Family of the Empire

by Sheelagh Kelly

  After a brief interval, the conversation returned to Wyn’s underhanded treatment of him. Probyn had never shown much interest in his distant relatives before, but now, being ostracised by his father and sisters, to have friendly kin suddenly assumed great importance. He knew that his maternal grandparents lived in Wales, but what of Father’s kinfolk? ‘Tell me, Aunt,’ he said as he licked the last crumb of cake from his lips, and raised his cup, ‘do we have any other relations anywhere?’

  ‘Haven’t you got enough of them badgering you without wanting to find more?’ joked Kit. Then after a mouthful of tea she spoke seriously, ‘Oh, I believe there are some folk in Gloucester but I’ve never met them myself.’ After a pensive moment, she sighed. ‘Eh dear, what a family, and none of them have cause to throw the first stone, certainly not your father when he did the self same thing. I don’t mean ran off to the army but ran off to get wed. I don’t recall any details, I was too young, although I do remember vividly the row when he said he intended to marry your mother. A right ding-dong of an argument it was.’ She had issued it quite matter-of-factly but saw by her nephew’s startled expression that this required further explanation. ‘Eh, I’m sorry, lad. I know what it’s like being the youngest in the family, nobody tells you anything, they all assume you just know, but you must have heard that your dad brought us all up, surely?’

  Probyn knew vaguely that his father had raised his siblings, but that had all been in the distant past by the time he’d been born, he’d never spared it much thought. Still overwhelmed that his father had even entertained such romantic thoughts of elopement, it was all he could do to issue a dumb nod.

  ‘Well, that was because our own parents died, just a few days after Monty was married.’ Kit told him briefly of her parents’ catastrophic death. ‘Luckily they’d forgiven him and came to the wedding after all.’

  ‘How tragic,’ breathed Probyn, then curiosity overlapped his concern. ‘Why didn’t they want him to get married, Aunt?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really know.’ Gwen had told Kit that their mother had not been pleased by Monty’s choice of a bride, but this was not something one could say to his son. ‘As I said, I was too young. I think your father’s always been stubborn. Didn’t get on with his father either.’ She echoed Probyn’s astounded laugh. ‘Yes, I know, it’s rich, the way he’s behaving towards you, isn’t it?’ Nevertheless, she sought to give Monty his due. ‘I can’t fault him in the way he raised us, though. It must have been an almighty struggle. He wasn’t much older than you are now and, as I said newly wed, but he took us all in and brought us up as his own, he and your mother. The poor little things, when I look back and see how much I took for granted, it must’ve been dreadful for them, not much more than children themselves. Then the babies started being born, one almost every year, your mother and father never stood a chance.’

  Probyn felt a deeper understanding now. Equipped with the extent of his parents’ sacrifice he wanted to know more, and he wanted his father to be the one to tell him.

  ‘You know,’ his blue-grey eyes beheld her informatively over his raised cup, ‘I’d go and see him if I thought he’d open the door to me.’

  Kit smiled broadly. The past half an hour with her favourite nephew had acted as a tonic and diverted her mind from her own sadness. ‘He’ll open it if he sees two battering rams on either side of you. I were just saying to your Uncle Worthy last night we should pay our Monty a visit over Christmas. The trip’ll do me good. If we can get somebody to look after the beasts we’ll go tomorrow shall we?’

  * * *

  Everything in the village seemed as it was when he had left, yet somehow it felt completely different. The pit stood grim and quiet for the Christmas holiday. Wassailers travelled through the streets, heralding the coming of Christ as they had done since his childhood. Old neighbours waved to him and Kit and Worthy as they passed on their cart. Someone was cleaning bird droppings off a window pane and Aunt Kit called to her, ‘You can come and do mine when you’ve finished!’ Yes, everything and everyone was the same. It was he who was different. He didn’t fit in here any more.

  ‘Nervous?’ smiled Kit as he helped her and Toby down from the cart, Worthy tethering the mare and fitting her nosebag.

  Unable to deny it, Probyn merely nodded and took his bag of belongings from the cart. His aunt had insisted he fetch it though he doubted he would be staying long enough to need anything in it.

