Post of Honour (27 page)

The association never progressed beyond a neighbourly stage but it did not go unnoticed. Vicky Tarnshaw, a sullen, middle-aged woman who worked part-time for the Pitts family, at Hermitage close by, marked it and discussed it darkly with Martha Pitts and Gloria, the Valley Amazon. The good-natured Martha made allowances both for Elinor’s loneliness and Vicky’s addiction to gossip but Gloria was outraged. It seemed to her an act of the basest treachery to introduce a German, any German, into one’s house at a time when half the Valley men were engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the baby-crucifiers and rapists overseas and having gone one noontime to the edge of Hermitage Wood, and watched Willi respond to Elinor’s shrill call for dinner from the far hillside, Gloria convinced herself that there could be but one explanation to this act on the part of her neighbour, telling Vicky, in Martha’s presence, that Elinor Codsall’s lust for a man had driven her to form an association that shamed the Valley. Martha, a kindly soul, pooh-poohed the notion but Gloria argued, ‘For what other reason would ’er ask un inside?
Inside
,
mind you! Gordamme mother, dornee lean over backwards maaking excuses for everyone! Us ’ave ’ad conshies an’ our spies too ’till us bundled that Hun professor out o’ the Valley. So why shoulden us ’ave a woman who dorn mind beddin’ down with a Hun when there’s nought but children about the plaace?’

Thereafter Gloria and Vicky, taking turn and turn about, kept a close watch on Periwinkle Farm but they did not, by common consent, broadcast the story in the Valley. They had a plan of their own and were reluctant to share the pleasure of its execution with anyone.

One October evening, soon after supper, Gloria left the house on the excuse of collecting mail from the box at the end of the long track that led down to Hermitage Farm from the river road but instead of going its full length she climbed through a gap in the hedge and crossed the shoulder of the hill to the wood. As she went she heard the clink of hobnailed boots approaching higher up the lane and wondered who might be calling on the farm at this hour but she did not wait to find out for she had a rendezvous with Vicky and soon located her, standing on the fringe of the wood looking across at the single yellow blur that marked the kitchen window of Periwinkle. ‘Us’d better go about it straight away,’ Vicky said, ‘bevore ’er locks up for the night! Did ’ee think to bring the big scissors?’

‘Arr, I did that,’ Gloria said briefly. ‘Come on then and us’ll make a quick job of it!’ and they went down the slope and up the opposite hillside to the farm where a peep through the uncurtained window showed them that Elinor was inside alone, bottling plums at the long table. They lifted the latch and rushed in, startling Elinor so much that she jumped back, smashing a large glass jar of fruit on the slate hearth. It must have seemed to Elinor that her neighbour, together with the hired woman who accompanied her, were victims of the same homicidal urge that had destroyed Martin and Arabella, for they rushed at her shouting curses and before she knew what was happening they had her pinioned in the high-backed chair, her feet in a mush of spilled plums and broken glass that littered the hearth. Then she saw the big scissors and let out a wild shriek and young Mark upstairs tumbled out of bed and came pattering down the wooden stair but by then Vicky, who was a powerful woman, had the prisoner fast with her arms twisted behind the chair and Gloria, hearing Mark approach, wedged an oak form under the knob of the stairway door. After that the kitchen was in an uproar with all three women shouting and screaming and Elinor’s wild struggles upsetting the table lined with bottling jars that crashed and rolled in every direction. It was not until Gloria had torn Elinor’s hair loose and sliced more than half of it away that the victim had an inkling of what lay behind this assault, for Gloria screamed, ‘There now! No one’ll look at ’ee twice now, not even that bloody Hun!’ and went on snipping away until all Elinor’s honey-coloured hair lay in the great pools of plum juice on the floor. It was the presence of so much sticky liquid underfoot that gave Vicky Tarnshaw another idea. She shouted, gibbering with glee, ‘Now us’ll strip her naked an’ roll her in it, Mrs Pitts!’ and without waiting for affirmation she ripped Elinor’s cotton dress down the back and did the same with her petticoat, while Gloria wrestled with her drawers and stockings. It was this final indignity that gave Elinor a brief access of strength. She kicked Gloria in the stomach and lurched sideways so that the chair, entangling itself in Vicky’s legs, brought the pair of them crashing to the floor within a foot or two of the fire. The struggle then became general, with the winded Gloria joining in and getting half her own clothes ripped off and they were all threshing about in a whirl of garments and plum-syrup when the outer door crashed open and Henry Pitts rushed in to stand with mouth agape looking down at the extraordinary scene.

