by Carl Leckey
It looked like she was clear. It was after she buried Harry she caught it herself and was dead in a couple of days. It was terrible lad, whole families wiped out. I had it myself but survived somehow.” “ When did all this happen Ted?” I inquire unable to take in the information.
I knew the epidemic had been bad in England by the reports in the newspapers I had seen but now it affected me personally and it has come as a shock.
“Phew! I reckon about six months ago, yes it was in June last year.
That was the height of the epidemic around here. I lost my Mother about the same time.” “Where are they buried Ted. I feel terrible but I didn’t know honestly, nobody informed me.” “No one knew where you where lad, we didn’t know whether you were alive or dead and that’s the truth. They are buried together in the council cemetery at Flaybrick. Mrs Jones arranged Millie’s funeral you should go and see her. You know her don’t you?” “Oh yes she is the landlady I have known her since I was kid a very nice Lady. I know where she lives I’ll go and see her tomorrow and thank her for her kindness. I suppose there is money owed to her as well?” “No need to worry about that lad. Millie was a paid up member of the Co-op funeral club. All the bills have been paid. She was a lovely woman Millie and I might add a very shrewd one as well.” “ I know that Ted, she took me in when I was a little bugger and looked after me despite me dodging school and getting up to other mischief.” I pause for a moment remembering my childhood. It seems a very long time ago since I played in this street and tormented the neighbours playing knick nock on their doors. I recall something that puzzles me. “Hey Ted by the way who is that scruffy bugger in their house then?”
He answers his voice registering disgust. “Don’t mention him. That’s O’Grady lazy bugger. He moved in with that slut of his and his tribe of brats just before Christmas, they are only squatters you know? The land Lady can’t shift ‘em, Mrs Jones was holding the house in case you came home. The police won’t intervene without a court order and Old Ma Jones won’t go to court in case they throw the kids out in the street in the middle of winter.
She’s a nice old girl but believe me they are a nightmare since they moved in. Eh Lad! Millie and Harry’s furniture and some of their possessions are still in there. I suppose they belong to you now, what are you going to do about it?” I reply thoughtfully. “I don’t have any idea, there is nothing I want really. I was heading back to France anyway as soon as I had seen Mum and Dad. I’ve got a girl out there I’m going to marry and a good job, so there is nothing to keep me here now.” Ted made me an offer. “Look here Lad where are you going to spend the night?” Before I can reply he says. “I haven’t got a spare bed but you are welcome to kip on the sofa until you sort yourself out.” Gratefully I answer. “Thanks Ted I’ll take you up on that if you don’t mind. I’m just about knackered.” Immediately he began to organise me.
“Right Adam, stay here and make yourself comfortable, I’ll get you a feed of fish and chips from the shop and sort you some blankets later.” Ted put his hand on my shoulder and adds. “I liked Millie lad, she was a good woman. I must admit I wasn’t that fond of Harry but I’m sorry they have gone believe me.” I slept a restless night but at least I was warm and snug in his living room. After a good breakfast, with an offer of his sofa again if I require it, I head off to see Mrs Jones, my parents landlady.
Mrs Jones, a widow, is a practising Quaker in her eighties. She owns half the houses in our street. Unusual for landlords at the time, she is a good one and cares for her tenants. Her maid, a very pretty girl in her early teens answers the door to my knock. When I explain why I am visiting, she asks me to wait while she sees if her mistress is in, the front door is closed. Within minutes she is back, blushing bright red she invites me into the house where she ushers me into a sitting room. Mrs Jones recognises me right away; she invites me to sit on a chair close by her.
“Adam you are home from the war safe and sound. Thank the Lord? I am so sorry you have come home to such sad news my boy. I had no way of contacting you personally. I did write to the war office but I take it they didn’t inform you of your parents demise?” “No Mrs Jones I didn’t know a thing about their deaths until I came home last night. Thank you for arranging Mum’s funeral er, are there any more bills to pay? I’m sorry I have no cash at the moment, but I will send what I owe when I get my business up and running.” The Lady pats my hand comfortingly and informs me. “There is nothing to pay my boy, don’t you worry your head. Everything has been taken care of Adam. As a matter of fact I have something for you. I saw Millie at her husband’s funeral where she was very agitated she had a premonition that she would die before you came home. I made a pledge to her that if she were to pass away before your return I would keep the house for you. The maid enters the room carrying a tray loaded with a tea pot cups etc and a plate of buttered scones. Mr Jones addresses her.
