Until We Meet Again (8 page)

Jessie was aware that she, as a woman, could do little to help in the war effort, except to knit socks for soldiers, which they were all being encouraged to do. Had she been single she could have done much more. Already men who were serving at the Front were being replaced by women in jobs that would never have been considered suitable before. Women were driving trams, buses and ambulances; joining the newly formed Land Army; working in munitions factories; and more young women than ever were volunteering for nursing. But Jessie, like thousands more, was a wife and mother and she knew that, for the time being at least, her job was in the home, caring for her little family and endeavouring to cheer up her frustrated husband.

Hetty Lucas, Jessie’s stepsister, was finding herself in a similar situation. Her husband, Bertram, was completing his training not far from York, in the same camp as Freddie Nicholls. Whilst Samuel Barraclough – who was the father of five-year-old Angela – had joined the Durham Light
Infantry and was training somewhere in the far north of England. Already he had been selected as a potential officer, the difference being that he had been educated at a private school and had then gone on to university. Unlike her husband, and Freddie, too, who were Grammar School boys, and had, therefore, not entered such an elitist regiment as had Samuel.

He had called round to see them a few weeks previously to tell them that he had joined the army. He was not by any means a regular visitor at the Lucas household, but he had made it clear right at the start, when Angela was born, that he would like to maintain some contact with the child who was – although unknown to many – his real daughter.

Bertram was an easy-going sort of fellow who believed in the doctrine of ‘live and let live’. It could be said that Samuel had let Hetty down by not marrying her; but the truth was that by the time Hetty had discovered she was pregnant, she had also realised that their relationship was at an end. She had had no wish to marry Samuel, and so his shock at her revelation was of little consequence. By that time Bertram had expressed his desire to marry her and bring up the child as his own. And Hetty had known that she was already falling in love with the young photographer, and that this
time it was a love based on true friendship and affection.

She had been pleasantly surprised, however, at how well Samuel had behaved. He had never forced his attentions on the little girl, taking his place in her affections as ‘Uncle Sam’; the only one, in fact, who was ever allowed to call him Sam instead of the more correct Samuel, which he preferred. He had agreed that it was only right that Angela should be legally adopted by Bertram, but had insisted that he must be allowed to contribute each month to the child’s upkeep. Hetty and Bertram had agreed, although they were financially quite secure. Hetty knew, deep down, that although Samuel was behaving quite admirably, there was a part of him that was relieved to have escaped so lightly.

She had received the news that Samuel had enlisted with a certain surprise. She would have thought, at one time, that he would be more concerned with self-preservation. But there had been a marked change in him; and men of all classes and personalities were being urged to answer the call to serve their King and Country. She was pleased, though, that Bertram was able to say that he, too, was going.

‘Same here,’ he grinned when Samuel had told them his news. ‘Actually, I signed on yesterday;
16th battalion of the West Yorks, same as Freddie Nicholls. I should be joining him soon, I hope, near Malton.’

‘And I’m off to the far north, up on the Durham moors,’ said Samuel. ‘Durham Light Infantry. I’m going in a couple of days. I’ve just popped over to say goodbye to everyone. I’m staying at Mother’s place tonight.’

Yes, your mother’s place…and my father’s too, thought Hetty, but she did not comment. Samuel very rarely made any mention of William Moon. It could be said that they tolerated one another, but there was little love lost there. ‘What about your post at the university?’ she asked. ‘It will be there for you to go back to, will it?’ He was a lecturer in Geology at Leeds University.

‘Oh yes; that’s the understanding. It has been filled already, of course.’ He grinned. ‘There are any amount of old codgers – retired professors – crawling out of the woodwork now. There shouldn’t be any shortage of tutors to carry on the work… What about your photographic business, Bertram?’ he enquired.

‘I’m afraid we shall have to close down for the time being,’ answered Bertram, sounding somewhat regretful. ‘It’s a one-man business, you see. Well, Hetty helps me from time to time, don’t you, darling?’ He smiled affectionately at his wife.
‘When we have a wedding she arranges the groups for me; she knows just what is required – his family and her family and all that. And she’s a marvel when I’m taking children’s portraits. She knows exactly what to do to make them smile and feel at ease.’

