‘Yes I know. I know you told me; but I’m my father’s son; we’re masochists.’
‘You’re what?’ She was at the kitchen door again. ‘You’re what-did-you-say?’
He sighed and smiled faintly as he said, ‘We both enjoy pain. How else would we have stayed there, how else would he have put up with it? When I view his life and the wasted years I keep asking why? Why? And yet I’ve only to turn to myself for the answer. You keep hoping she’ll change and that one day she’ll smile at you. You tell yourself that something will happen to break her crust, and you want to be there with both hands outstretched waiting for a crumb. Christ Almighty!’ He closed his eyes now and swung round. ‘Men are bloody idiots. They look on their women as the weaker sex. Huh! That’s funny when you think about it, for they have hides like rhinoceroses and the tenacity of gorillas. They’re animals, that’s what women are, primitive animals…’ He turned again and looked at her, small, plump, motherly, and above all kind, and he said contritely, ‘I’m sorry, Ruthie.’
‘Don’t you be sorry for speaking the truth, ’cos we are just that, just what you said, animals, gorillas and rhinos, the lot. How else do you think we’d get through life? How else do you think a woman would suffer the maulin’s of men? ’Cos men’s hunger’s got nowt to do with love. And how else do you think we’d be able to stand a head pressing itself through delicate private parts if we weren’t animals? It’s as you said, we’re animals, tough, with hides like rhinos. Aw, you want to think of something new to tell us what we are, lad.’ She flung her arm outwards across the table as if swiping a lot of rubbish from it and was about to go back into the scullery when his laugh stopped her.
When she turned and looked at him, he said, ‘You know what you are, Ruthie? You’re a witch doctor, a bloody fat little witch doctor. Let’s have another drink, eh?’
‘Aye, after you’ve had your tea an’ something to eat.’
‘Aw you!’
‘An’ you.’
‘You do me good. You always did.’
‘Aw, away with you.’
She disappeared into the scullery and he sat down again, stretched his legs out towards the fire, put his hands behind his head and leant back.
Away with you! she said, and he was going away. He hadn’t fully realised it until now, but he was breaking away, snapping all the threads. He was going to war.
Three
People were getting used to seeing Kitchener’s head on a poster, his right arm out, the fist doubled, his forefinger pointing, cutting off the end of his moustache. Above his cap was the word ‘BRITAIN’ in outsize letters, under his black-collared neck was the word ‘wants’ in small print, and under it an enormous ‘YOU’. The bottom of the poster read: ‘Join your country’s army. God save the King.’
And most men obeyed the command. Many who didn’t were sent white feathers; sick men received the feathers, men who were in specialised jobs received the feathers. In some cases it was just a way of getting your own back on someone you disliked.
There was talk everywhere about the Eastern Front strategy and the Western Front strategy. People said how terrible, how sacrilegious when a German shell hit Rheims Cathedral in September 1914. But there was rejoicing when Sir David Beatty succeeded in sinking or damaging a number of German cruisers off Heligoland with the loss, in dead or prisoners, of over a thousand Germans. Then, less than a month later, there was dire consternation at the wickedness of the Germans when a U-boat sank three British cruisers within an hour.
Neither Jonathan nor Harry was in the Aboukir, the Cressy or the Hogue, and Barbara for the first time in years went to church and offered up her thanksgiving.
In October when the battered and bloody army made its retreat from Antwerp and Dan received a letter from Ben to say that he was safe and, if not quite sound, still had all his extremities, Barbara did not go to church.
Those who had said the war would be over before Christmas ate their words, together with the usual Christmas fare.
It was at the beginning of February that Ben came home on leave and for the first time Dan heard he had been mentioned in dispatches and been given a commission.
The man who walked in through the door of his old home on the biting, low-skied February day had no resemblance to the one who had walked out alone in his stiff new private’s uniform the previous August. This man had lost a great deal of weight; his face looked angular and bony, and he seemed to have grown taller than his six-foot one, or perhaps it was the way he held himself.
