in and fed me with what little they had themselves.’ Alfred paused to collect his thoughts. ‘They had a few chickens, so they gave me an egg a few times,’ he added.

  By now, Reynard felt completely overwhelmed by what he was hearing, and he cleared his throat. ‘We must find the old lady,’ he said, ‘as soon as this war is over we must return to thank her.’ He paused. ‘So – how long did you stay there? All that must have taken place some time ago?’

  Alfred smiled for the first time that day. ‘I stayed longer than I should, Dad, because I knew I would have to somehow join another unit. But the daughter – she was called Simone – persuaded me to stay until they thought I was fit enough to walk back into the fray.’ There was a very long pause. ‘Simone was a beautiful young woman and I was able to speak her language pretty well, so there was good communication between us. And … I will never forget her, never,’ Alfred said. ‘She was sweet, and gentle, and at first she helped to wash and feed me until I could do it myself. But the touch of her hand as she combed my hair was the touch of an angel.’

  Alfred finished the last of his brandy before going on – ‘I was not only very lucky to be still alive, but to have found myself in female company again was so unexpected – and so much more than I deserved. More than I could ever have deserved, under the circumstances.’

  Reynard sat back. War or no war, it seemed that Alfred would never be short of a woman to take his mind off things.

  ‘But what happened when you reported back to headquarters?’ Reynard said. ‘They would have wanted an explanation.’

  Alfred shrugged. ‘I don’t think they had the time or resources to bother about that,’ he said. ‘They were aware that my unit had been completely annihilated, but to be honest, they didn’t seem to care about how I’d survived – or even where I’d been. Casualties were being counted in, in their hundreds, all the time, so one more or less – dead or alive – was irrelevant.’ Alfred shook his head. ‘You would not believe the indescribable situation,’ he said quietly. Then, after a moment – ‘Anyway, before rejoining, I had to have a full medical – naturally enough – and apart from a wonky lung, I apparently have only half my hearing now, and I’ve lost two toes, thanks to trench foot.’ Alfred gritted his teeth. ‘Thick, wet mud up to your thighs is an unpleasant experience.’

  For once, Reynard was lost for words. What had his son, and all those other sons, been put through? And were still being put through?

  ‘But you are here, you are home again, Alfred!’ Reynard said. ‘And now you must put all this behind you and get on with your life. You deserve that.’

  Alfred nodded slowly. ‘You are right that I must try and put it behind me, Dad,’ he said, ‘but what I will never be able to put behind me is that I walked off. I deserted. Even though I went back for a time, I did desert. I am ashamed, and you must be ashamed of me, too.’

  ‘Ashamed of you? Never!’ Reynard raised his voice. ‘You walked into that fray long before you needed to, and the fact that fate sent you somewhere safer for a small part of it is your good luck, Alfred, your good luck! No one else need ever know about that, no one else must ever know about it, because no good ever comes from putting in unnecessary details. Sometimes in life, silence is golden, and that is what we shall do. Keep silent. Your running away – as you call it – is between you and me, Alfred, and no one else! Do you understand?’

  Alfred looked away. How could he contradict? How would it help if he did? He put his head in his hands. ‘I wish I could see it like you do, Dad,’ he began, and Reynard leaned in towards him.

  ‘I think it’s time you learned something of my own war, Alfred,’ he said, and Alfred looked up, surprised. Reynard had never spoken of that time in his life.

  ‘I, like you, was young,’ Reynard said, ‘and determined to go into uniform. So I volunteered for the first Boer War. The whole idea of battle enthralled me. How gallant of me to fight for king and country! And my memorable experience was around Christmas, 1880, during the battle of Bronkhorstpruit. We were youngsters, all fresh and full of such hopes … we were the British! Nothing could stop us, and we’d swat the enemy as if they were a swarm of flies! Just watch us! And we had our Enfield rifles … it took me very little time to master that weapon, and I was a crack shot. I had a good aim …’ Reynard lifted his empty glass to his lips, before going on more quietly.

  ‘What we didn’t know was that the Boers were waiting for us. And they were well-armed, too, with Enfields and Mausers, and they outnumbered us! They were well prepared! They ambushed the British columns, and in a matter of minutes it was our dead who littered the scene, and many, many more were wounded … terrible injuries…’ Reynard’s nostrils flared at the vile recollection. ‘We were besieged, and food was getting scarce – for the first time in my life I knew what it was to feel hungry, and I was terrified that I would never see England again.’ Reynard took in a deep breath to clear his lungs before going on ‘But somehow … somehow, Alfred, like you I was one of the few survivors. And I’ll never know why,’ Reynard added. He stared across at Alfred. ‘You say you feel ashamed, Alfred – well, let me tell you, I do, too. Because I was part of the only war which Britain has ever lost. Isn’t that a shameful thing to have to admit? For once, victory was not to be ours, and that was partly due to me and my unit. So you can see why it is something I choose not to remember or to talk about,’ he added slowly.

  Neither spoke for a few moments, then Alfred said quietly ‘Do y
ou know what I was thinking during all those nights in the trenches, Dad? I was thinking of you at Grey Gables, and that when this was all over I wanted to be home and to work for you. To follow in your footsteps, and to learn from you, Dad.’ He paused. ‘There can’t be anyone better than you to show me the way to succeed.’

  In the kitchen, Anna finished preparing the coffee, then went over to open the door. As she trod up the stairs she heard voices in the dining room, and she stopped for a second, frowning. She didn’t think her employer was seeing any visitors this morning, but she turned and went back down to add another cup and saucer to the tray. There was plenty of coffee in the jug for two.

  Presently, she tapped gently on the dining room door and waited for an answer. Almost immediately Reynard appeared, and she saw that his face was flushed and his hair all over the place – which was not like him her employer at all. There was obviously a big business deal going on.

  The man sitting there in the room had his back towards her, and she went across to the put the tray down on the table without glancing to left or right. Anna knew when her presence wasn’t needed, and she turned to go. Then –

  ‘Hello, Anna,’ the man said, standing up and moving towards her.

  For a full ten seconds Anna thought that she was hallucinating. That was Alfred’s voice – and it could even be Alfred standing there – but Alfred was dead! She had seen the telegram herself! He had been dead for months and months! But of course … this was April Fool’s day and she was being tricked! She was either losing her mind, or she was the victim of the cruellest April Fool trick she’d ever known! But –

  ‘It’s me, Anna,’ the man said. ‘It’s me. Alfred.’

  And those were the last words Anna Hobbs heard before she felt her senses swim. Before she could utter a single word in response, her knees buckled and she floated gracefully to the floor in a dead faint.