“Thank you Pamela, will you be kind enough to bring me the silver music box, diary and Ladies handbag from the library?”
“Where is it Madam? What do they look like?” The maid inquires.
“They are together in the bureau, in the library Pamela. Good lord girl do hurry.” When the maid has left the room the Lady confides. “She is a good girl but a bit slow at times.
I know I shouldn’t, but I do get impatient with her.” Pamela returns with the music box, leather bound diary and expensive looking handbag. She places them alongside the tea things on the table in front of us. “Will that be all Madam?”
“Yes Pamela off you go” When the door closes behind her the Lady informs me. “Poor child all her family died from the dreaded flu, all seven of them. They were neighbours of yours, they lived just down the street to you in one of my houses.” “Good God! I do remember them, a large Irish Catholic family and all dead except Pamela. You say? What a tragedy?” “Yes all dead I’m afraid excepting the poor girl, I took her in, I don’t really need a maid but what can one do?” Mrs Jones pours the tea and pushes the plate of scones in my direction. “Help yourself my boy. Pamela has one very good talent she makes excellent scones.” I sample a scone and drink my tea they are indeed delicious and remind me for some reason of Denise. I notice the diary is a type I have never seen before it looks very expensive secured with a little gold lock.
To make conversation I say. “It must have been a terrible time for her losing her whole family. I saw the flu kill many of my comrades in France. Some people say it was the flu that eventually stopped the war.” “God’s gifts have many different forms, who are we mere mortals to question them?” She shrugs her shoulders and reaches for the box. “Now Adam, when Millie died you know I arranged the funeral? Well that left the house empty. This box, bag and diary were the only valuable items in the house. I have kept them safe in case of your return. See, I have tied the key to the box? I have no idea if there is anything in the box or the handbag. I’m afraid I left everything else. I’m sorry now, since that horrible O’Grady character has moved into the house and is using your things.” I reply. “I’m not worried about that, I have no use for them, although it’s nice to have these keepsakes to remember them by. Anyway his kids will get the benefit of the things you left so let them be.
I’ll not bother you anymore; you have been very kind, thank you so much. I shall go and visit their graves now if you don’t mind?”
Putting the articles in my backpack, I bid her farewell and head for the cemetery. At the lodge house located at the grave yard gates I meet a man Todd Brogan I know him from my days on the council. As he directs me to the grave he begins talking incessantly. “Been in the army eh Adam? Bet it was rough over there eh? I never got the chance myself.
I’ve got flat feet you see?” He explains hurriedly. “You can’t march with flat feet Adam.” “Do you still play football for the local team on Saturdays Todd?” I enquire innocently. “Oh yes!” He replies enthusiastically.
“I wouldn’t miss my Saturday footy for the world I even had a trial for
Tranmere Rovers.” “Flat feet don’t affect your footy then Todd?” He looks most embarrassed he answers lamely. “Er no, it’s only the marchin I can’t do.”
The reason he gives for not serving in the forces strangely annoys me, I think to myself. Yes my old mate Todd. I bet you’ve had to tell that one to lots of people to explain why someone of your age wasn’t doing his bit in the war. Flat feet! What a joke! I think of the lads with trench foot that despite this painful condition carried on in the front line trenches. I recall my shock when Harry stepped from behind his desk to reveal his false leg.
There I go again, my mind wandering. Todd brings me back to the present I believe to divert me from the subject of his feet. “By the way there is no headstone Adam just a number. You will find it easy enough just follow the rows along the freshly made graves. We have been called in here with none stop burials since this flu struck. In the past we had maybe one or two funerals a day but we get six or seven at the moment, shit here’s another one now. No rest for the wicked.
