The Carpenter's Children (15 page)

No, I can’t write any of that. I haven’t the materials or the opportunity to use them, and if I had, I still couldn’t tell them the most important fact of all – that through all this my beloved friend is with me, sharing the torments and making them bearable. We don’t say much in this place, but we’ve never needed words; we know that our love is what renews our strength and failing courage.

O Lord, be merciful, and let us not be parted! Don’t let one of us be lost to the other, but grant that we may survive together or die together. Amen.

Eddie Cooper saw little of Tom Munday these days. Tom’s conscience kept him at home with Violet in the evenings, though he missed his occasional hour in the Tradesmen’s Arms, and sharing his thoughts
with Eddie; it was the only time when he could honestly speak his mind, and Eddie was the only one who could hear him with sympathy but without alarm. Eddie had his own problems, both past and present, but he had not got a son facing death in the war. Tom had to hide his own fears from Violet, and appear more certain than he actually was of their son’s eventual return, safe and sound. Perhaps Violet Munday subconsciously realised this when she made the unexpected suggestion that they ask Eddie and Annie Cooper with little Freddie over for tea on the following Sunday afternoon.

‘Grace won’t be coming this weekend, Lady Neville’s asked her to change to another day, so we might as well have some company,’ she said.

‘That’s very good of you, Vi,’ said Tom, as pleased as he was surprised. ‘Be nice to see old Eddie again, he’s always been a good friend.’

‘As you’ve been to him,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing against Annie Cooper, even if she
was
a barmaid at the Tradesmen’s…’ Violet hesitated for a moment, remembering Grace at the Railway Hotel ‘…and any wife would be better than his first one, though we mustn’t be uncharitable now the poor woman’s been at rest for… how long is it? Must be five years, because little Freddie’s three.’

‘It’s a nice idea, and…er, couldn’t we maybe ask his daughter Mary as well?’ ventured Tom. ‘Give her a chance to meet her father and Annie on neutral
ground – it’d mean a lot to old Eddie if they could be reconciled. It’s ridiculous, the way this break has gone on for year after year. D’you think it’d be a good idea, Vi?’

Violet had become less judgemental after making peace with Aaron’s family, and agreed to ask Mary Cooper, but thought she should be warned that her father and unacknowledged stepmother would also be present.

Tom thought it over for a minute, and then said, ‘Let’s tell her that Eddie’ll be here, but not to mention Annie and the kid. When she sees them close to, she may see sense as well, and Freddie’s such a smiley little fellow, I reckon she won’t be able to hold out against
him
, whatever grudge she’s got against Annie. I’ll drop in at the farm one day next week to ask her. Thanks again, Vi,’ he added, and planted a kiss on her cheek, an affectionate little gesture that gave them both a lift of the heart.

But his visit to Yeomans’ farm drew a blank, and he returned to report that he had not even seen Mary who was working outside.

‘Mrs Yeomans said she misses Mary’s help in the house, because she’s needed just about every hour of the day on the farm,’ he said ruefully. ‘Rounding up the cows and helping Dick with milking, seeing to the pigs, setting the horses to the plough – the girl must be whacked out. Since old Yeomans lost his farmhands to the army, he’s had to manage with her
and Dick, all the hours God made. Anyway, I left a message for her about Sunday, but Mrs Yeomans said she doubts it,
she
hardly catches sight o’ Mary these days.’

Mrs Munday shrugged. ‘It sounds to me as if Mary’s just making an excuse. It’s too bad of her; after all Eddie went through with her mother, you’d think she’d be glad to see her father happy again. Anyway, nobody can say we haven’t tried. Is there anybody else we can ask? The Birds? Their boys are—’

But Tom needed to have some time to talk with Eddie, and didn’t want a third man intruding. ‘What about Miss Daniells? She was a very good teacher to them.’

Violet agreed, thinking that if she and Annie Cooper turned out to have little in common, the schoolmistress’s presence would make things easier.

And so it proved. The scones, home-made jam and fruit cake were highly praised, and little Freddie toddled from one to another, happy to be the centre of attention. When the ladies settled down to a freshly brewed pot of tea, Tom asked Eddie to come outside to look at the garden, not that there was much to see on a chilly late autumn afternoon with fallen leaves lying everywhere. They took refuge in the tool shed where they shook their heads over the scarcity of work.

