Under the July Sun

by Barbara Jones

  ‘Eliza. But most people call me, Lize. Pleased to meet you Michael.’ She pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear and colour rushed into her cheeks.

  Ellie noticed she was blushing and thought Lize had another side to her, as well as being a bitch!

  23

  Plumstead

  April 1917

  Lize strode across the playground and pushed through the swing doors of Reggie’s school.

  Immediately ahead she saw the door marked, Headmaster’s Office. She didn’t know why the Head had summoned her, but decided it was better to get it over with. It was an awful, rainy April day and she was cold, wet and agitated as she went into the building.

  When she reached the Headmaster’s office she stood still for a while composing her thoughts, trying to quell her nervousness, then tapped on the door.

  Immediately the door opened and Mr. Frome waved her inside.

  ‘Sit down, Mrs. Collis, this won’t take long.’

  His tone sounded unfriendly and businesslike.

  Lize sat down, afraid of what he was going to say. She tucked her legs beneath the chair criss-crossed at the ankle and pushed her hands into her pockets to hide their trembling. She felt like a silly child, and wanted to cry. This man frightened her. She badly needed Charlie.

  Mr. Frome sat in his chair, leaned his elbows on the desk and looked at her over the top of his glasses.

  Lize’s eyes settled on the blotter beneath his elbows and the inkwell neatly placed next to the inkstand and pen. It seemed an interminable wait. She wished he’d get on with whatever it was he had called her into the school about.

  He let out a sigh. ‘Mrs. Collis, I have a rather delicate matter to speak to you about. Normally, I would have spoken to Reginald’s father, but unfortunately that cannot be.’

  Whatever was he going to come out with, Lize wondered? It sounded pretty ominous and fear rose like bile in her throat. Drained of colour she looked Mr. Frome in the eye.

  ‘Is it something bad, Mr. Frome?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is!’ He didn’t continue for a while, but sat staring down at his blotter.

  Lize lowered her eyes. This was awful she thought, now she was going to cry, she knew it. Lize couldn’t prevent big tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Mr. Frome ignored her tears and began his speech. ‘You see Reginald has been involved in something rather difficult for me to speak to a lady about, but in the absence of his father I’m afraid I am forced to inform you that I am going to cane him and then expulsion will follow immediately.’

  Lize straightened up. ‘Why? What on earth has he done? Has he stolen something, or anything like that?’ she was floundering. She felt as though she had to guess Reggie’s misdemeanour.

  Then, as though having given it enough time for thought, Mr. Frome told her what had happened.

  ‘At playtime this morning your son was found outside the storeroom trying to interfere with a young girl. He had his trousers down.’

  Lize gasped. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing became difficult; but there was more to come. Mr. Frome cleared his throat, to continue, but Lize butted in.

  ‘My Reggie wouldn’t do such a thing, there must be some mistake!’

  ‘I’m afraid there is no mistake, Mrs. Collis, I saw him myself. I’m afraid we have to take strong disciplinary action now.’

  Lize couldn’t take it in. Her head spun. The room was suddenly too hot and that man was giving her an absolutely awful look. She imagined Mr. Frome thought she was horrible, just like Reggie.

  ‘Mrs. Collis, do you fully understand the seriousness of this?’

  Lize wiped the sweat from her face with her handkerchief. ‘Yes. Yes of course. But surely you were mistaken. Perhaps they were just playing.’

  ‘No. They were not playing. The little girl was extremely upset and told me that he wouldn’t let her go. Her parents may make a complaint to the police.’

  ‘Oh. No. Please, can’t you do something? Not the police!’

  Mr. Frome thought for a while rubbed the lobe of his ear then stood up. ‘I’m going to cane Reginald. And then you may remove him from the school. Now if you can compose yourself, I shall send for him and get this over with.’

  Lize sat immobilized on the chair and as Mr. Frome left the room felt she was going to vomit all over his highly polished parquet floor.

