A Family's Duty (23 page)

‘There was a series of huge explosions, and a pillar of smoke rose hundreds of feet up into the air,’ Paul Storey wrote home later. ‘We were all awestruck. It hid the building from sight, and when it finally cleared there was nothing but a heap of smoking rubble and body parts spread for miles around. It was a breath-taking sight with a kind of sinister beauty. None of us who saw will ever forget it, and the mixed feelings we had afterwards.’

When Rebecca went down to the prison camp, she found many of the POWs sorrowing over this utter obliteration of the monastery.

‘The ghosts of the holy Benedictines from centuries past must surely weep at the sight,’ sobbed young Guiseppe, and Rebecca had no words to answer him.

But Stefano had. ‘We are friends, not enemies, to you and your family, Signorina Neville,’ he said quietly. ‘We pray for our families and countrymen, and I pray also that your brother Paul be not lost in all this waste of life.’

Rebecca’s heart leapt, and not only for his sincerity in caring for her family at a time like this. Trembling, she held out her hand in friendship, but he took it and held it to his lips in a fervent kiss. ‘May God return him safely to his family, Rebecca.’

She could only whisper ‘thank you,’ and no other words were exchanged.

From then on there was new hope in the air. British and American troops, Paul Storey and John Richardson among them, were being withdrawn from the war in Europe, and coming to bases along the south coast of England, giving rise to speculation of a forthcoming invasion of Europe; the Germans were spreading their defences along miles of Normandy coastline. When news came that American bombers were pounding Jap forces caught between two lines of fire, there was fierce jubilation.

‘Give it to ’em, the little yellow bastards!’ was the consensus of opinion at the Tradesmen’s Arms, but then came news that Jonathan Pascoe, fighting in the Far East, had been taken prisoner, and elation turned to fear for the young man. There were terrible stories about the treatment of prisoners of war in Burma, and a shadow fell across the Mundays of Everham, waiting every day for news that they dreaded. Added to which David Munday had turned eighteen, so he too had been called up and posted to an army training centre near to Aldershot, and expressly forbidden to share any details with his family, who at least could give thanks that he was not with his cousin.

Mrs Pearson was taking an afternoon rest, so Valerie was able to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon walking beside the river Blackwater, an idyllic spot at a time when the earth was awakening to another spring. She recalled how six years ago she had spent her Wednesday lunchtimes here, dreaming of a romance with John Richardson, imagining them exchanging confidences, sharing their mutual interests in poetry and music – and kisses, shy and gentle at first, then becoming more fervent – and talk of marriage. How naïve she had
been! The man she had yearned over had never existed, and the real John Richardson had turned out to be very different from her secret dreams, and held no appeal for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a man and a woman some way ahead of her, walking in the same direction, and she slowed her steps, having no wish to intrude on their privacy. She stared at the man’s back: surely she knew that slight limp and the once golden, now greying hair? Yes, of course, he was Philip Saville! And the young woman holding on to his arm was Doreen Nuttall who now shared Miss Temple’s cottage with him and Nick, the nice evacuee. She hesitated, then walked no further; the sight of the two of them was unexpectedly disturbing. Philip Saville, veteran of the Great War, now in his forties, was known to have a hopeless infatuation for Lady Neville – in fact it was a joke in North Camp. Poor Philip, they said, whose experiences of trench warfare had turned him into a one-legged semi-recluse living with a maiden aunt – that is, until Lady Neville had asked him to play the piano for the Ladies’ Circle, and then to give piano lessons to her groom’s twin boys; and yes, it had been Lady Neville who had arranged for him to take five children, two of them cheeky evacuees, on an outing to the cinema, to see
Pinocchio
. He and Valerie had laughed together over the children, and agreed how thankful they were
not
to be their parents, yet Valerie had wondered what having a real family would be like, with herself as a wife and mother. The outing to the pantomime
Aladdin
had not been quite so much fun with Doreen there to help. And now Doreen was living under the same roof – a sweet, simple girl less than half Philip’s age, who had given birth to an illegitimate daughter and given her up for adoption. Could it be that Philip had at last got over his
hopeless longing for a happily married woman, and chosen instead to offer a protective, almost fatherly, love to a girl like Doreen? And had Lady Neville actually encouraged him in this?

