1937
Joe and Harry stood on the platform side by side.
There was now no difference in their height although Harry was twenty-one and Joe sixteen.
Even in physique they were very much alike, both being thick in the shoulders and almost of the same colouring, except that Joe's hair showed a black sheen whereas Harry's was a dark brown, thick matt.
It was only when you looked at their faces that you saw the difference in both age and expression: Harry's face was round, his eyes merry, while Joe's features inclined to length and his grey eyes, which at times seemed colourless, had in their depths a touch of melancholy that had deepened with the years.
Joe started when Harry's elbow caught him in the ribs as he said, ' I wonder if my illustrious brother will be as insufferable as he was during the Christmas holidays? '
' Martin's never insufferable. '
' Of course he is.
All those fellows who get to Oxford become insufferable...
It used to be ' I 'm doing my law moderations'  he pursed his lips and wagged his head  ' but these last couple of years it's been, ' I 'm reading for my finals'.
Gosh! how sick-making. '
' You're only envious, and you know you were the most concerned when he had to lose almost a year to that fever.
Anyway, you know you love him. '
Harry had been about to make a jovial retort, as was his nature, but he stopped and, screwing up his face, he said, ' Joe, the things you come out with.
You don't say you love people. '
' Why not, when you do? '
' Well, just because... '
' That's what Mick once said to me. '
' Mick? '
' Yes, years ago he told me you don't say you love people.
Yet when you don't love many people I think you should tell those whom you do. '
' Oh, lad. '
Harry stepped back from Joe now, but poked his head forward as, under his breath, he asked, ' You don't come out with things like that at school, do you? '
' No. '
' It's a damn good job you don't, laddie, or I could see you being hauled up before the old man. '
Harry now looked at his watch, saying, ' It's nearly fifteen minutes late; I bet it's got diverted to London. '
He grinned.
' Must be marvellous up there today. '
He looked upwards now at the bunting stretched across the girders of the platform, then said, ' With a little imagination you know I could dismiss the Coronation and take it that this show of affection was all for my being twenty-one today.
I 'm twenty-one today, I 'm twenty-one today. '
He began to whistle now, accompanying it with a little shuffle of his feet which brought a wide grin from Joe; then becoming serious for a moment, he said, ' You knew, I do appreciate Martin getting leave to come home for my twenty-first.
He could easily have gone into London and enjoyed the jollifications.
But there 'll be some jollification around the old homestead tonight and nobody likes tripping the light fantastic better than wor Martin. '
He had dropped into a thick Geordie twang and, after laughing, he looked up and down the platform now, saying, ' We must be the only ones expecting a passenger. '
' They 'll all be glued to their wireless sets, I suppose. '
' Yes, that's it. '
' They say he's going to speak tonight, the King.
Amazing, isn't it?
Amazing. '
He moved his head slowly from side to side.
' Oh, here it comes at last. '
Harry again looked at his watch.
' Almost twenty minutes late.
I 'm going to report this. '
The train puffed to a stop; only five passengers alighted, and the only male among them a tall young man, his hair so fair that from a distance it appeared almost white, waved to them before turning back to the carriage and lifting out a case.
Now they were all together, clapping each other on the arm, shaking hands, laughing; then Martin, gripping his brother by the shoulders, said, ' Happy days ahead, laddie. '
' Thanks, Martin.
Thanks. '
Harry's answer was low, even serious sounding.
They turned and made their way along the platform, through the small waiting-room and so into the road to where the horse and trap waited.
It was Martin who took the reins and as he cried, ' Gee-up! you there, you flibbertigibbet! ' the horse, as if recognising the voice, tossed its head and went off at a spanking pace down the road, and as they laughed, Harry said, ' Would you believe it!
He never goes like that for me. '
' Well, he knows you prefer stinking machines.
By the way, how do you like it? '
' Like what? '
Martin tugged on the reins for a moment, then turned and looked at his brother, saying, ' It hasn't arrived? '
' If I knew what had to arrive I would tell you. '
' Good God!
I 'll murder them; they promised. '
' Promised what? '
' Your birthday present, thickhead. '
' Oh, don't tell me it's a horse. '
' It's your kind of horse. '
Harry's eyes and mouth stretched: then he was leaning over Joe and gripping Martin's shoulder, saying, ' You haven't... it isn't? '
' I have and it is, and I 'm mad, because I hate your damned machines. '
' Aw!
Martin.
What is it? '
' It's what you're always on about. '
' An AJS! '
Harry turned quickly to Joe and cried excitedly, ' Did you ever know such a brother as mine, spending his money on something he hates! '
Joe smiled but didn't answer, and Harry, again in a thoughtful tone, said, ' What would you like when you're twenty-one, Joe? '
But before he could answer, Martin, turning his head to the side, called over his shoulder, ' Why need you ask!
A set of encyclopedias, of course.
How's the writing going, Joe? '
' Not so good. '
' What!
And you aiming to come up and read English Lit. '
' That's the point, ' Joe called back now, ' I have to do so much reading I've hardly any time for writing, at least not the kind I want to do. '
' Poetry? '
There was a scornful note in Martin's voice and Joe answered, ' Well, no, not just poetry; in fact, not poetry at all. '
' No?
Don't tell me you've gone in for politics.
There's been enough trouble without you starting.
Or are you aiming to take Kipling's place? '
Quickly switching the conversation, he addressed the next remark to Harry, saying, ' I wonder how the Duke is feeling today; I wonder if he still thinks the exchange was worth it. '
' I 'm sure he does.
He loved her; he must have. '
The brothers turned and looked at Joe and presently Martin said on a laugh, ' That's what he's going to be, Harry, a romantic novelist.
You can tell, can't you?
In fact, it's a pity he isn't in the game now.
Look at the material he could have had this past year.
Besides the Duke's romance, there was Princess Juliana marrying a German prince; and then there's our bleached beauty, Miss Jean Harlow.
By! there 'll never again be a year like this for you to get your teeth into. '
' Shut up! '
Martin and Harry laughed together and Harry thumped Joe in the shoulder, saying, ' Take no notice, lad; you 'll get there.
I only wish I had half your grey matter. '
For the rest of the journey Joe listened to the brothers talking about their futures, particularly that of Martin after he came down in June.
As for Harry, his aim was engineering and he was now in his third year at the College of Science in Newcastle.
It was as they approached the gates that Joe pointed away to the left and towards the hills where a man was walking and he cried excitedly, ' There's Mick! '
' Mick?
Mick Smith? '
Martin screwed up his eyes and looked towards the hills, saying, ' How can you tell from here? '
' Oh, I know his walk. '
' Is he back home for good? '
' No '  Joe shook his head  ' he's taking a holiday; he's twenty-one an' all, you know; well, he was last month. '
' Is he still working in the factory? '
' Yes, he was promoted, he's head of his department now. '
' Well, that's not surprising, he was always a wizard with wireless. '
' Yes, he was.
He is. '
Joe continued to look over his shoulder to where the figure in the distance had become a mere speck.
When they came in sight of the house it was to see Ellen Jebeau standing on the terrace, and when Martin drew the horse to a standstill at the foot of the steps she was there to meet them.
Holding out her hand, her smile wide, she said, ' It's good to see you home again, Martin, ' and his answer was to take her hand and kiss her on the cheek and say, ' It's good to be home, Aunt.
How are you? '
' Very well.
Very well... and what do you think about the new man? '
She extended a hand towards Harry, and Martin said derisively, ' New man!
He 'll never be a man, he's still in the nursery playing with toy bikes. '
Again the two brothers were pushing at each other and as they all mounted the steps Ellen stepped and walked by the side of her son, something she was in the habit of doing whenever they were in company, and which Joe had been aware of from the time she had recovered after his uncle's death.
He hadn't known whether to put it down to the fact that she imagined he was being left outside the camaraderie of the brothers or that in some strange way she was laying claim on him.
Her action always embarrassed him, but as it was unobtrusive he doubted if anyone else noticed it.
In the hall, turning to Martin, she said, ' Come and see the table before you go upstairs, ' and hurried forward to the dining-room, where Martin exclaimed in genuine appreciation of the table, beautifully decorated with flowers, glass, and silver and set for sixteen people.
' It's wonderful, Aunt!
Beautiful.
Better than I had on my twenty-first. '
He turned a comically aggressive face towards Harry, saying, ' Mine was never like this. '
' 'T WAS; it was even better.
You had two tables, the second one to accommodate your lady friends; I don't have so many. '
' Well, that's your fault, isn't it?
You've got to acquire charm and have a presence. '
He walked around the table now in an exaggerated pose, and Harry, laughing, said, ' If it wasn't for spoiling Aunt Ellen's work I would throw that centrepiece at you. '
' Anyway, who's coming? '
Martin was addressing Ellen, and she, looking at Harry, said, ' Well, it was up to Harry, and he wanted the Doltons... '
' Oh yes!
We must have the Doltons'  Martin nodded and winked at Harry  ' especially Rachel...
What about Betty?
Isn't she married yet? '
' No; she's not married yet; I think she's waiting for you. '
Harry pulled a face at his brother now as Ellen put in quickly, ' The Hallidays too and their cousins, two young ladies who are staying with them. '
She turned towards Harry now, saying, ' The Crosbie sisters? '
When Harry nodded Martin said, ' How old are they? '
' Nell is nineteen and Marion eighteen, ' Harry said and, poking his head forward with emphasis, he added, ' And neither of them is a beauty. '
' Oh! '
Martin craned his head up out of his collar.
' Well, that cuts them out of my book, unless, of course, they're entertaining, witty, rich, and  ' Here he turned and began to march from the room, saying, ' have the sense to appreciate my worth. '
They all laughed.
Even Ellen laughed and, looking at Harry, she said, ' He doesn't change. '
' No, he doesn't. '
Harry now stood looking along the table as he added thoughtfully, ' It would be awful if he did, wouldn't it? '
Ellen paused for just a fraction of a second before she answered, ' Yes; yes, I suppose it would. '
Joe looked at his mother and there came into his mind a thought that wasn't new: his mother didn't like Martin; she liked Harry but not Martin; and Martin didn't like her.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon.
the sky was high, the air so clear that he imagined he could see to the ends of the earth.
He was sitting with Mick at the top of a hill and he was wishing with a deep desire that he could remain in time, this present time, forever.
Somehow he always had this feeling when he was with Mick.
Mick made him feel rested: his brain didn't churn and ask questions when he was with Mick.
Mostly he listened; not that Mick talked a lot, but when he did everything he said seemed to have meaning.
Now, as the thought came into his mind he spoke it aloud, and had he spoken like this to anyone else it would have been taken as an insult, for what he said was, ' It's a pity you haven't had education, Mick. '
And Mick, looking straight ahead, was silent for a moment, then said, ' Yes, I've often thought that, Joe, but not so much of late.
Years ago when I used to see the young masters going off to their boarding schools... you too, I used to envy you all.
But not any more, because you see this is how I look at it now: those kind of schools grind you into a certain way of thinking and... and somehow, unless you become very careful, you're stuck that way for the rest of your life.
You've been set in a certain class and no matter how your opinions change and you want to throw that class off, if ever a man does, it won't let him, it's there in his voice, in his manner; even if a gentleman was to take to the road he'd still be a gentleman; I mean, according to the kind of education he's received, so to my mind that has become a kind of cage.
Do you follow me? '
They looked at each other, then returning their gaze to the far distance there was a silence between them before Mick went on again, ' As I see it now, real education is what you get from life: not what life gives you, but what you give to it.
I read a lot, Joe, and it appears to me that every man, even every thinking man has always had a different view of the same subject; the more I read of men and their lives and their ideas the more I realise there's no black and white in the world; there's good points to be found even in the blackest, and there's some very dark streaks in the so-called saints.
As for heaven and hell, well, Joe, as I see it we make them both ourselves. '
' You don't believe in God then, Mick? '
' Yes and no, Joe.
I don't believe in the God the parson used to present to us three times on a Sunday. '
He laughed now.
' Eeh! his idea did put the fear of God into me.
You know, Joe '  he leant towards him now, a wide grin spreading over his face  ' I used to wet me pants every Sunday morning.
It's true. '
As Joe bowed his head and laughed, Mick went on, ' And every Sunday night for years and years it happened, because every Sunday night I'd go down to hell.
You know where it was, Joe? '
How he was laughing at himself and he could hardly get the words out.
' You know old Farmer Bolton's place before it was burned down, you know, where the pig-sties were and the stink?
Well '  he choked now with laughter  ' I would go in among those pigs and they would all start scratching a hole and there I would be standing on a clapboard looking down and nearly sick with the smell.
And when it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom, Old Bolton's prize sow, you know the one who had borne so many litters, there was no space atween her belly and the ground.
Well, I used to wait for her, trembling like a leaf; then she would come behind me and bump me, and down I would go, down, down, down, into hell and wake up screaming and our Charlie shaking the life out of me... '
Now both of them were choking with their laughter as Mick ended, ' It got so bad that they used to wait for it every Sunday night and try to smother me with a pillow.
It's a wonder I survived. '
' Oh, Mick!
Mick! '
Joe was rocking himself now, the tears running down his face.
Then he set Mick off into another spasm of laughter when he asked, ' Do you think I could get a job alongside you in the factory? '
Some time later, Joe, looking at his wrist watch, said on a note of deep regret, ' I 'll have to be getting back, the guests are coming at four.
How long are you staying, Mick?
A week? '
' No, no; I 'm off the morrow. '
' So soon?
I thought you had a week. '
' Yes.
Yes, I have, but... but a little goes a long way. '
He nodded back towards the house.
' The cottage is still crammed and... and I want to do some visiting. '
They stared at each other for a moment before Mick added, ' You've never seen Carrie for years, have you? '
' No; no, I haven't. '
' Well, that's where I 'm going.
I often spend my weekends there; there's always a bed for me.
My Uncle Stan and Aunt Alice are very good to me and more than good to Carrie, they've given her a start in life she would never have had here.
She's on a secretarial course, you know. '
' Really? '
' Oh yes; she's a bright lass, is Carrie. '
Joe looked to the side.
Funny, Mick had never mentioned Carrie in years.
The subject had seemed to be taboo; and he himself had in a way pressed her down into his mind because thoughts of her conjured up a feeling tinged with regret and shame, centred round a scene in the bedroom and the rage of his mother.
But here was Mick telling him something, he was talking about a young girl, not a little girl, a young girl who was going to be a secretary.
She must be seventeen now; she was some months older than him.
' Do you ever go out for the day, Joe? '
' Oh yes; sometimes to Newcastle. '
' With your mother? '
' Yes, yes; or Harry. '
' Do you think your mother would let you go out with me for a day in Newcastle? '
It was on the point of Joe's tongue to say ' I doubt it ', but what he said was, ' I don't see why not. '
' Good, good.
That's agreed on then.
What about tomorrow? '
' All right. '
' We 'll have to walk to the station, unless we get a lift. '
' I don't mind that. '
' All right, it's fixed, tomorrow then. '
They turned away together and marched over the hills towards the estate.
' If you want to go into Newcastle, then I 'll take you into Newcastle. '
' I want to go with Mick, Mother. '
' Spend the day with Mick, why? '
' Just... just because I...
I like being with Mick. '
' Really! boy.
You're hopeless... well, I forbid you. '
' I 'm sorry, Mother, I'd rather you said yes, because in any case I 'm going. '
' Now, now!
Don't take that attitude with me, Joe.
You're not too big yet to be locked in your room. '
Joe slanted his gaze towards her.
' I wouldn't try that, Mother.
Remember the boys are at home and if I was to go and ask Martin he would immediately say yes. '
' How dare you!
Go and ask Martin indeed! '
' Well, he's the head of the house. '
' He may be the head of this house but I am your mother and I 'm in charge of you. '
' I 'll be seventeen in a short while, Mother.
I heard the master saying at school there could be a war, so next year I could be a man, couldn't I, and be in the Army?
You couldn't stop them taking me. '
' What's come over you, boy? '
' Don't keep calling me boy, Mother. '
' I will keep calling you boy, because that's all you are and I repeat, I forbid you to go into Newcastle with Mick Smith.
And I say again, don't you take that tone with me. '
As he stared at her he knew that he had come to a crossroads, that if he gave in to her now he'd have to give into her again and again and again.
Although he had defied her before, it had only been in words but now the thought that he had the choice of putting those words into action and so set a new pattern, and in doing so break one of the threads that tied him to her, caused his whole body to tremble and his voice to quiver as he said, ' Either you give me permission freely to go with Mick tomorrow or I go down now and put it to Martin. '
The trembling turned to slight fear as he saw her colour rise.
For a moment he was swept back into the past to those days when her temper would flare into demoniac rage.
' Get out of my sight, boy.
Get... out... of... my... sight! '
He got out of her sight.
He went out of the room, into the corridor and into his room and there he stood with his back to the door, his mouth wide, gasping at the air, still in fright, yet knowing that in some way he had emerged as if out of a deep canyon.
Joe sat on the wooden kitchen chair and watched Mrs Alice Carver flitting back and forth from the stove to the table, talking all the while.
She had what was termed a comfortable figure, but her face was thin, her nose sharp and her voice seemed to take its pattern from her features, just as Mick had described her on the way here; although his Aunt Alice was sharp of nose and of tongue, she was broad in the shoulders and warm in heart, he had said.
Flinging a cloth over a side table, she now turned towards Mick and said, ' I 'm not puttin' meself out for you, mind.
If I'd known you were coming that would have been different; I mean, bringing company.
You always have your meal in the kitchen and I 'm not opening the dining-room at such short notice, but you can go and sit in the front room if you want to. '
' Who wants to?
We're comfortable here. '
' Well, it's up to you. '
She was now piling crockery on to the table.
' Your uncle, as you know, comes in at ten past twelve on the dot and Carrie a few minutes after, that is if she hasn't stopped to gaze in the shops.
Well, she knows I put it on the table all at the same time; if it's cold, that's her look out.
Would you like a drop of tea while you're waitin'? '
She had now turned abruptly and was addressing Joe, and he, taken by surprise, stammered, ' Yes... oh no.
No, thank you; I can wait for my dinner. '
She now pushed out her chest, drew in her chin, looked at Mick while thumbing towards Joe and said, ' He expects his dinner!
Did you hear that?
He expects his dinner! '
Mick looked at Joe, whose face had turned scarlet, and nodded solemnly as he said, ' Aye, he does, Aunt Alice.
It's a bloomin' cheek, isn't it? '
Then they were both laughing, and the little woman, coming up and slapping Joe between the shoulders with such force that he coughed, said, ' Don't look as if you are bein' confronted by a whale.
I 'm not gon na swallow you whole, not just now anyway. '
Joe managed to force a smile.
Then looking back at Mick who was grinning at him, he bit on his lip and moved his head slightly as if to say, ' How am I to take her? '
Mick now turned to his aunt and asked, ' Did Carrie pass her test? '
' Of course she did!
She could have done it on her head.
And I 'll tell you something else  ' she paused, went to the oven, took out a tin holding roast potatoes, flicked them over expertly and put the tin back in the oven before she continued, ' She won't be long in that school, she's a way ahead; and you know what? '
She put her hands on the table and leant towards Mick.
' He's going to buy her a new typewriter; that old thing she practises on makes a noise like a candyman's trumpet.
But she doesn't know, so don't let on.
And she's doing shorthand, Pitman 's, she calls it.
Funny that is, isn't it, to call shorthand Pitman 's. '
Joe had gauged that the ' he ' she referred to was the uncle and the reference to Pitman's shorthand brought his eyes to Mick and his face ready to go into a grin; but something in Mick's expression checked it and he listened to him saying, ' She's a bright lass, is Carrie. '
' Now you've said it, Mick, you've said it.
Yes, our Carrie's a bright lass.
And she's going places. '
Joe noticed that the little woman referred to Carrie as if she belonged to them: it was Our Carrie.
In his mind's eye there was dawning a picture of this Carrie.
He could see the smart business girl: she'd likely be wearing three-inch high heels and her hair would be permed; and not only would she look smart, she'd talk smart.
For a moment he wished he hadn't come: he didn't want to see this new Carrie.
On the way here this morning, the picture of the Carrie he had once known and played with... and loved, had been plain in his mind; and the nearer he had come to the house where she now lived, he imagined the Carrie he expected to see would be merely an older replica of the one who had run out of his life the day his mother had hit him and knocked him out.
That memory too had been brought sharply into focus on this journey.
It was as if his mind was digging down through the years and bringing up pictures of past events...
Stan Carver was a thick-set, medium-sized man, and strangely, Joe thought, he resembled his wife, at least in features: they had the same sharp-edged face.
