Chapter Twenty
They had all been gone from home three months now.
It was an empty and dismal Christmas, no one had the heart for any celebrations.
The new year had begun with little will for wishing anyone happiness.
She stood with two rag dolls in her hand gazing out of Sophie’s bedroom window.
The children were having their afternoon visit with their mother and Kate was meant to be tidying, but although her body was in the room, her mind was elsewhere.
She traced the path of a raindrop down the window pane and then another and another.
If the weather was as bad in France as it was in England then they would be having a cold and miserable time.
What was it like across the Channel? Was it much the same as England?
It wasn’t so far away after all. There would be towns and villages, fields and rivers, farms and woodlands.
There might even be a village just like Micklewell, with its stream flowing down the main street and sticklebacks weaving in and out of the watercress beds.
Whatever must it be like to be in a foreign land, where the people spoke another language, to walk into a strange place and look for the enemy at every turn, to have a rifle put in your hands and told to shoot at someone?
Philip was such a gentle person. She could feel that lingering sense of touch, his hands moving across her body, reading her responses, finding her, holding her.
She couldn’t see him leading a battalion of men, ordering them to fire, aiming at someone’s heart.
Perhaps it was easier for Fred given that he had been taught how to fire a gun by their father.
The two of them would go out hunting rabbits or pheasant, or sometimes they would take a shot at pigeons closer to home.
She couldn’t picture Philip doing the same thing.
Archie was skilful with a shovel and a rake, and was strong and hardworking, but faced with killing a man, could he do it?
She didn’t want to think about what they would see and be expected to do.
She was grateful that her father, at forty-four, was considered too old.
She came away from the window, placed the dolls on the pillow and sat down on the bed.
She reached into her skirt pocket and brought out the letter from Fred she’d received before he went to France.
She unfolded it carefully. The paper was getting fragile and beginning to fall apart along the creases.
Dear Kate,
Well here I am about to get on a transport for Southampton Docks.
Next time I write I will be in France. The training was hard but me and the boys are all looking forward to it.
We’re defending our country and doing our bit.
I don’t have much time to write more as I have to get my kit bag together and leave soon.
I’ll be home before you know it and we can eat pheasant stew and have a glass of ale or two.
Your loving brother,
Fred.
Kate hoped that he was right and that they could all get back normal.
Everyone around her was on edge. Everyone had someone in their family who’d gone to fight.
Mrs B had a nephew in the navy. Mary’s cousin was serving in the Army Transport Corps.
Mr Winton was always scanning the newspaper reports and Mrs Winton had joined Clara in raising funds to support the war effort.
There was nothing else on people’s minds.
Mr Winton saw it as his responsibility to keep the staff informed of what was going on in the war effort though, whether they wanted to hear it or not. As Kate finished her tidying tasks for the day she heard the bell that summoned them to the evening report from the master.
She hurried downstairs and arrived at the sitting-room door at the same time as Mary and Mrs B. Mrs B knocked on the door.
‘Come!’ Mr Winton called.
They trooped in, one behind the other and stood in a straight line, facing the master who remained seated. Mr Winton cleared his throat, folded his newspaper meticulously and placed it on the side table.
‘Now,’ he said, pursing his lips and smoothing his moustache. ‘The current situation is complicated, but I have simplified it in order that you may understand.’
Mary shifted uncomfortably. She’d told Kate that when the master was holding forth, she thought he was going to question her afterwards to make sure she’d listened. He never had yet but there was always a possibility that he might, so Kate attended to everything he said.
‘There have been battles between the Turks who are on the side of the Germans and the Russians who support us. The Russians, I am pleased to say, are winning the fight and pushing the Turks back.’
Kate tried to take in the information and listen patiently but was hoping to hear of the British army, not the Russians and the Turks.
They were rooted to the spot though and unable to escape or interrupt.
The master’s voice droned on but he eventually turned his attentions to news closer to home and Kate renewed her efforts to show interest.
‘There have been Zeppelin raids in the east of England. Now, I expect you’re wondering what a Zeppelin is. A Zeppelin is an air ship, like a gigantic, cigar-shaped balloon. It’s made out of a steel framework and filled with hydrogen . . .’
Some of the more technical details were lost on them and Kate was pleased when the lecture finally stopped and they were dismissed. Mrs B huffed a sigh of relief. She left it until they were outside the door, though, and out of the master’s earshot.
The routines in Vanburgh House remained much the same.
Mr and Mrs Winton believed that being occupied was a good thing.