  Robbed for a moment of his soldierly confidence, he allowed Kit and Worthy to go down the path ahead of him, and waited apprehensively for the door to open.

  His father was obviously taken aback to see him. For one awful moment Probyn thought he was going to be spurned again. Then Monty stepped aside and directed all the guests to come in.

  ‘Look who we’ve brought with us!’ Kit smiled at Ann, her eyes holding a plea for assistance.

  Without hesitation, the neat dark-haired woman drew her stepson into the warmth. ‘How lovely to see you, Probe, welcome home! Let me take your hats and coats, everybody!’

  Probyn snatched off his glengarry and handed it to his stepmother who examined the badge on it briefly. ‘You’re looking well, Probe.’

  Kit disagreed. ‘I’ve told him he needs fattening up. There’s more meat on our Toby here.’

  Ann laughed. ‘Aw, but he still looks well, doesn’t he, Father?’ Probyn threw an awkward smile at Monty who nodded amiably and told them all, ‘Sit yourselves down then.’

  Encouraged, Probyn waited for everyone else to seat themselves first and was even more encouraged at being directed to one of the better chairs by his father, but then perversely he realized the significance of this. He was being treated not like a member of the family but as a guest.

  A smiling Ann investigated the contents of the teapot. ‘I think this is stewed, I’ll mash some more. You’re stopping for your teas?’

  All said they would if it was no trouble. ‘It’s no trouble,’ smiled Ann. ‘Good to see you back on your feet, Kit. How are you feeling now?’ Kit replied that she was much better and, with that, all reference to her miscarriage was ended.

  It was all surprisingly pleasant, if a little stilted, and Probyn considered it fortunate that Toby was here to draw attention away from him, everyone smiling at the little boy’s antics. But eventually there came a need to widen the discourse. For want of anything else to say Monty talked about the pit, but spoke as if to a stranger who had no knowledge of its workings. Whilst glad to be included in the dialogue, Probyn couldn’t help thinking how peculiar it was that he felt more ill-at-ease in this his own home than he’d been at the grand O’Neil residence, and he was grateful to Aunt Kit for filling the silences.

  After tea, though, Kit and Worthy made ready to depart, saying they must call on Owen before returning to York. ‘But you don’t have to come, Probe,’ Kit told him, ‘We can pick you up on the way back.’

  Probyn became uncomfortable again, and glanced at his father.

  ‘Don’t have to rush off,’ Monty told him calmly. ‘Unless you want to.’

  ‘Oh no, I’ll stay then!’ Probyn was quick to respond. ‘What time shall I be at the end of the lane, Aunt Kit?’

  But Monty answered first. ‘Stay overnight, longer if you like. Your old bed’s still there.’

  This precipitated quandary for his son. ‘I’ll have to start making my way back to Ireland on Boxing Day. The holiday seems over before it’s begun what with all that distance to travel, I only arrived up here yesterday – but I’d like to stay tonight,’ came the hasty addition. ‘Thank you.’

  Once Kit and Worthy and their little boy had gone it was much more difficult. How did one begin to mend such a breach?

  His father appeared to feel as lost, judging by the needless question. ‘They give you time off for Christmas then?’

  ‘Yes, seven days.’

  ‘Seven days eh?’

  ‘I would have come sooner but—’ Probyn shrugged uncomfortably.

  ‘Don�
��t matter, we’re pleased to have you any time, aren’t we, Mother?’

  Probyn looked grateful. Then racked his brain for something else to say. ‘Will the girls be coming to visit?’

  Monty nodded. ‘We had Wyn and Rhoda yesterday, Merry’s coming tomorrow and Ethel on Boxing Day.’

  ‘I went to call on Wyn myself yesterday,’ revealed Probyn. ‘But she didn’t appear to be in.’ Catching the look that passed between his father and stepmother he knew he had been right and his annoyance with his sister returned, especially in the knowledge that her visitor must have been Rhoda.

  ‘No, she was here most of the day,’ nodded Ann. ‘What a pity you didn’t come here first.’

