Somehow she got through the tea party (or the ‘funeral reception’ as her mother-in-law insisted it was called), enduring sympathy from people that she hardly knew, until at last the guests had gone and it was time to catch the train. The Major – who had scarcely said a word to her throughout – came across, quite warmly, to bid farewell to her, and to Sergeant Jeffries, who had stayed behind, because he was escorting her of course.
‘My coachman will be waiting, just outside the door. Have the servants brought your wrap? Then allow me to offer you my arm.’ Major Dawes (not Alex, she thought bitterly, but a different Major Dawes), extended an elbow and she took it gingerly.
He led her quite swiftly to the entrance hall, leaving Sergeant Jeffries to plod on behind. A moment later, the reason became clear. ‘Wanted to mention,’ he murmured, quietly, ‘there’ll be a little sum. Put it in trust for Alex when he married you, for heirs and dependents. Haven’t told his mater, but I thought you ought to know. Meant it for my grandchildren, but it will come to you. It isn’t a great deal – if he’d outlived me he’d have had a share of this estate – but enough to give you a little something to fall back upon. Now, here we are!’ They were at the door by this time and he signalled to the coachman, who brought the carriage up. The Major helped her into it, but as she took a seat, instead of letting go he squeezed her fingers tight.
‘I did not approve the marriage, I’m ashamed to say, but you made him happy while he was alive. Thank you for that, Ethel. I only wish we’d contrived to do the same a little more.’ It was the briefest of gruff murmurs but coming from that man, so stern and unbending, it was a special compliment.
Those were the words that acted as a balm all the way back to White Cottage at Rosvene. Perhaps it was that which gave her strength to remark to Sergeant Jeffries, when he left her at the gate, that she understood that he might require the place again – and even to smile wryly at his evident relief.
‘Hadn’t wanted to worry you, my dear Mrs Dawes, but I’m glad you brought it up. I would have had to speak to you sometime. The Borough Commissioner told me, when I spoke to him today, that they’d found a replacement now that …’ He broke off and fingered his moustache. ‘Since there’s now a vacancy,’ he corrected hastily and then was so embarrassed he could hardly wait to say goodnight.
The house seemed very empty when she let herself inside. Jillian or Pa had been there earlier and banked up the fire for her – so it was warm at least – but already it did not feel like home.
She spent the evening wondering where she ought to look. Not here, there were too many memories. Penzance, perhaps, or would that be too dear? Or over at Nancarrow, where she’d be close to Pa – but no, that wouldn’t do, Peter Kellow’s family lived further down the street. She fell asleep still sitting in the chair and woke next morning stiff and chill, still in her funeral clothes – and only then when Amy came tapping at the door.
‘Oh, my dear life, madam! You’ll catch your death of cold. Here, let me make a cup of tea for ’ee, and ’elp you out of that long veil and take your coat, at least. You’ll have to wear the rest, from ’ere on, all the time, I suppose, and a widow’s cap indoors. Though you’ll have to get a change so you can launder them.’
That was another disconcerting truth. Effie could hardly manage to give her a wan smile and sip the tasteless tea that was prepared for her.
It was awkward going into the dairy factory these days. There were rumours flying round – concerning Patience, you could tell – though people didn’t generally say so to your face. What they did was huddle into groups and whisper to each other when your back was turned.
It was worst at crowst time. Groups of girls were sitting on the wall, eating the bits of bread and scrape they’d brought, or a little pasty (if they were lucky, and there were enough scraps left over from their pa’s). But no one spoke to the Tregorran girls.
Prudence came and found Vee, who was sitting on her own, toying with the crust and cheese that Ma had given her. ‘Not hungry?’ Pru enquired.
Vee shook her head. ‘Not with all they staring!’
Pru was never happy just ignoring things. She called out to a little knot of girls, some of whom worked on the packing-line with them. ‘What’s going on then, Gloria Tresize? What are you staring at?’
Gloria, who was a sort of friend, turned pink but she left the others and came over to the pair.