What was obvious, though, straightaway was that Mr Carver didn't talk much and his greeting of Mick was as to one of the family, indicated with a nod and a ' Hello, there! '
When Mick introduced him, Mr Carver shook his hand in the conventional way, saying, ' I 'm pleased to see you, lad.
You're welcome, ' then went to the sink in the far corner of the kitchen to wash his hands, came back to the fireside to sit down in a chair to the right of the oven, and watched his wife putting out the meal.
It was as she put the last plate on the table that the door opened and Carrie Smith entered the kitchen.
Automatically Joe rose to his feet, although Mick remained seated.
The girl who was now confronting Joe was someone strange and of whom he held no memory in any corner of his mind.
She wasn't smartly dressed as he had imagined: a slack grey coat reached halfway down her calves, her hat was in plain brown felt and from under it her hair hung loose.
It was rather unusual, he thought, to see a girl with long hair hanging loose.
Her hair was dark brown, as were her eyes; her face was round, her cheeks naturally red.
She was wearing no make-up; she could have been a girl fresh from the country.
That was until she spoke.
When her voice came to his ears it denied the ordinariness of her clothes and the simplicity suggested by her powderless face and loose lying hair, for her tone was crisp, each word clear.
Unlike her uncle and aunt, who spoke with the Northern inflection, drawing one word into another, she pronounced the last syllable of each word.
This, however, he didn't realise until later when he let himself think about the meeting and how, after the first keen glance, she looked past him as if he weren't there, to greet Mick with ' Hello.
You didn't say you were coming.
Why aren't you at work? '
' I 'm on holiday.
The boss knew I was worked to death, and not wanting to lose me said, ' Mick, you take a few days rest.
if anybody's earned them, you have. '
' Oh yes? '
She inclined her head towards her brother.
' I can quite understand that he would say that. '
She was taking off her hat and coat as she spoke; then going over to her aunt, she bent down and kissed her on the cheek, and followed this with the same salutation for her uncle; and in response he patted her on the shoulder.
' Haven't you noticed we've got a visitor? '
She had been looking at Mick, but turned slowly and looked at Joe, and smiling slightly said, ' Yes; yes, of course. '
' Well, don't you know who he is? '
When she looked back at Mick she allowed her gaze to rest on him for some seconds before she answered, ' Of course I know who it is.
He hasn't changed much. '
Joe felt a heat seeping up through his body, finally coming to rest in his face, which he knew now had turned scarlet.
It was more than five years since she had seen him and she was saying he hadn't changed.
He imagined for a moment that he was still in short pants, until she turned to him and added, ' What I mean is, I would have still recognised you, ' and as if to soften her first statement she added further, ' Of course, you've grown much taller.
You would have, wouldn't you? '
As he stared at her he actually did feel as if he were in short pants, and he couldn't find words to answer her.
The situation was saved for him by Mrs Carver's crying, ' Well, there it is!
It's on the table.
Take your seats; there's nothing worse than a cold dinner. '
As he moved towards the table Joe noticed that, although they had been bidden to take their seats, neither Mrs Carver, nor Mick, nor Carrie did until Mr Carver was seated; then, each pulling a chair out from under the table, they sat down; and having done so, Mick pointed to a carved chair with a leather seat and said to him, ' Come, sit down.
You're honoured; that's from the parlour; I hope your pants are clean. '
Joe sat down and, shyly taking up his knife and fork, he began to eat; but with some difficulty, for there was no conversation.
And he was embarrassed further when he realised he was the last to finish.
They waited for him, and when his plate was clean, Mrs Carver, leaning towards him, said, ' Spotted Dick or rice? '
He blinked and opened his mouth once before he managed, ' Spotted Dick, please. '
Spotted Dick.
That was what Mary called currant pudding, and his mother referred to as boiled fruit suet.
He enjoyed his Spotted Dick; but this, too, was eaten in silence.
The meal finished, Stan Carver, placing his hands on each side of his plate, slowly raised himself up from the table and, standing still for a moment, said, ' Thank God for a good dinner. '
And without another word he left the table, went out of the kitchen, presumably through the scullery, and into the backyard; and when the sound of the door shutting came to them, Mick turned with a laugh towards Joe, saying, ' I bet you're wondering where the first part of grace before meals went. '
Managing a smile, Joe said, ' Yes; perhaps I am. '
' Well, I might tell you that Uncle follows a pattern that was forced upon him.
You see, he came from a family of ten lads and four lasses and food was the main object in their lives; and if you weren't careful and hung on to your plate one or the other swiped it. '
He nodded.
' It's a fact.
They did it laughingly, but they did it; so that cut out forever the grace that says, what we are about to receive, so he only gives thanks when he's got it down. '
As they all laughed, Joe glanced towards the little woman, and she, nodding back to him, said, ' 'T IS true. '
Then, looking towards Carrie, she said, ' Mash the tea, girl.
Time's going on; you 'll have to be on your way again. '
And with this she went into the scullery, Mick following her.
Left alone with Carrie, Joe sat watching her pour the boiling water into the earthenware teapot, and after bringing it to the table and setting it on a stand, she smiled at him and said softly, ' How are you? '
' Very well, thank you.
And you? '
His voice was as low as hers had been.
' Oh, I 'm fine, fine. '
It was as if they had just met.
' I wasn't meaning to be rude when I said you hadn't changed. '
' Oh, I know, I know, ' he said and smiled widely.
' It was just that I was a bit surprised at seeing you.
When I've been back home you've always been at school. '
' Yes; yes, I would be.
I suppose they arranged it like that. '
He bit on his lip; he hadn't meant to say that.
What had possessed him?
' Yes, I suppose they did.
Anyway, I don't go very often.
Dad comes here but not Mam; she and Aunt Alice never got along. '
' Are they sisters? '
' Oh no! '
She shook her head; then jerked it backwards, indicating the scullery, as she added in a much lower tone, ' They're not really my aunt and uncle.
We call them that.
Mam and Aunt Alice are cousins twice removed, so to speak. '
' Oh...
Are you happy here? '
' Oh yes.
Well! what do you think, after that cottage! '
The statement was somehow a reflection on his uncle and now on Martin as his successor...
And yet he himself had often thought the cottages should have been extended or pulled down and rebuilt.
There was still no indoor sanitation or running water.
' You prefer living in the town? ' he said.
' Every time '  she bobbed her head at him ' especially when you have a room to yourself and a decent job ahead.
What was there for anybody, back there? '
She now poked her face towards him, for her words had not been a statement but a direct question, one with a touch of bitterness, and when he didn't answer she went on, ' It was all right for you.
Not that I 'm blaming you.
Don't you think that.
But in your position you had decent surroundings.
Decent!
What am I talking about?
Magnificent surroundings would be a better description.
Well, not really magnificent, ' she again contradicted herself, ' but you know what I mean. '
' Yes, yes, I know what you mean, but you know something? '
It was he who was now leaning towards her, and his voice and face serious as he went on, ' A big house, a room to yourself, and all the food you can eat isn't everything; you can be as miserable as sin with it all.
And anyway, I 'm only there for a very small part of the year; I spend most of my time at school, where there's twelve beds to a room... dorm... and one can never be alone, it's not allowed. '
She bowed her head as she apologised, ' I 'm sorry.
I do yarp on, and I know you're right. '
They started now as the sound of breaking china came to them, followed by Mrs Carver's voice on a note so high-pitched it was almost a scream, as she cried, ' Out of me way!
Leave them!
Leave them!
You never come in this kitchen but you break something: when you help it spells disaster.
Now go on, get out! '
Mick appeared in the doorway with his hands going through his hair, his head thrust forward and his mouth in an elongated 0, to be greeted by Carrie saying, ' Eeh! our Mick, not again.
What was it this time? '
' A dinner plate and cup. '
' My goodness!
There 'll be nothing left shortly. '
' I 'll get her a new set. '
' That isn't the thing; she likes her old china.
She'd had it for years until you started helping. '
She now grinned at him as she pushed him, only to cry at him under her breath as he lifted the teapot, ' Leave it!
We don't want that all over the floor. '
As Carrie was pouring out the tea, Mr Carver came back into the room, followed by his wife, and he said to Mick, ' Stay out of that scullery from now on.
D' you hear me? '
' Aye, Uncle. '
Mr Carver gulped through his tea, then muttered, ' Well, I 'm away.
Are you ready, Carrie? '
' Yes, Uncle. '
As Joe watched her put on her coat and hat he experienced a keen sense of disappointment, for he was realising it had been in his mind to escort her to work.
Whether Mick would have proposed this he did not know; he only knew that the desire had been there; but it seemed to be the pattern that she and her uncle left together at dinnertime.
She was standing in front of him and when, conventionally, she held out her hand towards him, saying, ' Goodbye, then, ' he hesitated for a moment; then his arm jerked forward and he was holding her hand.
He felt the warmth of it flowing up his arm like an injection; it was as if everything in her was being transmitted through their palms.
But as quickly as his arm had gone out, it returned to his side, jerked back there as if by a spring; and he noticed that his action hadn't gone unnoticed by Mick.
He now watched Mick follow Carrie to the door way that led into the scullery, and he found himself also stepping in that direction, until he could take in the whole of the scullery and the open backyard door through which Mr Carver was now passing, saying as he did so, ' Ta-rah, then. '
It was a salutation to cover all those present.
Then he saw Carrie turn and look at Mick and Mick take her by the shoulders and look down into her face.
He heard him speak some words, but he couldn't make out what they were; he then saw him bend and kiss her, not on the cheek but on the lips.
Then Mrs Carver's voice from behind him cried, ' Out of me way! lad, ' and he sprang aside to let her enter the scullery with a tray of dirty cups and saucers.
3rd September, 1939
' Mother!
Mother! listen.
Will you stop ranting and listen.
Look!
Now look!
War's been declared and all you can think about, all you can talk about is what you're going to do if I don't stop seeing Carrie. '
' I don't care about war being declared or anything else. '
Ellen Jebeau's back was bent, her head thrust out.
At this moment she looked to Joe like a witch and her voice and words sounded as ominous as any that could have been uttered by an authentic witch, as she hissed at him, ' I am more concerned about what happens to you than what a lot of stupid men do in their aim to kill each other.
Don't you yet understand, boy, what you mean to me?
You are all I've got, all I've got left to build my life on; my life has been one long frustration, and to stand aside and see you throw yourself away on scum like... '
' Don't you dare call Carrie scum! '
' And don't you dare, boy, speak to me like that! '
She had advanced a step further towards him until now they were standing almost breast to breast.
' I am your mother.
I have worked for you in all ways practically from the moment you were born and I'd die rather than see you throw yourself away on the likes of her; for she is scum, and I repeat it, scum.
She hails from scum.
Just look at her mother and the rest of them. '
He was unable to speak but he glared back into her infuriated countenance, and when she said, ' And don't bring Mary and Mick up as examples of paragons, for Mary is really witless; she's a good servant and nothing more.
As for Mick aiming to rise above himself, he 'll never do it.
And he's crafty; you can see it in his face.
And I know he's behind your meetings with that girl.
Doubtless he wants to see her established in this house. '
It was now he who stepped back from her, almost pushing her aside with his forearm as he said, ' Don't be ridiculous.
Neither you nor I have any claim on this house, and you know it.
When I marry I can't live here.
As for you, Mother, when Martin marries it 'll be Uncle's case all over again; you 'll either have to step down and be housekeeper or go. '
His lips were still purse on the last words when they suddenly sprang wide as he saw her almost stagger back from him, her hand to her throat, the colour draining from her face.
This was the sort of reaction that usually followed a burst of temper bordering on rage.
As she groped towards a chair he made no move towards her but watched her sit down, then bow her head for a moment before slowly raising her eyes to his again when, in a voice that had lost none of its bitterness, she said ' Leave me; but I 'm warning you, I 'll see you dead first, before you take that girl. '
He was still visibly shaken when he entered his own room where, going to the window, he placed both hands on the sill and bowed his head.
She was mad.
She was mad, she was; she was mad.
' Joe! '
His head came up sharply.
' You there, Joe? '
That was Martin.
He went hastily towards the door; he didn't want Martin to come into the room because then he might break down and say things about his mother that were best left unsaid.
They met on the stairhead and Martin cried, ' You've heard the news then? '
' Yes, it's awful, isn't it? '
' Oh, I wouldn't say that, laddie. '
Martin put his arm around Joe's shoulders and together they went down the stairs.
' Come, let's have a drink before we're blown to smithereens; they 'll likely start at any time. '
' You think so? '
' Oh sure of it.
There 'll be bombs popping all over the place.
They're bound to make Tyneside an early target.
They're already organising air-raid precautions, and children are to be evacuated.
Soon everybody 'll be busy doing something, even right out here.
What are you going to have?
Whisky?
Sherry? '
' A sherry, please. '
He followed Martin to the drinks cabinet that stood in a corner of the hall.
' What's the matter with you? '
Martin asked.
' Not frightened of the war, are you? '
' No... no. '
' Then what's up?
Had words with Mama? '
There was a long pause before Joe answered, ' Yes, something like that. '
' Take it in your stride, laddie, take it in your stride.
Anyway, in a few months' time you might be called up. '
' Do you think so? '
' Sure of it; you 'll be eighteen at Christmas.
Harry knew what he was doing, didn't he?
He's a fully fledged pilot now.
Lucky dog. '
And as he handed Joe his drink he added, ' I 'm going in tomorrow. '
' What do you mean?
To join up? '
' Yes.
I've seen the partners; they agree it's the right thing to do. '
' I 'll miss you. '
Martin's voice was low, with a note of sadness in it now, as he said, ' We 'll miss each other, but still, that's life.
Here, drink to it. '
They clinked their glasses; then Martin, walking towards the long window, said, ' It's a good job I didn't become engaged; you shouldn't get married at a time like this. '
Joe's eyes widened as he asked, ' You... you were thinking about getting married? '
' Yes.
Yes. '
' Who to? '
The question sounded naive to his ears.
' Marion, Marion Crosbie; you know, the Hallidays' niece; you've met her. '
' Oh, yes, Miss Crosbie.
She's the dark-haired one. '
' Yes'  Martin now laughed  ' the raven-haired one.
Some girl...
Marion. '
Of a sudden Joe was thankful that a war had been declared: Martin would join up and, because of his principles, he wouldn't then marry Miss Crosbie.
That would be one less thing for him to worry about with regards to his mother, for she would still be mistress of the house, at least until the war was over, which might go on for a year, perhaps two.
For most people in England the war hadn't yet begun.
The general opinion was that it had fizzled out; like a spent squib, it hadn't even given one burst.
It was a fortnight now since it had started with such a hullabaloo, but there had been no raids, and no bombs had been dropped; the sirens went and people made for the shelters, but more and more half-heartedly, as days passed and nothing exciting happened.
The only thing that seemed to be stirring most people was their scorn of Chamberlain.
Of course there was the black-out, and that was enforced, and everybody had to carry gas masks.
There were no street lights any more and cars couldn't use their headlights, and it was being said that more people were being killed this way than if a real war had come upon them.
Joe should have gone back to school the previous week but it was being used as an evacuation centre.
The upper school were remaining but it would be at least another week before he'd have to return.
The war hadn't seemed to touch the house, that is until the morning a lady arrived in a car from Hexham.
She asked Ellen how many children she was prepared to take.
She got no further than the hall and Ellen's answer could have been heard in every corner of the house: ' None! '
' None? ' said the lady.
' None, ' repeated Ellen.
' You might be forced to, ' said the lady quietly.
' Then you 'll have to go over the heads of the military and Sir Martin, for he's thinking of using this house as a convalescent base for officers. '
' Oh, ' said the lady, slightly mollified.
' Oh, I 'm sorry. '
' Good morning. '
The lady went out and drove away and Joe, who had witnessed the meeting, went into the kitchen where Mary was saying to Helen, ' Eeh! the lies rolled off her like butter off a hot griddle. '
' There's no truth in it at all then, you don't think? ' said Helen.
' Not a word, ' said Mary.
Then turning to Joe she asked, ' You, Master Joe, you've heard nothing about officers coming here, have you? '
' No, Mary, ' he said.
' No '  Mary turned to her sister  ' no, it's as I said, the lies. '
Then realising to whom she was referring she stopped and, embarrassed now, she muttered, ' Well, it was a fib in a good cause; we don't want bairns scampering around this place, do we? '
' No, I suppose not, ' he answered.
' You suppose not?
Aye, Master Joe, you'd suppose not if you saw some of them from the towns.
Lousy they are, their hair nearly walks by itself.
I tell you I know.
You can't help getting a nit or a dickie at school, but some of those town bairns are lousy.
Oh, we don't want any like that here.
Your mother was quite right.
Do you want a scone? '
' Yes, please. '
She split open a newly baked scone and thickened it with butter and as she handed it to him she added, ' There's rationing comin', that's what they say, curtailing the food; well, it won't affect us, havin' cows and sheep an' chickens.
But those pigs are more bloomin' nuisance than the horses.
What do you say, Master Joe? '
' Yes, yes, I suppose so. '
He smiled at her, the while thinking, why was it he always sounded inane when talking to any of the Smiths, with the exception of Mick?
He didn't even show up brightly with Carrie.
' You suppose so?
Well, I should think so; you'd grumble if you didn't get your butter, wouldn't you? '
He smiled broadly and he turned from her, munching at the buttered scone, and as he walked out of the back door he heard the sound of a car coming on to the gravel in front of the house.
By the time he reached the end of the yard Martin was already out of the car and was running up the steps to the house.
Joe paused for a moment.
He knew that Martin had seen him and yet he had taken no notice of him.
Was something wrong?
Swallowing the last of the scone he ran over the drive and into the house to see Martin disappearing into the study.
He did not go towards the study door because his mother, coming down the stairs, called, ' Who was that...
Martin? '
' Yes. '
He nodded.
' He's gone into the study. '
She made for the study door and he wanted to say, ' I wouldn't if I were you; he's in a tear about something, ' but he knew that even if he did speak it wouldn't deter her.
He was a little way behind her when she knocked on the study door.
When there was no response she slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Looking to the side.
of her, he could see Martin standing with his arms folded and resting on the mantelshelf.
' May I come in? '
It was some seconds before Martin turned towards them and said, ' Yes, yes; come in. '
Joe followed his mother into the room, and they stood looking at Martin, who had his back to the empty grate now and was staring at them as if he wasn't seeing them.
Then his words came in a mutter so unlike his usual jaunty tones as he announced, ' They won't have me. '
Ellen stepped forward now, saying, ' You mean there's something wrong? '
' My eyes. '
He tapped his right eye with his fore finger.
' Colour blind or some such thing.
Damn rubbish.
Did you ever hear anything like it?
Colour blind.
And me who's been firing a gun from when I was practically able to walk.
Colour blind. '
Joe listened to his mother saying flatly, ' Colour wouldn't affect your aim. '
' No, I know.
I said that. '
He flung around from them and walked to the end of the room.
' What did they say?
Have they offered you any thing at all? '
' Oh, yes, yes'  he nodded his head at her over his shoulder  ' a desk job somewhere.
I've been at a desk for years; I want no more of it and I told them.
I told Ratler, you know, Colonel Ratler from over at Bellingham.
He suggested I stay and farm the land.
Farm the land, be damned!
Most of it hasn't been turned over for years.
And what do they expect to grow on these hills? '
' What was decided? '
Ellen's question was quiet.
' Nothing, nothing; they're to let me know, and they 'll likely do that on the day they say the war's ended. '
Of a sudden he sat down in a chair and Joe, looking at him, had a strange thought, for his mind was saying that if men could cry, Martin would be crying now.
He was about to take a step towards him when his mother said, ' Troubles never come singly.
I'd better tell you I've had a call from Harry.
He's going into hospital.
He says it's nothing, just a check-up. '
Martin was on his feet.
' What time was this? '
' Oh, about ten this morning.
he left a number where you can get him.
It's on the pad in the hall. '
As he passed her he stopped and said, ' He didn't give you any idea what was wrong? '
' No, nothing.
He sounded quite cheery.
Just a check-up, he said.
Perhaps... perhaps he's going abroad; they do have medicals before they're sent overseas, so I understand. '
' Yes, yes, that's right, yes. '
He was nodding at her, obviously relieved now, and turning to Joe, he thrust out his hand and rumpled his hair as he said, ' Such is fate.
As I was saying to you the other day, laddie, because I was aiming to be a fighting man I wouldn't get married.
But now there's nothing to stop me, is there, eh? '
He jerked his chin to the side; then seeming to stretch himself inches upwards, he thrust out his chin and marched from the room.
Joe turned and looked at his mother.
She had her eyes on the figure striding across the hall towards the telephone table, and the look on her face caused him to close his own eyes for a moment, for he knew how she had taken what Martin had said: although it had been voiced lightly it was meant to have serious intent, and in her own mind his marrying would mean once again that she would have notice to quit.