It had been his footfall, home on unexpected leave, that Gloria had heard in the lane and when Martha Pitts seemed evasive about his wife’s whereabouts he lost no time in getting her to voice her suspicions and had at once hurried in pursuit. Now he stood stock still on the threshold hardly able to believe his eyes. He was still wearing his uniform and patches of dried Flanders mud still adhered to his breeches and puttees. For a terrible moment he mistook the pools of plum juice for blood and assumed that the women were in the process of attacking one another with knives. Then he saw the shorn tresses lying behind the chair and it must have given him a clue for he started forward, seized his wife by the hair and hauled her clear, after which he planted a hefty kick on Vicky’s behind that caused her to roll sideways and expose the crushed, hysterical Elinor whose cropped head was only an inch or so from a smouldering log that had fallen on to the hearth. He lifted her to her feet and saw that she was almost naked and plastered from head to foot in bottling syrup, as indeed, were all three of them. He said, with a trench oath, ‘What in God’s name be thinking of, all of ’ee?’ and when Elinor, feeling her head, burst into hysterical weeping he turned to his wife whose dress hung down as far as the waist exposing her bare breasts and whose head and shoulders were dripping with plum juice so that she stared at him through a great mat of clotted red hair.

Vicky Tarnshaw was the first to recover. She scrambled to her feet and said, backing away, ‘Us was marking her, Mr Pitts! ’Er’s been lying wi’ one o’ they Hun prisoners up at the camp!’ whereupon Elinor suddenly ceased her outcry, snatched up the scissors and would have plunged them into Vicky’s face if Henry had not caught her by the shoulders and held her. Then Henry became conscious of a heavy thumping and wild cries from behind the stair door and asked Gloria who was there. She told him sulkily that it was the children trying to get in and the information seemed to steady him for he released Elinor, pocketed the scissors and went across to the door, opening it but blocking the boy’s entry and saying, ‘Tiz all right, Markboy. Us ’ave had a bit of an accident wi’ the bottling and us was quarrelling who was to blame! Go back upstairs and quiet your sisters!’ and then, very deliberately, he closed the door and addressing Elinor said, ‘Now give over snivelling, Elinor, an’ tell us the facts. Is it true you been larkin’ wi’ one o’ they Fritzes? Not that I give a damn if you ’ave but to satisfy these varmints, be it true?’

‘No, it baint,’ screamed Elinor, ‘it baint true! Willi Meyer saved my boy’s life when he was bit by an adder an’ ever zince I give ’un a bite to eat mealtimes! You c’n ask the children, any of ’em! Theym always yer when he comes inside the ’ouse!’

‘Right,’ said Henry, ‘then go along upstairs and don’t upset the tackers telling ’em what really happened!’ and as she moved across the littered floor he picked up a besom from the corner so that Vicky, mistaking his intention, made a sudden rush to the door. He caught her a buffet on the ear that sent her sprawling, shut the door and threw the broom at his wife. ‘Clean this bliddy mess up,’ he said briefly, ‘every particle of it, do ’ee hear?’ and when Vicky, dazed from the blow, struggled, up on her hands and knees, he added, ‘You too! Get to work the pair of ’ee! Or I’ll beat the daylights out of ’ee!’

He was very calm now, more deliberate and serious-looking than Gloria had ever seen him. He took a seat astride a chair near the door and watched their every movement and when the litter of squashed plums and broken glass was shovelled up he said, ‘There’s a bucket yonder, under the sink. Fill it from the kettle and give the floor a swab over!’

‘I’m not gonner scrub for the likes o’ . . . ’ shouted Vicky but she changed her mind when he got up and moved towards her and scuttled into the scullery for bucket and floorcloths. He reseated himself, placidly smoking his pipe as they moved about straightening furniture and washing the stone floor. When it was done, and the litter had been thrown out, he said, ‘Right! Get on home now, Vic Tarnshaw, an’ if you so much as shows your face at Hermitage again I’ll drown ’ee in the bliddy duckpond, you zee if I dorn’t! As for you,’ he continued, addressing his wife, ‘I reckon I’ll serve you zame as you served Elinor!’