‘Here Vee.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I hardly like to say, but is it true your Patience was caught out stealing things and that’s why she’s left?’ She made a little face. ‘I didn’t think it likely, you being Strict Adherent girls and all, but that’s what folks are saying, and perhaps you ought to know.’
Verity felt her heart sink to her boots. So it was true, then, what she’d thought? Gloria was looking at her enquiringly but Vee said nothing. What answer could she make?
Pru, though, was on her feet and clearly hopping mad. ‘I don’t know what this factory is like. If it isn’t one daft rumour going about, it’s an even dafter one. Of course our Pattie did nothing of the kind. She went off home ’cause she was feeling sick. She’s not been quite well lately – you might have noticed that! And the reason she’s not coming back is that she’s getting wed.’
‘Wed?’ the girl called Gloria echoed, looking mystified. ‘You hear that?’ she called out to her friends. ‘Patience is getting married!’ She turned back to Pru. ‘Who to, then? Anyone we know?’
‘It’s Ephraim Tull, the farmer,’ Pru said, defiantly. ‘If any of you went to chapel you might have heard by now. Banns are being published and they’ll be married very soon.’
One of the other girls had drifted over now. ‘Bit sudden, isn’t it?’
‘Nothing of the sort. He’s wanted her for years. So don’t go jumping to conclusions about that!’ Pru added, as people crowded round.
One of the listeners gave a knowing laugh. ‘Only one reason I know why people rush to wed!’
Gloria whirled round, unexpectedly. ‘Well, not this time, stupid. Prudence is quite right. If you knew Ephraim Tull, you’d realize. Drier than an old stick. And a Strict Adherent, too. More moral than a month of Sunday schools. He wouldn’t get a girl in trouble, if he was able to – or take a girl to wife who wasn’t what she ought to be.’
‘And that includes a thief. So let that be an end to gossip,’ Pru said, sitting down and opening her crowst bag with a flourish. ‘I wonder you lot don’t apologize.’
‘You’re right. I’m very sorry, Vee.’ Gloria was a nice girl, and she sounded quite contrite. She raised her voice. ‘It obviously wasn’t Patience who was stealing things! I don’t know how I ever thought it was!’
‘Nor do I,’ Pru told her. ‘And that goes for all of you. So stop your wicked lies. And ask yourself who started the stories anyway, cause if it wasn’t Pattie stealing, it must be one of you!’
People began to drift sullenly away, and Gloria turned to Verity again. ‘Sorry to hear that Pattie’s really sick – though now I can see the sense of why she’s getting married, quick. Man like Ephraim would hurry things along – doing her a Christian favour before it gets too late.’ She flashed Vee a friendly smile. ‘Well, tell her that I wish her well and hope she gets better – even if she don’t. And send my best wishes for her wedding too. Though – Ephraim Tull! I’m glad it isn’t me!’ She went off, shaking her head, to join her friends.
Vee, who had been sitting silent through all this, tried to take a bite of crust but found her hands were shaking. She dropped them to her lap.
‘Well?’ Pru said crossly, ‘crow got your tongue, or something? Couldn’t you speak up for Pattie, too, a bit?’
Vee shook her head. ‘You’re so much better at it. You know just what to say. Besides,’ she confided, taking a deep breath, ‘I wasn’t certain that the story wasn’t true. I thought perhaps she had been … you know … taking things …’
Pru turned her head so sharply that she almost shook her clean white work-cap off
her head. ‘Pattie, stealing? You must be mad – or blind! Of course that’s not the trouble!’ She paused, and took a bite. ‘Mind you, I suppose the truth is just as bad.’
‘And what’s that?’ Vee persisted.
‘Oh, you are a baby? Don’t you really know?’ Pru jumped down from the wall abruptly and brushed imaginary breadcrumbs from her skirt.
‘Not unless you tell me …’ But the whistle went and Vee didn’t get an answer. She had to stuff the whole crust in her mouth, or she wouldn’t have managed any lunch at all. Then, of course, there was no chance of hearing anything. On the packing-line you weren’t allowed to talk – unless it was about some problem with the goods, or you were showing some new arrival what to do.