' Well, it's up to you, Aunt Ellen, whether you stay or go.
But one thing I won't tolerate is your continued manner towards Marion.
You have shown your dislike of her since she first entered the house. '
' She dislikes me. '
' Well, you've given her cause from the beginning, haven't you?
And get it into your head, Aunt Ellen, we're engaged to be married.
You know  ' He pulled in his chin as he looked at her before continuing, ' It's odd, but none of the other girls I've brought to the house over the years have seemed to arouse your animosity.
And why?
Because you thought I wasn't serious.
But now that I am, you see Marion as a threat to your position.
I know I 'm speaking plain, but this is a time for plain speaking.
Don't you think so? '
Ellen Jebeau brought her lips tightly together and drew them inwards between her teeth before she said, with deep bitterness, ' I don't know about it being a time for plain speaking, I can only say that time has shown your ingratitude for what I've done for you over the years. '
' Done for me! '
They had been seated each side of the blazing fire in the drawing-room, but now Martin had sprung to his feet, his voice raised as he repeated, ' Done for me!
Oh, come on, come on, Aunt Ellen, think.
Father took you and the youngster in twelve... no, thirteen years ago; he made it possible for you not
only to live comfortably but well, and to educate the laddie.
I took on where he left off... what have you done for me?
Now, now! let's put matters straight.
Besides being allowed to play mistress of this house for years, you've been given a good allowance.
And, if I remember rightly, Father was not only going to continue that allowance but had bought a house for you, hadn't he?
Well, I can't promise that if you leave I 'll be as generous as he was; I 'll continue your allowance certainly, but as for a house, no; for as you are well aware, because you know the books as well as I do, it takes us all our time, even with my salary, to continue living here as we have done of yore.
So don't speak to me of ingratitude.
And just in case I may say things I 'll be sorry for, I'd better not go on, except for one last word.
My wedding is set for April; whether I 'm called up or not, it's going through.
It could have been different if I had been accepted for the Forces, but this way I mean to make Marion my wife and I hope... well... well '  he jerked his head upwards  ' I may as well say it, that if I have a son, or for second best, a daughter, to carry on here.
It may seem that I've never taken my title seriously, but below the skin I have great respect for it, and for this house too and the men who have gone before me who made it.
So having said that, I advise you, Aunt Ellen, to see to your own plans. '
He moved a step or two from her.
Then, turning and looking into her tight, white countenance, he added and quietly, ' On second thoughts, I think it would be better if you decided definitely to make arrangements to live elsewhere.
In fact, as things stand I see it as the only course for you to take...
But, ' he added kindly, ' there is no immediate hurry until April. '
As he made for the door he heard the phone ringing in the hall and when he entered he saw Joe turn from the telephone table towards him, saying, ' It's for you, Martin.
It 's... it's from the hospital, I think. '
Martin strode quickly towards him, picked up the phone, said, ' Yes? ' then listened; and as he did so his head began to move in small jerks as he looked from side to side.
When at last he placed the phone down he turned and gazed at Joe, saying in a bewildered tone, ' It's Harry; they... they want me to go at once. '
Joe moved towards him, asking now, ' Is he bad? '
' Apparently so. '
Before he finished speaking he had sprung towards the stairs and up them, shouting now, ' It 'll be a longish drive; ask Mary to put something up for me; soup or something. '
' Yes, yes. '
Joe ran to the kitchen, and was still giving Mary the order when his mother appeared in the doorway, saying, ' What is it? '
He turned to her: ' A message from the hospital, Harry's ill.
They 've... they've asked Martin to go straightaway. '
He watched her walk away without speaking and enter the hall again; he had expected her to come to the table to supervise Mary packing up the food.
Mary had already pushed the soup pan onto the heart of the fire, and she said to him now, Get me the thermos, will you, Master Joe, and the picnic basket out of the bottom cupboard. '
Within a few minutes the basket was more than half full of food, and Mary was pouring the soup into the thermos.
She was screwing the top on when Martin entered the kitchen.
' Is he so bad, Mr Martin? ' she said.
' I don't really know, Mary, but it would appear so.
Oh '  he looked into the basket  ' I 'm not going for a week; I just wanted a sandwich or two.
But thanks. '
Joe picked up the picnic basket and the thermos flask from the table, and together he and Martin went out and across the dark courtyard towards the garage.
Martin took his seat in the car and was about to start her up when Joe leant towards him and asked, ' Would you like me to come with you, Martin? '
Martin looked at him for a moment and smiled softly at him as he said, ' I would, laddie, but you'd better not; I think your mother needs you tonight.
She's had a bit of a blow.
I 'm sorry I had to deliver it, but there it is. '
The message in the words sounded ominous to Joe's ears, and he straightened up and said, ' Tell Harry I 'll be thinking of him and I hope he 'll be home soon. '
' I 'll do that. '
The car gave a roar, then slowly moved out of the garage; the dim side-lights showed a pale flicker on the back of the house, then swung around for an instant on to the gardens.
The next second the light was gone and Martin with it, and Joe stood in the yard oblivious of the fact that he was without a coat and that the cold was seeping through his pullover, for his outer self was no colder than the feeling within him that had been evoked by Martin's last words concerning his mother.
He drew in a deep icy breath, then straightened his shoulders, a habit he was forcing upon himself a lot of late, then made his way towards the kitchen, to be greeted by Mary with, ' He's gone then? '
' Yes, Mary, he's gone. '
That was all he said, and he surprised her some.
what by walking quickly up the kitchen and into the hall.
He would generally stop and have a word or two or listen to her.
He was a good listener; he was about the only one in the house that was these days.
Everybody seemed to be in a rush.
It was the war, she supposed.
She got a bit lonely when she was on by herself at nights.
Things were changing in the house  you could feel it  and there was trouble brewing.
She had only to look at Mrs Jebeau's face to see it; in fact, she could smell trouble in that direction.
She was a funny woman, was Mrs Jebeau, nervy; what they called neurotic, she would think.
' Yes'  she nodded to herself  ' that was the word, neurotic, which accounted for her nerves and her funny temper too. '
Going through Joe's mind as he mounted the stairs were thoughts which were very similar, except that he expressed his in a slightly different way.
His mother, he knew, was in for another of her bouts, and he would have to bear the brunt of it.
He should be used to them by now because they had become a frequent occurrence during the past few months, particularly since Martin had been bringing Miss Crosbie to the house.
He had to think of her as Miss Crosbie so he wouldn't again make the mistake that had aroused his mother's anger when he had spoken of her as Marion.
As if he were a child of five she had reprimanded him, saying, ' Don't be so personal; she is Miss Crosbie.
And don't address her by any other name. '
It was almost a running dive he made across the gallery and to his bedroom, but he did it on tip-toe.
He had no doubt that his mother was in her bedroom and that if she heard him she would come into his room and it would start, he knew it would: the upbraiding of Martin, and he wouldn't be able to stand it without checking her.
It came to him that he could lock the door, there was a bolt on it, but this conjured up the vision of her battering on it, for she certainly wouldn't be deterred by the fact that she was raising the house; she would know that Mary was the only one in it at the moment.
In his room he pulled on a dressing-gown and sat down and waited.
He waited fifteen minutes, which seemed like hours, and still she didn't come.
And he knew she was next door because he had heard her moving about.
Half an hour later he took off the dressing-gown and decided to go downstairs.
He was puzzled: he could not understand this new tactic.
Why was she leaving him alone?
Martin returned the following evening.
Harry had died of pneumonia after an operation on his kidneys.
Joe, looking dumbly at him as he stood in the hall, saw a man whose youth seemed to have fled from him.
He was standing well apart from them as he gave Joe and his mother the details, and as the tears rolled down his cheeks Joe sensed a great loneliness in his cousin that seemed to link up with a similar feeling within himself, and he was drawn to Martin to put his arms about him, and when their faces touched both were wet.
' Where's your gas mask? '
' In its box. '
' You 'll say that once too often. '
Carrie slanted her eyes and nodded her head at Joe as she added, ' And you can get into trouble for not carrying it. '
' That 'll be light to the trouble I 'll be in soon. '
' What do you mean? '
' They say it could come any time  calling up. '
' Oh, that. '
They stopped and faced each other.
Then Carrie jumped aside as a passing bus threw up some slush from the gutter, and as she brushed her hands down over the bottom of her coat, she said, ' You'd think they did it on purpose, ' and as he went to assist her she stayed his hands, saying, ' It 'll only make it worse.
Anyway, what does it matter?
You were saying about being called up. '
They were walking on again.
' Yes, I was saying... '
' You want to go? '
' Yes and no.
It all depends where I land. '
He stopped again and, taking her firmly now by the arm, pulled her into a shop doorway and, looking into her eyes, he said, ' If it wasn't for leaving you I'd be glad to go, and... and I thought you'd be proud of me going. '
' Oh, Joe '  she turned her head slowly to the side  ' don't start on that again; you... you know nothing can come of it. '
' Why not? '
' Look, don't be silly. '
She pressed her lips tightly together for a moment.
' You're asking the road you know, it's been spelled out so many times: the rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate.
Only the poor man happens to be me. '
' That's daft, rubbish.
Look, there's a war on, every body's changing.
Everything will be changed after it.
And, anyway, what are you talking about, the rich man in his castle?
When Martin marries next month she 'll be out.
Mother, I mean.
She hasn't said anything, but she knows all right.
Even if Martin wanted her to stay, Marion can't stand her.
And I don't blame her, the way she's been received.
At the same time, though, I can see Mother's side of it, at least on this one point, for she hasn't considered herself as being just a housekeeper all these years, she's felt mistress of the place, and she's going to miss it. '
' Will you? '
The question was direct and he blinked for a moment before answering: ' Yes, ' he said, ' honestly yes, I will.
It's a lovely house, it's a lovely place.
And I 'll miss... well, I 'll miss Martin.
We 've... we've always been close, but more so since Harry went.
But in a way I 'll be glad when he's married; he 'll have someone really of his own then. '
' Will you really be glad when he marries? '
' Of course I shall.
What makes you ask? '
' Oh, just that... well, he could have children. '
' Well, I expect he will have. '
' And you don't mind? '
' No, I don't mind.
And I know what you're thinking. '
' Yes, of course you know what I 'm thinking, be cause you are next in line for the title and all it entails.
And what if Martin doesn't have any children; or, say, if he were to die in the war and you survived, what then...
Sir Joseph Bartholomew Jebeau? '
' Oh!
Carrie. '
Joe turned away from her, thrusting his hands deep into his overcoat pockets, and he sounded very like Martin himself as he growled out, ' Suppose, suppose, suppose.
There's as much chance of that happening as... '
When he hesitated Carrie ended, ' As your mother greeting me with open arms.
I know, I know.
And yet I 'm wrong, there's more chance of that happening than your mother ever looking upon me with favour.
Why, if she knew we were meeting, she'd go mad.
You know she would.
Every time you want to see me you have to make an excuse, haven't you, tell a fib of some sort?
There's times I don't see you for weeks on end. '
' That isn't my fault. '
He turned on her now, but was almost pushed aside as someone came out of the shop.
And so he took her arm and pulled her into the street again and, still holding her arm, he said, ' And what do you think I feel like when I don't see you and knowing you're away dancing with that John Bennett or that Sweetman fellow? '
' Well, what do you expect me to do?
Sit in the house and wait for you coming?
And look, don't drag me any further, Joe, please.
See where we are!
This is where I work, remember? '
They stopped just beyond the steps of the food office and, all the irritation seeming to flow from him, he looked at her meekly now as he said, ' I may not see you again for weeks.
I don't know what's going to happen, so, Carrie, I must say it  I've implied it in a thousand different ways for months now  I...
I love you, Carrie.
Looking back, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you.
Do... do you love me? '
Her head was bent and her words were hardly audible above the noise of the traffic as she said, ' What's the good in loving someone you... you can never have? '
' But we can, you can.
I don't care what my mother thinks, or anybody else, I 'd...
I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd have me.
Will you... will you, Carrie? '
Carrie lifted her head and looked at him, and what she saw was a young boy, the same young boy she had known when she lived in the cottage.
She didn't see the dark nineteen-year-old youth, for he didn't look nineteen: there was hardly any stubble on his chin, his face was pale, his mouth tender, his clear grey eyes filled with the hurt of love.
She saw the boy who wrote poetry, and she loved him, but as the boy, not as the youth or the budding man.
She thought of her brothers.
They had all appeared to be like men when they were sixteen, especially Mick.
Mick had always been like a man to her.
Oh Mick, Mick was something.
Oh yes, their Mick was something.
And he understood Joe.
He had explained his character to her by saying, ' He lives half in the air; it's only his toes that touch the ground. '
She remembered him laughing kindly as he said this, because he liked Joe, he liked Joe very much; but at the same time he felt guilty about him, because in a way he had made use of him as a sort of cover.
Her mind swung away from her brother and she told herself that she couldn't see herself spending her life with someone whose toes were just touching the ground; her nature demanded stability.
She knew she had been brought up these last few years with her Aunt Alice and Uncle Stan because of the instability at home.
Of course that had been mostly created by the lack of money, but the instability she saw in Joe wasn't that kind of lack, it was something she couldn't put her finger on.
But Mick's description of him sort of fitted.
Yes; nevertheless, he was nice.
She liked him, she liked him a lot.
Perhaps she loved him.
She didn't really know.
Could you love two people... two men like that?
There was no answer.
' Look, Joe, I've got to go. '
She put out her hand as if warding him off.
' I 'm late already. '
' You... you don't care for me?
You don't even like me? '
' Don't be silly. '
She took a step towards him.
' You know I like you.
But... but I 'm not ready yet for what you want. '
She knew she was lying, and she went on lying.
' I...
I don't want to be tied down to anyone, and... and things are so uncertain with the war and all that.
But... but I do like you, I like you a lot, Joe.
Get that into your head, I like you a lot. '
' But you don't love me? '
His voice was flat.
' Oh, why must you harp on about that!
Look, I've got to go.
Bye-bye. '
She backed two steps from him, then turned and ran towards the building.
He remained where he was.
The weight in his heart seemed to have tethered him to the pavement, and he had to force himself to turn away, and some seconds after she had disappeared through the doorway.
What would he do without her?
He wouldn't be able to love anybody else but her, ever.
When some part of his mind prompted the words that he had heard so often, boyish fancy, his inside actually jerked in protest.
It was no boyish fancy, the feelings he had for her; they seemed to have been born in him.
They had lain dormant for some years after she had left the cottage, but he knew now they had simply been growing in the warm darkness of his being where love bred...
He had to meet Martin at four o'clock and he had to kill time till then.
He did so by wandering the streets, and when for the second time he passed the food office where she worked, he knew what he was going to do.
He was going to face up to his mother when he got home and have it out.
If he could convince her that nothing she could say or do would make him change his mind about Carrie, the way would be open for him to prove to Carrie he had enough love for the two of them.
But there was so little time left now, for he could get his papers any day...
He had the urge to run.
He had been so quiet on the journey home that Martin said to him, ' What's up, laddie? ' and when Joe had replied, ' Everything, ' Martin had nodded his head, saying simply, ' Carrie? '
It had been almost a minute before Joe replied, ' Yes, Carrie. '
' Well, better finish it now, laddie, because no good will come of you marrying into that lot.
Oh, I know, I know. '
He had taken one hand from the wheel and held it up in protest.
' She's a nice girl, what I've seen of her, the best of the bunch, I should say, next to Mick and, of course, Dick.
Old Dick's all right, but if you marry her you 'll be marrying her family...
Does she feel the same way as you? '
When Joe gave no immediate answer Martin had sighed as he said, ' There are a lot of women in the world, laddie, thousands and thousands of ' em.
And the right one is among them, the right one for you, that is.
Some day you 'll come across her and you 'll know it, as soon as you look at her, you 'll know it.
As I know it.
Something goes bang inside your belly.
And as often as you tell yourself she's not your type, that you don't like blondes, your taste tends towards the browns, even redheads but not blondes, no; and what's more, her face is round, but you don't like round faces; and you've always gone in for a bit of shape and she's flat as a pancake.
You're not having any of that, you tell yourself, but you're hooked, laddie, you're hooked. '
He had glanced laughingly at Joe, and Joe had known he was describing his future wife, but his words had brought no consolation to him...
It seemed to Joe that his mother was waiting behind the hall door for him, because no sooner had he entered the house than there she was, staring at him over the distance.
' I want you upstairs a moment, ' she said.
Her voice was quiet, controlled.
He turned his head and glanced to where Martin was taking off his overcoat, and Martin raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and nodded his head, the action saying, ' You're in for it again, laddie. '
By the time he reached the gallery his mother was at the far end of the broad corridor, but she wasn't going into her room or into his room, she was making for the attic stairs, and now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows.
What on earth did she want him up there for?
But he knew why the moment he entered the old schoolroom, for after allowing him to pass her she closed the door and stood with her back to it, her pale face, now tinged to a deep red, thrust out towards him as she cried, ' Think you're smart, don't you?
Lying, sneaking, crawling individual that you've become, and all to see that little slut.
Well, it's finished.
Do you hear?
You attempt to go near her again and I 'll make it my business to go across there... '
' Shut up! '
She shut up and her mouth fell into a gape, the sweat appeared in globules on her upper lip, the colour deepened in her face and she seemed to have to force breath into her lungs as she listened to him now saying, ' You 'll not tell me any more what I've got to do and what I haven't got to do.
I've made up my own mind what I 'm going to do.
I 'm sick and tired of your domination.
Do you hear?
Do you hear me? '
He had actually taken a step towards her.
' If I want to see Carrie, I 'll see Carrie, in spite of you or anyone else.
Do you hear me? '
She blinked rapidly now; then, her face becoming suffused with an anger that seemed to send out rays of heat towards him, she cried, ' Yes, I hear you.
And now you hear me.
I 'm your mother and I forbid you to take that tone with me.
But the first thing I've got to say to you here and now is you're no more capable of keeping a wife than of keeping a  ' she seemed to search for the word, then brought out, ' rabbit.
You've been at school for years and what have you achieved?
Nothing.
The only thing you can do is scribble; and what is the result of your scribblings?
Mediocre stuff, stupid rhymes.
What's going to happen to you without me behind you?
Have you ever asked yourself that?
And here you are, eighteen and you don't even know what you are going to do.
Go to university...
Huh! and waste more years. '
She now drew her chin into her chest and in a voice almost as deep as a man's she said, ' And you dare to tell me to shut up, me! who's given her life to you.
From the moment you were born your future has been my one aim, and now to see your trailing after that little slut, you who are in line for a title... '
' What? '
The anger that the insults to his intelligence had aroused in him was put aside by the amazement that surrounded the question, and again he mouthed, ' What? ' then added, ' In line!
You really must be mad; I 'm...
I 'm as much in line for the title as the rabbit you inferred a moment ago I'd be unable to support.
Martin and Marion will have a family.
She wants a family; I've heard her say so, and she 'll have a family, and I hope it's a big one, ten, twelve...
In line, indeed! '
While they glared at each other he recalled that Carrie had said something similar earlier in the day.
' Don't be stupid. '
She was biting on her lip now as if regretting her words; then she added, ' It isn't every woman that can bear a child, and she doesn't look a child-bearer to me.
And I have a feeling- ' She now drew in a long breath before resuming ' And it's more than a feeling, it's a certainty that, although we're leaving here, being forced to leave here, we 'll return, for this is our home.
If... if everyone had their rights I should be legal mistress of this place now.
Whether you've known it or not, I was your uncle's mistress for years, and he would have married me.
Yes, yes, he would. '
She nodded her head before adding, ' But a man can't marry his brother's wife.
It was a dirty quirk of fate.
I...
I feel I've been robbed, all along the line I feel I've been robbed.
But it can't go on forever.
No, it won't go on forever and, I repeat, we 'll come back here one day.
I know inside. '
She thumped her chest.
When she stopped speaking his feeling of animosity towards her seeped from him, and the pity that he always felt for her again rose to the surface and for a moment he himself knew the extent of her frustration and the reason behind her furious tantrums when she had known his uncle was going to marry again.
He could see now that she was placed in an almost similar position, for with Martin marrying, she was once more being cast adrift.
He thought for a moment that if she would only accept his feelings for Carrie he would go to her this minute and put his arms about her and comfort her, but he knew she would never accept Carrie.
But then Carrie hadn't accepted him, had she?
So what was stopping him from going to her and telling her that she had no need to worry?
Whatever it was, it was like a wall between them and he was honest enough to admit to himself that most of the time he was building on it brick by brick in order to blot her out of his sight... forever.