‘But I really don’t know one end of a camera from the other,’ laughed Hetty. ‘I don’t understand all the technical stuff, but I’m all right with one of those box cameras. You just press a button and Bob’s your uncle; you’ve got a picture.’

‘That’s what we take with us on holiday and on day trips,’ said Bertram. ‘I must admit they’re pretty good… Yes, I shall have to shut the shop and the studio until further notice… And who can tell how long that will be?’ The two men nodded, exchanging significant glances, a moment in which they were truly in accord.

‘Angela and I shall stay here, of course,’ said Hetty. ‘We had been thinking of moving into a house and expanding the business here. Bertram needs more space for a more efficient darkroom and a bigger stockroom, but then…well…all this happened, so we’ll have to wait a while. I’m helping my father in the office rather more now. Angie started school last September so I have a little more free time.’

Samuel nodded and smiled at Angela. ‘Yes,
you are growing up fast, aren’t you, Angela? I do believe you must be at least three inches taller than the last time I saw you. And do you like your school?’

‘Yes, I love it,’ replied Angela. ‘It’s the same school that Aunty Maddy and Uncle Patrick went to, and Grandad as well. That must have been simply ages ago.’

Samuel laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose it must have been. She’s at the Friarage School then?’ he enquired of Hetty.

‘That’s right. It’s a good school from all accounts and she’s doing very well there. She’s happy, and that’s the main thing.’ Hetty spoke in a decisive voice. ‘Anyway, if it was good enough for the rest of the Moon family then I reckon it’s good enough for our Angie.’ If Samuel had any ideas about Angela going to a private school then she intended to put him straight. She and Bertram had no such pretensions. She wanted to make that quite clear to him, but she hoped she hadn’t sounded too belligerent.

Samuel smiled, however. ‘Quite so. It’s handy too, isn’t it? Only about ten minutes’ walk away?’

‘This is my reading book, Uncle Sam,’ said Angela, picking up a book from the sideboard top. ‘Miss Johnson – that’s my teacher – lets us bring
them home to practice. I’m up to page twenty. Would you like to hear me read?’

‘Yes, I would, Angela, very much,’ replied Samuel.

She perched on the arm of his easy chair and read very fluently – as fluently as was possible that is, in the stilted language of the primer – about the everyday life on a farm; the cow that said ‘Moo’, the dog that said ‘Bow-wow’, and, of course, the cat that sat on the mat.

‘That’s very good,’ he said, clearly impressed. ‘I daresay you’re the top of the class, aren’t you?’

‘I’m in the top reading group,’ said the little girl. ‘And I’m good at sums; adding up and taking away, and I know my three times table off by heart, don’t I, Mummy?’

‘Yes, you’re doing very nicely, Angie,’ said her mother. ‘Put your book away now, though. Put it in your school bag, then it’ll be ready for the morning. It’s nearly your bedtime anyway.’ Hetty knew that her daughter was developing into a clever child and should be praised for her achievements, but she didn’t want her to become precocious. She feared lest she might have inherited a bumptious trait from her real father.

Samuel seemed to take Hetty’s remark as a signal that he should be on his way. ‘I may not see you again before I go overseas,’ he said. ‘I gather
one doesn’t get much prior notice. Anyway, the best of luck, old pal.’ He shook hands firmly with Bertram, and the look they exchanged conveyed what they both knew; that they would need a great deal more than luck to get them through the conflict ahead of them.

He gave Hetty a chaste little kiss on the cheek, and the same with Angela. Hetty was glad that her daughter did not go overboard with affection whenever she saw her ‘Uncle Sam’. But she was not a shy child and had offered to read for him because, quite frankly, she liked showing off a bit. Hetty was relieved, that evening, when Samuel had gone, although the meeting had passed off quite smoothly.

A few weeks later, both men, in different camps, were waiting for the call to go overseas. The news from the battle front was grim. The British had launched an offensive at Ypres and Loos, but very little ground was gained, and at an enormous cost in lives. And at the same time news was filtering back home that the Germans were retaliating with a deadly weapon; tear gas was being used in the trenches.

