Family of the Empire

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Probyn jumped in. ‘Did you just see that motor car?’

  ‘Aye! Great, wasn’t it? Well, as I live and breathe, fancy bumping into yese!’ After severing the lusty handshake Mick turned expectantly to the young woman.

  ‘Ah, this is my wife Grace,’ said Probyn with a fond smile. ‘Grace, this is an old army pal Mick.’

  Mick looked delighted. ‘Oh, God love ye! How long have ye been married?’

  Probyn affected to look at his watch. ‘Ooh … just over an hour.’ Then he laughed and pointed down the road at the Roman Catholic church.

  Mick enjoyed a sly laugh. ‘Ach, so you’re one of us now?’

  Probyn gave a self-conscious chuckle. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Well, ’tis delighted I am to meet ye, Mrs Pa!’ Mick told the attractive young bride, shaking her by the hand, though less vigorously than he had her spouse’s.

  Probyn quickly explained to Grace that this had once been his nickname. ‘If I’d known you were in York I’d have invited you to the wedding, Mick.’

  ‘Ah don’t you worry yourself! I’m happy just to wish ye both luck.’ The broad smile was genuine.

  ‘How about you?’ asked Probyn. ‘Married yet?’ The other shook his head vehemently. ‘And are you still with the Medical Staff Corps?’

  ‘I am, but they don’t call us that any more, ’tis the RAMC.’

  Probyn nodded. ‘Well, it’s good to see you. I hate to rush off but—’

  ‘Oh I thoroughly understand.’ Mick gave a rather bashful look at Grace. ‘And I’ll postpone my intended visit for a while, let the both o’ yese get settled in – and may a thousand candles shine upon your marriage. Goodbye to ye now, Mrs Pa!’ And with a final handshake they parted company.

  ‘What does RAMC stand for?’ asked Grace as, arm in arm, she and Probyn made their way towards town.

  Probyn smirked, remembering the way Mick had taken the patient’s watch in exchange for food. ‘I can only guess that the R has summat to do with robbery.’

  ‘He’s a villain then?’ Grace turned anxious.

  ‘Nay,’ her husband’s smile was warm, ‘Mick’s a good-hearted lad, really. You’d like him. He’s an easy person to get to know, though there’s not much more to him than what you’ve just seen on the surface. He joined on the same day as me, but he wasn’t cut out for it so he transferred to the hospital corps. We’ve never been really close pals, I find him rather shallow, but he’s great company. Anyway that’s enough about him! Let’s go get that cab, Mrs Kilmaster.’

  * * *

  Mick never did come to visit, not that Probyn was in the least bit concerned, when not performing his role of corporal, acting out his marital duties and loving every minute, Grace taking to her role with equal enthusiasm.

  Even after a month of making love every single day it took a supreme effort for him to leave her on a morning, and it did not take much to coax him back into bed.

  Not this morning though. After delivering a lingering kiss he begged to be granted leave. ‘Aw, Gobbie, I can’t! All this friction’s given me a blister.’

  She giggled and allowed him to rise. ‘Don’t be so indelicate, and I never thought to hear you complain.’

  He rolled onto the edge of the mattress and sat there rubbing his face. ‘I’m not, I just need a little break then I’ll be good as new.’ He added a teasing quip. ‘It’s just as well there’s this South African business to take me away for a while.’

  Her frivolity faded. Outside the bugler called, lending the moment a plaintive atmosphere. ‘So you think you’ll be off then?’

  ‘My lads are hoping so,’ answered Probyn, reaching for his trousers and pulling them on. ‘They’re that excited at the prospect of a scrimmage.’ From a personal point of view it would be exhilarating to visit the Cape again after two and a half years of English weather, though rather a wrench to leave Grace.

  His wife frowned thoughtfully. ‘What caused it?’

  ‘I wrote to President Kruger and said can you create a diversion? I need a break from my wife who won’t leave me alone.’

  She leapt onto his back pretending to strangle him. ‘Oh, you’re so mean! Anybody would think I had to tie you to the bed.’ They wrestled for a while, then, flopping back against her pillows, Grace became thoughtful again. ‘But seriously, will you have to go – and what’s it really all about?’ Busy looking after house and husband, not to mention her brother, she rarely had time to digest a newspaper these days.