He watched her now lean against the door, her body slumped, her eyes closed.
Of a sudden she looked old.
She was forty-six: her face was unlined, her hair still golden without grey in it, her body trim, very trim, yet he seemed to be looking at an old woman.
Pity for her again seeped through until, opening her eyes, she said, and in a quiet appealing voice now, ' Promise me, Joe, you won't see that girl again. '
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, ' I 'll do no such thing, ' but he found himself compromising by saying, ' I 'm going to join up. '
' You're going to what? '
' Join up. '
She moved her head slowly now and seemed to be making an effort to speak, and then she muttered, ' You 'll be getting your calling up papers eventually, in any case, so why...?
Please. '
She now straightened up and extended her hand towards him, and again she said, ' Please '  then added his name  ' Joe.
Don't... don't go until you must.
Don't leave me... until I get over this.
I mean the move.
You... you don't know what it's costing me. '
He turned from her now, shaking his head, saying, ' I 'm...
I 'm sorry but... but I must do it. '
He had his back to her and he stood waiting for another outburst, but when neither answer nor movement came to him he turned his head slowly and looked at her over his shoulder.
She was standing straight, looking in his direction but seemingly through him, and the strange look on her face brought him around fully, and he was about to speak, not with the intention of giving her the true version of why he wanted to volunteer, for it wasn't in him to hurt her to that extent, but she turned from him and, quietly opening the door, went out.
Her exit caused him more concern than if she had made it in the blaze of anger similar to that with which she had first confronted him.
He put a hand to his brow and now out of all she had said there came into his mind her words: ' You couldn't support a rabbit. '
And they stabbed at him and caused his whole body to tremble as if in shame because, in a way, he knew she was right: his inadequacy to face his future was there for even himself to see; he had considered volunteering in order to avoid the responsibility of making the choice either of going to University to read for a degree in English Literature or of just plumping for a teacher's training college course.
Why was life like this?
There was a high wind blowing.
The night had turned rough and the rattle from the windows had seemed to be emphasised by the silence during supper.
They had almost finished eating when Martin spoke.
As if following up a train of thought, he looked across at Joe, saying, ' I wonder if those thieving scoundrels will be on the prowl again tonight? ' and Joe answered, ' I shouldn't think they'd have the nerve to make a third trip, not in the same week, anyway. '
' Those beggars have got the nerve and cunning to tackle anything.
But there's one thing sure, next time they come on this land they 'll be met by a reception committee.
Oh, yes. '
' Who's on tonight? '
' Paxstone, and I've given him orders to shoot and be damned.
If those devils can wring the necks of chickens and slit the throats of sheep, then they shouldn't object to some shot, should they? '
He poked his head slightly towards Joe, and after a moment's hesitation Joe said, ' He would really shoot them? '
' Yes, yes, indeed; aim for the legs to bring them down.
Oh  ' He now thrust out his hand in a flapping movement, saying, ' Don't look like that, there's nobody going to be murdered. '
' What... what if those men have guns too? '
' Oh, I wouldn't think so.
But then you never know; they're probably ready to poach anything.
No, you never know. '
Ellen Jebeau rose from the table, and they made the gesture of rising too.
She was addressing Martin as she said, ' If there's nothing further you want of me, I think I 'll go to bed.
Mary will be here till eight. '
' Of course, of course. '
Martin had pulled himself up to his feet now and he held on to the back of the chair as he nodded at her, then watched her go towards the door.
Before she reached it, however, it was opened and Mary entered the room.
Mary looked first at Ellen and then towards Martin as she said, ' It 's... it's me dad, sir.
He's been to say that Bernard has put his wrist out, and it being Danny's day off he went for Bill, but Bill's gone over to see his mother in Consett, so he says, what about it, sir? '
' Oh.
Martin chewed on his lip for a moment.
' Tell him not to worry, I 'll go. '
As the door closed on both Ellen Jebeau and Mary, Martin turned to the table and as he sat down said, ' Damn nuisance.
And we really need two men out there, but I can't ask more of them than they're doing; they're making up for one short as it is.
And this snow lying doesn't help. '
' Let me come with you tonight, Martin. '
' Oh no.
Oh no. '
Martin turned to look at him, a twisted grin on his face.
' You want your mother after me? '
' She's not to know; she 'll be fast asleep before then. '
' What if there's a scrap and I do have to fire at them and they return it; for after all, as I've said, we don't really know whether they carry guns; all we know is they haven't used them yet. '
' Well '  Joe laughed now  ' it 'll give me a bit of practice before I 'm introduced to the real thing, and that shouldn't be long now. '
' Oh. '
Martin nodded at him now, his face serious.
' But that shouldn't be for a while, they're not calling the twenties up yet...
You want to go? '
' Oh, yes, yes; in fact  ' He dropped his head now and, picking up his pudding spoon, he traced it round his empty plate before he said, ' I 'm going to volunteer. '
' You are!
Well!
Why didn't you say so before?
Oh, you thought I might be upset.
That's you, Joe, that's you.
No, I 'm over that.
Does your mother know? '
' Yes.
Yes, I...
I told her tonight. '
' Oh my!
Oh my!
I don't need to ask how she took it. '
' No. '
' You're going to find it tough, Joe; I mean, Army life.
You decided on the Army?
No? '
' No, the Air Force.
I fancy flying, something to do with flying, anyway. '
' Oh, they 'll take you for that, all right; they're fishing for them like mackerel. '
There was a pause before he ended, ' Your mother's going to be lonely, you know that, don't you, Joe? '
' Yes, yes, I do. '
Tapping his cheese knife in rhythm on the edge of the table, Martin said, ' I don't know whether you've noticed, but there's never been much love lost between your mother and me.
She liked Harry.
Well, who didn't? who wouldn't? but she's never cottoned on to me, and so I don't know whether or not she's told you... oh, to put it plainly, I had to give her her marching orders. '
' Yes, yes, I thought you had to. '
' But she hasn't told you? '
' No; but... but I guessed something like that had happened from what you said a while back. '
' She's got a decent allowance and they're wanting women in all kinds of work now.
She... she needn't be on her own.
Well, not in that way.
But, nevertheless, I know she 'll miss this house.
Most of all she 'll miss you.
But there it is, that's life, and she should know, if anyone does, that there's no straight path in it.
Well '  he sighed  ' what's the time? '
He turned to look at the clock.
' Quarter past eight.
I think I 'll go and change my clothes and have a drink to fortify me, because it 'll be damned cold out there tonight...
Listen to that wind!
It's getting stronger. '
He rose to his feet now, smiling and, putting an arm around Joe's shoulder, he said, ' What are you going to do with yourself? '
' Oh, I don't know. '
' Well, it's too early to go to bed and the rooms are like ice.
The drawing-room's nice and warm; go in there. '
They went into the hall together; then Joe watched Martin take the stairs two at a time, and the maleness of him, his virility seemed to leave an aroma behind him.
He remained standing looking up the stairs.
He wished he could be like Martin, if only in some small way, because he had the feeling he lacked something.
' You couldn't support a rabbit. '
Was it because his mind tended towards thinking about things, musing over them instead of tackling them?
Or was there a deficiency in his make-up in the maleness of him?
No.
No.
His whole body jerked in denial as he made for the drawing-room.
He was male all right.
Inside he knew he was very male: he wanted Carrie and he knew how he wanted her.
There was nothing airy-fairy about the way he wanted Carrie: he wanted to touch Carrie, he wanted to see her...
He turned on himself, saying, ' Oh God!
Give over! '
There was no light in the drawing-room except that from the fire, which was burning brightly and leaving deep shadows in the corner of the room.
He sat on the chintz-covered couch to the side of the fireplace and, leaning his head back, looked about him.
From one dim object to another he let his eyes roam, and he saw them all clearly: the Louis Quinze couch between the long windows, the French glass-fronted cabinet in the corner opposite, the sixteenth-century iron-bound chest standing in the alcove, its lid flat against the wall, held there by a pyramid of logs.
It was a beautiful room.
It was home, the only home he could remember.
He was going to miss it.
Strangely, he knew at this moment that he'd miss this house as much as his mother would.
He also knew that never in his life would he be in a position to own one like it.
' You couldn't support a rabbit. '
' If the moon comes up I doubt we 'll see any visitors the night, sir, and it's trying its best over there. '
Martin looked up into the dark sky where now he could see a faint pattern of grey, scudding clouds, then whispered, ' I don't think it 'll last long with this wind, and there's more snow in the air.
By God! it's getting colder.
And I must say again, Dick, it's very good of you to join me.
To tell you the truth, I wasn't looking forward to it.
It's a lonely business at any time.
I was only saying to young Joe earlier, we really should have two on.
Apart from the company it's safer, because one really doesn't know how many of the beggars one has to contend with. '
' You're right there, sir.
I've said the same to meself, but the way we are fixed... well, we couldn't do much else. '
' You're right.
You're right, Dick. '
Martin now leant his gun gently against the thick bush of the hedge behind which they were crouched and, putting his hand into the deep pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a flask, unscrewed the silver top, poured out a measure and handed it to Dick Smith, saying, ' It 'll stop the shivers. '
' Oh, thank you, sir.
Thank you. '
Dick did not immediately hand the small cap back to Martin but, taking a clean handkerchief out of the top pocket of his short, thick coat, he wiped the rim of it, then handed it back, saying again, ' Thank you, sir. '
Nice chap, Dick; best of the bunch.
Strange he had to father two sluts of women.
But then he had married one, hadn't he?
Any good in that family came from his side.
It was a nice gesture to wipe the cup.
Yes, yes, indeed he was a good man, Dick.
' Ssh! what was that? '
They had both slowly turned their heads, which were now very close as they stared to where a grassy bank rose to a narrow stretch of woodland that bordered the house gardens.
It wasn't likely that anyone would come that way, for the hen crees were situated in the field just beyond the hedge, and the sheep were there too, having been brought down from the hills after ten of their already small stock had been taken.
' Likely a branch snapping in the wind, sir. '
' Yes, yes; it couldn't be an animal, it was too loud. '
' Couldn't be Master Joe out, sir? '
' No; he was playing the piano when I left. '
' Nice young fellow, Master Joe. '
' Yes, Dick; the makings of a good one there, though I don't know how he 'll come off in the Forces. '
' Oh, it's surprising how the Army toughens the lads, brings out the fibre in ' em.
And as our Mick has often said, there's more to Master Joe than meets the eye. '
' True.
True. '
As Martin whispered his reply he raised his head slightly above the hedge and peered into the field, where now he could distinctly make out the hen crees and the dark blobs of the sheep.
As a thought struck him he dropped on to his hunkers again and whispered quickly, ' They could come in by the far gate and force their way into the back of the crees: they're only planked. '
' I've thought of that, sir; we put wire trips up there ' safternoon.
If they fall over them it 'll ring the bell; you know, the old cow-bell that hangs in the shed. '
He paused.
' Well, we put it up ' safternoon, sir. '
' Good.
Good, Dick.
It's a splendid idea.
So the only way they can get at the crees is through the west field and along the path here. '
' Only way, sir.
Only way. '
' Well, if they come, we 'll get them.
And by the way, I don't know why we're sitting crouched down here because we could stand up by the spruce there: its shadow is darker than the sky, and we could be more ready for them.
No matter how many there are we 'll give them a chance to show themselves first, eh?
But if they start to run, we 'll fire; at the legs, of course.
Understood? '
' Oh yes, understood, sir. '
They had raised themselves but still remained crouched, and were moving slowly by the hedge towards the tree, when once again Martin's attention was brought round to the strip of woodland, not by a noise this time, but by a strange feeling of impending danger.
But it came too late for him to do anything about it, for when he straightened up and turned towards the bank the bullet hit him in the chest and his body seemed to disintegrate and fly in all directions, and he knew that death was on him and that it was something that divided you into a million parts and each fragment screamed as it flung itself into eternity.
But as he sank into Dick Smith's trembling arms he made no sound.
Even while Dick was lowering Martin to the ground, he had his head turned in the direction of the dark blur standing out against the night and it was only a matter of seconds before he raised himself and his gun towards it.
But his finger never pulled the trigger for he, too, felt an explosion in his chest and, as if going into a slow dive, he dropped to the earth, the gun still gripped in his hand, and as he died he heard a voice yelling, ' Christ!
Christ Almighty! '
It was half past ten when Joe placed the iron fire screen in front of the dying embers of the fire and left the drawing-room.
The hall light was still on but Martin would put that out later.
The house was very quiet.
He stopped for a moment and gazed about him.
It was strange, but he imagined that at such times as this, when there was only himself and his mother in the house, the building had left its base and was afloat in the air.
It was the remains of a childish fancy, created by a story he had read, but it returned to him most vividly at this moment.
He again sensed the wrench he was going to feel at leaving this house and never return to it as home...
Then, not of a sudden but slowly, there crept through his being the most odd feeling: his stomach began to tremble, as if his bowels had become loose in their casing.
No part of his mind said, ' It's silly to feel like this about leaving the house, ' because he knew that this feeling wasn't in any way connected with his leaving the house.
Suddenly he became vitally aware that there was someone in the hall with him.
He didn't swing round but, his thoughts seeming to direct him, he moved slowly, turning a full circle, and he gazed about him, his eyes stretched wide.
Had the house actually left the ground, he knew that he couldn't have felt more strange than he did at this moment, or more afraid: there was someone here.
Had the poachers been chased and found their way into the house?
No, no; it wasn't someone that was here, it was some thing.
He was feeling pain now and a great, great sadness.
He couldn't bear it.
Of a sudden he was running, flying up the stairs.
At the top he stopped, brought to a halt by the sight of his mother entering her room.
He had the impression that she was fully dressed but told himself that it must be a trick of the light.
He felt odd, queer, as if he'd had a bad dream.
He walked slowly now towards the room, but as he passed his mother's door he felt forced to stop and knock, not because he wanted to see her particularly, but because there was a great need in him for human company.
He wanted to speak to someone and hear their voice speaking to him.
There was no answer to his knock, so he knocked again; and then her voice came to him: ' Wait... wait a moment. '
It seemed as if it were coming from a long distance and he waited for a moment, and the moment went into a full minute, and then slowly he opened the door.
She was in bed lying on her back, and as he crossed the room towards her he noticed a number of strange things.
Her woollen hat was lying on a chair: she was a tidy woman, over-tidy; there was a place for everything and everything in its place, was her motto.
And her outdoor boots were sticking out from under the bed.
What drew his eyes down to them was the fact that it was a strange place for them to be.
And they were wet.
He moved slowly up by the side of the bed, and now he said, ' Are... are you all right? ' and he saw the bedclothes that she was holding under her chin rise and fall with the movement of her neck before she said, ' Yes.
I...
I was asleep. '
At this his lower jaw fell slightly and his head came forward and he said, ' You were what? '
She did not repeat her last statement but she said, ' Go... go away, please.
I...
I want to rest. '
Joe stood staring at her.
That strange feeling he had experienced in the hall: had it been repeated on the landing?
Was he having hallucinations?
No, no.
He shook his head at himself.
True, he'd had that weird feeling in the hall, but seeing her on the landing a moment ago had been no illusion.
His hand shot out now and made an effort to grab the bedclothes from her, but she clutched them tightly against her throat.
They stared at each other for a moment in tense silence; then gripping the aide of the bedclothes, he swung them upwards and exposed to his amazed gaze her grey outdoor coat.
It was crumpled and wet in parts.
Once more he was overcome with a strange feeling, but this he could recognise, for it was made up of unadulterated fear.
When she grabbed the clothes and put them around her, saying, ' I was cold; I...
I often sleep in my coat, ' he backed away from her, all the way towards the door; then on the landing, and for no reason that he could give to himself, he turned and ran not towards his bedroom but across the landing, over the gallery, down the stairs, through the hall to the front door.
There he stood leaning against it, his arms outspread, one cheek pressed on to the black wood, with his breath coming in gasps, as if he had just surfaced from drowning.
A minute later he had wrenched open the door and was standing on the terrace.
The night seemed light, the moon was scudding between white clouds, showing up the white world beyond the drive that had been cleared of snow.
He drew in deep, deep breaths of air; then, almost quietly now, he told himself he must find Martin.
He must talk to Martin...
Perhaps he was going mad.
Was he going mad?
No, no; he wasn't going mad.
It was no illusion: he had pulled the clothes off her, seen her lying in bed in her outer clothes, and those soiled.
What was she hiding?
Where had she been?
He must find Martin  he would be down near the chicken run  he must speak to someone, touch someone's hand, hear someone's voice.
He was running again, taking the short cut through the gardens and towards the woodlands, calling now, ' Martin!
Martin!
Martin! '
He found Martin, and Mr Smith.
Martin was lying on his back, his knees upwards.
The moon was shining full on his face  it seemed as if he were staring up at it.
He was obviously quite dead.
Mr Smith was lying on his side.
Joe slipped on the snowy slope as he neared him, and when his hand touched the man's chin above the collar of his rough jacket and felt the sticky wetness on his fingers, he sprang up as if he had been stung by a hornet.
' Oh God!
Oh God!
Oh God! ' he was yelling aloud now as he stumbled back towards Martin and then stood looking down at him.
He tried to move, but he couldn't until a voice shouted in his head, ' Get help.
Get help, ' and then he scrambled up the bank and raced like a wild thing, screaming now, ' Bernard!
Mr Swann!
Danny!
Help!
Help!
Mary!
Mary! '
He had gone through all the Smiths' names by the time he reached the yard, and it was there that Danny Waggett caught hold of him.
' They're shot! '
Joe screamed.
' They're shot!
Martin and Mr Smith, they're shot, they're shot.
Down in the spinney.
They're shot!
They're shot! '
At two o'clock in the morning the doctor gave him a sedative and he went into a deep sleep, but when he awoke he did not speak to anyone, and the police found great difficulty in questioning him too.
If the war wasn't actually forgotten, it was put aside for a few days in the district around Screehaugh.
Until the day of the funeral, men and the police searched the grounds and land around hoping to find the murder weapon.
Neither Sir Martin Jebeau's gun nor that of his stableman, Richard Smith, had been fired, and both guns were found not a yard from each other.
The churned-up snow around the spots where both men had died had not helped the investigations either.
The immediate suspects of the murder were a local man and his son; but both these men could not have had stronger alibis, for the father was in hospital after having an operation on his hip bone, while his son had three days previously been called into the Forces.
The second suspect was a resident of Consett, but on the night in question his wife had given birth to their first child, and the doctor and the midwife both vouched for the fact that the man had never left the house after he came in from work at half-past five until he went to work the next morning, an hour after he had heard his son first cry.
The police thought they were on to something when, following an anonymous' phone call, they went to a butcher's shop.
The voice on the telephone had informed the police the butcher was in the habit of buying stolen sheep and fowl.
The police spent two days trying to persuade the butcher to give them the name or names of his supplier.
When, worn down at last, he mentioned a man who lived as far away as Prudhoe, the polite picked up a young fellow known as Billy the Badger, which apparently had nothing to do with his poaching activities, but was given him because he always wore a white muffler, the ends tucked into his trouser tops, and on Sundays, when he wore his best, which was a black coat and trousers, his pointed face above this ensemble roughly depicted the night creature of the woods.
Billy the Badger had much more difficulty in proving his innocence, although he admitted to stealing chickens.
Yes, he said, he had raided at Screehaugh, but only for chickens.
He swore he had never touched their sheep, and he swore by many Northern oaths that he was in Newcastle up till eleven o'clock on the night of the murders.
It took some further persuasion to elicit exactly where he had spent the hours in Newcastle.
' Pubs, ' he had said briefly at first.
When he found this wasn't good enough for the police, the result of speaking the truth being the lesser of two evils, he gave the name of a woman he had visited.
What happened when he faced his wife and when the husband of the lady in question, who was in the Forces, heard of her escapade, didn't reach the papers.
There was a war on and such emotional family matters were really of no account.
The police went on searching.
They would find the culprits.
But they were hampered by the fact that the stealing of hill sheep at this time was becoming a common occurrence.
During the five days between that dreadful night and the day of the funeral, Joe and Ellen Jebeau never looked at each other, nor did a word pass between them.
There were no set meals; the whole Smith family was deeply affected and Mary and Helen did only what was absolutely necessary.
They cried a lot, and Jesie Smith, appearing in the kitchen more than she had done in recent months, not only cried but wailed, nearly always when Joe was within earshot, and the substance of her wailing was, ' Left without a breadwinner, ' which nearly always elicited, ' Oh!
Ma, be quiet, ' from Mary.
It was an understood thing that Mr Joe, Sir, as he was now  and that was hard to take in  was still in shock, for he walked about like someone in a dream and would stand staring in front of him for minutes on end.