He came in unannounced, and when Barbara, coming down the stairs, saw him standing in the hall, she stopped, gripped the rail of the banister tightly, drew in a short breath, then came on towards him. Holding out her hand, she said, ‘Why, this is a surprise. Why didn’t you let us know? Oh’—she withdrew her hand and stepped back from him—‘you…you have been commissioned! Well, well. How are you?’
Her voice had the high sing-song note to it that he remembered so well. ‘Your…your father’s in the drawing room. He…he has a slight cold.’ She moved still further back from him, her arm outstretched towards the drawing room as if he were a stranger and she had to show him the way.
He had not yet spoken to her, he had just looked at her. As he took off his greatcoat, Betty Rowe came running from the kitchen, crying, ‘Master Ben! Master Ben! What a sight for sore eyes! Eeh! Ada! Ada!’ she called over her shoulder, knowing that the mistress, who had her back to her, was unable to hear, and Ada came into the hall and right up to Ben. And they shook hands like old friends, and she too stood back from him and exclaimed, ‘Eeh! Master Ben, you’re an officer? Well, don’t you look a bit of all right.’
‘Ada!’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ada moved aside and made way for Ben to follow his mother, but before he did so he winked, first at her and then at Betty, and they giggled and Ada said, ‘We’ll get the tea, we’ll get the tea. Eeh! Who would believe it?’
Dan was sitting in a high-backed chair drawn close up to the fire. When the door opened he did not turn towards it; he had been dozing and wakened to the sound of a commotion in the hall. But he often heard Ada and Betty nattering in ordinary tones; they had the house so much to themselves they found it difficult to lower their voices when he was at home.
When Barbara came into his view he saw that she was smiling and her hand was held outwards, and he turned and looked round the side of the winged chair.
‘Why! Ben! Ben!’ He was on his feet and clasping his son to him. Their arms remained tight around each other until Dan cried, ‘Well, talk about a shock! Where have you sprung from? Come on, come on, up to the fire. This is weather to bring with you. How are you?’ He stopped his embarrassed chatter and looked at his son and realised he shouldn’t have asked.
When he had last seen Ben he had been a bit on the heavy side; now there was scarcely a pick of flesh on his bones. He looked smart in his uniform, grand, but he was too thin, too thin by half. ‘Well, this calls for a drink, four o’clock in the afternoon or not four o’clock in the afternoon.’ He was smiling widely as he turned towards Barbara and his words were wide-spaced as he said, ‘A drink, we’ll have a drink.’
She moved her head downwards and not only did she smile at him, but she smiled at Ben and said, ‘Of course, of course,’ and hurried from the room.
Ben sank back into the chair. Of a sudden he felt very tired. It was a different kind of tiredness from what he had continually experienced during the past months; that had been a weary, dirty, mud-clinging, freezing, death-stinking tiredness. This was a warm relaxing tiredness. He was home and being given a homecoming. She had smiled at him and called him by his name. He wanted to fall asleep; just sitting here, he wanted to turn his head to the side and go to sleep.
‘How you feeling? Are you all right? How’s things?’
He drew in a long breath before answering, ‘Quite good at the moment.’
‘At the moment?’ Dan nodded quietly now. ‘How about other times, is it r
ough?’
‘Pretty rough.’
‘You didn’t tell me you were in for a commission.’
Ben’s old grin came through for the moment as he said, ‘Some have greatness thrust upon them.’
‘No! No! How did it come about? Come on, come on, tell me.’
‘Oh. I did a bit of dirty work, more by sheer fright than bravery. Nobody’s brave out there. I knew a fellow who used to say fear was a tin opener. I didn’t realise what he meant until he stopped being afraid one day and became foolhardy, and he wasn’t there to open his bully-beef tin that night.’
When Ben stopped talking Dan did not ask any further questions but he sat looking at his son. Ben had changed. He wasn’t as morose as he had been; perhaps the things he had worried about when he was at home had been put into perspective against the greater issues he was combating over there in the icy mud of the trenches.
