A Little Bit on the Side (7 page)

Jimmy and Jack left the ladies to it and climbed the stairs to the top floor.

‘Must have been their room when they were first married,’ said Jimmy, walking across to the window which looked out over the garden to the south. ‘She’s still using the same old privy too, by the look of it. Probably end up slipping away there just like Tom. I think she’d probably like that.’

Jack, his attention caught by a group of photographs on the wall, was too absorbed to answer. It was the centrepiece that first caught his eye — a young Churchill as war correspondent wearing slouch hat and military jacket. An unusual choice from the many popular portraits that were available, thought Jack. Around it was a cluster of photographs, all of them of the King’s Shropshire Light Infantry: in barracks, marching for embarkation, or posed outside a tent in South Africa. There was also one of two fine-looking young men wearing what looked like dress uniform and probably taken in barracks: Tom and his brother William, Jack assumed.

On a table below the photographs, in a little glass -topped box, were a few mementos: a Queen’s South Africa medal with four clasps, a regimental badge, a glass-beaded heart pincushion with the regimental arms and a sentimental verse, a collection of newspaper cuttings, and a book which Jack took out to examine more closely.

‘There’s a book here by Churchill. Seems to be about the Boer War,
Ian Hamilton’s March.
Know anything about that Jimmy.’

‘Absolutely bugger all. Sounds like water under the bridge to me. Who’d be interested now?’

‘Some might be in the book. The cover’s a bit faded on the front, but otherwise it’s in good condition, and as it’s dated 1900 I reckon it must be a first edition.’

Jack could see that towards the back of the book a slip of paper had been inserted, and turning to the page he found that a paragraph had been underlined in pencil:

Alongside the paragraph was written, presumably by Tom, ‘This is where we lost poor William.’

Flipping back again to the front Jack saw that the front flyleaf carried a brief inscription, ‘To Thomas Sutton from Winston S Churchill’

‘Well I’ll be damned,’ said Jack. ‘Jimmy come and have a look at this, and tell me now if you think anyone might be interested.’

Jimmy clucked as he looked at Jack’s discovery. ‘Oh dear, it’s a sad reflection on this wicked world that that reactionary old bugger’s signature should be worth some money, but I imagine it is.’

They didn’t spend much time looking at any of the other bits and pieces, but went down to have a word with Ada.

‘Ada, did Tom ever talk to you at all about this and the Boer War,’ said Jack, handing the book to her.

‘Not a word. Never talked to me about the war at all. He’d been back almost four years before we got married, and he brought all that stuff with him. I saw it in the case of course, but never thought to look at it. Why, is it important?’

‘Did he never talk to you about William’s death?’

‘No. I’d heard all about that from his family long before he came back over. Tom never talked about it to me direct.’

‘Did he ever mention that he’d met Churchill out there?’

‘You mean the old Prime Minister?’

‘Yes, but this was year’s earlier: before the First World War.’

‘Not a word. Never talked about Churchill other than to say what a great man he was, and how he’d helped to win the war, but he didn’t mean the Boer War.’

Jack opened the book towards the back.

‘So you’ve never seen this,’ he said, pointing out Tom’s entry in the margin.

‘Never. Oh poor William. Tom never talked to me about it, but looking at this it makes me feel so sad that he never thought to show me.’

‘Or this,’ said Jack, turning to the front flyleaf.

Ada looked at the inscription in disbelief. ‘Is that really his signature: genuine I mean.’

‘Well it’s in a good firm hand. Looks good to me, but it would have to be checked out. You didn’t realise that it was worth some money then?’

Ada shook her head. ‘I don’t think Tom did either. I never saw the book out of the box, and he may well have completely forgotten that it was signed.’

There followed an hour or more of excited speculation, while the book was examined more closely page by page. But there were no further inscriptions to throw any light on the matter, or anything in the old newspaper cuttings to enlighten them. Jack and Jimmy meanwhile had been talking the matter over, and before they left Jimmy had a final word with Ada.

‘Ada, Jack and I think this needs to be done properly and with care. The book should be professionally valued, and it needs to be done by an expert, someone who knows what he’s about. That means London and not one of the local auctioneers. Jack said he’ll find out what he can about any specialists in this sort of thing, and then we’ll call again, and put together a letter for you to send telling them what you have. If they’re interested, and I’m sure they will be, wrap the book up carefully and get one of the boys to go up on the train and see them. If the boys aren’t keen to do that, then if it’s OK with you, I’ll pop up for you.’

Ada was quite happy with that, and the rest of their time together was spent, without all that much encouragement being needed from her visitors, in listening to Ada reminiscing about her childhood and early married life on the hill. And always it was the hill’s isolation in those early days that was the underlying theme. It forced on them a self-sufficiency and spirit of mutual support and cooperation that was being lost elsewhere, and in winter in particular it brought with it a fair share of emergencies and tragedies.