Mrs Jebeau, too, appeared shocked.
As Mary re-iterated to the police, she'd had a job to wake her up out of a dead sleep that night, and when she did come to she just couldn't take in what had happened: she didn't seem able to speak for ages and she'd had to help her into her clothes.
But in private, Mary remarked to Mick that it was funny how that one always seemed to fall on her feet.
She had been ready for the road, then Mr Arthur died.
And there she had been again, almost packed to make way for Mr Martin's wife, when once again fate had taken a hand, and now she was set nicely.
And for good, it would seem, for she'd rule Mr Joe, title or no title.
And poor Miss Crosbie.
It seemed that she had been knocked silly too.
Mary described to Mick how the young girl had stood in the hall, her face cupped between her palms, and gazed about her, while the tears ran down her face and she kept muttering, ' Oh Martin!
Martin! '
Her mother and father had had to help her down the steps and into the car.
The house seemed fated somehow.
What did he think...?
Did he think Master Joe would go off his head?
One part of Joe was telling him he had already gone off his head, but another section kept repeating, ' It 'll soon be over and then you can tell her.
Once you've done that you 'll be free. '
He still had the numbed feeling on him, and that in itself was frightening, for as yet he could feel no sorrow for either Martin or Mr Smith.
He knew that at night, alone in his room, he should be crying, but no tears came; that in itself was strange, for he'd often cried about small things, such as seeing a fox with its leg in a trap, still alive, its eyes begging for release.
He had been too afraid and shocked to go near it, and on that particular night he had cried because of his cowardice.
Then he had cried one night following a market day in Hexham, for there he had seen two men fighting.
It was in a narrow side street and there were only a few people watching.
The younger man had hauled his older opponent from the ground and held him up against the wall with one hand while he pummelled his face with the other, and the blood covered his fist.
When the sight elicited from one of the bystanders, ' I know he deserves it, but enough is enough, and after all, he's his father, ' another had answered, ' Aye, you've said it: he's his father; but then, the lass was his wife. '
He puzzled over that, but he kept remembering the older man's face, and the sadness in it, and the awful fact that he hadn't retaliated in any way.
It was something about the old man's attitude that had made him cry.
But here he was in a deep tragedy: the man he had loved  yes, really loved, had been murdered, and he could shed no tears for him...
He was dry-eyed at the funeral, and there was a great crowd there.
They came to the house on horseback, by car, by bicycle, by farm-cart; but most of them followed the hearse on foot; close friends filled the four cabs.
He himself sat in the first cab opposite Martin's two partners, Mr Alex Beecham, the senior partner, and Mr James Holden, now the junior partner.
Martin's position in the firm had been between the two.
The Smith mourners were all on foot and there were no women present.
Dick Smith's hearse followed that in which Martin lay.
Joe had insisted on this arrangement despite Mr Beecham's opinion that it wasn't quite seemly.
The day was cold, with flurries of snow and people were muffled up to the eyes.
But Joe himself didn't feel the cold; when you were numb already, the temperature made little impression on you.
In the cemetery he became aware of Mick Smith walking by his side, but he did not acknowledge his presence in any way.
Later, when like a waking nightmare, the business was over and he was once again sitting in the cab, Mr Beecham leant towards him and said, ' If you will excuse us we will be returning straight to Newcastle, ' and paused before adding, ' Sir Joseph, ' which remark drew the young man's attention to him.
For the first time a sensation pierced the numbness and it caused Joe's body to jerk and send a message to his brain that created the desire to shout, ' Don't call me that, because I 'm not a sir.
I never was and never shall be; you've left the sir in the grave. '
' Are you all right? '
' Yes, yes. '
The words were clipped.
' You said you'd be leaving for Newcastle? '
' We'd like to make it before dark.
With no lighting, the roads can be rather treacherous, you understand, and the weather is seeming to worsen. '
' Yes. '
There was a long pause before Joe said, ' I want to see you about... about business. '
' Yes, yes, anytime. '
' Tomorrow? '
Mr Beecham's eyebrows moved up slightly, and he said, ' Yes, if you wish, tomorrow.
Say, eleven o'clock? '
' Very well. '
Joe's reply was curt and Mr Beecham looked at this young man who, when he had last seen him just a few months ago, had appeared to him to be a schoolboy, immature for his age: but sitting before him now was a young man with no sign of immaturity on his countenance, for he seemed to have aged overnight, as it were.
The eyes held a strange expression, and he guessed that even though their gaze was directed towards you their owner's mind was on something entirely different.
He had certainly taken the tragedy badly.
Doctor Nesbitt had suggested that the shock had perhaps temporarily deranged him, and up till this moment he had agreed with him, but suddenly now the young fellow seemed to know what he was about.
Strange how he had given that start when he had addressed him as Sir Joseph.
As yet he wasn't used to the title; indeed, he was perhaps the first to have addressed him as such.
Even so, it had taken some little effort on his part, for here was this relatively obscure relation who had fallen into an estate, which, although small, was of no mean value, and he had fallen into it by a series of dead men's shoes.
And that was putting it plainly.
As fate had a habit of doing, it had played what he termed a rather dirty trick for although Martin and his father before him had both found the running of the estate anything but easy as far as money was concerned, this young man would be better off than either of them, for Martin had only within the last year taken out two very large policies on his life, the second when he knew he was going to be married.
He wondered if the young man was aware of this.
Well, he would be tomorrow morning.
By right and custom, he himself and James here should be going back to the house for the reading of the will, but this very new Sir Joseph had made it evident yesterday that he wanted no reading done in the house and that he would let them know when he wanted the matter dealt with.
Well, he had now let them know, and tomorrow morning he'd be interested to see what his reactions were.
' So there it is. '
Mr Beecham placed the last sheet of stiff paper on top of a number of others and raised his gaze again to Joe, who was sitting opposite to him, and continued, ' There is no obstacle to your inheritance, as I can see.
The insurance company, in due course, will settle the policies.
These were a very fortunate investment. '
He coughed, then went on, ' They won't make you entirely independent, but they will ease any worry about the maintenance of the house and estate.
And as time goes by, your staff will likely decrease, for the age limits of call-up will rise.
You have two men there under forty, isn't that so? '
' Yes...
Yes. '
Joe straightened his back against the wooden chair, at the same time reaching out and placing one hand flat on the edge of the long polished table and, looking across at Mr Beecham and James Holden, who sat by his side, he said slowly but firmly, ' I have no intention of... of living in the house after today.
I've volunteered for the Air Force.
And should I survive the war, I won't live there even then.
But I wish to leave the control of the estate in your hands as sort of legal guardians.
You will pay whatever staff have to be kept on to keep the house and grounds in order and... '
' But... but  ' Mr Beecham leant forward over the desk now, his hand on the blotter in line with that of Joe 's, and he said two words: ' Your mother? '
Joe now withdrew his hand from the desk and, rising to his feet, he looked down on to the upturned faces of the two men and said, ' My mother may remain in the house as long as she wishes, but the running of it, the accounts and such, I wish to leave in your control.
Mary Smith will act as housekeeper and she will submit all bills to you. '
He now watched both men rise simultaneously to their feet, and it was James Holden who, turning to his partner, said almost in a whisper, ' Her... her allowance? '
On this Mr Beecham, nodding now, spoke in a small voice: ' We will continue her allowance? '
' No. '
' No? '
' I said no.
She can live in the house under those conditions or go.
It's up to her. '
There was silence between the three of them for a moment as they returned each other's stare; then Joe said, ' If you don't wish to act for me I can make other arrangements. '
Mr Beecham's voice was stiff now as he replied, ' We have always acted for the house and I shall be happy to continue doing so.
But, nevertheless, I must say that I find your orders rather disconcerting. '
Again there was silence between them, but as Mr Beecham stared at this young man, he remembered Martin hinting that his aunt kept the young boy on a tight rein; and he also went further back and recalled Arthur's confidence and how he had once described his sister-in-law as a frantic leech.
Perhaps the young man had something on his side after all.
But his measures were definitely drastic, smacking somewhat of retaliation.
' Good-day and thank you.
One thing more, when you write to me, would you be kind enough not to use the... the title.
In fact, I wish to disclaim it. '
The two older men made no reply to this, and neither of them moved towards the door to open it; nor did they say ' Good-day... '
Joe walked out of the offices into the thick driving snow.
The fact that he turned his collar up against the seeping cold indicated that his numbness had been penetrated, yet he was unaware of it.
He was well on his way to the station when he paused and looked up towards a building, and he saw in his mind's eye Carrie running up the steps, and he recalled her voice saying, ' Oh! why must you keep on about that. '
The word ' that ' to which she was referring was love.
How long ago was it?
Days or years?
Had he ever loved anybody?
Yes, he had loved Martin and Harry and his Uncle Arthur.
He seemed to love people more when they were dead.
But no, he had indeed loved them when they were alive.
But there was nobody left to love now, and that was a good thing.
Never, never again in his life would he say he loved anybody, for love was a destroyer, love was a madness that turned people into fiends and devils.
He was going back now to confront one, one who supposedly did what she did out of love, and strangely he was no longer afraid.
When your whole being was overflowing with loathing and hate there was no room for fear.
He said to Mary, ' Where is she? ' not, ' Where is my mother? '
' Up in her room, Mr Joe... '
Mary was finding it difficult to change her way of addressing this new master.
She had never yet addressed him as Sir Joseph, because somehow he didn't look like a sir; he didn't, in her eyes, fit the title; he was too young.
Yet she had to admit he had changed over the last few days.
By! he had that, and in more ways than one.
She didn't like to own up to the fact that she now stood a little in awe of him, and she had never felt like that with either Mr Martin or his father before him because, in their own ways, they had both been free and easy.
Leaving Mary staring after him, Joe ran up the stairs, crossed the gallery, and went straight to his mother's bedroom.
He didn't knock, but paused for a moment before opening the door.
She was sitting by the window at a little table she used as a writing desk, and she jerked round as he entered the room, but she didn't rise.
Neither did he move from where he was standing, just inside the door, for almost a minute; and when he did, he came quickly to the side of the table and stood within an arm's length of her.
Again they looked at each other in silence, and then he said very slowly, ' I've been to see Beecham and Holden.
I've made arrangements with them how the estate is to be run.
You, Mother, may stay or go, but you 'll have no control of any of the affairs, either outside or inside the house.
You can eat free and sleep free, but that's as far as your privileges will extend, ever.
Do you understand? '
He watched her mouth fall open, then he saw her upper lip twitch and her eyelids flutter; then she muttered, ' No! no! you can't do it. '
Her words were scarcely audible.
' I've done it...
Will you stay? '
He bent towards her now.
' You 'll have plenty of company: three dead men and a woman. '
They were staring into each other's eyes now, both mouths agape.
' You fixed the car, didn't you; Vanessa Southall's car?
You didn't expect Uncle to be in it...
And then Martin was going to marry, wasn't he? '
His voice was no more than a faint whisper now but it was as if his words were spraying vitriol on her face, because she tossed her head from side to side as if throwing off the spray.
' You couldn't bear the thought, could you, of that girl, that nice young girl, being mistress here? you told yourself it was for me, all for me. '
' It was, it was. '
Her lips mouthed the words but no real sound came from them.
' You thought he was on his own, didn't you?
You didn't count on Dick being so conscientious that he wouldn't let Martin watch alone. '
He put out his hand towards her now but didn't touch her, saying, ' Don't faint; it won't help you any because I 'll only revive you with a jug of cold water and make you listen to the finish.
' Where have you hidden the gun?
Where have you put it, eh?
I know every gun in that room.
I used to help Martin clean them.
But the police never thought to ask if there was one missing, because the lady of the house was fast asleep in bed, wasn't she?
And there was only the maidservant and me.
They could even have suspected me had they not found the two sets of footprints in the soft snow right up to the very hedge where Martin was hiding.
The poachers had already been and got away with their spoils; or when they heard the shots, they made off.
We 'll never know, will we?
But you know something, Mother? '
His face was hanging over hers now.
' I could commit murder at this very minute.
I have a great urge to throttle you, but that would prove I'd inherited your madness and I want no trait of you to show in me, ever.
Ever! '
He shouted the last word; then his voice dropping again, he said, ' The very smell of you nauseates me; you stink of death. '
Now he drew himself upwards and stepped back from her, and it seemed to give her space to breathe, for she drew air into her lungs and for the first time she spoke, almost whimpering now: ' I...
I didn't do it.
It 's... it's you who are mad.
And... and you can't leave me like this, with nothing...
My allowance. '
' You have no allowance.
I've told you the terms: you are bed and board, as the saying goes, nothing more.
And let me tell you this: should you in any way try to get in touch with me, even go to the partners and ask for my whereabouts, I swear before God  ' He now raised his hand in a dramatic fashion and paused before he added, ' See, I 'm taking an oath.
I swear before God that I 'll expose you for what you are: a four times murderess. '
He took another step backwards and stared at her for a long moment before saying, ' This is the last time I 'll ever look on you willingly. '
' Joe!
Joe! '
Her voice was cracked, coming like a broken note from a rusty instrument; and again she appealed to him as she watched him move towards the bedroom door.
' Come... come back a minute.
Oh Joe.
Joe. '
He stopped with the door handle in his hand and quietly said, ' Yes, I 'll come back some day when you are gone and I 'll find where you've hidden the gun, for you wouldn't have dared take it outside this room, would you?
And this  ' he moved his arm slowly to the side as he was about to add, ' This is going to be your grave, ' but he stopped, for two reasons; the words sounded melodramatic, like those that might be used in an amateur play, and this was no amateur play; the second reason was that he felt sick.
He Was stumbling as he walked across the landing.
There was no sound from behind now, and he leant against the bannisters for a moment, his upper body swaying over them, and his stomach began to heave.
She was insane.
His mother was insane, yet she looked so normal, frail and normal.
But she really was insane, mad.
And he was her son, he was the son of a mad woman.
What was in her was in him.
No!
No!
He was running down the stairs.
Without stopping in the hall to put on an outer coat, he wrenched open the front door, ran over the terrace and down the steps.
It was as he dashed along the drive that Mick Smith saw him.
Mick was walking slowly, a haversack and gas mask hanging from his shoulder.
He was on his way back to Newcastle, but when he saw Joe racing across the field that bordered part of the drive, he paused a moment before deciding to follow him.
He didn't run but hurried in the same direction, and he kept him in view until Joe disappeared into the belt of woodland.
When he himself entered it he couldn't see him ahead or on either side, although in most places the bracken and undergrowth was flat.
It was as he was about to emerge from the far end of the wood that the figure on the ground brought him to a standstill.
Putting down his gas mask and haversack at the side of a tree, he walked slowly forward; then dropping on to one knee, he placed his hand on Joe's shoulder, and the contact brought the younger man round with a start.
' What is it, lad? '
' Oh, Mick!
Mick! '
It was an agonised cry.
And then he was lying face downwards again, his knuckles pressed into his mouth, trying to smother the fearful sounds that were erupting from his being.
When the tears sprang from his eyes and nose and his body shook as with an ague, Mick put his arms about him and, pulling him round, cradled him as he would a child, saying, ' There!
There!
Let it up, an' out.
It's over.
It's over.
It's over.
What's done's done; nobody can bring them back. '
How long he lay against Mick he didn't know; he only knew that between the sounds he had been emitting and the wash of tears that seemed to have drained him dry, a voice within him had kept repeating: ' She killed your father, Mick; she killed your father.
My mother killed your father. '
' I 'm sorry, ' was what he said, however, apologising for his tears.
' Nothing to be sorry for; it's the best thing that could have happened.
You'd likely have been sorry if you hadn't, 'cos you've been on the verge of snapping.
I've seen that.
I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't get through to you somehow...
Anyway, what are you going to do now?
Have you thought? '
Joe had hitched himself into a sitting position against the bole of a tree, and as he wiped his face he answered, ' I 'm...
I 'm leaving today; I've joined up. '
' Oh. '
Mick shook his head.
' Oh, well.
What you in? '
Joe looked at the blue overcoat Mick was wearing and said, ' Same as you, the RAF. '
' Flying? '
' Signals  wireless-mechanic. '
' It's a tough life, mind. '
' I 'll survive. '
' Yes, of course you will. '
Mick nodded his head reassuringly.
Then glancing at his watch, he said, ' Come on, get up out of that; I've got to be away, my train goes at four o'clock. '
Joe got to his feet and he stood with his head bent as Mick retrieved his things; then slowly he joined him, and together they walked back through the wood, silent now, until they reached the drive There, holding out his hand, Mick said, ' You 'll be all right now.
And after all, perhaps joining up was the best thing you could do; you 'll be among people.
And who knows, but we might bump into each other... eh?
Good... goodbye, Joe. '
' Goodbye, Mick.
And thanks.
Not only for now, but for everything; all the help you've always been to me. '
Mick stared at him for a moment, then again he said, ' Goodbye. '
And Joe answered ' Goodbye ', and they parted.
As Joe walked away he felt that he had said goodbye to the last phase of his youth, and that his storm of weeping had swept him into manhood and away from all connection with the woman back in that room.
Yet he felt like someone entering a foreign country without knowing anything about the language.
Maggie
She was standing in the wings, leaning against a post that supported a wooden framework, which in turn held up a number of backcloths.
She was just five feet tall, and fat.
The Marie Lloyd costume she was wearing: buttoned boots, feather boa, black-straw, flower-trimmed hat, gave her the appearance of a child dressed up as an adult.
She had full view of the stage and of the three female impersonators, kicking up their legs in a dance, the rhythm of which had gone a little awry.
She turned her head slightly as a voice behind her said, ' If those idiots don't come off soon they 'll get booed.
Five hundred rookies to choose from and that's the best they can turn out.
Thank God for ENSA.
What do you say, Lemon? '
Maggie LeMan lifted her shoulders slightly and smiled as she said, ' They're enjoying it, anyway. '
' They're not out there to enjoy themselves; bloody fools. '
The man now bent his long length down towards her and said quietly, ' You tired, Lemon? '
As she turned her face towards him there was a twinkle in her round brown eyes and a touch of sarcasm in her tone as she answered, ' No, sergeant, no; I've only been up since half-past six.
I think I've sat down twice since then, because one has to eat...
And what is it now? '
She turned round and looked at the brass-dialled clock sitting starkly on a red brick wall to the side of them and added, ' Only half-past eight. '
For answer he pushed her in the shoulder, and when she almost tipped over the bird cage at her feet his other hand came out and, steadying her, he laughed down into her face as he said, ' Sarky little bitch, aren't you?
If your figure could match the length of your tongue you'd be over in Hollywood.
Oh  ' The smile slipped from his face as he said, ' I meant well.
What I mean to say is...
Oh '  he jerked his big head to the side  ' I never open me mouth but I say something. '
She flapped her hand at him.
' Don't let that worry you, Sergeant.
If I got on me high horse every time somebody hinted that I wasn't like Betty Grable, I would have ridden to hell long before this. '
The sergeant was silent for a moment; then unconsciously taking his tactlessness a step further, he said, ' I always say it's a bloody shame, you with a voice like you've got.
You should be in front of one of the big bands.
When you hear some of those squawkers and what they get. '
He bent towards her again, saying now, ' Have you ever thought of applying to join a NAAFI concert party?
They're sending them overseas I hear, like ENSA...
Oh, but '  he pulled a face  ' God's truth, I wouldn't suggest you join ENSA, not after some of the stuff we've seen here. '
Maggie LeMan kept her eyes riveted on the occupants of the stage for a moment, where they were bowing and making the best of the half-hearted appreciation now being shown by clapping punctuated with cat-calls; then, slowly leaning to the side, she picked up the bird cage as she said, ' What do I want with a concert party?
I wouldn't leave Madley if they offered me my own travelling dressing-room.
Why, who in his right senses would leave here, sergeant?
It's home from home. '
He pushed her again and smothered a deep laugh as he said, ' I don't think they'd let you go anyway, Lemon.
Oh, my God! look at those silly buggers, they're going back to take an encore.
Why doesn't someone throw a hand grenade? '
As the three impersonators left the stage they, too, were laughing, and it was evident, as Maggie had observed, that they had enjoyed themselves.
Their painted lips were wide, and they continued to push up their false busts as they went past.
The sergeant muttered a deep oath, and Maggie remarked, ' If you don't think well of yourself, nobody else will...
Are you going to announce me, sergeant, or am I going straight on? '
' OK, Lemon.
Those silly buggers have got me goat. '
The sergeant marched to the middle of the stage and when, using what he called his stage expertise, she heard him say, ' Now I give you three guesses who comes next, ' there followed ribald suggestions from different parts of the hall.
As the hubbub subsided he cried, ' Miss Maggie LeMan, our own Lemon! '
She watched him walk sideways towards the other end of the stage, his arm outstretched in her direction.