  In the awkward hiatus that followed she rose and started to move around the room, collecting various items. ‘Well, don’t mind me I’m just going to get things ready for morning, then later I’ll make us all some cocoa. I know it’s a bit early yet but would you like a hot-water bottle in your bed, Probe?’

  He burst into genuine laughter. ‘I’d forgotten there were such things. Yes please!’

  Smiling, she began to organize her kitchen for the Christmas onslaught, peeling and slicing and mixing, filling the room with pungent aromas, whilst the two males sat one on either side of the hearth staring into the fire, discussing everything save that which was important.

  Towards eight o’clock, when the scent of cocoa was added to that of sage and onion, Ann said she would take her mug up to bed. ‘I’m just a bit tired. Don’t feel you have to rush, Monty, there’s no work tomorrow, you must have lots to chat about with Probe.’

  But they were to be even less talkative in her absence. Father and son sat for a long time gazing into the embers before a relevant comment was finally issued.

  ‘I’m sorry I left the way I did,’ murmured Probyn.

  Eyes still on the fire, his father simply nodded, then reached for a box of Pomfret cakes. ‘Here, have one o’ these.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Probyn delved into the box. ‘Oh sorry, I’ve got two by mistake.’ When his father waved for him to keep both he peeled the liquorice discs apart and put one into his mouth. Then, chewing, he stared at the other black disc in his hand, studying the castle imprinted upon it. ‘Aunty Kit’s been telling me a bit about how you eloped with Mother.’

  That had the effect of injecting some life into the discourse. ‘Did she indeed?’ Monty tossed a Pomfret cake into his mouth and chewed testily. ‘What else of my private life has she been airing to all and sundry?’

  ‘Oh, nothing untoward! She was just explaining to me how you had to raise all your sisters and Uncle Owen when you were newly married. I never really knew.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know.’

  Probyn’s nod conveyed admittance. ‘It must’ve been difficult.’

  ‘’Tweren’t easy.’ Monty had never spoken to his son on an intimate level. It was no different now. ‘But then I’m just the same as anyone else in that situation.’ He was reluctant to depict himself a saint.

  Even so, Probyn had gained a new admiration for him. ‘I couldn’t have done it.’

  ‘You would if you had to,’ replied Monty.

  Grateful for this note of faith, Probyn put the second liquorice disc into his mouth, waiting till it was gone before speaking in his own defence. ‘You know, they’re not all riff-raff, Father – soldiers I mean.’

  ‘Not now they’ve had an injection of good stock.’ It was the nearest Monty would come to a compliment. ‘Let’s hope they don’t pollute your decent upbringing … still, they don’t seem to have done that so far.’

  Probyn decided it was safe enough to climb down from his defensive position. ‘Well, I grant you there are a few who I wouldn’t dream of bringing home, but then there are in any walk of life, and if I had to choose who’d fight beside me in a war and protect my kin and other people’s kin I wouldn’t change any of them. They’re good lads.’ Monty simply shrugged and nodded in a bluff kind of way as he handed his son another Pomfret cake, but Probyn sensed that an understanding had been forged between them.

  With the absence of recrimination, he felt at liberty to fill the next half an hour with details of his accomplishments. When he went to bed it was in a much happier mood than he could ever have expected.

  * * *

  Whilst there were not the boisterous games he might have enjoyed at Aunt Kit’s, Probyn thoroughly enjoyed Christmas at Ralph Royd. The relaxation of his father’s iron ruling, the feasting, the laughter, Meredith’s obvious delight at seeing her brother and the fact that she had totally forgiven him, all made for a wonderful holiday.

  How sad, then, that other relatives could not be so forgiving. On Boxing Day, faced with the persistent coolness of his eldest sister Ethel, Probyn decided to leave immediately after lunch, saying he would put up at the depot in order to catch the first available train tomorrow to Liverpool. The thought crossed his mind that he should make a financial contribution to cover his stay, but he decided against it; it might cause offence and demolish the still-wet cement on the bridge he had managed to erect. And, as uplifting as it had been to make up with his father, there would always be the feeling that he did not fit in here any more, the impression that he was only a guest; he had no wish to endorse that by handing over money.