  Still only half-dressed, an affectionate Probyn shifted on the edge of the bed and began to stroke her thigh over the sheet. ‘Well, this bad feeling between us and the Dutch has been going on for years but it got a darned sight worse after Dr Jameson upset old Kruger. It started out as an issue about the enfranchisement of the Uitlanders, they’re the people of British stock who live in the Transvaal and Kruger won’t give them the vote, but now it’s more about who’s running the show in South Africa. The Boers have been spoiling for a fight for years, hankering to replace the Union Jack with their own flag, and there’s a real danger now they might invade Natal. I can’t stand them meself, real arrogant devils.’

  Grace shoved out her lower lip. ‘I hope you don’t have to go.’

  He scolded her softly. ‘Now you knew what you were getting when you married a soldier.’

  ‘I know,’ she projected contrition, gripping his arm as she did so. ‘I’m just terrified of anything happening to you.’

  He made light of this. ‘Me, a British soldier, the best in the world? And didn’t I promise to take extra special care of meself? It won’t take us five minutes to sort them out, and it’ll give me the greatest pleasure I can tell you.’

  Comforted by his enthusiasm, Grace smiled upon him fondly. ‘You really love the army don’t you?’

  Probyn beheld her as if she had spoken the obvious. ‘It’s my life.’

  And, kissing her, he rose and left the bedroom with the promise of breakfast in bed, totally unaware that he had broken his young wife’s heart.

  * * *

  On the eighth of September reinforcements were sent to the Cape. It seemed a war was now unavoidable. A month later, the full might of the Empire was unleashed on President Kruger and his impudent frontiersmen. The largest force ever dispatched since the Crimea steamed away from British and colonial shores heading for South Africa. As yet, Probyn had received no order to join the mobilization, though it seemed inevitable that he would.

  ‘But don’t fret,’ he comforted his anxious wife with the phrase coined by the newspapers. ‘It’ll all be over by tea-time.’

  Grace looked satisfied. ‘Good, because there’s not only me you have to worry about now.’

  He stared at her for a second, then grinned widely. ‘You mean, we’re having a babby?’

  ‘We are!’ Thrilled with his response she abandoned her casual air to fling her arms around him. ‘I haven’t been to the doctor but I’m sure, I’ve been waiting to tell you all day!’

  ‘I knew you were hiding something!’ He lifted her off her feet, then set her down gently. ‘Ooh, I’m right chuffed – eh, it’s just as well I’ve got promotion if there’s another mouth to feed!’ At her squeal he introduced himself, ‘Lance-Sergeant Kilmaster at your service, madam.’

  ‘Ooh, you call me secretive!’

  ‘Nay I only just learned this afternoon. Must be a red letter day for both of us.’

  With Grace sitting on his knee, each patting and stroking the other, they discussed then what the baby would be called. Probyn voiced indifference, saying only that he was too pleased to be able to think of anything and that his wife could name all their children if she so wished.

  Excited though she was, Grace showed a lack of confidence, hooking a forefinger over her lower lip. ‘I’ve no idea what to do now. I mean where do I find a midwife?’

  The masculine hand that was laying on her abdomen dealt a gently protective pat. ‘Nay, you don’t have to bother your head about a thing, you’ll b
e going into hospital.’

  She turned her blue eyes to him, afraid. ‘But people only go into hospital to die!’

  ‘Not here they don’t!’ He squeezed her gently. ‘The army looks after its own.’

  ‘What even women?’ Reassured by her husband’s laughter, Grace became excited again. ‘I can hardly wait to tell me sisters. I’ll drop them a line tonight. Will you tell yours?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ His happy smile became fixed. ‘To tell you the truth I couldn’t care less if I never see them again.’

  ‘Aw, don’t say that.’ Grace was genuinely concerned. ‘You shouldn’t lose touch with your family.’

  ‘It’s not me who’s cut them off!’

  ‘I know, but won’t you give them another chance?’ She bumped him with her head in the persuasive manner of a cat. ‘I hate to see families fall out.’