The piano struck up My Old Man Said Follow The Van.
She stood poised for a moment, stretched her mouth wide, licked her lips, moved her shoulders from side to side, then let her body sway, waited for the chorus to finish and the verse to start and she went on.
As she assumed her drunken pose and shambled towards the centre of the stage, she was deafened for a moment by the clapping and the shouting; and different names came to her ears, all meant for her: ' Good old Lemon!
Good old Suck-it-and-see.
Maggie McGee! '
She waited.
The pianist softened his key.
It seemed that he had stopped playing.
She looked over the packed hall, from the front seat where sat Group Captain Peasmarsh and his Wing-Commanders, through the different grades, all merged into a dusty blue mass dotted with white blobs.
She kept up her swaying motion, her mouth in a silly grin, until there was silence; and then she began to sing.
Her voice, clear and pure, soared up to the roof of the theatre, and when it picked up the words of the chorus of ' My old man said follow the van... ', no one in that vast hall joined in, they just listened.
And not a few thought it was a kind of desecration to use a voice like that in uttering such common words:
My old man said ' follow the van,
Don't dilly dally on the way. '
Off went the van with my home packed in
it,
I walked behind with my old cock linnet,
But I dillied and dallied, dallied and dillied,
Lost the van and don't know where to roam.
You can't trust the specials like the old-time
coppers,
When you can't find your way home.
When she had finished, the applause was deafening; as she made her exit there were cries of ' More!
More! '
The sergeant and a young NAAFI girl were standing waiting for her.
They ripped off her hat, her feather boa, her coat; then she was unbuttoning her shoes and stepping into slippers.
As she smoothed down her straight black hair over her ears the girl pulled her skirt straight and tucked her blouse into the back, and she said to her, ' Thanks, Peggy. '
Then turning her head, she glanced up at the sergeant, and with definite bitterness in her voice, said, ' I 'll never do that again.
I hate that song, and the rig-out. '
' I don't blame you. '
The girl Peggy nodded at her.
' Not struck on it meself.
It isn't for you; it's a common kind of thing, cheap.
Go on.
Go on.
Listen to them. '
When she reappeared on the stage it was to look over a sea of smiling faces and to listen to the chant now of ' Macushla!
Macushla! '
The pianist struck and held a long opening chord, the hubbub died away.
And now, her face straight, her lips seeming to quiver, she went into the song; and so beautiful was her rendering of it, so touching the cadences, so tender with longing the words, that she seemed transformed before their eyes: she was no longer Lemon, good for a joke or a bit of ribbing, for her voice cut through the fa?ade of brashness, of insensitivity and coarseness that seems to become necessary to men in war.
' Macushla!
Macushla! your sweet voice is calling,
Calling me softly again and again.
Macushla!
Macushla!
I hear its dear pleading,
My blue-eyed Macushla, I hear it in vain.
Macushla!
Macushla! your white arms are
reaching,
I feel them enfolding caressing me still.
Fling them out from the darkness, my lost
love, Macushla,
Let them find me and bind me again if they
will.
Macushla!
Macushla! your red lips are saying
That death is a dream, and love is for aye.
Then awaken, Macushla, awake from your
dreaming,
My blue-eyed Macushla, awaken to stay. '
As always when she sang this song her eyes were moist, and when she had finished the applause did not come immediately, but there was that magic moment of silence that sometimes links a performer and an audience.
When the applause did come it was deafening, and she stood there unsmiling, though with her head bobbing up and down in acceptance of the appreciation.
As she left the stage there were again cries of ' More!
Lemon.
More! ' and in the wings the sergeant said, ' Do you feel like it, Maggie? ' and she shook her head, saying, ' I couldn't, not tonight, Sergeant. '
' Good enough.
Good enough.
They've had more than their share.
By! '  he patted her on the shoulder  ' that was something.
It always is something.
By! '
He nodded at her now, and again said, ' By! ' before turning and running on to the stage.
' Coming for a drink? '
' Thanks, Peggy, but I 'm all in; I think I 'll go to bed.
Anyway, I've seen enough of that lot for one day. '
' Aw, come on.
There's a new batch in, about fifty, they say, to fill up the last posting.
I want to see if my dream man is among them. '
Maggie started to laugh, saying,; ' If you couldn't find him among the five hundred there's less chance you 'll find him among the fifty. '
' There's always hope in here. '
Peggy Ryan dug her thumb in between her small breasts, then added, ' Betty and Rona have just gone over.
Of course our Rona  ' Peggy pulled a long face and assumed a refined tone as she went on, ' She 'll be sweeping the counter with those eyelashes of hers in that demure virgin-like way, and the poor bods'll rush like lambs to the slaughter.
And there she 'll sort them out.
But she 'll want their pedigree before they get their hands on her knee.
Did you ever know anyone like her?
She's got ideas about herself, has our Rona, and her a mother's help, as she calls it, before the war hit her. '
' Well, she can afford to pick and choose, looking as she does. '
' But she's brainless. '
' She's got brains enough to know what she wants. '
' Well, come and see what she picks up tonight across the great divide...
That makes me a bit peeved, you know: we can serve them, but not mingle with them on the other side.
And by the way, we 'll have to run for it; it's coming down whole water. '
Their running was impeded by the mass of men coming out of the main doors and scattering in all directions, and heads down, they made their way between them to the back of the Naafi and into the rest room, which was empty; and they were just in the process of taking off their wet top coats when the supervisor came in, saying, ' Oh, I 'm in luck; I was about to send to the hut for help.
Betty has scalded her foot and there's the last-minute rush on.
Will you give a hand? '
They both glanced at each other before saying, ' Yes' together, and when the supervisor said, ' Oh, one will do, ' Maggie on a tired laugh said, ' It's all or nothing. '
Within minutes they had gone into the kitchen, donned overalls and caps and joined the tall girl at the counter who was coping with an admiring queue.
After Peggy had been serving a while she muttered, ' Spotted a likely in the new wave, duchess? ' and the blue-eyed blonde with the full-lipped mouth shook her head as she said, ' They all look married to me. '
' How can you tell? '
Peggy Ryan asked between saying to an aircraftman, ' That's two teas, two wads and a Rizla.
Tuppence... fourpence... tenpence altogether.
Ta.
Thanks. '
And quite seriously, Miss Rona Stevens answered sotto voce in between her serving, ' Oh, it's in their eyes: kind of a troubled, searching look, like... well, like something that's escaped from a cage. '
There was a concerted splutter from Maggie and Peggy in which Rona didn't join; instead, her expression quite humourless, she murmured, ' Well, you arsked, ' and Peggy, mimicking her companion's refeened accent, said, ' Yes, I arsked and you h'answered, h'as you always do. '
Maggie was looking at the corporal standing at the other side of the counter as she said, ' Sorry, no sandwiches left; only wads, I 'm afraid. '
' Good enough, ' he answered.
' Oh, by the way that was a good show you put on tonight, Lemon.
You get better. '
Maggie smiled at him and nodded her thanks, until a jocular voice from the queue called, ' Squeezed some high notes out tonight, Lemon.
Juicy.
Juicy.
Only Lemon left in the country. '
When another voice said flatly, ' Ha-ha-ha!
That quip could get you recommended to the witless corps, brother, ' the speaker put in, ' Oh, I was only pulling her leg.
Lemon knows that.
Don't you, Lemon? '
Maggie looked blankly at the face grinning at her from the queue, and as she pushed a cup of tea across the counter she said, ' You were saying? '
' I said I was only pulling your leg. '
' Corporal '  her voice was clear and could have been that of a schoolteacher reprimanding  ' I haven't much opinion of my legs, but I can assure you you are not the type of man I would allow within parade ground distance of them, let alone pull them. '
A roar went up from those near by and the corporal to whom Maggie had just handed the tea, muttered, ' Good for you.
He never learns, does he? '
Maggie did not answer, but she thought: no, they never learn.
If they were of a kindly nature they stayed that way, if they were narrow, tactless, or big-headed they stayed that way.
People didn't change much.
And most of them were blind, even the decent ones, for they never seemed to see below the skin.
For a moment, even while she continued to dispense tea and wads, she fell into the void of loneliness that seemed forever gaping at her feet and from whose edge, time and again, she had to forcibly drag herself back if she wanted to survive.
It was ironical that the man she had just rebuked should be the only one who had shown interest in her as a woman during the fifteen months she had been on the station.
She had lost count of the number of times she had slapped his hands from her body whenever he waylaid her outside.
He would start with her shoulders and move down to her hips, and no amount of disdain seemed to get through to him.
It was unfortunate also that he wasn't much taller than herself.
His body was thick-set, but his head was narrow and set close to his shoulders.
Yet he wasn't a bad-looking man.
Had his character been different she would have welcomed his attention.
Yet if his character had been different he would have attracted an ordinary-looking girl.
Almost constantly she longed to be like ordinary-looking girls and have a fellow, even if, like most attachments on the station, it was only a temporary affair.
But she knew she would have to be a great deal more in need of male company to tolerate anyone like Corporal Billings.
' You're hard on him. '
She cast a withering glance at Peggy now, then whispered back, ' Poor soul.
Then go and comfort him; he's all yours. '
As she was about to hand a cup to another air man, Peggy happened to jostle her arm and the tea sprayed on to the counter, splashing the man on the other side.
And as he pulled his waist inwards she exclaimed, ' Oh, I 'm sorry.
I 'll get you another. '
' It's all right. '
' No, give it here. '
She pulled the half-empty cup towards her, and after quickly filling another she passed it to him, smiling at him, saying again, ' Sorry. '
But he gave no answering smile.
This caused her to look closely at him.
He was tall, near six-foot, and he had dark hair, black, and deep grey eyes.
He was young, yet his face somehow gave off the impression of age.
It wasn't that it was lined or rugged, it was the set of his jaw and the expression in his eyes.
Her glance rested on him only for a matter of seconds, yet his face could not have registered more in her mind had she been staring at him for an hour.
He made no further remark but followed his companion towards a table, and she followed him now with her eyes.
' Clumsy clot!
He must be one of the new batch; I haven't seen his dial before. '
' It wasn't his fault: it was yours, you nudged me. '
' Me! '
' Yes, you. '
' Well, if you say so, ma'am. '
They both laughed quietly at this.
The rush over, Maggie drew in a long breath, and turning to the supervisor who was hovering in the background, she asked, ' All right if we go? '
' Yes.
And thanks, Maggie; and you too, Peggy. '
Before leaving the counter Maggie glanced to where the tall one was sitting.
He had spoken only three words but they had sounded different... nice.
She was sensitive to voices.
When she went into the rest room she sat down for a minute while waiting for Peggy to come out of the lavatory.
Resting her elbow on the table, she let her head fall on to her hand, and again she thought of voices.
A voice was all she herself had, and she had inherited it from her mother.
That was about all she had inherited.
Her mother had had a beautiful voice both when she sang and when she talked.
She could recall sitting listening to her.
She always pronounced the ends of her words, particularly those ending in ' g '.
Even when she was being reprimanded she had still loved to listen to her mother's voice.
Voices were more expressive than eyes.
Eyes could lie, but voices couldn't, not really...
She could still hear her mother's voice saying, ' Don't sit looking at me like that, child; say something. '
' What shall I say, Mother? '
' Anything, anything that will give the impression that you can think.
Do you understand me, child?
You will have to think: the only thing that will get you by in life is your mind because you are not presentable in any other way.
You understand that, don't you? '
' Yes, Mother. '
' So you must use your brains, because you're not stupid, you know, you're calculating, too calculating.
I have found that out.
That's why your father gets annoyed with you.
You understand that? '
' Yes, Mother. '
' You are nine years old and you are going to be sent away to a good school, and you must take advantage of all they teach you.
You understand? '
' Yes, Mother. '
' I have had to persuade your father to fall in with my wishes on this matter.
It wasn't easy, and it is going to cost a great deal of money, and business is not at all bright at the moment.
People are not wanting good furniture.
The big houses are selling up; they are in as much dire distress financially as the working classes.
There is little call for antique furniture.
So you can understand what a sacrifice it is your father is making in sending you to this school.
I have also indicated to the headmistress that you take singing lessons.
You have a voice, though what use it will be to you I don't know.
Oh... oh, go to your room, child... '
She never got to the expensive school.
Her mother was killed in a train accident and her father, without looking at her, for he very rarely looked at her, told her that she would continue at the local school.
This she did until she was fourteen.
It was in that year her father married again.
Perhaps he couldn't stand the thought of her being in the house all day, even though they rarely met; and never, never since her mother died had they eaten together.
The new stepmother did not take to her, and yet she could have for she, too, was plain and had little to recommend her except that she had a business head and she knew about antiques and was very good at sales.
Maggie had made herself useful to her stepmother by running the house, and yet continued to make herself scarce.
In a way, the pattern of her life was much the same as during the years following her mother's death: she ate alone and as soon as she heard her father's key in the door she went upstairs to her room.
She was seventeen when her life changed.
She met her aunt for the first time and was invited to spend a holiday with her.
She knew that her father had two sisters, although he never kept in touch with them.
They were common people.
So much her mother had told her about them.
She had recognised that her father, too, was common, but that he was a good imitator: from the time he had taken up with her mother, who was from the middle class, he had aimed to act accordingly.
But as common as his sisters were, the one who had died had become quite wealthy through a progressive small business.
She left no will and was unmarried, so because her nearest relatives were her brother and sister, they shared her estate.
Her Aunt Elizabeth lived in a small house in the depths of the country near Hereford, and as she her self had never in her life been outside of Birmingham, the journey was like visiting a foreign country.
She was to stay a fortnight.
At the end of the fortnight she wrote to her father, saying she wasn't coming back.
She received no reply; nor had she heard a word during the five years that had passed since, and she didn't know to this day if he was alive or dead, and she didn't care.
She had never known what love and tenderness were until she met her Aunty Lizzie, and she knew that no one in the world would ever love her like that woman did; nor would she love anyone else.
In any case she would never get the opportunity.
It wasn't only because she was fat, and it wasn't only because she had no height, and it wasn't only because she was plain, it was because she was a combination of all three.
' What's the matter; you falling asleep, Maggie?
You all right, you're sweatin'? '
She took a handkerchief and rubbed it across her brow and her eyes.
' You cryin? '
Peggy's voice was a whisper.
' What's the matter? '
' Crying?
No! '
The tone was scornful.
' Me crying!
Look, let's get out. '
They had just turned the corner of the NAAFI building on their way to the public road that ran through the camp when they bumped into two airmen.
There followed the flashing of their torchlights and muttered excuses and a voice saying with exaggerated courtesy, ' Sorry, ladies.
So sorry. '
The dimmed light from Maggie's torch swept over the face of the sombre airman.
He hadn't spoken, just stepped aside.
Then he and his companion walked away in one direction and she and Peggy took the opposite through the camp.
' What d' you think it's going to be like, Joe? '
' It's hard to tell; we're not trainees any more. '
' Aye.
We are now fully fledged instructors.
Doesn't seem real, does it?
AC1, Leonard Forbister, Wireless Mechanic Acting Corporal Instructor.
I never thought to see the day, and all because I said I fiddled with wireless.
Air-Gunner, that's how I saw myself: pop, pop... pop, pop, pop.
And then having medals pinned on me.
I still get jelly in the belly, Joe, when I stand up and face those bods. '
' Well, you certainly have no need.
You put over your stuff better than most. '
' Well, it's only because you gave me a leg-up at the beginning, explaining the theory and such. '
' That was the blind leading the blind, Len.
I don't know how I got through myself, because I was no good at school. '
' Oh, that's all me eye, Joe.
You know something, Joe?
What puzzles me, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I...
I would have thought you would have gone for a commission.
They had yon before the board at Cranwell, didn't they?
But you never said what for.
Wouldn't you like to be up there, Joe? '
' No, Len, no desire. '
' I 'm not probing, you know, Joe, but we've been together months now, nine of them, in fact, and I know no more about you now than on the day we met, except that you come from the wilds of Northumberland.
On the other hand, you know all there is to be known about me: born Bigley Road, Grays, in Essex, twenty-six years old, wife Alice... who says if she had met you afore me I wouldn't have had a look-in  and she only saw you from a distance. '
He now pushed Joe on the shoulder, and Joe said, ' You're a very lucky man having a wife and a mother who like each other, besides doting on you. '
' Aye, yes, I suppose you're right, Joe.
And I miss them both, particularly Alice.
She's a spanker, is Alice...
Speaking of spankers, what do you think a woman feels like who's been born stumpy and fat and who looks as plain as a pikestaff, like that little one we bumped into back there.
She was on the stage, remember?
Must be pretty tough for them when they look at other lasses. '
' She had a beautiful voice. '
' Oh aye, granted, but that won't get her very far in life, not as she stands. '
' I don't know; you forgot what she looked like as you listened to her.
And I think most of them there did, too: she seems popular with them. '
' Oh aye, I would say she was popular: anybody they can get a laugh out of is popular with thick headed rookies...
By the way, what do you think of the WO? '
' He seems decent enough, but we 'll know more tomorrow. '
' Phew! it's a snifter. '
Len pulled up the collar of his great coat up over his ears, then added, ' I hope they've got that stove going.
But then I don't suppose it 'll matter much with twenty of us in there; our combined breaths'll be enough to give us a steam bath.
That's when we get there.
Number eight, isn't it? '
' Yes, the next block, I think. '
They had left the path and turned up by the side of the long Nissen hut when Len paused and, half turning to Joe, he said, ' You know, you still didn't answer my question earlier on information concerning one Joseph Jebeau.
I don't even know if you have a mother or father, or whether they made you up in a test tube.
And by the way, that's another thing.
I read today about someone prophesying there 'll be such a scarcity of blokes after this war that they 'll be injecting the women.
It's a fact.
It's a fact. '
Joe walked on towards the door of the hut.
As usual, Len had side-tracked himself, but what would his reaction have been if he had satisfied his curiosity and said, ' Yes, I have a mother: she is now living alone in a manor house in Northumberland, ' and had gone on to tell him, why.
He wouldn't have believed it, of course; he'd likely have thought he was mad.
And there were times now, even amidst the hubbub of men, when the numbness reared its head again and made him think that eventually it would take over and he'd descend into silence, cold unthinking silence.
Strangely, the prospect didn't frighten him as much as daily living did.
' Look, Joe; for the last time, why don't you come home with me, if only to prove to Alice you're still on the station.
She's getting suspicious now, and she's saying, ' You don't mean Josephine, do you? '
As you know, it's no palace, but it's home, and she 'll make you welcome.
And Mum will an' all.
And she's a damn good cook. '
' I 'm sure she is.
And what I 'm also sure of is she won't want to see me.
Your leave's short enough.
What's forty-eight hours and a good part of it taken up on the train!
It's very good of you, Len; but don't worry yourself, I 'm all right. '
' You're not all right.
What's for you here?
Cycling in the hills on your own or sitting in the NAAFI!
Look Joe  ' Len leaned towards him from where he was sitting on the side of his bed and, lowering his voice, he said, ' I don't want to probe, and I know I've said this before, but I...
I feel bound to bring it up again.
You must have somebody, a young fellow like you; you say you weren't brought up in a home.
Well, you wouldn't be, would you, with your education?
So isn't there anybody you want to go and see? '
Joe smiled tolerantly at the man who had made himself his friend.
In the ordinary course of events he would have said Len Forbister wasn't the kind of man to associate with him.
It wasn't that he was a good few years older than him or that, like Mick, he had been a working chap.
He had been very fond of Mick, and of his company.
But Len wasn't Mick: there was no deep depth in Len; he was an honest, open fellow who was a father of two children and had a good wife, by the sound of her.
But when that was said, all was said.
Nothing about Len was compatible with anything in himself.
And yet he had grown fond of him, and he had to admit to himself that when Len was away from camp he missed him.
It was then that the feeling of utter boredom would assail him and he would be driven to join the crowd for the buses and the queue for a seat in the pictures in Hereford to pass the Saturday afternoon away.
On Sundays, unless the weather was really rough, he rode out into the hills.
On these journeys, however, he hadn't been fortunate, as some of the fellows in the camp had been, in finding a cottage or a house where they were invited in to tea, which often meant, so he understood, eggs and chips or even bacon, particularly if it was a farmhouse.
And he had no inclination to spend his off-duty time working in the jam factory that ran cheek by jowl with the camp; he wasn't in need of extra money.
He also knew that there was a cure for his loneliness.
He wasn't blind to the fact that he only had to say, ' What are you doing tonight? ' and he needn't be alone anymore.
There was that tall girl in the NAAFI.
She had looks too.
But he doubted if he could have stood her voice for a full evening; it grated on him when she chatted him up over the counter.
