Chapter 35
GRACE
Grace found the Remembrance Sunday service incredibly moving.
After the beautiful sermon in All Souls Church, given by Amelia – who was, she thought, a splendid vicar and a worthy successor to her own dear Silas – the villagers gathered round the memorial in the churchyard, where wreaths of poppies had been laid in honour of the fallen.
There followed a two-minute silence, and she and Silas stood hand in hand, thinking of all those men and boys who’d been killed in action, of the civilians who’d died in both wars, even of the animals who’d perished, like the dogs and the horses, sent to work with unfamiliar people in a strange place, and with no idea what this horrendous war was even about.
Mostly, though, they thought of their own dear son, Edmund, and the men like him who’d not been respected, buried with honours, mourned by strangers. Were there poppies on their graves? Maybe not even their names. She just didn’t know.
She’d been told by Polly that such men had been given an official pardon by the British Government in 2006, but were their names engraved on the memorials such as this one?
Of course, Edmund wasn’t from Rowan Vale.
He’d never even been to this village. His name would not appear here, but she doubted that it had been added to the memorial in his home village in Cambridgeshire.
It grieved her deeply, and going by how Silas gripped her hand as the names of the fallen from Rowan Vale were read out by Amelia, she knew it grieved him, too. Edmund’s name should appear somewhere. People should know about him.
Callie and Brodie were at the memorial, sombrely dressed, poppies in place.
They stood, hand in hand, heads bowed as Amelia completed the service.
Grace watched them with admiration. They were a lovely young couple, and so respectful.
She felt the Harling Estate was in very good hands with the two of them.
As the congregation began to disperse, she turned to her husband. ‘Carrots, I’d like to speak to that young lady. I wish to know if she has any information for us.’
‘Surely, it’s too soon?’ Silas looked over to where Callie was now heading towards them. ‘Well, you’re in luck. I think she’s coming over to speak to us.’
Callie had left Brodie chatting to some of the villagers and was clearly making her way to the Alexanders. Grace straightened, seeing the serious look on the young woman’s face. She gripped her husband’s hand a little tighter and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly.
‘Silas, Grace. Good morning to you.’
‘Good morning, Callie,’ they returned. ‘A splendid service, was it not?’
‘It certainly was.’ She hesitated then said, ‘I have news for you.’
‘Already?’ Silas asked, astonished.
‘It didn’t take Mia long at all. There’s so much information available now online. She found the details within minutes really. Your son, Private Edmund Alexander.’
Grace and Silas stood trembling, waiting.
Callie sounded unsure. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no grave to be found. It’s believed the site was destroyed by battlefield shelling. I wish I could tell you differently.’
Her voice trailed off and she turned away, her eyes brimming with tears.
Grace suspected that she was imagining how she’d have felt if such a thing had happened to Imogen.
Parents tended to do that when any disaster befell another’s offspring.
How could they not? It was a shame that their neighbours in Cambridgeshire seemed to have lost that ability, but then she supposed they were afraid and angry that their own sons were still facing the enemy.
Edmund’s actions must have seemed like a great betrayal to them, rather than the illness it really was.
‘Thank you, my dear. We appreciate your kind words,’ she said. ‘Well, now we know the worst and it’s as we feared.’
‘But there is some good news,’ Callie added.
‘His grave may be lost but Edmund is officially commemorated on a memorial to the missing in France. It’s in a beautiful place surrounded by trees.
Mia showed me the photo. And every year on 1 July there’s a service in memory of all those soldiers who took part in the Battle of the Somme.
So you see, he isn’t forgotten after all. ’
‘His name,’ Grace asked urgently, ‘is engraved there?’
Callie nodded. ‘It is. Carved in stone just like the other soldiers. There are several men there who died in similar circumstances. Your son is not alone.’ She smiled.
‘And that’s not all. There’s a monument called the Shot at Dawn Memorial at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire. His name is included there, too.’
‘It is?’ Silas whispered.
Callie nodded. ‘Apparently you can visit there and lay flowers.’
‘How wonderful,’ Grace said. ‘If only we could have done that for him.’
‘Well…’ Callie glanced back at Brodie who was still talking to the villagers. ‘Brodie and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that, in future, we’ll take a poppy wreath for him every Remembrance Day, on your behalf. It’s only a ninety-minute drive from here, and we’d be glad to do it.’
Grace hardly knew what to say. She buried her head in her husband’s chest, and he held her tightly.
‘Thank you, Callie,’ she said hoarsely. ‘We appreciate your help and kindness so much.’
‘There’s something else,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up, but families have been campaigning, ever since the pardon of 2006, to have the names of their relatives who died like Edmund added to the local memorials, like this one.
Apparently, it’s a bit trickier in churchyards, but quite a few have had success in civil memorials.