  Valise on his back, he was heading down the path, when his father hailed him and came hurrying up with a box of Pomfret cakes. ‘Here! Put these in your bag to eat on the train.’

  ‘Nay, I don’t want to pinch your favourite goodies!’

  ‘Go arn!’ A hint of old Somerset. ‘They’ll only rot my teeth.’

  Thanking his father, a grinning Probyn allowed the other to shove the box into his valise, then continued his departure, the older man accompanying him to the gate, where both stopped and faced each other.

  Monty extended a hand. ‘Well, it was good to see you, Probe.’

  ‘You too, Father.’ Probyn returned the handshake warmly.

  ‘Come again, won’t you?’

  ‘I will.’ With a gesture resembling salute, Probyn marched away.

  8

  The battalion had been in Ireland for a year and, after their arduous training, Probyn and his friends were now competent for war – had there been one, came his bored complaint. It was good that there had been no more dangerous incidents between soldiers and locals but with nothing else happening either, save for the occasional dance or garden fete, he began to despair of ever setting sight on a foreign foe. Every day, month after month he had assiduously studied Battalion Orders for information on what was likely to be taking place, hoping for any allusion to foreign service. Until recently, all that had ever been referred to were changes in rations and what items must be carried in his pack. Now, suddenly, on this bright April morning in 1892 he was presented with a list of those being drafted to the 2nd Battalion for foreign service, and to his overwhelming joy he saw his name upon it. He was going to South Africa!

  Eagerly scanning the list for information on his companions, he hared off to let them know, all returning to gather round the list for confirmation of the news, and breaking into loud whoops of excitement.

  There was much to be discussed then. Lieutenant Fitzroy, lately promoted captain, had also been posted to the 2nd Battalion. Probyn was glad of this continued association, not from any spurious assumption of friendship but because under Fitzroy, who liked him, there was a chance to further his own career. A not so cheery piece of information was that they were to remain encumbered by Wedlock who, having failed his sergeant’s course, was even more malevolent of late. Melody might claim to be upset but, Probyn said, it was doubly disappointing for him who had hoped that the corporal’s promotion would leave a vacancy.

  Nevertheless, the bestowal of embarkation leave was reason enough to put the smile back on one’s face. Given fourteen days, Probyn, Mick and their comrades spurted off to Dublin where they bided for a few days at the Soldiers’ Home, Probyn remarking upon hearing the roar of th
e lions at the zoo in Phoenix Park, that they would soon be witnessing this noise in the wild!

  Unfortunately, their visit coinciding with Easter, they were to regret that they had not escaped Dublin earlier, for trapped here on Good Friday amid a surge of religious fervour, the only activity on the streets being a performance of the Stations of the Cross and a blaring megaphone telling the crowds they would burn in hell, the next few hours proved acutely depressing.

  Finally underway and arrived in England, Probyn said goodbye to the others and went first to York and Aunt Kit’s where he felt most at home and where he spent a week, helping with the agricultural work. Following this he passed a few days at Meredith’s in Huddersfield, using the latter part of his furlough for a brief stay at Ralph Royd.

  His father appeared happy to see him when he arrived that evening, though relations between them were initially as stilted as on the previous occasion, Monty covering his awkwardness by launching into a diatribe about the impending strike. Things were looking pretty grim he told his son, the boom was over and the price of coal was falling. ‘And we all know who’ll bear the brunt of it don’t we? Still you haven’t come here to be bored with all that, you’ve probably read about it in the newspaper.’

  ‘No, I don’t get much time to read a paper.’ Thinking that this made it sound as if his father had all the time in the world, Probyn added hurriedly, ‘Not that I’d get the truth if I did!’

  His father heartily agreed. ‘No, it’s always the miners to blame, as far as those editors are concerned.’

  Having been affected by industrial violence in the past, the young soldier looked concerned. ‘D’you think it’ll be as bad as ’eighty-five?’

  Monty shrugged. ‘I pray not. We’re in a lot stronger position these days, the masters can’t push us around as much as they used to. The Federation’s ordered a stop week so stocks can be cleared and they can hold the prices steady.’