  Arms around her, Probyn squeezed her thoughtfully. ‘I suppose we could tell Aunt Kit.’

  ‘And the others,’ she was gently insistent.

  He gave in to her kittenish wheedling. ‘Eh, you’re a bully you are, Gobbie Kilmaster! Go on then, we’ll pop over to Aunt Kit’s this Saturday and see how the land lies.’ And as he kissed his darling wife he could not for the life of him understand how anyone could not love Grace as much as he did.

  * * *

  Kit wasn’t in. Leaving her a note they instead trailed all the way back to the railway station and caught a train to Leeds, for, being so close to her own family Grace was eager to reunite her husband with his and insisted they did not waste the day. Surely news of the baby must sway their aversion?

  Though wanting to keep his wife happy, Probyn had misgivings. Even as he knocked at Ethel’s door he wondered whether it would remain closed to him. But his spinster sister was braver than Wyn or Rhoda and even after a peek from behind the curtain had revealed the identity of her visitors she came to confront them face to face.

  ‘Hello, Ethel,’ said her brother warily. ‘I thought I’d just come and see you before I went away to war, and tell you our bit of news.’

  Ethel offered no invitation to enter, neither did she give him the chance to reveal his news. ‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, Probyn,’ she told him, not even looking at Grace. ‘But I thought I’d already made it perfectly plain that I don’t approve of this marriage, nor that my brother has chosen to desert his own religion, and in respect for our dead mother I can’t countenance it by inviting you in.’

  Without further ado, even before Ethel had time to shut the door, an angry Probyn wheeled away, taking his wife by the arm and hurrying her back to the railway station and home. ‘That’s it! That’s their last chance! I shan’t ever contact them again – and don’t you try and persuade me!’

  ‘I won’t,’ murmured Grace sadly, gripping his arm, deeply piteous of her loved one’s hurt.

  ‘I never want to hear from any of them again!’

  * * *

  In fact he was to hear from one family member again, though only by letter. Responding to his note, Kit congratulated him on the news that he was to be a father and said she would come to visit as soon as she could. So far she had not appeared and it seemed unlikely that they would meet again before the war in South Africa was over, but Probyn showed little concern. Having successfully negotiated his sergeant’s course during the latter weeks his promotion was now fully endorsed and for him this overruled all.

  For Grace, too, the Kilmaster family squabbles were to lose all importance. On Friday the first of December a farewell service was held in York Minster for the regiment. Faced with the awful prospect of being parted from her husband, she clung to him at every opportunity.

  ‘It won’t be for long, dear,’ Probyn tried to comfort. ‘Don’t just take my word for it. The general himself said it might all be over before we reach South Africa.’ He had personal doubts about this. Knowing the stubborn arrogance of the Boer it could extend till spring.

  ‘But even if you turn straight round and come back you won’t be here in time to see the new century in with me.’ Desolate, she laid her head against his uniformed chest where he stroked it.

  ‘True, but I’m bound to be here when little Tommy’s born next summer.’

  ‘Oh, God, I’ll miss you!’ She burst into tears, then immediately berated herself, flapping at her eyes as if to banish the salt water. ‘Oh, I’m sorry for making it worse. I swear I’ll be good when I come to wave you off.’

  Probyn lovingly dissuaded her. ‘I can’t have you trailing all the way to Liverpool in your condition.’

  She blew her nose. ‘I’m coming.’

  He wagged a finger. ‘No, Grace, I’m ordering you not to.’

  She bridled. ‘I’m not one of your men. You can order all you bloody-well like but I’m coming.’

  He admired her spirit and her devotion and hugged her. ‘By, you’re a forceful little thing for one so young.’

  Grace wished he did not sound so patronizing – eighteen or no she was a married woman with responsibilities and a child on the way – but she made no complaint. It was not the time. They might never see each other again.

  Having galvanized herself for the separation, her reaction upon being told a few hours later that the departure had been delayed, was a mixture of devastation and relief.

  When it happened yet again she voiced anger that the army could be so cruel. ‘Isn’t it enough that they’re taking my husband away without extending the misery?’