Valerie stood very still, watching the pair walk further along the bank until they disappeared from sight round a bend in the slowly flowing river. She could imagine them kissing, gently and shyly …

She turned to retrace her steps, giving herself a little shake. She had to be sensible and face up to the reality of life. She had benefitted enormously from her work at The Limes with children who trusted her, and little Georgie Tonks who unashamedly declared, ‘I loves ’oo, Val!’

She was no longer the silly, romantic girl who had dreamt about John Richardson, and would not make the same mistake with Philip Saville.

The news from the Russian front, often scanty, now continued to be good: the Red Army had recaptured the Crimea, and were making headway in eastern Europe, practically unopposed. Reading this account in the daily newspaper, Tom Munday could have wished that his domestic situation was as hopeful. Grace continued to be unpredictable, and he had been woken in the small hours of the night by the sound of furious argument and a smell of burning; he had leapt out of bed to find Rob trying to restrain Grace.

‘She’s going mad, Tom!’ he shouted. ‘Only trying to set the bed alight and burn the house down! We can’t go on like this. She’ll have to be put away, no alternative!’

Dr Lupton shook his head when sent for. ‘The trouble is that there aren’t many mental hospital beds available
these days – they’ve been taken over by the military for the wounded. There’s the old workhouse at Winchfield – that’s used for mental defectives – and the private place at Hollingbridge would be expensive. I’ll have a word with Dr Stringer. Meanwhile I’ve given her a sedative by injection, and she’ll rest for the next few hours.’ He shook his head sympathetically. ‘I’ll be back, Nuttall.’

When he returned, he brought better news. Dr Stringer the senior partner had said that there were a few empty beds at Everham General Hospital, and Grace need go no further than there for the time being for rest and observation. Tom advised Rob not to tell Jack or Doreen as yet, as it would only worry them and there was nothing they could do.

There was trouble at Yeomans’ Farm where Billy and Pam were having daily rows, realising more and more how much they missed Mary Goddard. Pam said she couldn’t be expected to look after their two young boys and cook for farmworkers and land girls, as well as looking after the ‘old girl upstairs’. It was when Billy went up to see his mother one evening, and found that she had been forgotten all day, with no food or assistance with going to the lavatory, that he had realised how urgently they needed extra help. Nobody who knew Billy and Pam wanted to work for them, and it was Miss Neville as Regional Officer for the Women’s Land Army who made an arrangement, strictly hush-hush, that one of the land girls would help out in the farmhouse for three days a week, for which of course she had to be paid a fair wage. Rebecca also suggested that old Mrs Yeomans be brought downstairs, and the farmhouse parlour, seldom used, made into a bedroom for her. A threatening letter from the Inland
Revenue revealed that the farm accounts were in a hopeless mess, and Billy had to admit that he needed an accountant. Munday and Pascoe at Everham were recommended by a neighbouring farmer, but they too had to be paid. The events in Europe and Southeast Asia made little impression on Billy Yeomans’ fury.

At the Rectory Lester Allingham had come home, white-faced and irritable. His mother told Joan Kennard that he was having to attend a special clinic at Aldershot each week, and needed rest and ‘building up’. On the first occasion that Lester came face-to-face with Alan Kennard he muttered angrily, ‘I made a mistake in confiding in you, Kennard. I suppose you’ll be threatening me that you’ll tell what you know.’

‘Which shows how little
you
know about ordained clergy in the Church of England or any other Christian church,’ replied Alan. ‘It’s up to you whether you tell your father or not.’

The incident led to another question of confidentiality for Alan, when Joan told him that Grace Nuttall was in Everham General ‘for rest and observation’. Rumours had abounded that she had gone completely insane and tried to kill herself and her husband.

‘Will you visit her, Alan? She’s obviously very troubled.’

‘Only if Rob agrees,’ he replied cautiously. ‘And then she might refuse to see me. At present I can only pray for her and all of them.’

Rob Nuttall and Tom Munday instantly agreed that he should visit, so the next day he called at Everham General and was led by the ward sister to where Grace lay in a single room. He sat down beside the bed and smiled.

‘I must first ask you if you’re feeling better, Grace.’

‘They must have sent you to question me.’