Now if she'd had the voice of the little dumpy one they all took the mickey out of, Lemon, as they called her, he just might have put the question to her.
Yet what would have been the result?
What would they say about a fellow who didn't make a pass at them, for to make a pass you had to feel something?
Well, he felt nothing, not in that way, and he doubted if he ever would again.
He was dead inside.
All except his head was dead.
It was impossible at times to imagine that he had been in this camp all of eighteen months.
He had seen men come and go; squads of them went through their training and came out bright-eyed WOP-AIRs thirsting to get on to an aerodrome to finish their training and then into action.
But here and there some found action on this very camp, and didn't live to tell the tale.
They'd be taken up in a trainer plane by a pilot who had survived the Battle of Britain and, as Len put it, was zonked out with combat.
In showing off to the raw recruits he might even throw the small plane into such daring bankings or dives that it couldn't be manoeuvred out of.
If they were lucky his and his recruit's parachute might have time to open.
But only yesterday one of his own batch hadn't been so lucky, and it was when the news broke in the camp that he knew he could still feel emotion.
And Len had witnessed his reaction and this had prompted Len to do what he had said he wouldn't do again, and that was to try and persuade him to accompany him home.
Hitching himself over to sit beside Joe on the edge of his bed, Len now persisted, ' You must have some place, you know. '
And after a pause, he went on, ' I sometimes think you've got something on your mind, Joe.
If it would help any, I 'm a good listener.
I knew I 'm a good chatterer '  he grinned  ' but I can keep my own counsel, and yours an' all, if you want to talk. '
Joe turned and looked into the kindly face as he said, ' I really haven't any family, Len.
The only relative I now have... well, I became estranged from her. '
With his head to one side Len stared at him for a moment, then asked, ' No friends or acquaintances, like? '
' Oh... oh yes.
But they are scattered. '
' In the Forces? '
' Er... yes, mainly in the Navy. '
That was a good place to put them: you didn't know when ships were docking these days.
' Well, haven't your friends any families or...? '
Len now swung his head to the side.
' I 'm probing I know, but, man, I 'm concerned for you. '
' Well, don't be, there's no need.
If it 'll make you happy, I 'll take a couple of WAAFs out... officers. '
He laughed now.
Then assuming the voice of a certain discip.
WO that neither of them liked, he clicked his heels together, gave an imitation of a salute and said, ' Corporal Joseph Bartholomew Jebeau caught making advances to a female of superior rank, sir. '
' What have you got to say for yourself, Jebeau? '
' 'T WAS an irresistible impulse, sir; couldn't stop myself. '
' That's good!
That's good! '
Len was thumping him on the arm now with his fist.
' You could get on ITMA.
Do Colonel Chinstrap...
But, on second thoughts, I don't think you would do on ITMA.
But I can see you on the Brains Trust. '
' Brains Trust! '
Joe got to his feet and cast a disparaging glance down towards Len as he said, ' Whose place will you put me in, Joad 's? or Huxley 's? '
' Oh, they're not so clever; they read up the stuff, man. '
' Yes, and they've been reading up the stuff for years.
Oh, Len. '
He shook his head.
' Go on, get yourself packed up and away.
And remember me to Alice. '
He bent down towards Len now and pulled a face at him.
' Tell her that I do exist and that I 'll see her one day. '
' She won't believe me. '
Len now rose from the bed and began his packing, while Joe, picking up his cap, looked at him for a moment, then said, ' Well, be seeing you. '
' And you, mind how you go up them there hills. '
' I will. '
Joe walked down the length of the hut, between the beds, where here and there men were sprucing up ready to grab a few hours' freedom away from the camp.
With the exception of two others and himself, all the men in this section were married.
It was odd when he came to think about it, but every now and again one or two of them would be posted, yet the five men who had accompanied him from Cranwell, and whose beds were at the far end of the hut, were still here.
Jack Bisley, Sam Temple, Amos Bernstein, Angus McBride and, of course, Len.
Even Warrant-Officer Gilbert, who had arrived just a week before them, was still here.
Sometimes he longed for a posting just to see different surroundings.
He wasn't so much concerned about the men or this particular job, because his work as a corporal instructor was to teach his squads the theory and practice of wireless communication, and especially the operation of the transmitters and receivers used in aircraft.
No, it wasn't this that got on his nerves, but the monotony of his surrounding, the long, long road through the camp, the huts going off here and there, the airfield dotted with little planes, looking like toys, the new hall that was used for entertainments, pictures and the church services, standing out like a sore thumb.
He turned up a side path to go into the NAAFI.
There were very few people in the building and no one at the counter.
The little dumpy girl was one of two serving.
He was glad to know that the tall languorous one wasn't about.
' A cup of tea, please. '
She poured out the tea, and as she pushed it across the counter to him he handed her the penny.
Then she spoke, ' You must be enjoying this war, ' she said.
' What? '
He put his head forward as if he hadn't heard her clearly.
He had heard her but he didn't understand what she meant.
And she repeated, ' I said, you must be enjoying this war. '
' What makes you think that? '
' Well, you never seem to be dashing off here, there and everywhere like the rest.
I've got the idea you've fallen in love with the camp. '
He smiled at her now as he said, ' Yes, you're right, I do love it. '
' Aha!
Aha!
I thought you did. '
She took a cloth and wiped down the counter.
' And you always look so happy. '
He closed his mouth and ran his tongue round the inside of his lips.
She was pulling his leg.
She always gave as much as she got, more, he should say.
She was always quick on the uptake but she had never got at him before.
' Brought up in Barnardo's were you.
Like the feeling of a large family? '
' Yes'  his face wore a serious expression  ' I was left on the doorstep in the proverbial washbasket. '
' The what? '
She seemed to be straining her head and shoulders over the counter, and he repeated, slowly and emphatically, ' The proverbial washbasket; you know. '
' Oh. '
She nodded.
' Oh, yes, the proverbial wash basket.
Well, isn't that funny, the same thing happened to me.
But it wasn't the proverbial basket, it was just an ordinary laundry one. '
Suddenly they laughed together, and he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time, and he saw that she had a lovely set of teeth.
All her good points seemed to be in her mouth, her voice, her singing and her quick wit, and he noticed, too, something different about her: she'd had her hair waved.
Previously she had worn it flat, practically plastered down on her head, until it looked as if it was almost painted on her scalp, like that of a wooden doll.
Her cap was set well back on her hair today too.
For a moment he wondered about her, what she thought of all the ribbing and chipping that she received almost every day in this place.
The fellows never seemed to rib the other NAAFI girls very much: they joked with them, but not in the same way as they did with Lemon.
And the answer came: she was like a break in the monotony, like a resident jester.
At one time jesters were picked for their hunchbacks, or some deformity.
But she wasn't deformed, only dumpy.
It was a shame, really, that she should be used as a butt, yet she didn't seem to mind; in fact, he thought she enjoyed it.
And anyway, what was there for a girl like her?
In civvy street she would have found it hard to find a fellow to chat with and so she likely considered the war a godsend.
He showed his surprise on his face now as she leaned still further over the counter and whispered, ' The sleeping beauty's at a loose end: she's off from three. '
She nodded towards the door behind her.
For a moment he was taken aback as he realised she was so sorry for him she was arranging a date.
He leaned towards her and in a whisper he said, ' I don't think I 'll waken her. '
She held his gaze for a moment;.
then, her lips pressed tight, she made a small laughing sound before saying, ' Not your type? '
' Not really... too thin. '
It was a backhanded compliment, the best he could do, and he straightened up and nodded to her before taking his cup from the counter and making his way towards an empty table.
He did not take long in drinking his tea but by the time he had finished it, he saw that she was no longer at the counter, her place having been taken by another girl.
He went out thinking that, behind all her brusque banter, she was a kindly little soul.
She seemed a thoughtful person, someone of like nature to Mary Smith, but with much more up top.
Oh yes, Lemon had quite a bit up top, he should imagine, and all concealed under the cap and bells.
He cycled out of 3-Wing on to the Hay-on-Wye road that ran through the camp.
He passed the technical section and 2-Wing, both looking oddly deserted, except for a figure here and there moving between the nissen huts and the NAAFI or the discip. buildings.
By the time he reached Tyberton, which was only three miles from the camp, he was sweating, for the sun was shining fiercely out of a clear sky.
It was near the end of August, and for the last few days it had been like high summer.
He had reached Blakemere, which was only two miles further on, when he pondered if he should take another direction and make his way to the river, but the thought that even this far out there'd be a number of people on the banks today, mostly youngsters, he guessed, swimming or playing the usual dangerous game of swinging out over the river on a rope attached to a tree branch, deterred him.
He wasn't very fond of the river Wye, for its rocky crevasses had claimed too many young lives even during the short time he had been there.
Thinking of young lives, his mind jumped back to yesterday, when he had heard about young Harrington.
He had been a recruit in his class, a bright young lad.
He knew now that he himself would never have made a flyer.
Regulations said that instructors must go up periodically, but he was always glad when they touched down.
And he wasn't alone amongst the instructors who felt this way: Jack Bisley, Sam Temple, and Amos Bernstein, they all admitted that they hated it; but Angus McBride and Len looked forward to their trips as if they were half-day school holidays.
It had come to him over the last year or so that there was only one thing that made him different from other men, and that was the weight he was carrying on his mind.
It deadened his days and brought him upright in the night, running with sweat and fear, his arms held out clutching the gun with which he had just shot his mother.
When he set out today it had been his intention to make for the hills bordering the Golden Valley, but when he got through Blakemere the sweat was dripping from his chin and the sight of a stream tinkling its way not three yards from the road automatically brought his legs off the pedals.
He hadn't noticed it before because of the hedge growing along the side of the bank, but here, and for some way ahead, it was open to the road.
He laid his bike on the grass verge and went down to the water's edge.
Kneeling down, he bent over and sluiced his face with handfuls of the surprisingly cold water.
He did not immediately dry his face but knelt over the stream, looking down to where the sun was glinting on the pebbles, turning them momentarily into stars.
His mind became still.
This was the kind of moment when words formed into meanings and, when you transferred them to paper, they turned into poetry.
He hadn't put pen to paper since the day before Martin died, and he doubted if he would ever do so again.
But this was the moment when it should happen.
As he continued to gaze down into the sunlit water a sound intruded into his mind.
If he had been alert to everyday things he knew he would have heard it sooner.
He lifted one knee from the ground and turned his head slowly and looked up the slight incline to the path, and in his sun-blinded vision he saw a shape.
It was a small broad shape dressed in blue and the face was topped by a straw hat.
He had the vague impression that the face was of an oriental and was beautiful in a strange way.
As he took his handkerchief out and wiped away the water that was still dripping from the front of his hair, a voice said, ' I wouldn't drink that if I were you; the cows wash in it just round the corner. '
He twisted himself to his feet and looked in amazement at the girl standing above him.
He had recognized the voice and he had her in focus now.
She was wearing a slack blue dress and a straw hat pushed to the back of her head.
' Oh!
Hello, there. '
He sounded embarrassed, as though he had been caught in some misdemeanour.
Having climbed the bank he looked down on her and smiled as he said, ' I didn't recognise you in civvies.
Well, they make a difference... '
' Partly. '
He stared at her.
What could one say to that?
It was her habit of disparaging herself.
' I've never seen you along this way before, ' she said.
' I've never been this way before.
I was making for the hills, and hoping to come back through Peterchurch. '
' Well, you're on the right road, but I would say you had chosen the wrong day. '
' Yes, I've been thinking that myself. '
He was smiling at her again.
Then looking around, he said, ' Are you out walking? '
' Well, you could say that... compulsory walking, I 'm looking for Simon, our dog.
He's gone out on the razzle again. '
' Is he a labrador, a yellow one? '
' Yes, that's him.
Have you seen him? '
' I passed one just as I was coming out of Blakemere. '
' Oh, that's where he's got to.
Oh well, I needn't trouble: he 'll be back.
He's got a lady friend down there. '
' Do you live near here? '
There was a surprised note in his voice.
' Yes, over there. '
She pointed into the distance, and when he said, ' I never knew, ' she answered on a small laugh, ' Well, why should you? '
Yes, why should he?
It was a silly thing to say.
He felt a heat rising to his face that wasn't caused by the sun.
He was always awkward in women's company, girls' company.
There had only ever been one with whom he had been at ease.
He didn't think of her as often now, except perhaps on a long weekend when he was off-duty; the rest of the time he had things to occupy his mind.
' What? ' he asked.
' I said, could you do with a cup of tea? '
He hesitated just a fraction of a second before saying, ' Well... well, yes.
Thank you. '
And he immediately told himself there was no compromise in accepting a cup of tea; RAF men were invited into all kinds of homes in the district.
She was walking on ahead up the narrow path now, he following behind pushing his bike, when he said, ' Your people live here? '
' An aunt.
She has a cottage. '
The word cottage conjured up in his mind the Smiths' dwelling; but a few minutes later, when he saw what she had called a cottage, he realised it was far removed from the Smiths' dwelling as Screehaugh had been, in that it was a substantially built house.
Its side wall was covered with the dead fronds of a massive wisteria; the front showed six large windows, and the front door appeared to be at the end of the house.
The roughly cut lawn led right to the stone doorstep and was bordered by a flower garden at one side and a summer house at the other, beyond which was a yard showing some outhouses.
The door of the house was open.
He paused in the doorway and watched her go into a dim hall, calling, ' Hoo-hoo!
Where are you? '
The voice that came back to him was unlike hers in tone but matched it in substance, ' Where do you think I am?
Up the pole? '
She turned to him, smiling widely now, and beckoned him into the hall.
It was quite a large area for this type of house, being all, he imagined, of sixteen feet square.
He noticed, too, that it was stone floored, and immediately he took in the feeling of clinical cleanliness.
' I've brought a visitor. '
He didn't move from the middle of the hall, but watched Maggie standing in a doorway to the right, and she turned her face to him, laughing now as the voice from the other room came to him, saying, ' Male or female? '
' Male. '
' Thank God for that!
Haven't seen a man for a week. '
Maggie now beckoned him towards her, and some what reluctantly he followed her along a short passage and into a long sun-lit kitchen, where a woman was standing at a wooden table mixing some ingredients in a bowl.
On the sight of him she stopped immediately.
Her mouth opened and shut; then looking at Maggie she said, ' You silly daft lump, I thought you were joking and it was Simon you had brought back. '
' Well, he 'll bark for you if you ask him nicely, won't you? '
She turned and looked up at Joe, and he, smiling now, said, ' I 'm always willing to please. '
' This is my Aunt Elizabeth, otherwise Mrs Robson.
And this, Aunt Lizzie, is Corporal Jebeau. '
It was the first time he had heard his name pronounced correctly since coming into the camp.
He was generally called Jabbie or Joe-boy.
' I 'm pleased to meet you, Corporal Jebeau. '
He was shaking hands now with the woman, who was the exact antithesis of her niece, being thin and bony; even her arms, showing bare where she had her sleeves rolled up almost to the armpits, looked fleshless.
' How do you do? '
' I do nicely, thank you.
I bet you could do with a cup of tea?
I've got a batch of scones in the oven; I must have known you were coming.
You look hot; have you ridden all the way?
Sit yourself down, or better still go into the sitting-room.
That's it '  she waved them both away  ' get yourselves into the sitting-room, out of this. '
He found himself smiling widely as he went to obey her and for a moment he felt he had dropped into a home which was familiar to him.
Then Maggie's fingers touching his sleeve lightly stopped his departure as she said, ' Don't take any notice of her, sit yourself down there. '
She pointed to a high-backed wooden chair, adding, ' If she makes you sitting-room company she cuts your rations. '
He hesitated for a moment as to what to do; then looking again at the woman at the table, who was now smiling at him, he sat down in the chair, and for the next ten minutes he listened to the banter between the two of them.
There was no pause between exchanges; all the while their tongues wagged their hands worked, for the woman at the table went on making her cakes, while Maggie walked back and forth into and out of what he took to be a pantry at the far end of the kitchen, bringing out all that was necessary for a tea.
She looked so different in the blue dress; still fat, but more like a schoolgirl might do, and she seemed as light on her feet as a dancer.
There were things he consciously noticed about people which he brought to mind long after he had ceased to watch them, but now he noted for the first time that she had very small feet  they could have belonged to the oriental he had imagined her to be through the sun haze.
Also, strangely, he noted there was a similarity in the faces of the aunt and niece.
Yet their features were as different as chalk from cheese.
The woman at the table had, he should imagine, once been quite good-looking, even beautiful, whereas no one, not even with the kindest instincts, could attribute any beauty to Maggie's features.
Yet looking from one to the other, he now realised where the similarity lay: it was in the eyes.
But where the older woman's eyes lay in elongated hollows, the younger one's were round, lying almost flush with the unlined skin.
Again he had the impression that she was a young girl, for there was a smoothness about her skin that one sees in the young before the face reaches the border of adulthood.
Yet why, with such skin, such eyes, and that good mouthful of teeth, did she still appear so very plain?
What constituted beauty?
The bone formation, how each feature was set?
He didn't know.
All he did know at this moment was that it seemed a shame a girl such as Maggie here, with brains, because she was no fool, and a talent such as she had, should be encased in a body that held no appeal.
' Where are you from? '
Maggie's Aunt Lizzie was asking.
' What? '
' It's the heat; you were nearly asleep, I think.
Hurry up with that tea there, Maggie!
I said, where are you from? '
' Northumberland. '
' Oh.
I know Northumberland and all that district.
My first husband was from those parts.
I've been married three times.
You wouldn't think so, would you?
But anyway, how's one to tell that?
And the strange thing about it is they were all orphans.
Funny, that, isn't it?
All orphans.
Good job in the long run.
He was from Hebburn, my first.
Mouldy place, Hebburn.
That's in Durham, though.
But I went into Northumberland a number of times, to Hexham.
Did you live anywhere near there? '
He swallowed deeply before he answered, ' Not far.
Up... up in the hills. '
' Farmers? '
' Yes, sort of. '
' Sort of?
Well, you are, or you aren't, laddie. '
' Well, in a very small way: chickens and pigs and things like that. '
' Oh, a smallholding, you mean? '
' Yes, yes, a smallholding. '
' Well, you've got it ready? '
She was looking at Maggie now.
' Not before time.
What about having it outside in the shade?
I 'm almost roasted, my self, in here. '
' Can I carry that? '
He took the tray from Maggie, and she, picking up two plates from the table, said, ' Come on, I get sick of listening to her. '
They passed through the hall again; then he followed her across the lawn to where a rough wooden table was placed near the trunk of a large oak tree, to which was nailed an equally rough seat.
As Maggie took the things from the tray and set them on the table she said, ' I know what you're thinking: we're slightly barmy. '
' Not at all. '
' Oh, you needn't be polite; in fact, I would say to you '  she now paused with her hands on the table and stared up at him  ' please don't be polite.
Imagine you're at home and you're not going back to that madhouse.
That's what I do every time I 'm home; because it is like a madhouse, isn't it, most of the time? '
She was smiling quietly at him now; and equally quietly he answered, ' Yes, it is. '
She sat down and began to pour out the tea and, her voice still quiet, she went on, ' I don't suppose it's really so bad for you, instructing or teaching, whatever it is you do, but in the Naafi, amidst the clatter  ' she now looked at him and her words were spaced as she went on, ' and the chaff and the ribbing; well, I sometimes think I have died and gone to hell, because that's what I think hell must be like; constant joking, especially when you hear the same thing repeated over and over again. '
As she handed him the cup of tea her tone changed: ' Not that I 'm against joking, but everything in its place; when I 'm here with Aunt Lizzie, we chaff each other, but... but not all the time. '
He was staring at her, amazed at the reaction her words were having on him; it was, in a way, as if she were suffering an agony similar to his own.
' Well, now, this is better. '
The spell was broken by her aunt as she came across the lawn, devoid of her apron now, her long cotton dress flapping against her thin legs.
' There's a bit of a breeze coming up, I think.
We could do with it.
Likely have a storm tonight, shouldn't be surprised. '
And as she sat down she added, ' Now tuck in; we're not short of a thing or two up here.
Not that, mind '  she now wagged her finger in Joe's direction  ' she brings me anything. '
The finger was now pointing at Maggie.
' She could, I know she could, but she won't.
She's soft in the head.
I know there's lads get eggs and butter and stuff from the farms, but everybody hasn't got farms, and I could take you to some cottages that are well supplied with butter, sugar and cheese and what have you, that's not from the farms. '
' Oh, shut up, Auntie. '
' I 'm speaking the truth.