‘Don’t you lay a hand on me!’ shouted Gloria, jumping back towards the fireplace but he turned his back on her and flung open the door just as Vicky made a rush to pass him and escape into the yard. She arrived there even quicker than she had intended for, as she flitted by, he kicked her so accurately that she flew across the cobbles and landed face-down in the midden heap. He did not even wait to watch her scramble up and run shrieking into the darkness but shut the door, bolted it and crossed to the hearth, extracting Gloria’s scissors from his pocket on his way. When she realised that he meant to put his threat into execution she let out a wild squark and tried to run round him and escape by the window, but he caught her easily enough, throwing his arm under her chin, dragging her across the window seat and making five quick snips with the blades. In a matter of seconds one side of her head was shorn even closer than Elinor’s. Then she began to beg and plead—‘Dornee boy!
Dornee do it, Henry
!’
and half-escaping his grip clasped him round the knees but he snipped and snipped until all her sticky auburn locks lay in a heap on the floor and the despairing face that looked up at him was the face of a stranger and not Gloria’s at all.

He released her then, kicking the shorn tresses into the hearth, after which, still quite impassive, he took a ten-shilling note from his breeches pocket and laid it on the table, calling, ‘Us iz goin’ now Elinor! I’ve left ’ee zummat to pay for the damage and I’ll be over to zee ’ee in the mornin’!’

There was no answer, no sound in the big kitchen but the loud ticking of the clock and the whimpering of the woman huddled under the window. He said, briefly, ‘Be these our scissors?’ and when she nodded he flung them in the fire saying, ‘I woulden care to own ’em after this! Come on ’ome you gurt stoopid bitch, an’ thank your stars I don’t take a harness strap to your fat backside zoon as us gets there!’

She got up, still gulping and sniffing and went out into the yard. After a last look round he followed her, walking close behind as they crossed the shoulder of the hill, skirted the wood and went on down the far slope to the Hermitage track. It was a strange home-coming for a man who had been in and out of the trenches for the best part of a year.

The story of the assault on Elinor Codsall was common knowledge in a day or so. The Pitts did not broadcast it, and Vicky Tarnshaw left the Valley to work in a munitions factory in the North, but two closely-cropped heads on adjoining farms could not be concealed and Paul heard about it from the postman and made direct enquiries from Henry. Henry said, grimly, ‘Ar, tiz true enough, Squire, I come ’ome after nigh on a year overseas lookin’ for peace an’ quiet an’ what do I find? A bliddy war on me own doorstep, started be me own missis! Still, ’er won’t start another I reckon, and I’ve squared the damage they did upalong. What the hell have got into the folk back here? Be they all clean off their bliddy heads?’

Paul said he thought most civilians were and after paying a call on Elinor arranged, through Sam Potter, to get the Württemberger sent away from the camp in case he was victimised. The sight of Elinor’s unevenly shorn head distressed him more than anything he had witnessed in the Valley lately and leaving her he rode on up to the highest point of the estate, on the edge of Hermitage Wood, looking down across the autumn landscape and trying to understand the hysteria and savage intolerance that changed simple, workaday folk like Gloria Pitts and Norman Eveleigh into the kind of bigots one might expect to find in the fifteenth-century lynch mob whipped up by fanatical priests. Was it fear, he wondered, sponsored by the shattering of their settled way of life, or had a vein of tribal brutality always existed below the surface to be laid bare by the shock of war? It was hard to determine, particularly as the fighting men, like Henry, Ikey and Dandy Timberlake, seemed to have become almost gentle and were certainly more tolerant for their terrible experiences whereas cruelty only showed in the people at home. He sat his horse up there a long time deciding that he no longer belonged to any of them in the way he had belonged before the war. There were the fanatics, like Gloria Eveleigh and Horace Handcock, the Smart Allicks, like Sydney Codsall, and the passives, like Elinor Codsall and Claire; there were those in the thick of it all, like Ikey and Henry and the odd ones who saw the war as the negation of human dignity, people like Keith Horsey and poor, half-crazed Marian Eveleigh. He himself was a category of his own. By now he had learned to accept it as a kind of visitation, a plague that would one day die out and perhaps leave the land purified but today he felt utterly isolated, belonging neither to those under fire, to the patriots, or even to the honest doubters. He thought, grimly, ‘Damn it, I’ll have to find my way back again somehow and surely the only way to do that is to come down on one side or the other. I couldn’t honestly proclaim myself a CO but I’m damned if I’ll let my judgement be warped about the Keith Horseys and the Elinor Codsalls! I suppose the only thing left is to jump in head-first, alongside Ikey, Henry and all the others around here who have been sucked in!’ and at once he felt more clear-headed but because he was doubtful whether they could use a man of thirty-six with the scars of the last war on his body he said nothing of his decision to anybody, not even Claire, until he had written to his old Yeomanry Colonel who had a staff job in Whitehall and asked for advice on the quickest way of getting to France.