When Barbara brought in the tray with the decanter and glasses on it Dan rose from the chair and with an ‘Ah, well now!’ he poured out the drinks. Then they stood with their glasses in their hands and raised them silently to each other. It was like a fitting gesture of celebration.
Both men remained standing until Barbara was seated; and then it was she who spoke. Leaning towards Ben, a smile on her face, she said, ‘How long are you on leave?’
‘Three days.’ His fingers fumbled with lack of use at the words, but he mouthed them for her, then added, ‘I’ve already been here four.’
‘You have been here four! You mean in England?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded from her surprised face to his father; then touched his uniform as he said, ‘Officialdom.’
‘Did it take four days to get you into your uniform?’ Dan was laughing now, and Ben answered, ‘Much longer than that. I…I was due to come over last month but there was a hitch. But tell me, how are the others?’
‘Oh, we heard last week. They’re very well and both together. They’re due for leave after the next trip so they say. Their letters are very funny; they seem to be enjoying life.’
‘I’m glad. They’re still up in Scotland?’
‘No, no.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Well, not now. They were in Portsmouth before Christmas.’ He turned his head away and picked up the poker and stirred the fire as he added quietly, ‘I think they’re at sea now.’
Ben did not make any reference to his father’s remark but looked at his mother now and asked, ‘And what do you do with yourself?’ Although she could not hear it his tone was polite as if he were making enquiries of an acquaintance.
‘Oh, me? Knitting, sewing; I help Mrs Turner. You remember Mrs Turner? Well, I help her in organising this and that. We have an entertainments committee and also allocate homes where the young men away from home, those in the Forces you know’—she inclined her head with another smile—‘are invited for a meal or a weekend.’
‘Very nice, very good, nice for them.’ He nodded at her but did not add as at one time he might have, ‘You’ll have to get them to invite me, I need a home from home.’
The conversation flagged for a moment, until Ben asked. ‘How is Uncle John?’
‘Oh, fine.’ Dan pursed his lips. ‘The mill is working nearly twenty-four hours a day now, and it’s almost the same this end. Stonehouse has turned out trumps.’
‘I thought he would.’
‘What do you think about putting him on the Board?’
‘A very good idea; he’s worth it and it’ll be a means of keeping him.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do it then, I’ll put it to John. But John will be for him; he knows a good man when he sees one.’
‘How is Aunt Jenny?’
‘Oh, she’s still Aunt Jenny. Nothing moves her, floods, storms or tempest; wars or famines, nothing moves Aunt Jenny.’
They both exchanged a smile; then Dan said, ‘I don’t know what you’ll think about it but you’ll be surprised to hear that Brigie wants to turn the Hall into a convalescent home for soldiers. She’s amazing. You’ve got to hand it to her, ninety-four and her mind’s still as clear as a bell. She had it all planned out before she put it to us. I said you and the boys were the main ones concerned and I would write to you, but as it stands, you know, she can do as she likes with the place until she dies. Anyway, what do you think?’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea. Oh yes, I’m for it, and I’m sure the others will be too. But…but isn’t it too far out and off the beaten track?’
‘That seems to be the beauty of it she says, quiet and peace. She’s already had a medical opinion on it, Doctor Fuller from the Infirmary. I think he’s in the process of contacting the military authorities. Anyway, you know Brigie, the world’s organiser.’
‘But where’s she going to live? Back in that cottage?’
‘No, no; she proposes to live on the nursery floor.’
‘All those stairs?’
‘No, no. She said there could be a lift made out of the servants’ staircase with access to the first floor and the nursery floor.’
Ben now gave a small laugh and he said, ‘She’ll never get that, not in wartime.’
‘If she passes it over to the military she’ll get it.’
‘Yes, yes, she may at that too. Well, well. Brigie never ceases to astound one, does she?’