‘There aren’t many jobs goin’ these days, Tom.
People are leavin’ their paintin’ and decoratin’ till after the war.’

‘Same here,’ replied Tom. ‘And I see old Harry Hutchinson has lost his bricklayer and carpenter. I reckon he’d take us on like a shot, but I can’t say I’d fancy working for him, would you?’

‘Nor any other builder,’ agreed Eddie. ‘Harry’ll be in the same stalemate as us, people aren’t looking for new house-building while this show’s on, and Lord knows when it’ll be over.’ He glanced quickly at Tom as he spoke, remembering that there had been no word from Ernest. The newspapers were guarded in their reports of the war in Turkey, but it was becoming clear that the second strike on the Gallipoli Peninsula was no more successful than the first. The weather was said to be hampering the movement of troops, with storms and heavy rain.

Tom nodded, having followed Eddie’s train of thought. ‘We’re not the only family desperate for news and at the same time dreading it,’ he said sombrely. ‘Lady Neville’s going through it, too, with her son Cedric out there, and not a word from him since the day he embarked.’

‘An’ there’s goin’ to be a lot more sent out afore long, Tom. This National Register’s got the names of
all
men between eighteen and forty-one, and now they’ve got to sign on and say that they’re willin’ to join up if asked. I see the king has added
his two pennyworth, askin’ for more recruits from men of all classes, single ones first, unless they’re in reserved occupations, like coal minin’ or in one o’ these factories turnin’ out guns an’ shells an’ whatnot.’

‘What would you call a reserved occupation, Eddie? I mean, what about clergymen? And the farmers, surely we need them to provide food. How d’you think Dick Yeomans’ll get out of it? I hear he slogs from dawn to dusk, seven days a week.’

This touched a nerve, as Tom had expected it might. Eddie frowned. ‘That’s right, he does, and so does my Mary. She’s out in all weathers, seein’ to the livestock an’ any other job ol’ Yeomans can find for her. And o’ course she’s always side by side with young Dick, so they’re bound to get close. I see her as a farmer’s wife, Tom, an’ a damn’ good one – not that it makes any difference what
I
think.’

Tom smiled, remembering Eddie’s earlier indignation over the farmer’s son’s behaviour. ‘Well, I just hope that Dick’s occupation turns out to be reserved. I wouldn’t wish the Yeomanses to go through what Violet and I…’

He stopped speaking as his throat constricted and his eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, Eddie, if I’d only appreciated my boy’s good points, instead o’ criticising him all the time! And now I’d give my right arm to see him home again, and…oh, Eddie, I have to pretend to Violet that I’m
sure he’s all right, but it wears me out, hiding my fear and dread from my wife! God help the pair of us if…’

Eddie Cooper had put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, and now his arm encircled his friend. ‘All right, Tom, all right, you don’t have to pretend to me,’ he said quietly. ‘All right, ol’ man, let it out. You know I’d never tell a soul.’

And so Tom Munday leant on his friend’s shoulder, and experienced a kind of relief in so doing.

Some twenty minutes later, as the October dusk began to fall, the two men returned to the house through the kitchen door, where Tom dipped a dishcloth in cold water and dabbed at his face, standing in front of the shaving mirror.

‘That’s better! Now practise a grin,’ said Eddie, deliberately adopting a light-hearted tone. ‘The women won’t notice a thing.’

‘Where on earth have you two been?’ demanded Violet Munday as they re-entered the parlour. ‘What do you think of them, Annie? Men accuse
us
of chattering, but when
they
get together, they have twice as much to say!’

‘They call it putting the world to rights,’ agreed Mrs Cooper, smiling down at little Freddie who had climbed up onto her lap. Miss Daniells also smiled at the child, but said nothing; something about the men’s subdued manner suggested to her that their conversation had amounted to a good deal more
than lofty male pronouncements on the state of the world.

That night Tom Munday put his arms around his wife and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’ she asked.

‘For asking those four to tea with us. It meant a lot to me.’

‘I can’t think why,’ she answered with mock reproach. ‘You spent half your time outside with Eddie Cooper.’