  Mr. Frome re-appeared with Reggie in tow hanging his head and unable to look at his mother.

  ‘Take your trousers down,’ Mr. Frome commanded.

  Reggie undid his braces and eased his trousers down a little.

  ‘Right down boy,’ Mr. Frome boomed at him whilst taking a cane from the desk drawer. He swished it a couple of times, whipping the air with vicious swipes.

  Reggie trembled and his face whitened as Lize looked on helplessly. She watched as Reggie bent down and the flogging began.

  Not once did he cry out, but silently took the punishment; and when it was over simply pulled up his trousers and slipped his braces back onto his shoulders.

  Without looking either at his mother or Mr. Frome, Reggie asked, ‘Can I go now Sir?’

  ‘Wait outside,’ Mr Frome said in a superior tone.

  Reggie slunk from the room and closed the door while Mr. Frome placed the cane back in his drawer, wiped his hands on a handkerchief, and turned to Lize.

  ‘You will now remove your son from these premises and send him to another school. I hope this has taught him a lesson. Good day, Madam.’

  The ordeal was over and Mr. Frome moved to the door, opened it, and Lize slipped out without looking up.

  Once outside she marched out of the playground and down the road with Reggie walking quickly behind her until they reached the house. Lize fumbled with her keys, opened the door and motioned to Reggie to go into the kitchen.

  She went upstairs and took one of Charlie’s belts from the wardrobe, returned to the kitchen and went over to Reggie.

  She wound the belt round her hand and lashed him across the face.

  Reggie brought his hands up to defend himself but she just went on thrashing him on any part of his body she could get at - until bereft of energy, she sank to the floor and sobbed.

  She wanted to scream at him, just wait until your father comes home!

  24

  The French Coast

  August 1917

  Louis stood on deck watching the French mainland recede, the boat pitching and rolling its way across the English Channel. He felt the tightness in his jaw relax and was relieved watching the frothy wake separate him from France.

  He became mesmerised studying the white foaming sea kaleidoscope into turquoise, navy blue and green waters. They churned and tumbled in magnificent enveloping folds behind the boat heading for England. He was glad to leave it all behind and felt somehow that the sea was cleansing his soul from the blood and gore of war.

  Only two days ago, he had watched a firing squad, execute Ben, an eighteen-year-old soldier, for not following orders and feigning illness.

  He knew that it was really a case of Ben being unable to cope with fatigue and shell shock, but his fate was sealed by the medical officer’s confirmation that the lad was fit for duty.

  He could not get the incident out of his mind. No matter how much he tried, the boy’s face haunted him. It had been Louis who had tied the blindfold around Ben’s head and seen the terror in his eyes, and Louis’ eyes were the last Ben saw before being eclipsed from the world.

  How many more of his men would go down this path? He felt guilty leaving them to go off and get married, but at the same time, there was enormous relief in being able to escape for a while and turn his attention to Cat, and the wedding.

  The sun’s blazing rays cooled by sea breezes beat down on his face; and he relished its warmth, breathing in his fleeting freedom.

  The rolling vessel made him queasy but even that was welcome. Any suffering, no matter how large or small, was easy to endure - so long as it
wasn’t through war.

  Further along the boat a man began to play a violin and Louis’ mind was drawn back to his childhood. He recalled childhood more as a series of still snapshots, like pictures he had seen in photographers’ shops. Each stage of his life appeared to him as a separate event, rather than a continuous journey from childhood to adulthood, each memory superimposed with the poignancy of loss.

  Louis remembered as a little boy sitting on his father’s knee singing nursery rhymes as his dad played piano. His dad would count him in saying, ‘One, two, three, and…’ then would nod his head giving him the cue to begin singing. Over and over they would stop then re-start as often Louis giggled about something and lost his place.

  Usually, he remembered, Lize was somewhere in the background practicing her dance steps coached by their mother.