The bloody ground is as hard as hell, its murder digging in the winter when it’s frozen I can tell you. Wait until you see how many new ones there is. The masons haven’t even got time to make the headstones. If you want one for your family you will have to go on a waiting list. I believe that is about six months long at the moment.”
God I am glad to get away from Todd as he moans and moans about his lot. I wonder how he really dodged enlistment as he is not much older than me. I reckon it would be a safe bet that his Uncle an Alderman and a football fanatic serving on the council had something to do with his exemption. Moaning about the hard ground is he? Todd should have tried digging the frozen ground in France with the German air force bombing shit out of him. He would have had something to whinge about then.
I reprimand myself. Leave him alone he’s only done what thousands of others have done to dodge the stupid war.
Somebody has to dig the graves after all. I find the grave quite easily amongst row upon row of new ones; many of the graves are dressed with flowers stuck in pathetic jam jars.
I stand contemplating the scene for a few moments. Oddly I don’t feel much emotion. Maybe I have used my quota on the front line in the war. I sit down on an old family tomb and reach into my back pack for a fresh packet of cigarettes. My hand touches the music box I lift it out. When I shake it I detect a rattle inside. With fumbling frozen hands I fit the key into the lock and open the box.
Suddenly from the box a haunting melody drifts across the mist shrouded grave yard.
Excitement grabs me when I see the contents consisting of a number of gold sovereigns, there are also very expensive looking engagement and wedding rings plus a large brooch decorated with a strange symbol set out in glittering stones. I count twenty of the glittering coins. Yippee!
I can’t believe my luck. Is my Guardian Angel still keeping an eye on me? With the money in my possession many of my problems immediately disappear.
Wrapped in a small piece of paper is a tiny key. I am about to discard the paper when I notice it is covered in miniscule script. As I lift the note close to my face to read the handwriting I detect a trace of perfume lingering on the paper. Although it is a struggle to decipher the message in the poor light I am able to interpret it to the best of my ability as.
This is the key to my diary and my broken heart. I leave it in the good keeping of my loyal maid and good friend Millie It is signed Angelique.
Who was or is this woman? What connection did she have with my adopted Mother? Although I knew Millie had been in service before she married Harry.
I had never heard her mention being in service to someone named Angelique. Suddenly the cold strikes me. The mist had lifted to be replaced by an icy wind that is biting through my army jacket. I decide to find somewhere warm before opening the diary. But in the meanwhile I am rich. I now have enough cash to buy civilian clothes and pay my rail fare back to Dover plus passage across the channel. Thanks be to Millie, or maybe the mysterious Angelique. Is she to be my peacetime Guardian Angel I wonder?
Peggy.
I see no reason to hang about and I do miss Denise, the sooner I get back to France and renew my relationship with my love the better. First of all I want to get out of this army uniform. With this in mind I make my way to the shopping area in Grange road. On my way I pass the store where my mate Tommy worked before his enlistment. In the doorway is a memorial plaque to the employees that lost their lives in the service of their country. I scan the list and see they have included Tommy. I wonder do they know he was stood against a post at dawn. He was blindfolded and shot by his own side most probably by the mates he knew and fought alongside before his nerves were totally shattered?
Oh yes! A thought strikes me, I dread doing what I have to do but I must.
His Mother lives close by I can’t avoid it I will have to go and see her. God, suppose she doesn’t know he was executed by soldiers from his own outfit for so called cowardliness. I shall have to be careful how I handle this delicate situation. I knock on her door hoping no one is home.
No reply. At least I have made the effort to salve my conscience.