At the farm the lamps were lit, and little Billy had been put to bed by his mother, who then joined her husband at supper in the kitchen, after which they retired early to bed, both having got colds. Bread and cheese and half a pigeon pie were left on the kitchen table, covered with a cloth. It was past nine o’clock when Dick and Mary came in, tired after attending the farrowing of a sow and putting the eight piglets to take their first feed from their mother. They hung up their jackets on a row of hooks in the scullery, and left their boots there. When they saw the repast on the table, Dick decided to open a celebratory bottle of apple cider from the pantry.

Mary Cooper, pretty and plump, stood with her back to the last glowing embers in the range oven, and watched as Dick drew the cork from the bottle which foamed all over his hand; he hastily poured it into two mugs from the dresser.

‘Another long day, Mary.’

‘But a good one, Dick.’

And then for the first time they melted into each other’s arms, as naturally as breathing, their tiredness forgotten; their supper would have to wait.

Rain, rain, torrential rain; nothing and nowhere was dry. Trenches overflowed, washing dead bodies over the parapet and opening shallow graves; No Man’s Land was awash with mud and blood and worse. Horses’ hooves and men’s boots sank inches deep as they moved. Lieutenant Neville wondered how long it would be before what remained of his company were all gone; with no clean water and nothing to eat but biscuits, tinned bully beef and tinned apricot jam with no bread to spread it on, it was no wonder that they were succumbing to agonising dysentery and the freezing cold, more likely to kill them than enemy fire.

After twenty-five days on the line, a record for what it was worth, Neville had fifteen men left out of a company of fifty, and in poor shape, wet and shivering. The MO had died in the night, poor devil, and his body had been dragged out of the latrines with that of another unconscious man lying in his
own stinking excrement. Neville thought he vaguely knew the man from North Camp, and ordered that he be carried down to the beach and put on a lighter to take him out to the hospital ship anchored in Suvla Bay. ‘He’s a goner for sure,’ the escort had commented. ‘They won’t want
him
on their ship in that state.’

Neville shivered. Thank God he still had Lance Corporal Pascoe who could be relied upon to do whatever was needed, whether digging deeper trenches, patrolling the front line, grabbing an hour’s so-called rest or trying to sort out a fair ration from the depleted stores for each man who could still tolerate food. Pascoe would have to take charge if he, Neville, were struck down. God in heaven, what a waste…what a shambles it had all been, from the
ill-fated
landing on the Peninsula back in April, when huge numbers of Australian and New Zealand forces had gone ashore at Gaba Tepe, further down the coast, to create a diversion from the British invasion, and later to link up and together push the Turks back to Constantinople. That had been the plan, and it had sounded feasible; but nobody had reckoned the Turks to be such ferocious warriors, with the added advantage of fighting on their own terrain; nobody had foreseen the administrative bungling, the lack of liaison, the shortage of ammunition; the Dominion troops had eventually taken the hill at Gaba Tepe, but their numbers had been decimated, so it could hardly
be called a victory. The second landing in August had met with no better success, and conditions were made even worse by the abominable weather; even the Turks had been flooded out.

A messenger appeared at Neville’s side, with an envelope from the battle headquarters. Neville took it, opened it and stared at the single page; at first he could hardly take in what it conveyed, which was that all Allied personnel were to be withdrawn from the Peninsula, and that those at Suvla Bay, his own company, would be evacuated on the night of December 18
^th
, only three days away; those at Helles would go in early January. Neville momentarily closed his eyes, then wrote a brief note for the messenger to take back, to say the message had been received.

‘Look at this, Pascoe,’ he said to the pale,
mud-spattered
figure who had just come into the dugout. ‘They say we’re to retreat, so whoever’s still breathing and standing up on the day appointed will take himself down to the beach and get on the lighter to the hospital ship.’

‘I hear you, sir,’ was all that the lance corporal replied. Since his best mate had been dismissed as a goner, his dreams of escaping from this place had become just that – dreams. And not likely to come true.

‘I’ll assign you to a rearguard action, Pascoe, with a couple of others to be decided. I’ll lead the rest of
the men down, and see them onto the lighter, then wait for you and the others, to see you all safely on board.’

‘There’ll be a fair bit of farewell shelling from Johnny Turk, sir.’

‘We’ll have nothing to lose, Pascoe.’

Just hope I’ll live to see it, thought the lance corporal, as an ominous pain stabbed him in the belly.