Grace's Story

by Jennie Walters

  She told me the latest news from Mr John Vye, over in France. He’d been fighting near a river about thirty miles outside Paris, to try and save the city from being invaded. Apparently they’d managed to hold off the Germans with the help of extra French troops who’d been sent out to the battlefield in taxi cabs! Florrie says they must have their own way of doing things over there, but it all sounded rather rum to me. I wondered why Mr Vye hadn’t had to go to training camp first, like Isaac and Jim, but Hannah said it was because he’d been in an officer cadet force at school. Then we spent the rest of the time talking about the new autumn fashions, I must admit, and how we hoped the craze for tight hobble skirts was well and truly over.

  By the time we’d arrived at the railway station, however, I was beginning to realise that the world had changed since I’d last been out and about in it. Edenvale’s more of a big village than a town but, even so, there were recruiting posters up on all the lampposts, and a notice outside the village hall telling us it had been turned into a Red Cross Supply Depot. We saw two ladies wearing white armbands with a red cross who must have been volunteer nurses, and some men in khaki uniform were waiting to catch the London train.

  ‘Look at that queue outside the grocer’s shop!’ my mother said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much on the shelves - people must be stocking up. Maybe I should start getting a few things in.’

  There was no escaping the war when our train arrived at Hardingbridge, either. Coming out of the station, we heard the tramp-tramp of marching feet: a platoon of soldiers in uniform was heading towards us. We stopped to watch as they passed by, swinging their arms in time and stamping down their stout boots. They were singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ (a song I’d never heard before, though I know it well enough now), their eyes fixed straight ahead as if they could see a battlefield at the end of the High Street and couldn’t wait to reach it. People waved and cheered, and a little girl ran up with a bunch of flowers for the officer. You couldn’t help but feel excited and proud that we had such fine, brave men ready to fight for our sake, and worried at the same time about what might happen to them. I took Tom’s arm, wanting to hold on to him - although he could hardly have joined on the end of the line in a tweed jacket and flat cap, could he? His face gave nothing away; I had no idea what he was thinking.

  And then something horrible happened. A young woman came walking towards Tom and me - quite a nice-looking girl, she was, in a bottle-green costume with a narrow skirt and a black hat trimmed with feathers. She had been smiling at first as though she knew us and was about to say hello, but as she approached, her expression changed to a look of such withering scorn, it shocked me to my bones.

  ‘Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself?’ she hissed at Tom, taking a white feather from her bag and thrusting it into his hand. ‘This is to show the world what a coward you are.’ She turned to me. ‘You should find yourself a decent fellow who’s not afraid to defend his country.’ (I suppose she thought we were sweethearts.) And with that she stalked off, leaving us all too shocked to do anything other than stare after her.

  ‘There’s a nasty piece of work, if ever I saw one!’ said my mother eventually. ‘Don’t pay her any attention, Tom.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ He laughed and tossed the feather aside; I saw it spiral down into the gutter.

  I should have very much liked to run after that girl and box her ears. Who was she to call my brother a coward? She didn’t know the first thing about him. That would only have made more of a scene, though, and Tom didn’t seem to be half as angry and upset as the rest of us. I didn’t know how he could shrug off the matter so lightly. Well, as it turned out, there was a reason for that - and we were shortly to find out what it was.

  Four

  As a whole, the country has answered splendidly to the call made on it … but there is a type of able-bodied young man who seems content to look at others going without offering to go himself … No task of the day is more important than that of rousing up these laggards. Most of them suffer from ignorance and lack of imagination.

  From Country Life, 5 September 1914

  ‘Hurry up and come in, you dozy lot! It’s as cold as the Khyber Pass with that door wide open.’