‘Not at all. I’ve come as your parish priest to see if I can be of any help to you, Grace. You haven’t been well for a long time, have you?’

She sighed. ‘No, I haven’t. I wish I was dead.’

‘Why? You can tell me anything, my dear. It will never go any further, I promise you. I don’t even tell my wife what people confide in me.’

She sat up and stared at him. ‘Well, you must know what’s happened to me – everybody else does. My daughter Rebecca was taken from me as a baby and brought up by my sister. My son’s face is burnt beyond recognition, and he doesn’t want me near him – he’s gone back to the RAF and never comes to see me. My daughter Doreen is simple, and got herself pregnant by an American soldier, and had the baby adopted. I just can’t face having her at home, not with all the scandal.’

Alan smiled and shook his head slightly. ‘Yes, Grace, I know all the facts you’ve just told me, but I want to hear
your
feelings about them. It isn’t what happens to us, it’s the way we face up to our problems that counts. And I know you have been greatly tried.’

‘Yes, and you’re the first person who’s admitted that, Mr Kennard. I
have
been tried, tried beyond endurance, and it’s driven me crazy.’

‘And so have Rob and your father been tried, haven’t they?’

‘Oh, I suppose they’d say they had.’

‘And in addition to all the trials you’ve mentioned, they’ve been worried about you.’

She shrugged. ‘Now for the lecture. You might as well get on with it.’

‘No, I’ve stayed quite long enough for today.’ He stood up and held out his hand.

‘I’ll visit you again soon, Grace. We’ve got a lot more talking to do. Think about what you’ve told me, and I’ll be praying for you.’ He took her hand. ‘God bless you, dear.’

As he left the room, she stared after him, and realised that she wanted him to visit again soon. He seemed to be her only friend.

After two months of rumour and speculation as to when the invasion of Europe would take place, the news came suddenly on Tuesday the sixth of June that a seaborne force of thousands of British and American troops under the joint command of Generals Eisenhower and Montgomery had landed at several points along the Normandy coast, where German batteries had already been pounded by RAF bombers. It was D-Day! The long awaited liberation of Europe had begun. Wireless broadcasts updated the progress from day to day, and families again waited with hope and fear for their menfolk; Paul Storey and John Richardson were known to be somewhere among the invading forces.

‘Rebecca dear, I’ve had a letter.’

‘Something important, then, or you wouldn’t look so solemn.’ Rebecca grinned at her mother.

‘Yes, it
is
important, or could be. Just sit down for a minute.’

‘What is it? Who’s it from?’ Rebecca was intrigued.

‘It’s from Shaftesbury – from Geoffrey Bannister.’

Rebecca gasped. ‘Oh, my God, is it really? It’s been so long since—’ She broke off and bit her lip. ‘How is he? I’ve long had a guilty conscience about him.’

‘He sounds fine, walking around with his artificial leg, and assisting his father with constituency business. He’s sent a photo of himself and his parents outside the Conservative party headquarters in Shaftesbury – look, here it is.’ She handed a snapshot to Rebecca, who was clearly somewhat shaken.

‘He certainly looks well, and, er, happy. But what does he say? Why has he written after – what, four years since Dunkirk? Oh, let me see, do!’

She held out her hand and her mother passed her the short, friendly note which Rebecca took with hands that trembled slightly. She read it, and put a hand to her mouth.

‘He wants to
visit
us, Mother? After this long silence? After the way I – oh, Mother, poor Geoffrey! It seems like a distant memory – ages ago, another life.’

‘Actually, Becky, he’s kept in touch with Paul, so perhaps it doesn’t seem as long ago to him as it does to us. Anyway, he says he would like to visit us – just a call, a couple of hours, as you see. Daddy and I agree that he would be most welcome here as Paul’s friend, but we also agree that the decision must rest with you.
You’re
the one he obviously wants to see again, and it’s not hard to guess why. He’s restored to health, proved by that photo, which also shows his interest in following his father into politics, maybe even becoming an MP himself in due course. So, Becky, you must tell us how to answer him.’

‘Oh, Mother, what can I say? It was he who broke off our unofficial engagement.’

‘Yes, and for the best of reasons, to set you free from the helpless cripple as he then saw himself; it was a truly noble action.’