The war at sea had, at first, appeared to be more in Britain’s favour. The news was eagerly followed by many folk in Scarborough, families of fishermen whose sons had joined the Navy. The
Royal Navy had managed to sink the
Blucher
, Germany’s most powerful battle cruiser, bringing to an end the raids on the east coast ports, which had caused such havoc. Then came the announcement that the Germans had launched a submarine blockade of Britain’s coast, targeting merchant vessels. The first ships had been sunk in February and from then on the number of victims had increased steadily, culminating in May, in the sinking of the
Lusitania
off the Irish coast. Feelings ran high as many civilians had lost their lives.

Inevitably, this led to shortages of food throughout the land. Folks were tightening their belts, realising that there would be little money left for treats or luxuries with the menfok serving overseas.

Luxuries such as having one’s photograph taken, mused Hetty. The shop and studio were closed, with a notice in the window, ‘Closed for the duration, due to circumstances beyond our control.’ Indeed, trade had dropped off considerably in the early months of 1915, even before Bertram had answered his country’s call to arms.

And even before that, the first few anxious weeks of the war had led to hoarding and panic-buying, resulting in big price rises. Sugar, for instance, had doubled in price and was now being regarded as a luxury rather than a necessity.
Queues were becoming a fact of life and people were being urged to eat more potatoes and to dig over their flowerbeds and lawns to grow their own vegetables.

Maddy and Hetty missed their husbands more than they dared to admit, but they found solace in one another’s company. And although they had half expected it, they were dismayed by the news, in May, that both Tommy and Dominic had decided to join the army.

Chapter Eight

T
he two young men were in the second year of their sixth form schooling at King William’s Academy, fondly known as King Billy’s.

Tommy’s main subject was Mathematics. He intended to go on to university to take a degree which would qualify him to become a chartered accountant, whereas Dominic’s interest lay more with the Arts. His ambition was to become a writer of memorable fiction, like Thomas Hardy, whose works he greatly admired; Dominic was something of a dreamer. He knew, though, that once he had his English degree he would, perhaps inevitably, become a lecturer or a teacher of English Literature whilst working on his masterpiece.

But all such thoughts were put to one side as early summer followed the spring, and it became increasingly obvious that there would be no early
return to peace. Several of the lads – only a year or so older than Tommy and Dominic – who should have gone on to university the previous September had, instead, joined the army. They had served in the cadet corps and could not wait to join the fray. Then, at the beginning of May, news reached the school, announced by the headmaster at the morning assembly, that the academy had suffered its first casualty of the war. Archie Pendleton, who had been head boy the previous year, had been killed at Ypres.

‘Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget – lest we forget…’ they sang lustily, although there were tears in many an eye and lumps in many a throat.

Tommy and Dominic did not need to say very much to one another. They each knew what was in the other’s mind. They discussed it as they were walking home from school a couple of days after they had heard the tragic news about Archie – ‘a great guy, one of the best’ – who had been the captain of the cadet corps.

‘We don’t have any choice, do we?’ said Tommy.

‘No, the way I see it, we have no choice at all,’ agreed Dominic. ‘We have to go and do our bit.’

‘Precisely, or else there isn’t much point in being in the ATC, is there? Some people think of
it as just playing at soldiers, and we have to prove that it isn’t.’ A couple of the older lads in the corps who had turned eighteen had already left school and joined up. And several of the younger ones, aged sixteen or seventeen, declared that they couldn’t wait until they, too, were old enough to enlist, even admitting that they hoped the war would continue long enough for them to do so; a statement that might, on the other hand, be bravado.

‘I’m sure their parents would not agree,’ Tommy remarked to his friend. ‘Which reminds me… When do you think we should tell our parents? Shall we go and do the deed and tell them afterwards, then it will be a matter of fait accompli? Or…’

‘Or shall we tell them first?’ Dominic completed the question, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that’s a tricky one. And I have to break the news to Tilly as well, although I think she might well be expecting it.’

‘Yes, it’s getting quite serious between you two, isn’t it?’ said Tommy with a knowing grin at his pal. ‘She doesn’t say much, my sister, but I can read the signs. I would say she’s fallen for you good and proper, old chum. Though I can’t imagine why!’