  Miss Eliza Everett was waiting for us in her backstage boudoir, where she would change before and after the show and where, Ma suspected darkly, she was in the habit of receiving visitors dressed in little more than a wrap - something no respectable lady would ever have contemplated. She was wearing her wrap now, a beautifully embroidered Chinese affair, but we were all family, so this was just about acceptable. (Florrie and Alf had taken their seats in the music hall already. ‘You’ll want some time on your own,’ they’d said, which conveniently gave them some time on their own, too.) Aunt Lizzie hugged me tight, swallowing me up in a cloud of rustling cream silk and the delicious scent of gardenias. Her dressing room’s always warm, summer or winter, with silk shawls pinned to the walls and draped over lampshades which turn the light into a rosy glow. It was all so cosy and ladylike - except for Johnny Sylvester, her manager, waxing the ends of his moustache in front of the mirror. Ma can’t bear him and I have my reservations, although he’s always pleasant to us, in a smarmy sort of way.

  ‘Now sit here and tell me your news, Pollyanna,’ Aunt Lizzie said to Ma, patting the chair beside hers. ‘Johnny, fetch some beer for the boys, there’s a dear, and Hannah can help me dress my hair while Grace does something artistic with those flowers.’ A chipped china jug on the table had been crammed full of red roses, drooping in the heat, with a card beside them which read ‘From a true admirer’. There was nothing to trim the stems with so I had to snap the ends off as best I could, and wished I had my trusty vegetable knife with me.

  We didn’t really have much news, of course, apart from Ma going back to work and things being so difficult at the Hall with all the young men leaving. Now Da had even lost Bill from the stables: they’d introduced special bantam regiments for men who were too short for the regular army, so he’d upped and joined one of those. ‘Goodness knows where we shall find anyone to replace him,’ Da said, and I suddenly noticed how tired he was looking.

  ‘What about you, young man?’ Aunt Lizzie said to Tom. ‘I should have thought you might have been off to fight by now. The army needs all the fine strong lads it can get.’

  The room fell quiet. This was the question nobody had dared to ask; we all held our breath and waited for Tom’s reply.

  ‘Now you’ve spoilt my surprise,’ he said, setting down his beer mug. ‘I was going to break the news over supper. A crowd of us from the manor house have signed up with the Royal Field Artillery; Mr Ildersley had us driven to the recruiting office in his very own motor-car. We’ve been training near Ipswich for the last month.’

  There was silence for a few seconds. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ All the colour had drained from Ma’s face. ‘Leaving your job and not so much as a word to me or your father!’

  ‘I wanted to tell you face to face.’ He reached over and took her hand. ‘Anyway, there hasn’t been much time to write, what with all the drill, and marching, and rifle training. They keep us pretty busy but we manage to have a lark about, too. I’m with my pals, Ma - we look out for each other.’

  She didn’t say anything, just gazed at him as if the rest of the world had melted away and there was no one left but the two of them.

  ‘Good for you!’ Aunt Lizzie patted Tom on the back. ‘William, you should be proud of your brave son.’

  ‘And so I am,’ Da said, shaking Tom’s hand. ‘When will you be off abroad, my boy?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Not till after Christmas, at least,’ he replied - whereupon Ma burst into tears.

  ‘Now don’t be like that, Pol.’ Aunt Lizzie put an arm around her shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t think much of him if he didn’t go, would you? There have to be men to fight. That’s what this evening’s about. Didn’t you know? I’m the latest weapon in Lord Kitchener
’s recruiting campaign, would you believe. Just as well our Tom’s signed up already, or you’d never speak to me again for taking him away.’

  We didn’t know quite what she meant at that point, but later on, after we’d taken our seats in the gallery, the crimson velvet curtains drew back to reveal Miss Eliza Everett on stage - with a couple of tables behind her and an army officer sitting at each one. She looked so beautiful, in a shimmering silver gown that fell to the floor and a couple of the red roses pinned in her dark hair, and when she started to sing, you could feel the tingles running up and down your spine. She opened the performance with a few old favourites like ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home’ and ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’, which had everyone joining in, and then she began a new song, walking slowly down some steps leading from the stage into the audience. She looked along the front row at the men sitting there and sang especially to them, reaching out as if to draw them towards her. This is how the chorus went: ‘Oh, we don’t want to lose you, but we think you ought to go, For your King and your country, both need you so …’