Kate and Clara did not see much of each other but, when they did, they avoided talking about Philip and Carnforth and the news from the front.
It was better not to think too much about what might be happening to them for that was a recipe for sleepless nights and constant worrying.
One afternoon, Kate heard some news about the progress of the war that interested her far more than Russians and zeppelins. She was helping Mary serve the afternoon tea and Mr Winton was reading aloud to Clara and the mistress about the latest battles.
‘This report from Sir John French mentions Philip’s regiment,’ he announced. ‘The headline reads “Brilliant Fighting”. That’s my boy! The Sussex Regiment took back territory the Germans had control over. Says here there was “Great Gallantry in Two Fierce Battles”, Bethune and Givenchy.’
‘I thought Philip was in Ypres,’ Clara said, pronouncing it “eep”.
‘He was when he wrote his last letter,’ Mr Winton replied, ‘but remember that once a battle has been won they move on. Got to keep the Germans on the run!’
‘I do hope the next letter brings good news. It’s such torture waiting,’ Mrs Winton said.
‘Don’t expect this war to be over anytime soon,’ Mr Winton replied. ‘There’ll be more casualties and no let up until we’ve reclaimed France and stopped the threat to our own country. Quite right too!’
Kate felt the heat of suppressed anger rise up through her neck and into her cheeks. It was all right for wealthy men, such as Mr Winton, to talk about what was right, passing comment from the safety of their own homes. What of those who had no choice?
She noticed the deep concern on Mrs Winton’s face and was annoyed at how Mr Winton could be so insensitive. He was talking as if his son was just another number, an anonymous face.
Kate and Mary returned to the kitchen. Kate could barely speak.
‘Master Philip is so brave,’ Mary said.
Kate didn’t reply. The thought of Philip lying injured somewhere, or worse, was too painful. Please God let him come home safe.
Back in the kitchen, they found Mrs B slumped in her favourite chair.
They crept around whilst making their own tea, fearful of waking her, for she was a demon if disturbed during her nap.
Kate was grateful for the time to calm herself and the sight of Mrs B fast asleep with her mouth open, oblivious to everything, lifted her spirits and made her smile.
After a particularly loud intake of breath, she came to.
‘Humph!’ she groaned, looking in the direction of the kitchen table where the two girls were sitting.
‘I was just . . .’ Mrs B began.
‘We know,’ Kate said.
‘. . . closing your eyes for a few moments,’ Kate and Mary chorused, giggling at each other. Even Mrs B couldn’t resist a smile.
‘Oh, you two!’ She grinned. ‘You wait until you’re my age. You’ll be glad of forty winks now and again. Now what’s happened to that butcher’s boy? I need the steak and kidney for tonight’s pie and should have started it by now!’
As if he’d been waiting outside for mention of his name, the door opened and in came Sam with his striped apron and his bundle all wrapped up in paper and tied with string.
He plonked it down on the scrubbed table and said, ‘There y’are, Mrs B.
Sorry it’s late but the bike had a puncture and I had to push it most of the way. Thank the Lord you’re my last today!’
‘Don’t put it there,’ Mrs B snapped. ‘I just scrubbed that table. Fetch a dish, Mary. There’ll be blood everywhere.’
‘Not as much blood as is being spilt over there in France, though,’ Sam said. ‘And on top of being shot at there’s a new danger for our boys now — gas!’ Sam was always eager to impart any news that he had received about the war. Sometimes in more detail than Kate actually wanted to hear.
‘Mustard gas. It burns your throat and lungs if it’s inhaled and even if you’re lucky enough to be issued with a gas mask, it soaks into your skin and leaves huge blisters.’
‘That’s enough, Sam,’ Mrs B said. ‘We don’t want to hear anymore.’
Kate felt sickened by what Sam had described. Her thoughts turned immediately to Philip and Archie and her brother. Please God let them not have to suffer such pain.
‘Those poor boys being sent out there to their deaths.’ Mary sighed. ‘As if bullets weren’t bad enough, now they’re being gassed.’
‘There’s huge casualties on both sides,’ Sam continued, ignoring Mrs B’s request.
‘The badly wounded are now being sent back home, too many for the doctors and nurses to deal with out there.’
‘I wish I could do something more to help,’ Mary said.
‘What will they do when there’s no more young men volunteering?’ Kate asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Mrs B said. ‘Let’s not think about that.’
But Kate couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening across the Channel. She was carrying out her daily tasks but all the while her mind was occupied with thoughts of Philip, Fred and Archie.