  Probyn felt similar frustration but for different reasons. Geared up for a fight, the men in his platoon were growing quarrelsome and insubordinate, fearful that the war would be over before they arrived.

  Finally though, on the thirteenth of December, the 1st Battalion departed York for Liverpool.

  The day was bitterly cold but this had not deterred friends and family from seeing them off and amongst all the army paraphernalia, the black tin trunks and polo sticks of the officers, a flag-waving crowd thronged the quay. Grace was amongst the singing, swaying mass, standing there for hours, refusing his entreaties to go home, all girlish and pink-cheeked and frizzy-haired, pinning her eyes to him as he boarded, and trying her best not to cry.

  It was always an awful time, thought Probyn as he leaned on the rail, both soldiers and crowd waiting for the ship to depart, occasionally waving, singing, fluttering flags but generally just waiting, waiting, waiting. Today, with his young wife on the quay it was twice as difficult, and it was with almost a sense of gratitude that he blew her a final kiss as the aptly-named Majestic sounded its fog-horn and pulled away from the dock to a roar and a frenzied hurling of streamers.

  Once the ship was on its way to Durban things settled down into the usual routine, a daily parade for an hour when the officers and men did gym, beyond this and an occasional fire alarm or practising their shooting at crates in the water, there was little to do but wait and ponder what lay ahead. Probyn was glad to be reunited with a few of his old platoon mates, Queen and Bumby, both corporals now who had also been posted to the 1st battalion, and therefore much of his boredom was eaten up by catching up with their news, a good deal of laughter being shared.

  But there was other more serious news to contemplate. Whilst at Liverpool a disturbing rumour had reached them; their western army had suffered a reverse at Magersfontein on its way to relieve Kimberley. Perhaps there would be more for them to do after all – the boys in his platoon were certainly hoping so.

  Despite the grumbles from those who had never been overseas that the ship was moving too slowly, the Majestic reached the coaling station of St Vincent in remarkable time. Berthed alongside was the SS Britannic, homewards bound with sick and wounded, the presence of which had the effect of quieting the grousing from those not yet involved. Seeking confirmation of the rumoured defeat, Probyn cupped his hand to his mouth and called out, ‘What’s the news, sir?’

  ‘Afraid we can’t tell you!’ came an officer’s cool reply.

  ‘Stuffy as
s,’ muttered Probyn, and marched along the ship’s rail in search of a friendlier face.

  Eventually one of his own officers managed to evince a response but it did not make pleasant listening. His informant on the Britannic revealed a situation much worse than that rumoured. Their troops had in fact met with three reverses: besides the one at Magersfontein there had also been that at Stormberg to their central army guarding the line into the Free State, and one at Colenso to their eastern army searching for the key to Ladysmith.

  This news left Probyn deeply thoughtful. The Boers might not be such easy nuts to crack as had been assumed. It would be most disappointing if he was not home in time for the birth of his first child.

  Upon leaving St Vincent the troops were prepared for inoculation against enteric fever. Having made acquaintances amongst one of the other regiments who were treated first, Probyn’s platoon had discovered that the effects could be quite uncomfortable, the site becoming stiff and sore, and none of them were keen to undergo the experience themselves. To quell murmurs of insurrection, the captain suggested to his fellow officers that they should line up first to encourage the men but this was sadly ineffective.

  ‘Will it protect me from the Boer bullets?’ an obviously frightened Private Juggins demanded of Sergeant Kilmaster who was attempting to coerce him. ‘Then I’ll do without it if you don’t mind, I’d rather put up with a dose of the runs.’

  Probyn dispensed with all niceties. ‘That dose of the runs could be fatal, Juggins! They’re not jabbing needles in you for the fun of it. I’ve seen men suffer such a death and it’s not noble – and I don’t just mean weeds like you but big strong men, good friends amongst them. So if some doctor is clever enough to invent a prophylactic we’re not going to insult his genius by turning it down. Now roll up your sleeve!’

  With their sergeant taking the needle without flinching, the rest of his platoon were to follow his example, which was to him a fine comment on his leadership and gave great satisfaction, especially when there were plenty on board who still refused.