  One man rose to his feet as though he’d been hypnotised, then another, and another, and Aunt Lizzie ushered them one by one towards the stage. She carried on down the aisle, still singing. More men got up as she approached: a couple here, another there, until soon there were too many volunteers to count. People clapped and patted them on the back as they made their way down the rows into the aisle, where the stream of men waiting to join up was fast turning into a queue, and Aunt Lizzie kept on walking and singing in that rich, thrilling voice of hers. She’s like the Pied Piper, I thought to myself, only this time luring the grown-ups away. If I’d been a man, I would have answered the call too. Listening to Eliza Everett made you feel there was nothing you couldn’t do. She was offering you the chance to leave behind your ordinary, everyday self and turn into some glorious hero whose name would live for ever. Who could turn that down?

  Not Alf. I caught sight of his fair head, far down below us (he and Florrie had been sitting in the stalls) as he pushed past everyone’s knees and joined the line waiting to climb up on stage. His mother had kept him safe for as long as she could, but she was no match for my Aunt Lizzie.

  None of us had much of an appetite at supper, except for Tom and Johnny Sylvester; anyway, we agreed the Chicken à la King wasn’t a patch on Mrs Jeakes’. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Lizzie telling us about her tour of America in the spring, we would have been a very quiet table in the middle of that noisy restaurant. I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we’d eaten out, yet I couldn’t really enjoy it, knowing I’d have to say goodbye to my darling brother at the end of the evening. We didn’t even know whether he’d be able to come home for Christmas.

  ‘Now don’t you go worrying about me,’ he said, hugging me tight. ‘I’ve got my chums with me - we’ll be all right. Look after Ma, won’t you?’

  Aunt Lizzie had a different message with her farewell kiss. ‘Everything’s up in the air, Gracie,’ she whispered in my ear, clasping me against the soft velvet bodice of her evening gown. ‘You get out of that kitchen and make something of yourself.’

  I was too anxious about Tom to consider my own prospects, however. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d joined up, but I wished from the bottom of my heart that he didn’t have to go. I was proud, half-excited, worried and frightened all at once - and Florrie must have felt the same about Alf. We had a little cry together before going to sleep that night. Then she blew her nose and told me we’d just have to get on with things and try to keep cheerful until our boys came back. Easier said than done, though. There wasn’t a great deal to smile about in those dreary, grey weeks leading into winter. When Mr Fenton read out our tea-time reports from The Times, they seemed to be gloomier by the day. And then to add to Ma’s worries, a letter came from Ivy with alarming news. She fished it out of her apron pocket and waved it indignantly at me, on my next afternoon off.

  ‘Your daft sister’s only gone and chucked her job in, too! “I have become a conductor on the number 19 omnibus for two pounds ten shillings a week.” Have you ever heard of such a thing? Ivy, a bus conductor! The people she must come across.’ My mother shuddered. ‘You’d have to pay me a darn sight more than two pounds ten shillings to deal with the riff-raff in London. And she had such a good place in Kensington - she could have become a lady’s maid, you know. Well, thank goodness you and Hannah have more sense, that’s all I can say about the matter.’ (Which unfortunately was not the case, because she kept going back over it for days to come.)

  Working as a conductor on the number 19 omnibus sounded quite jolly to me. The kitchen was not such a pleasant place to be, what with Mrs Jeakes’ temper, Florrie miserable from missing Alf, and the housekeeper, Mrs Maroney, turning up to check on us at every opportunity like the ghost of Christmas past. She’d started going through the tradesmen’s bills, Florrie told me, and accusing Mrs Jeakes of throwing good food away. We even found her rooting around in the pigswill bucket one day.

  Mrs Jeakes was outraged. ‘What does she think I’m going to do with a load of old tea leaves? Sell them to the gipsies for fortune-telling?’