Did you have any relatives? Maybe one of yours did something similar for your son. ’
‘I had a younger brother,’ Grace said. ‘The last I heard of him he was living in Stratford-upon-Avon with his wife and three daughters. My brother was Albert Wickham, and he was born in 1860.’
‘Then it’s possible his descendants asked for Edmund’s name to be added. What was the name of his home village in Cambridgeshire?’
‘Little Fennington,’ Grace said. ‘But what if no one did so?’
‘Then we’ll try to find a living relative and see if they can be persuaded to ask for it to be added now.
Albert will be on the 1861 census,’ Callie said, ‘and it should be easy to trace his line from there. I’ll ask Mia if she can get on to it.
’ She reddened slightly. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very good at stuff like that.
I, er, struggle with reading and writing.
But Mia’s a whizz. If there are any living relatives she’ll find them and we’ll see what we can do, but like I say, it may already be on the Little Fennington memorial. I promise I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said.
Silas cleared his throat. ‘Would mean a lot to us. He was a good boy and he loved that village. He had so many friends there. His name should be on that memorial.’
‘He was our everything,’ Grace said softly.
‘We’d given up hope of having children, then just as we thought our chance had passed, we found out he was on the way.
A gift from God. I was forty-one when he was born and he made everything complete, didn’t he, Carrots?
Our lives were already blissfully happy, but he…
He made everything extra-special. Perfect in fact.
We couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful child. ’
They stood in silence for a moment, then Callie hesitantly said, ‘Grace, I just wanted to let you know that it’s going to be tonight. The ceremony to hopefully return you to where you came from.’
‘Tonight?’ Silas sounded stricken. ‘Why tonight?’
‘It’s all right, darling,’ Grace assured him. ‘I’m quite prepared.’ She smiled at Callie. ‘And is this to take place at the Hall?’
‘No,’ Callie said. ‘In the woods at the King’s Court – the stone circle. We think that a ceremony performed there on Halloween night at midnight was what brought you through. Verity is going to recreate that scene in the same place, and hopefully that will do the trick.’
‘But it’s not Halloween any more,’ Silas pointed out. ‘How do you know it will work?’
‘We don’t,’ Callie admitted. ‘Truth is, we’re just stumbling in the dark here. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But it’s the best we can come up with, so…’
‘We’ll be there,’ Grace promised.
‘What of Lady Davenport?’ Silas asked. ‘Has she agreed to this?’
Callie puffed out her cheeks as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was about to say.
‘She has. I didn’t think it would happen, but she seems to have accepted it’s for the best. She’s promised to go quietly.’ She shook her head. ‘I really am terribly sorry it has to be this way. I know it must be hard for you, and I wish I could change things.’
‘You’ll take care of Silas for me, won’t you?’ Grace said, linking her arm through her husband’s. ‘He’s had a terrible time of it and he’s going to need all his friends around him.’
Callie smiled. ‘I promise. Silas will be cared for. We won’t let him sink any further.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘We’re all here for you, and we won’t let you push us away. Not any more. You have friends in this village whether you realise it or not.’
Silas made a peculiar grunting noise and looked at the ground.
Grace gave him an affectionate look. ‘Callie, before you go, may I ask you one last favour?’
‘Of course. Anything.’
‘It’s about our gravestone.’ Grace glanced over to the far corner of the churchyard where the most neglected grave lay. She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, that one. The only one that isn’t neat and tidy and doesn’t have flowers on it.’
Callie bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, dear. Carrots has already explained why it looks so terrible next to the others, and he’s agreed to let any willing volunteers do their work on it next year.’
‘I don’t think we need wait that long,’ Callie said. ‘I’ll get it sorted for you next week.’
‘Thank you. It’s looking quite disgraceful. I’m ashamed to be lying in such a place.’
‘You’re very welcome. I’d better get back to the Hall and see how Lawrie’s doing. We’ll see you tonight?’
‘Midnight at the stone circle,’ Grace promised. ‘We’ll be there.’
‘No!’ Silas turned to her, his face stricken. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t be there. I can’t watch you leave. It would – it would be too much for me to bear. I would rather be here, in the churchyard, where at least our bodies are together. Please, try to understand.’
‘Oh, Carrots! Of course I understand. One day, if God is good, our souls will be together again, too.’
‘Don’t let her be alone, Callie,’ he pleaded. ‘I don’t want her to be alone.’
‘She won’t be, Silas. She can meet us at the Hall and we’ll walk together. I really am so sorry.’
As Callie walked away, Grace turned to her husband who was standing straight, his eyes bright with emotion.
‘You have some very wonderful friends here, Silas,’ she told him softly. ‘Promise me you’ll remember that when I’m gone.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’ll remember, my love. I promise you. I’ll remember.’