She would ask Pru later, when they got back home, Vee told herself, but by that time there were other things for her to think about.
After the initial excitement of enlisting as a tunneller, Peter was beginning to wonder if he’d made a bad mistake.
It had been all right at first. He had accepted the humiliating tests which they called a ‘medical’, because they were supposed to prove that you were fit to serve (though he could not work out how) and was moved by the solemnity of taking the sworn oath. The train ride to London was an adventure in itself. Peter had never been further than Penzance in his life and he had no idea that England was so big – while the pride of a travel warrant and a brand-new uniform had given army life a splendid start.
But ‘joining his company’ in London was not quite as he’d hoped. He had expected a lot of fellow Cornishmen, but most of his companions came from what they called ‘oop nawrth’ and talked about coal pits or ‘kicking claay’, in dialects so broad he could hardly understand, though they seemed to find his honest Cornish quite as difficult. ‘Hast thee ’eard this?’ one muttered. ‘Says nowt but arr–arr–arr!’ It made him feel like a foreigner, himself.
Then, far from being part of the brand-new unit being formed, he found that he – with only a dozen others – was to be posted to an existing squad, as ‘urgent replacements’. The solitary fellow Cornishman among them, Tremean, a lugubrious stocky lad who’d worked down Wheal Jane mine, raised his brows at this.
‘Urgent replacements? What do they mean by that? That when we get to France we’ll be like kiddly-boys – the least experienced people in the company – and yet be on active service straight away! You wait and see if I’m not right!’
There was not long to wait. Forty-eight hours later they were on the ship to France: two days and nights of total misery, retching and heaving in an airless berth, while a February gale tossed the vessel like a toy.
Peter could not even stagger up and take the air, which Tremean did constantly – on the recommendation of the older hands, who’d made the trip before. It seemed to do him good, but Peter’s one attempt to step out on the deck nearly resulted in him pitching overboard, and he was embarrassingly and comprehensively sick in any case, so after that he simply lay down in his allotted space and wished to die.
Dry land, when it finally appeared, did not offer much opportunity to rest. He’d barely had time to grow accustomed to the fact that the world was no longer lurching under him, than his contingent were whisked away again and he and Tremean found themselves herded into a railway carriage, together with a lot of men from somewhere else, and rattled down the line.
The troops that they were travelling with were seasoned warriors; they’d been in the trenches just two weeks ago, and were returning from a period of ‘rest and relaxation’ back from the line. Their talk was loud and raucous and they smelt overpoweringly of sweat, cigarettes and beer. Tremean got into conversation with one or two of them, boasting about the girls that he had known, while Peter pressed himself into the corner, uncomfortable and cramped on the unforgiving wooden seat, wishing this would end. But the train seemed to get slower as the day progressed, and by late afternoon they were running through abandoned towns and ruined farms. It was noticeable that the rowdy conversation had hushed, while increasingly a sort of intermittent thudding could be heard – remote at first, but growing louder all the time.
‘Fritz is busy,’ someone muttered, as the ground shook underneath the tracks and the sky ahead turned red. ‘F13 Howitzers, by the sound of it. Won’t get much sleep tonight.’
Peter had been prepared for hearing gun-fire and was careful not to flinch. But he couldn’t help it when John Tremean dug him in the ribs, and said, ‘What load of old rigmarole is that, then?’ – pointing out that a village they were passing through (or what remained of it) had signs and shop-fronts that he couldn’t understand.
Peter should have been prepared for that, as well, perhaps – he had watched his mother buy from the Breton onion-sellers, years ago, with much gesticulation and holding up of fingers to display the price. But somehow he had not anticipated that, in France, you wouldn’t find English generally written or spoken anywhere. Here, he really was a foreigner – and every second took him further from the coast, and home.
So it was almost a comfort, when they finally rattled to a stop (at a sort of deserted platform in the rain) to have a Sergeant Major march along the train, tapping each door frame sharply with his stick and roaring commands in a language you could understand.