  Dora brought us some news from the servants’ hall about that. ‘They’re s-s-saying that His L-L-Lordship’s t-trying t-t-to s-save m-m-money! That’s w-w-why M-M-Mrs M-Maroney k-keeps going on about n-n-not w-w-w-wasting anything.’

  There were still quite a few shooting parties that winter, however; Lord Vye’s economies didn’t stretch to cutting down on those. We were all rushed off our feet, from my father out in the stables to Mr Fenton up in the dining room. I was worried about Da. He was working so hard (they still hadn’t been able to find a groom to replace Bill), and he’d been very quiet since we’d heard about Tom. I went to see him in the stables one afternoon, and found him washing mud off the gig in the yard.

  ‘Shall I help you with that?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,’ he replied, but I rolled up my sleeves and pitched in anyway. I had half an hour to spare; maybe if we spent some time together, he’d tell me what was on his mind. My father and I have always got along - we can usually manage to talk to each other about things that matter without having an argument, unlike me and Ma.

  ‘So, what’s the news from this neck of the woods?’ I asked, after we’d been washing and wiping for a while.

  ‘Haven’t you heard? Monty’s going back to France at the end of the week.’

  Monty was Lord Vye’s French chauffeur. His full name was Monsieur de Montrachet, which sounded so romantic, although unfortunately he wasn’t the slightest bit handsome and it was hard to understand a word he spoke.

  ‘Well, that was bound to happen,’ I said. ‘He must have been worried about his family. I’m surprised he’s stayed as long as he has.’

  ‘Thank you for that, Miss Know-It-All,’ Father muttered. He threw his sponge down in the bucket, sending a wave of water slopping over the side. ‘Maybe you can say what’ll become of the rest of us, if you’ve brought your crystal ball along.’

  Whatever could be the matter? He’d never spoken to me like that before, so narky and bitter. All I could do was stare at him, not knowing how to reply.

  Da sat down on the mounting block with his head in his hands. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said after a moment, looking up. ‘I’m that worried, I don’t know which way to turn. Mr Braithwaite has told me they’re advertising for a chauffeur and coachman all in one, to run the stables and drive the motor-car. When he comes, I shall have to work under him. And we’ll probably have to let him take over our house.’

  ‘Does Ma know about this?’ I asked, stunned.

  He shook his head. ‘I haven’t had the heart to tell her. Don’t say anything, will you? Not for the time being, at least. She’ll find out soon enough.’

  We’d lived in the gate lodge for ten years, ever since my father had been made head coachman; I couldn’t bear to think how Ma would feel about leaving it. There
might be another cottage for us to rent on the estate, I suppose, although what we could afford was anybody’s guess.

  ‘Will you still be paid the same?’ I asked.

  He shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘I’m not being paid the same now. Lord Vye’s already cut my wages because I’m not a proper coachman any more.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been thinking, maybe I should join the army. There’s not much left for me here.’

  ‘You couldn’t volunteer!’ I was horrified. ‘You’re too old, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not quite washed up yet. Can you imagine what it’s like, having to stand aside for the young men to go past? Staying safe at home while my own son’s facing heaven knows what? A lass gave me one of those white feathers the other day. She made me feel no higher than ninepence, I can tell you.’

  ‘We’re here, though, Da. Your family.’ I made him shift up and sat beside him on the block. ‘What would Ma do without you? She’s already had to say goodbye to Tom - don’t make her go through that again.’

  Perhaps I should have encouraged him to sign up, but how could I, knowing how Ma would feel about it? My parents might have been married for twenty-three years but they’re still forever sneaking kisses and worrying to death if the other’s five minutes late. Ma would fall apart if Da went off to fight too. I had to keep him here with us.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, taking his arm so he’d look at me, ‘Lord Vye doesn’t need to advertise for a coachman-chauffeur. He’s got the perfect person right here, under his nose.’

  Da looked at me suspiciously. ‘Who?’