I gratefully turn away when Tommy’s cousin Margaret calls out to me from an upstairs window. “Is that you Adam?” “Oh er Hiya Peggy is your Aunt in?” Peggy is a different kettle of fish to Tommy’s Mum. She will want to know every detail of Tommy’s death. She is about three years older than me a very pretty girl. I once had a crush on her. “Stay there I’ll be right down.” I hear the thump of footsteps as she runs downstairs, the door opens. “Come in. Come in its lovely to see you. Aunt Ada is in the parlour she will be so pleased to see you.” She gives me a welcoming hug and kiss. I reluctantly follow her into the house where I have spent many happy hours with my mate Tommy as kids. Now I feel so apprehensive in fact I feel a sense of guilt for some reason. Before we enter the parlour she stops and places her hand on my arm. “Adam.” She whispers. “I have to warn you. Aunt Ada is not too well she might not even recognise you.” “Why what’s up with her?” I enquire. “Poor Aunty had a stroke when she heard of Tommy’s death, she hasn’t been right since. That’s why I moved in here to look after her. I take in the sewing she used to do, it helps pay the bills.” I get the impression they are struggling to make ends meet.
God! Will it never end the after results of the bloody war? Tommy’s Mum is a lovely good hearted woman. Surely she has suffered enough when her husband was killed in the Boer war. Now her only son had been taken away from her. What is worse, the foul deed was perpetrated by our own side. The poor woman is sitting in an arm chair by the front window, a fire roars in the fireplace. I notice a bed located close by her. She is hardly recognisable as the smart fun loving woman I remember.
She was like a second Mother to me and treated me as one of her own. One side of her face is drawn up into kind of snarl. Her once lovely black hair is snow white. Since I last saw her two years ago she has visibly aged. She doesn’t recognise me as Peggy warned. I kneel before her and hold her cold hand. What can I say to comfort or explain to this poor woman the injustice that she has suffered? I find myself crying uncontrollably. There is nothing I am able to do. I just want to get away from this house as soon as possible. Peggy shows me a letter they have received about Tommy. Through tearful eyes I read it.
The letter is from my friend the Colonel. He hasn’t let me down and has fulfilled his promise to write to Tommy’s Mother. He describes Tommy as a gallant young soldier who had responded to his countries call to arms without hesitation. With regret he had made the ultimate sacrifice.
In fact it is a wonderful letter with no mention of how or why his young life had been brought abruptly to an end. Peggy congratulates me.
“I didn’t know you can read Adam, that’s marvellous.” “There are some good things that came out of the war Peggy my learning to read and write is one of those good things.” I reply proudly. Peggy whispers. “The family really appreciate this letter Adam.
If Aunty could have read it I know it would have given her great comfort. Come through to the kitchen. I’ll make a brew and we can have a talk.” When we are sitting in front of the big iron kitchen range drinking our tea Peggy asks me. “What are your plans now you are out of the army? Are you going back to the council?” I shudder at the thought of returning to the job of brushing the streets. I outline my intentions for the future. Peggy appears upset when I disclose I am returning to France, particularly my commitment to marry Denise. “What are you going to marry a foreigner for?” She asks as if Denise is a Martian. “That is because I love her of course. Why do you ask Peggy?” I respond with a smile. Peggy tut tut’s her disapproval. “There are plenty of English girls looking for husbands after so many of our men have been killed. Let foreign woman find someone from her own country I say.” That’s the Peggy I recall, she never pulled punches and always expressed her opinion. I feel slightly uncomfortable in her presence as she questions me in depth about life in the army. “Why did the army allow Tommy an underage boy to serve in the front line?” I find it hard to explain what the chaos of the front line was like. How can anyone who had not personally been involved in war imagine what we experienced? What it is like to be splattered with the blood and pieces of bodies of men who seconds before were walking talking living beings. I dodge her question by explaining “Tommy was in a different regiment to me. I was only an ambulance driver and didn’t do any real fighting.” To avoid going deeper into the facts about my mate’s death I divert the conversation to her. “Anyway Peggy enough about me, what have you been up to since I left? No romance on the cards for you?” A tear appears in her eyes as she replies. “Do you remember Jack Shaw? He was in your school about three classes above you? That is when you did go to school.” She smiles as she reminds me of my poor attendance record. “Aye Jack Shaw a big tall gangly lad. Yes Peggy I remember him.” “Well Adam I got married to him before he went off on an overseas posting. We had been engaged for a year I wanted to wait until he got a home base but he insisted. He said it would give him someone to dream about while he was away.