‘Can’t you? I can!’ quipped Dominic, never the most modest of young men. ‘Dominic Fraser’s
quite a catch, I’ll have you know!’ He smiled confidently. ‘Joking apart though… Yes, I’m quite nuts about your sister. She’s a great girl… Back to what we were talking about though – telling our parents. I think it might be as well to tell them of our intentions, then it’s all open and above board.’

‘So long as we don’t let them talk us out of it,’ said Tommy.

‘Oh, there’s no question of that,’ said Dominic. ‘We’ll have to stand firm.’

Tommy spoke to his mother and Uncle Will that very teatime. He thought of his mother’s husband as more of a father than he had ever considered Edward Barraclough to be. His sister, Tilly, was there too, and she listened in silence, knowing all too well, Tommy guessed, that Dominic would have the same intention.

‘You are still at school, Tommy,’ said his mother, as he had known she would, even if it was only a token protest. ‘You are in the middle of your studies for university. Surely young men like you are not expected to volunteer…are they? And will they allow you to leave school?’

‘They have no choice, Mother,’ replied Tommy. ‘Some of the lads have already gone. Anyway, I know it’s what I have to do. University will still be there…when this is all over.’ He did not say
‘when I come back’, although he knew the same thought – not when, but
if
– must be in all their minds, but would remain unspoken.

William nodded soberly. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised, Tommy, and neither is your mother, not really. And we both admire you for your courage… don’t we, Faith, my dear?’

‘Yes, of course we do,’ replied Faith, trying hard not to let the threatening tears begin to fall.

‘And we won’t stand in your way, either, Tommy lad. That’s right…isn’t it, Faith?’

Faith nodded. ‘Yes; we are very proud of you, son.’

Tilly, who had not spoken a word, pushed back her chair, stood up and fled out of the room. Faith glanced sympathetically at her retreating figure, then in a quiet voice she asked, ‘Dominic as well, I suppose?’

‘Yes, of course,’ replied Tommy. ‘Oh dear! Perhaps I should have waited until the two of you were on your own. I wasn’t sure what to do.’

‘It might have been as well, Tommy,’ said William. ‘But never mind. You couldn’t have kept it from her for long, and now she’ll be prepared when Dominic tells her.’

‘Yes,’ said Tommy. ‘He intends to tell her tonight, after he’s seen his parents.’

Tilly had enjoyed an idyllic springtime with
Dominic. The liking and fondness that she felt for him had developed into what she knew was love; and the wonder of it was that he felt the same way about her.

Their friendship had begun slowly, almost tentatively on Dominic’s part, which had surprised her a little. She had thought of him, at one time, as being brash and brimming with confidence, but she had come to realise that there was a gentler side to his nature. He had not taken liberties with her or tried to move things along too quickly, as she might have thought he would do, before she came to know him better.

Their first outing together had been to a concert at the Spa Pavilion, where they had discovered a similar taste in light classical music. He had heard her play the piano at the church social and, following that, they had started to sit together for the morning service at the church which they both attended. This was not every week, however, as the Moon family attended more regularly at the Methodist chapel on the North Bay, where William and his children had long been active members, as had his parents and grandparents before him.

Tilly had met Mr and Mrs Fraser for the first time when she was invited to their home for Sunday tea, a meeting which had put the seal of approval on the friendship of the young couple.
It was only couples who were courting with a sincere intent who visited one another’s home for such an important occasion as Sunday tea. This had been in the December of the previous year, although Dominic had already taken meals with Tilly’s family several times.

She had felt nervous because she knew that Dominic was inclined to be rather in awe of his parents. She had a feeling, too, that she might be considered ‘not quite good enough’ for their son, although Dominic had never said so. But there were certain irregularities in her background which she realised they might find difficult to overlook. She didn’t know how much Dominic had told them about her. They were a good few years older than her mother and stepfather, who were in their early fifties. Mr and Mrs Fraser had both turned sixty, having married quite late on in life, and Dominic was their only child. She knew that Joseph Fraser was an influential businessman in the town; a partner with his brother-in-law in the firm of estate agents Fortescue and Fraser, with an office on Northway.

Mabel Fraser was silver-haired and stately, dressed in a lilac afternoon gown which might have been fashionable a few years earlier, with a flared floor-length skirt and a high stand-up lace collar of the style made popular by Queen Alexandra in the
years of her husband’s reign. Mr Fraser appeared equally forbidding at first in his formal black suit, with a goatee beard and rimless spectacles, which he wore halfway down his nose.