The fiddling that goes on down there would set up an orchestra, and not one, but a couple of dozen. '
' Well, where did you fiddle the fat to make these scones, those tarts, and that sandwich cake? '
Maggie was stabbing her finger at the different plates on the table, and her aunt wagged her head and pursed her lips before she said, flatly, ' I 'm courting one of the airmen; he comes to Donald's farm. '
She jerked her head backwards, and on this both Joe and Maggie burst out laughing.
' Think I 'm past it? '
She poked her head now towards Joe, and gallantly he now replied, ' I could never imagine you being past anything, Mrs Robson. '
' You're right, you know.
I was a beauty in me day.
Do you know that?
Could take me pick, and I did.
Oh '  she closed her eyes for a moment  ' I wish I had me life over again.
Yet '  her voice became serious  ' I wouldn't want it to end anywhere else but here '  she now looked about her  ' with the hills behind me and the river at me feet, so to speak. '
During the silence that followed Joe experienced the most odd feeling, for he had the desire to reach out across the table and to take her hand: not Maggie 's, but this woman 's, the hand of this woman who would never see sixty again.
Then he saw her face change and there was his mother staring at him, and as if his hand had already been extended he felt himself jerking it back.
So real was the sensation that his fingers slipped on the handle of the tea cup and when the tea spilt into the saucer he exclaimed, ' Oh!
Oh, I 'm sorry! '
Then on an embarrassed laugh, he added, ' I 'm not used to polite society. '
' Well, we're not polite society, lad, so tip it on to the grass and we 'll pretend we're not locking.
And we could do with some hot water.
Will you get some, Maggie? '
Maggie hadn't reached the house door before Mrs Robson asked, ' You married? '
' No. '
' One of a family? '
' No.
I...
I 'm the only one. '
' Your parents alive? '
Again he paused; then lifting the cup, he almost gulped at the tea before saying, No, they are both... dead. '
He became embarrassed when he found the woman's eyes tight on him.
Then she was smiling, saying, ' Funny how I always run into orphans, isn't it?
You known Maggie long? '
What did the question infer?
He didn't know, and he almost stammered as he replied, ' We...
Well, not really.
Well, I see her in the Naafi quite a lot.
My first acquaintance with her was when I heard her sing.
She has a beautiful voice, really beautiful. '
' Yes, she has that.
It should have taken her places, don't you think? '
Again he was forced to pause.
' Yes, I...
I think it should. '
' She's a clever lass, you know; she doesn't only sing, but she plays the piano; composes a bit an' all. '
' Really? '
' Yes. '
And without any lead-up she said, ' From what I gather some people take the mickey out of her down there because of her name, punning it like, and she being a bit fat.
She didn't tell me, but I heard.
By! if I...
I ever heard anybody doing that I'd scalp them, I'd scalp the buggers. '
The word was said with such vehemence, yet at the same time sounded so funny, that he almost laughed.
Fortunately he didn't, for what she said now was, ' There's no one likes a laugh more than I do, but there's a time and a place for everything.
She was born small, she was born fat, and there's no denying that she's no beauty, but her face has got something.
At times when I look at her it strikes me as it's got something; not beauty, but something that goes beyond it.
And she's worth a thousand of your so-called beauties.
By God! she is. '
As her head wagged his embarrassment grew; then in a low tone she muttered, ' Here she comes.
Now mind, don't say I ever mentioned this.
' Taken your time, haven't you?
Heated it with candles, have you? '
' No, me flashlight. '
' I thought so.
You're not eating. '
She now pushed a plate of scones towards Joe, and he, taking one, said, ' I've already had two.
They're lovely. '
' I never bake anything that isn't. '
She now laughed as she added, ' And should you make a habit of coming here you 'll soon learn I 'm a very modest woman; hate self-praise. '
As he joined in with her laughter he felt a qualm of uneasiness as to what ideas she was getting into her head with regard to his visiting in the future.
My! that would be something to cope with, if it got round the unit that he was going up to Lemon's place.
Of all the girls he could have taken up with in the camp, she was about the most unlikely.
When the tea was over Maggie brought out two deck chairs from the summer house and after putting them up she pointed to one, saying, ' Make yourself comfortable, I 'm going to help Aunt clear up.
But before I go, let's get things straight, eh? '
Her face was on a level with his; she stared at him for some seconds before she said quietly, ' You needn't be concerned that you might have started something; I've got no ideas that way.
As my aunt would say, I happen to be a sensible lass.
And I won't suggest we ride back into camp together either, so sit yourself down there and relax, for underneath all your politeness, you're on edge. '
He knew his face was red to the roots of his hair and he stammered, ' O-oh now, now please. '
He put out his hand towards her, but she waved it aside with a flick of her own, saying, ' Look, we both know what it's like down there, don't we?
So let's leave it at that, shall we?
And loosen your collar and tie; their enough sweat on it to wash it. '
He had risen and now stood watching her go towards the side door.
Such bluntness, such honesty, it was embarrassing; you weren't prepared for it, so you didn't know how to react.
He wished... he wished he liked her.
Oh well!
He jerked his head at himself.
He liked her, you couldn't help but like her, but he wished in this moment it was in him to more than like her.
He wished he was big enough to forget that she was a fat young woman with nothing about her but her voice.
He sat down in the deck chair, loosened his collar and tie, then lay back and looked up into the dark coolness of the oak branches.
For a moment he imagined he was in another world, a simple uncomplicated world: a world where there was no place down below in the valley where men were being prepared for war; that there was no place in Northumberland where a woman sat in a room all day with only her thoughts for company; that there was no one called Carrie Smith; that the world had dwindled and there was only this secluded garden and a secluded house, as had been said, with the hills to the back of it and the river at its feet and two women so unalike, yet alike: so understanding, so thoughtful of each other, and not only of each other, but of him.
His head fell to the side; his cheek to the canvas of the deck chair, and his feet slowly slipped forward as he fell into a deep sleep.
He was aware of being awake long before he opened his eyes.
At first he felt more relaxed than he had done for a long time.
In fact, he couldn't remember ever feeling like this.
He lay in a sort of mental haze until a feeling of restriction just below his buttocks penetrated his still slumbering state.
The pain increased and when he attempted to move his legs the right one went into an agonising cramp that caused his eyes and mouth to open simultaneously.
He pulled himself into a sitting position on the chair and began to rub his calf vigorously.
Then, his head bent forward, he noticed that the shadows were long on the grass; in fact, there was but merely a streak of sunshine bordering the flower garden now.
He reached out for his tie that was on the table.
He didn't remember putting it there.
He was on his feet now, turning up his collar, pulling the tie around his neck the while he looked towards the house.
He was about to move towards the back door when Mrs Robson appeared.
As she made her way slowly towards him she said, ' You're awake then.
If you had been dead drunk, you couldn't have slept deeper.
Feel better? '
' I feel fine, but I 'm very sorry.
I...
I never meant to fall asleep.
It... it must have been the heat.
What time is it?
Oh! '
He gave an embarrassed laugh, then looked at his wrist-watch, saying, ' No, it can't be ten past seven.
Oh, I am sorry.
Have I kept you in? '
' Kept me in?
You mean, have you kept me from going out?
Don't you... no, I rarely go down into the town at the weekends.
Too many of your lot in there: can't get moved.
In fact, I don't go unless I 'm forced.
Maggie sees to most of my shopping.
It's lucky she's stationed so close.
Oh yes, that was a bit of luck.
By the way, the bathroom's in the first door on the landing. '
' Oh, thank you. '
He smiled at her, then went into the house.
Five minutes later, when he returned to the lawn, she was sitting with her back to the tree and, standing before her, he said, ' I don't know how to thank you for your kindness.
It 's... well, to put it poetically, it's been like finding an oasis in a desert. '
' Well, lad, if that's how you think, you may come and drink any time you feel thirsty. '
His smile broadened as he said, ' Thank you, Mrs Robson; I might take you at your word. '
' Well, I 'll expect you to.
As I said, I 'm never often out, and if you're a long way from home it's always good to have some place to drop in to.
Not, mind you, that anybody else's house can come up to your own.
That old song's right, you know: there's no place like home. '
His face was straight as, staring back at her, he said, seriously, almost stiffly, now, ' It all depends on the place you call home, don't you think? '
She did not immediately reply; her eyes narrowed and her eyelids blinked a number of times before she said, ' Yes, I suppose you're right... and no suppose about it, you are right.
As you said, it all depends on the home you've left behind you, or were likely so damned glad to leave.
And I'd like to bet there's quite a few of the blokes down there '  she jerked her head to the side  ' look upon this war as a godsend because it's given them a legitimate excuse to leave their shanties.
A lot of the old sayings are damned silly when you apply them wholesalely, but we keep saying them because some clever bod wrote a song around them.
We don't think... no, we don't think...
Well now '  she rose to her feet  ' you're on your way.
But don't forget you're welcome any time you like to come. '
He half turned from her looking towards the house, saying now, ' Is Maggie ready? '
' Ready and gone this good half hour since. '
' What! '
She had been walking away from him towards the path that led to the gate and she turned her head and said, ' Didn't want to disturb you; you looked so peaceful, asleep. '
He stood still as he recalled her plain speaking, and, his head hanging, he experienced a mixture of relief and a feeling that was most akin to shame.
But there was no getting away from it; the overwhelming feeling was one of relief, because if they had ridden in together they would undoubtedly have been spotted.
' Goodbye, Mrs Robson. '
' Goodbye, lad. '
Her voice had a sad note to it and he knew that she was standing at the gate watching him as he rode away.
He again knew what it was to feel embarrassed when, on the Monday dinner time, he went into the NAAM, and looking at her over the counter, he said, ' Hello there, ' and she answered, ' Hello, yourself. '
The perky waitress was back.
' Tea or coffee?
Take your choice, there's not much difference. '
He stared at her for a moment before saying, ' Tea, please. '
As she turned away, Rona, who had just finished serving, came and stood in front of him.
Her eyelashes fluttering, she said softly, ' Had a nice weekend? '
For a moment he thought there was a double meaning in her words, but he dismissed the thought when he recognised it was one of her usual openings to draw him into conversation.
But he answered her pleasantly, saying, ' Very nice; exceptionally nice. '
' Lucky you. '
' Move it. '
He watched Maggie bump the tall girl with her hip, then add, ' There's a gang of parched Arabs coming in from the desert; see to them. '
For the first time in what seemed an age to him, he wanted not only to laugh but to guffaw, like he used to do when Harry or Martin came out with something funny.
At the same time he realised that there was some form of seniority behind the counter, and that Maggie was in charge.
Just as he had been wont to do as a boy, so this morning after waking, he had lain and thought of the day ahead and what he had to do in it, and he was aware that life had taken on a tinge of colour.
The feeling was still with him, and it wasn't unpleasant.
' Thanks, Maggie. '
He took the tea from her, put a coin on the counter and smiled at her, then turned away.
Some minutes later, the rush having subsided, Rona, bending down to Maggie, said, ' Since when has that one called you Maggie?
He hardly opens his mouth.
I think he's got ideas about himself. '
' Oh. '
Maggie took up the cloth and began to wipe a section of the counter.
Her head on one side, she bit on her lip, looked up at the waiting face above her, then said in a not too certain tone, ' Eeh, let me think.
It must be since we were first married. '
Betty Allsop, who had overheard the exchange, let out a hoot of laughter, while Maggie went on rubbing at the counter, but Rona's reply was, ' That 'll be the day, even with a fellow like Billings. '
Still rubbing away at the counter, Maggie had to resist the desire to turn round and bring the wet cloth across the beautiful face to the side of her.
Yet, at the same time she knew she had laid herself open for such a reply.
She drew in a deep breath; then, the cloth still in her hand, she turned about and went into the kitchen.
And there she wrung the cloth out in the sink.
Then still holding it, she went to the toilet and, just as she was, she sat down on the edge of the seat and, bending forward, she went through the motion of wringing out the cloth once again.
Presently, her teeth pressed tightly down on her lip, she turned her head and leant her brow against the stone wall.
As Mrs Robson said, people had taken to war like they did to life: they had accepted it and were living with it and with all the things it did to them; but why did them up top have to go and stop the flower trains coming from Cornwall?
There was nothing like a flower to cheer you up on a dark day.
It was to save transport, the government said.
That was just a gimmick, like when they stopped the holiday trains.
Yet, when there was any racing on, transport could be found for that, couldn't it?
And who went to the racecourses? she wanted to know.
Aha!
And income tax eight and sixpence in the pound.
And then the daft things they were up to: ordering booksellers to destroy their maps, and ordinary folk an' all, as if the Germans when they landed wouldn't know where they were going.
Men, really!
It was women they wanted up there to spread some common sense among them.
Next to Churchill there was only one man whom Mrs Robson apparently favoured, and that was Sir Arthur Harris, because wasn't he sending bombers over by the thousand to knock hell out of them over there?
Giving them a taste of the Battle of Britain, hitting their churches and cathedrals, just as the Jerries had done here.
Dealing with wireless every day, Joe rarely listened when off duty to accounts of small successes put over in the announcer's authoritative tone and the defeats intoned as if reporting a death: which it was, though not a single death, such as when Tobruk had fallen in June and Mussolini went into Libya.
Names like Rommel, Auchinleck, El Alamein sounded as common to the ear as Smith, Jones and Robinson; yet Joe had the feeling that he was being forced to stand on the sidelines and watch a game in which he had not the slightest interest.
Yet he knew, at least in this he wasn't alone: the feeling, if it didn't pervade the camp, certainly pervaded his section.
This part of the country didn't seem to be in the war.
The munitions factory in Hereford seemed to be the only concession to it.
The people went about their daily work in an ordinary fashion: there were no air raids, no scurrying to shelters, no fire engines tearing through the countryside.
Naturally, most of the staff in the camp considered themselves lucky to have been posted here and dreaded the idea of a move, which created the feeling of being on the sidelines.
For himself, he wouldn't have minded a posting; in fact, he would have welcomed it, because there was another complication entering his life: vague, but nevertheless there.
Since that day in August when he had first visited the house up the valley, he had, during the past ten weeks, made a dozen return visits.
But only once had he ridden back with Maggie.
And then it was dark and their entry into camp had gone unnoticed.
But it wasn't the camp reactions he was troubled about at the moment, it was Mrs Robson 's.
He liked Mrs Robson, he had become very fond of her: she was down to earth, and she seemed to bring him out of himself, but she seemed to be harbouring serious ideas about Maggie and him.
And that was ridiculous.
Maggie herself, he knew, understood the situation well enough: there was no one more sensible than Maggie; but her auntie, who seemed to have taken the place of her mother and, like a mother, had her future interests at heart, was always bringing her qualities to the fore for him to admire.
He was well aware of Maggie's qualities.
She was an extraordinary human being, and it was a damn shame that her personality and talents should have been encased in that little dumpy body of hers.
Last week, after a concert, he had listened to a small group of airmen, seated at a table next to his, discussing her.
One had said, ' Her height doesn't matter.
I tell you, if she was out in Hollywood they would send her to one of those beauty farms, where they starve them and batter them about and knock them into shape; then they would give her a plastic nose, or make the one she's got more pointed, put false eyelashes on her, give her hair an expert cut, and walla! she'd be a sensation.
They would call her The Little Nightingale. '
There had been laughter and one of the men had said, ' But you're not far wrong. '
' No, ' the former speaker had replied, ' I know I 'm not, because you don't hear a voice like hers every day.
And she's got it up top, an' all.
There's nobody readier with her tongue than our Lemon. '
Another voice had said, ' Then why don't you have a go? ' and the answer had been a bit of a scuffle and more laughter.
And now here, this very minute, her aunt was saying almost in as many words to him, Why don't you have a go?
' Marriage is a funny thing, Joe.
I know what I 'm talking about.
I've had three goes at it, and I can tell you that looks are the last thing to be considered; it's what's underneath that matters in the long run.
I married me first for looks, and my God, didn't I pay for it!
If he hadn't had the business I would have left him within a month.
Oh, I 'm being honest. '
She nodded her head at him from where she sat to the side of the fireplace in the sitting-room.
' Anyway, I thought I was entitled to my share of what he had, for from the time I'd gone there five years before, I'd pulled the business up out of nothing.
He hadn't as much in his head, that one, as an addled egg.
His dad had died long before his time, and that's how he came into it... the business.
And you know another thing, Joe?
Marriage is a business, and after the bed business is over you've often got twenty-three hours in the day to live with your partner; especially, that is, if you're working together like I was with him.
Me second one wasn't bad; he had a business head on him.
It was when I married him that we bought this house here, just to escape to at the weekends, you know.
But me third was the best of the bunch.
He had a face on him like a battered pluck; he was gangly, you know '  she shook her arm  ' loose-limbed; but he was the kindest, most considerate man you could ever wish to meet.
But life plays you dirty tricks.
I'd spent most of it with the other two, one bad and the other indifferent, now I'd come across a good one and fate gave us four years together, that's all.
But looking back I think of them as compensation for the rest of me life before, and what's to come...
Maggie's a fine girl, Joe; she's one in a thousand. '
' I know that, Mrs Robson, but we understand each other. '
' Aye  ' she rose from the chair, went to a basket at the side of the hearth and, taking up a log, she almost flung it on the fire, and as she dusted her hands she ended, ' that's what she tells me.
Anyway, you 'll say it's none of my business, but I can tell you, you 'll go further and fare a lot worse.
Aye, by God you will, Joe. '
What could he say?
He sat, his head bent, his fingers clasped together, each one-twitching; and then she was standing in front of him, apologetic, saying, ' I've gone past meself, Joe, I 'm sorry, but I 'm concerned for her.
She's like a daughter, the daughter I never had, and I lie awake at nights thinking what's going to happen to her when I 'm gone, because men being what they are, they 'll take her on because of the money.
And she 'll get all I have, which isn't to be sneezed at. '
He looked up at her now and said quietly, ' I...
I don't think you need worry about her being hoodwinked by anyone; she can see through most people. '
' Aye, Joe, I know that.
There's nobody more sensible, but underneath all the sense there's the woman, and her needs, and the feeling that she's going to go down through the years alone.
It's a comfort, you know '  she smiled now  ' to think that there's somebody opposite you for the first meal of the day, even if it's to have a row with. '
' Mrs Robson. '
' Yes, lad? '
She now moved a few steps backwards and sat down again, straightening out one leg and rubbing it as she did so.
And he paused a moment until he imagined that the pain of her rheumatics had eased, and then he said, slowly but firmly, ' I don't think I 'll ever marry; in fact, I 'm sure I won't. '
Her head jerked up, her eyes narrowed.
' Why? '
' There's a reason. '
' Physical? '
' Oh no! '
The words came out on a shaky laugh.
' Oh no, nothing like that. '
' That's something to be thankful for, anyway.
Well, what else is so serious that it 'll stop you from marrying? '
' It 's... it's a family matter. '
' Some sort of disease? '
Had his mother some sort of disease?
Yes, in a way she was mad.
And so he answered, ' Yes, in a way. '
' Physical?
Mental?
Or what? '
She was clever in the way she whittled things down.
He swallowed deeply, then said, ' Mental. '
' Oh. '
They stared at each other in the lamplight, then she sighed and said, ' Well, it isn't always hereditary; it misses generations, so I understand. '
When he didn't answer she said, ' I 'm sorry, lad. '
' So am I. So am I. '
' It explains a lot.
Thank you for telling me.
But I can't see in the long run that it would make any difference to what we've been talking about, seeing who Maggie is.
But I can understand you more now, 'cos I never thought you were the kind of fellow to lead anybody up the garden, then jump the railings.
Again, lad, thank you for confiding in me.
Well, now that's out of the road I 'll get you something to eat before you're on your way. '
' No, no,  he was on his feet  ' you 'll get me no more to eat today; I've had two marvellous meals.
You sit still there; I 'll make us a drink, and then I 'll be off. '
As he made for the door she said, ' You won't forget to take that bottle in for her, will you?
That cough of hers worries me; she's had it for weeks.
Should be showing some signs of ease now. '
In the kitchen, which had now become familiar to him, Joe set about making the two cups of cocoa.
He had let out a number of slow deep breaths as if he had got out of a tight corner, but no sooner had he entered the room again than Lizzie said, ' Does Maggie know of this? '
And when he shook his head saying, ' No, ' she came back to him: ' Mind if I tell her? '
There was no pause before his answer came, saying, ' No, no, not at all. '
When he handed her the cocoa she looked up at him and said, ' Only three weeks to Christmas.
Will you be off on Christmas Day? '
' I won't know until the rota's up. '
' If you are, will you have dinner up here? '
' I would like nothing better. '
' Good!
Good!
Well '  she lifted her cup of cocoa towards him  ' here's to a happy Christmas. '
And he, touching her cup with his, smiled as he said, ' To a happy Christmas. '