‘Everybody out! Tunnelling contingent, form up – single file – by the wall. The rest of you, fall in, in ranks of three. Come on, come on, what are you waiting for?’ The new recruits, a little mystified, went shambling over to the indicated point – while the returning unit transformed itself into three long, tidy files, at a speed which to Peter seemed miraculous.
The Sergeant Major, however, did not seem impressed. ‘Call that a line?’ he bellowed. ‘Get yourselves properly fell in. Never mind the puddles. Bit of rain won’t hurt.’ Then – as the line became so straight you might have run a ruler down its length – ‘That’s a little better! Don’t let me find you straggling again. You’re back with me, you lucky devils, you! Now, wait for the command. D Company … right … turn! By the left, quick march. Left, right, left, right.’
And he harried his contingent out onto the road.
Peter and Tremean’s little group were still standing sheepishly about, trying to shelter from the rain against the wall, when another officer appeared from a motorcar which had just drawn up outside. This time it was a proper major with a peaked cap and all, who tucked his baton underneath his arm and came in to shout at them. ‘Mining squad … in two ranks, fall in. Atten-shun. By the right … dress!’
Peter did his best, trying to remember the drill they’d had at school, and – like the others – shuffled to align himself, stretching out his arm to touch the shoulder of the fellow next to him. Compared to ‘D company’ it was a hopeless mess, but the officer in charge just sighed and marched them off – or rather stood in his slow-moving vehicle and watched as they trudged behind it down a lane. It was growing dark and sleeting gently now, and in the gaps between high hedges there was nothing to be seen except dark fields on either side. The road underfoot was unmade and full of slush and the new boots rubbed his toes and ankles painfully. It seemed a long, cold thirsty tramp before they reached their goal – which appeared to be some sort of disused factory.
The officer got down and dismissed them just outside the gate. ‘Find yourself some billets, then get to the canteen. Lance Corporal Smith will show you. Report in the morning. Eight sharp at this gate.’ And he was gone.
The billet proved to be an area of floor with a small pile of hay to place your blanket on. The room was a massive space, open to the roof. Work-benches and disused machinery still stood around the walls, though the area had been divided by makeshift blanket screens. The newcomers were together in a section of their own, and Peter found himself beside Tremean again, which – at least – was mildly comforting.
The Lance Corporal, a wiry lad who looked no older than his charges, saw the doubtful looks and laughed. ‘Count yourself lucky you’re not infantry. You could be in a trench, up
to your knees in muddy water and dead rats. You’ve got a roof to keep the rain out – most of it, at least – plus, you get decent rations and clean underwear each week. No wonder some of the lads are bloody envious – even without you earning six times what they do!’ He grinned. ‘Still, I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t want to work in a damp dark hole for hours, waiting for a ton of rock to fall on me.’
‘Not a tunneller yourself?’ Peter found himself asking, though he’d not intended to.
‘“Not a tunneller yourself,” Lance Corporal!’ the youth retorted. ‘You’re in the army now, and you don’t talk unless you’re spoken to. But no, I’m not a tunneller.’ He pointed to his sleeve, which had a chevron stripe but not the pick-and-shovel badge. ‘I’m just on attachment – mostly moving soil, so the Bosch can’t work out where the mining is – which means, at least, I get to share your benefits. So, if you’ve finished admiring your luxurious beds, come and have some delicious army stew, before it gets cold and coagulates.’
He led the way, between the hanging screens, to where a smaller room led off the back. Several men, all with the tunneller’s flash upon their sleeves were sitting at a trestle table, eating something hot and steaming from enamel plates. They glanced up as the new recruits came in, though without much interest. They all looked deathly tired.
‘Replacements for Sam Golders’ team,’ Lance Corporal Smith announced. ‘Only arrived in France today, and no idea what’s what. Is there a bit of stew that they can have?’
One of the men pointed to a saucepan with his fork. ‘Plenty left in there. Field kitchen’s closed, but they kept that hot for us. Bread in that metal box,’ he said and nodded at Peter who had gone to open it. ‘Any left over, make sure you put it back, else the rats’ll have it. Miners all of you?’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
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