Appearances, however, could be deceptive; she soon realised that they were not quite as stern and unbending as they had at first seemed. They both made her welcome, though in a formal manner, and in a little while she began to feel more at ease. Their dining room and sitting room, which Mrs Fraser referred to as the ‘parlour’, were in keeping with their personalities, harking back to the Victorian era, overcrowded with heavy furniture and with knick-knacks and photographs in silver frames covering almost every surface.

The large mahogany table with bulbous legs was covered with a white starched damask cloth, with matching napkins as stiff as boards; the china cups, saucers and side plates were decorated with pink rosebuds and were so fine and delicate that they were almost transparent. The meal was a typical middle-class Sunday tea: boiled ham and tongue served with salad – lettuce, tomato, cucumber and hard-boiled eggs in slices – and wafer-thin bread and butter, both white and brown, cut into triangles with the crusts removed. (Tilly’s mother had always made sure that they ate the crusts!) This was followed by tinned peaches and
pears with fresh cream poured from a cut-glass jug. And to finish the meal there was a variety of cakes without which no northern tea would be complete; sticky ginger cake, rich fruit cake and almond tarts.

Tilly was not fazed by any of this, nor by the maid – a girl of her own age, she guessed, in a black dress, white frilled apron and cap – who served them. Tilly had been brought up in more or less the same kind of environment in what was generally thought of as the upper middle class. Her father, Edward Barraclough, had been a bank manager – indeed, he still was, although she saw him very rarely – and her mother had stayed at home to look after her family of four. She must have had some help with the running of the house and the cooking, Tilly supposed. She did not remember them having a maid, though, as the Frasers did. In fact, she scarcely remembered the time when she had lived in York.

What she remembered most of all from those days were the summer holidays in Scarborough, which had always been the highlight of the year and to which all the children had looked forward eagerly. And to be actually going to live there when she was six years old had been just too exciting for words!

She had realised at the time, although at her
tender age she would not have been able to put it into words, that the Barraclough family was a notch or two higher in the social scale than the Moon family, into which her mother was marrying. For instance, Patrick and Maddy had attended the ordinary council school, not very far from the Moons’ funeral premises, whereas Samuel and Jessie, and she and her twin brother, had gone to private schools in York, what Maddy would have called ‘posh’ schools. And they had continued with their private education in Scarborough, which she considered had been very generous and understanding of Uncle William. It might, of course, have caused a rift or jealousy between the children of the two families, but it had never done so. They had always accepted that this was the way it was; that it was best for them all to continue with what they had been used to. Samuel had been the only one who had been rather difficult and resentful of their mother’s new way of life.

The important thing was that Mother was happy, and her obvious delight in being married to William Moon had made the rest of the family happy too. Faith Moon had started to work outside of the home, something which would have been frowned upon when she had lived in York. Although she had not worked in the undertaking
business as William’s first wife had done, she had taken on the managership of the gown shop and had proved to be popular with both the staff and the customers. The only assistance they had ever had in the house was Mrs Baker, their cook cum housekeeper, and she was much more like a member of the family than a servant.

Tilly was quietly amused at the way the Frasers’ maid bobbed a curtsy when she had served the meal; just the slightest bending of the knee, but a sign of the subservience which Mabel Fraser obviously expected.

‘Thank you, Lily, that will be all,’ she said, lowering her head graciously, for all the world like Queen Mary, thought Tilly. She was tempted to catch the girl’s eye and wink at her, but Lily kept her eyes lowered. Tilly could have no idea what the girl was thinking; whether she accepted that this was her station in life, to wait upon others, or whether she longed for a different way of living. As for Tilly, she realised how fortunate she was compared with many young women of her age. She had always had a carefree life and had never wanted for anything.

Of the two of them, Tilly found Mr Fraser to be the more congenial, the one who tried the hardest to keep the conversation flowing and to make an effort to be jolly and amusing, although it did
not come as naturally to him as it did to William Moon. Tilly was surprised at the broadness of his Yorkshire accent, which he did not attempt to disguise. His wife spoke in a more genteel manner, but her refined tones slipped from time to time, betraying her northern heritage.