Barbara had remained silent during this discourse and now, her expression still pleasant, she looked at Ben and said, ‘What would you like for dinner? There is some pork, we could have roast pork. Would you like that? There is cold chicken from yesterday, but I’m sure you’d prefer roast pork.’
He stared at her. She had remembered he loved roast pork, with the crackling done so crisp it shot off your teeth when you snapped it. Again he felt that warm relaxed feeling coming over him, and he nodded as he said, ‘I’d love that, roast pork and crackling, and stuffing.’
As she got to her feet she repeated, ‘Oh yes, and stuffing.’
After she left the room they sat looking at each other as if they were both experiencing a feeling of guilt. If they had spoken on the subject nearest their hearts at that moment Ben would have said, ‘She’s changed,’ and Dan would have said, ‘No, nothing has altered. Don’t delude yourself, nothing has altered.’
The meal was a happy one, the evening was a happy one.
When, just turned nine, Ben almost fell asleep in his chair, it was Barbara who said, ‘Wouldn’t it be wise if you went to bed and had a good night?’ and he answered, ‘Yes, you’re right. It would be wise for that’s what I need more than anything, a good night.’
When he stood before her she offered him her hand, and he took it, but when her head and shoulders remained still he couldn’t bend towards her and kiss her. He shook hands with his father too. Theirs was a tight grip. And then he went upstairs to his room, which, he had found earlier on, was just as he had left it. Undressing quickly, he got into bed, stretched to his full extent, heaved one long, deep sigh, said to himself, ‘No thinking, nothing, go,’ and just as he had trained himself to sleep while standing up, so now he went straight to sleep in the first comfort he had known since he put on his uniform.
The following morning Betty brought his breakfast up to bed, and he woke reluctantly, pulled himself upwards and peered at the bedtable set across his knees. It was daintily laid out with everything he required and all he could say was, ‘What’s this?’
‘What does it look like, Master Ben? Your breakfast. The mistress said you had to have it in bed.’
Now he opened his eyes and stared at her and said, ‘Did she now?’
‘Aye, she did.’ She lifted the cover from the plate and exclaimed, ‘Two eggs, four slices of bacon, two sausages and two slices of fried bread, eeh! Now get that down you.’ Then standing back from the bed, she said, ‘I’m glad to see you, Mr Ben. We all are.’
‘Thanks, Betty. And I’m glad to see you too.’
‘We have a new cook.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know. What happened to May?’
‘It w
as her legs, they gave out.’
‘But they’ve been giving out for years.’
‘But they really did this time an’ she had a pan of broth in her hand. Lord, you should have seen that floor! It was a good job it wasn’t very hot, she was just putting it on the stove. But this one’s all right; she’s Annie. She’s a good cook…Well—’ she backed from him, jerked her head at him, and ended, ‘Make the best of every minute, Master Ben, an’ we’ll see to all you want.’
For the first time a semblance of his old self came through as he leant towards her and whispered, ‘Will you, Betty? Honest, all of you? How old is the cook?’ Her hand to her mouth, Betty turned round and ran to the door, saying, ‘Eeh! Master Ben, you don’t change, you don’t change. The war couldn’t change you.’
He sat looking at the tray for a moment and repeating to himself, You don’t change, the war couldn’t change you. Ah well, make the best of it, she had said, and that’s what he meant to do. He’d go round and see Ruthie first thing. Then he wondered if Miss Felicity Cartwright still lived at the same address and was still Miss Felicity Cartwright. Well, he’d find out, and if she were vacant they’d go to a show, then have something to eat, and then—then…He’d better warn them not to wait up for him.
Three days he had, three days before he had to return to hell. Ruthie had a saying that God was good and the devil wasn’t bad to his own. Well, the devil she knew and the devil he knew must he running two different establishments because the gentlemen over there had been less than kind to him, and a few others too during the past months. Yes and a few others…Aw, for God’s sake eat, eat, man.
And he ate.
Four
It was the morning of the third day. He was to leave at twelve to catch the one fifty-five from Newcastle. His father was coming back in order to drive him to the station in the automobile he had acquired.
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