  Then at about eleven, or twelve he played the violin, accompanying his father on piano. He remembered the chin rest digging into his collarbone, and his dad taking out his handkerchief and tucking it beneath his shirt to soften the discomfort. Then his father’s hand smoothing back his hair, kissing his forehead saying, ‘My son, I’m so proud of the way you play. I hope one day you will perform in a big orchestra and make music your life, maybe travel the world. Always allow the feelings in your heart to find an exit through your playing – and play as though each day was your last day on Earth.’

  Memories were also there of his mother showing Lize how to perfect her arabesque. His mother! Some time ago a much happier woman. Once a wonderful dancer - she knew how to express her emotions through movement. In those days his parents were a wonderfully matched pair.

  But something had gone horribly wrong in their lives. Louis never knew exactly the reason his mother had moved into another bedroom and the door firmly locked each night. He certainly never understood why his father sat downstairs each evening drinking himself to oblivion, the piano neglected.

  Things were unclear in his mind too how much time had passed listening to his mother’s caustic complaints about his father; the rows, and his father’s drinking becoming intolerable to the family. Eventually his mother had thrown his father out onto the street.

  After that point, nothing to do with music was allowed. No more dancing or singing. The piano was sold and Louis only played the violin when his mother was out of the house.

  One day a policeman had appeared at their door and told his mother that his father had been found seriously ill lying in the street in Lewisham and had been taken to hospital. But Louis and Lize were not allowed to visit him before he died, and were prohibited from attending the funeral.

  The common grave in which their father was laid to rest remained unmarked and they were admonished for showing any grief. His mother, in effect, wiped him from their memories and he was never mentioned again.

  He remembered with bitterness that when he was fourteen his mother had put him in the army. He could not forgive her and vowed never to return to her home on leave.

  Eventually when Lize married Charlie, it became normal for Louis to stay with them when on leave.

  Throughout the years, Louis had never been able to discuss or speak about his father, who remained in his heart like a lost love.

  Louis had often written poetry in an attempt to make sense of his feelings. In the poems he asked his father to forgive him for all the words that had gone unsaid. It filled him with grief that his father was unable to be with him on his wedding day. He thought perhaps they would have children, but they would always be the grandchildren his father would never know, and as the salt sprayed onto his face it became merged with his tears.

  Throughout his journey from Dover to Charing Cross, over London to Paddington Station, the train bound for Fishguard, the ferry to Queenstown, and finally the train to Fethard, Louis found his mind a swirling mass of thoughts.

  Images of war and scenes of destruction contrasted with the pastoral scenes he saw passing by. He watched cows lazily flicking their tails in the heat, horses galloping across pastures, farmers and labourers working the fields and all the time he tried to pacify his mind and concentrate on Cat and their life that would follow once the war ended.

  They would walk in the park, have some children and they would play with them and take them out to tea with relatives. Yes, life was going to be better in the future.

  In his tunic pocket he carried a little jeweller’s box with Cat’s wedding ring, plus a little gold wishbone brooch with an amethyst cradled in the apex. He had acquired them in exchange for cigarettes from a jeweller in Ypres who couldn’t sell his stock. Every now and then, as though for comfort, his hand would move to the pocket checking they were still there. Then a few minutes later, he would re-check, in case he hadn’t checked it properly the previous time.

  The last leg of his journey on the train to Fethard seemed the slowest and Louis occupied himself reading for a while until, too tired to concentrate, he closed his eyes. Alone in the carriage he lay flat out on the seats, his tunic unbuttoned and his hat resting in the baggage net above where he had tossed it uncaringly. He’d never known such tiredness, such complete exhaustion and wanted to sleep on the train, until the end of time.

  He slept fitfully, waking every now and then when the train slowed at the country stations. Then the realisation would be there, that tomorrow was his wedding day. Cat would be waiting for him at the end of the journey and the next day he would be a married man! He was rocked to sleep repeatedly by the train’s motion and only woke properly when the train approached Fethard and he saw in the distance the town cradled in the lap of Mount Slievenamon.

  Quickly he inspected his appearance in the mirror above the seats, took out his comb and flicked it through his hair. As he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he was shocked. His face looked pallid and sweaty, then all-too-familiar trembling attacked him and he shook uncontrollably.

  Since he’d been gassed in Ypres this had become the pattern. When he was anxious the attacks were worse, but he had learned to cope with it and wait until it passed.

  Louis sat down and when the trembling had calmed, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Then buttoning his tunic, he went to the door and released the leather strap to the window mechanism.

  He rested his hands on the open window frame and breathed deeply, focussing his eyes on the station ahead and the small crowd he could see gathered there.

  25

  Fethard

  August 1917

  Cat heard the train before it came into view from behind the mountain, and her insides somersaulted. It hadn’t occurred to her until then that perhaps when they saw each other, they may find they were not in love at all. She had screwed up her handkerchief so tightly with anxiety that it suddenly tore in two as the train, now in view, came swaying along the track towards her, bringing her man into town.

  Shuddering to a halt, the train stopped and as the carriage doors opened people began spilling onto the platform. Cat tried to spot Louis. Then she saw him stepping down from the train, swinging his kit bag over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his pallid face. She walked towards him and he let the kit bag slide to the ground. They stood facing each other.

  ‘Hello Cat’

  ‘Hello yerself.’

  She stood before him, pulling on the shredded handkerchief, wishing he’d say something. Louis reached down and picked up his kit bag.

  ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Cat didn’t expect to be kissed in public but somehow felt a little show of affection would have been appropriate. Still she thought, he’s probably tired.

  ‘Louis?’ she began once they were outside the station and checked that nobody was within hearing range, ‘Ye do still want to get married don’t ye?’

  He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Yes, I do, or I would not have travelled half way across Europe to get here otherwise.’

  They walked down the lane leading away from the station chatting politely about the weat
her. Once or twice Louis glanced across at Cat and she smiled at him, wondering what on earth to talk about. She realised she did not really know him. They reached the end of the lane and he turned to her.

  ‘I’ll leave you here Cat, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see your bride on the evening before the wedding, but I’ll sleep tonight safe in the knowledge that this time tomorrow, you will be my wife. Mrs. Ross!’

  Cat felt disappointed that their reunion was so brief and stilted, but managed to smile at the thought of becoming Mrs. Ross.

  ‘Well, if ye’re sure, Louis. Can you remember where the hotel is?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  He stood looking at her and she wondered again whether they would get on together, as they hardly knew one another.

  Louis broke the silence. ‘I’ll see you at the altar.’ Then he stepped forward to gently kiss her lips before turning to walk away.

  Cat stood puzzled, watching him as he walked up Main Street, then turned and slowly made her way home to Monroe feeling strangely let down.

  26

  The Holy Trinity Church, Fethard

  August 17, 1917

  Ned guided Cat down the aisle and could feel her trembling. He patted her hand clinging tightly onto his arm.

  ‘Eist mo chuisle. ’Twill be fine. Just fine.’

  Louis was waiting at the altar in his deep blue ceremonial dress; his spurs glinted, reflecting dozens of memorial candles flaming nearby. Practically the whole town had shoehorned themselves into the church and there were no spaces left for any latecomers. A hush descended as Cat was led up the aisle by her father.

  Ned battled with his emotions. He was completely taken by surprise at the pain he felt and wondered if he was having a heart attack. The agony gripped his throat, choking him. He tried to concentrate his mind on something else but was aware that all eyes were upon them, so he nodded at folks as he passed by, but couldn’t subdue the wretched feeling of bereavement he was experiencing.

  He remembered that when his other children had clung to Maeve as toddlers, Cat had been different. She had forged a love with him the others had not been able to. She’d climbed on his knee while the others were out to play, and she’d kissed his hands when they were sore with basket making. Maeve had the other five, but he’d had Cat, and she was the star in his heaven.