Ada, newly pregnant herself for the first time, had been called on to assist when heavy snowfalls had prevented either doctor or midwife getting to the village, and Albert, the current publican, was showing a distinct unwillingness to assume a personal existence independent of his mother’s womb.

‘But we got him out in the end,’ said Ada, ‘although he did look a sight. All blotched, scratched and ugly.’

‘Not much change there then,’ said Jimmy.

‘Maybe not, but he’s always kept an eye on me since Tom died.’

The tragedy was the loss of David, Ada’s young cousin, who cycling home late one night when winter ice lay thick across the hill, had skidded and fallen. His injury itself had not been severe, nothing more than a broken ankle, but none other was to pass that way during the night, and long before anyone was moving the following morning young David had frozen to death.

There were of course many happy times to be recalled, but as always it was the tragedies that left their mark on her visitors.

Unsurprisingly, as they had turned from tea to parsnip wine following the sensational discovery in the book, more than three hours had slipped away before they set off down the hill for home. Despite the excitement of the book’s discovery, the dying light of day and the thought of youth and life lost by war or accident had left them all in a reflective mood, Jack in particular.

‘Strange isn’t it how we can be so affected by the faraway deaths of those we have never even known. I felt like that when I read Tom’s few words about William’s death. Do you know that Hardy poem
Drummer Hodge
Jim?’

‘No Jack; can’t say that I do. Remember, you’re the man of letters. I’m just a pragmatic revolutionary and man of action.’

‘You’re a soulless bugger too, but I’m not deterred. Borrow my book some time and read it. Fine piece: only a few stanzas on poor young Hodge dead and buried on an African kopje to spend eternity under an alien sky. Can’t remember the exact lines, but there’s a bit about Hodge becoming part of that unknown plain and growing to become some Southern tree. A few years and a war later Brooke had much the same idea with his “foreign field” piece. Prefer the Hardy though — not so self-indulgent.’

‘Now you’ve got that out of your system, can we get home please, open a bottle and get stuck into a cold collation,’ said Kate.

‘God, you’re two of a kind. Bloody philistines.’

A specialist identified and Ada’s letter sent, there was little more than a week’s delay before a reply was received. There was great interest, they learned, and it would be the writer’s pleasure to examine the book and signature if they would telephone him for an appointment to call as soon as it was convenient.

Contrary to Jimmy’s expectations, both of Ada’s sons had shown themselves to be not only willing, but eager to carry the book to London. In fact having seen and heard so much about London in the swinging sixties they went right away, and allowed themselves three nights to explore its delights.

On the Saturday evening following their departure Jack answered a knock at the door to find the two of them fairly bursting in their eagerness to be friendly and make amends for their behaviour earlier in the month, nor had they had to be instructed by Ada to do so.

‘Sorry to disturb your evening Mr Manning, but we wondered if you could spare a little time to have a look at what we’ve brought back: Mr & Mrs Gillan too if you could give them a ring.’

‘Can’t wait to see it. Come on through and grab a seat. Kate would you give Jimmy a quick ring please, and ask them both if they could pop up right away. Tell them Ted and Charlie have called…. and by the way it’s Jack and Kate, Jimmy and Celia from now on. OK

They nodded and then fell into the chairs Jack offered them, trying to balance between them two bouquets of flowers, two packets and one envelope, while maintaining their composure.

‘If you don’t mind Mr…. Sorry Jack, we’ll hang on a bit for Jimmy and Celia before … I mean …’

‘No that’s fine Ted,’ said Jack. ‘How’s Ada?’

‘Oh she keeps marvellous for her age. Looking forward to summer like the rest of us …’

And so they kept up a desultory conversation until Jim and Celia arrived, breathless from their dash over the fields.

‘Well,’ said Ted, who had clearly been designated spokesman, ‘We and Mum would like first to say thank you to you all for what’s turned up.’

Saying no more he proffered a bouquet to Kate and a box to Jack, while Charlie did the same to Celia and Jimmy, each receiving a kiss of thanks from his lady.

‘Oh dear,’ said Jimmy, who first had his box open, ‘It’s going to be a long evening Jack. Where are the glasses?’ He held up a bottle of single malt Scotch as Jack opened his box to find its twin.

With all six comfortably settled with well-charged glasses, the men taking it neat, the ladies with a little water, Ted got down to essentials.

‘Well, as you know, our appointment was with a Mr Longman, but he’d got another chap with him by the name of Castlebar. We told them a little bit more about how the book had come to light, and then handed it over for them to have a look.

Mr Longman had it first. He looked over the cover, turned to Dad’s little note about poor Uncle William, then turned to the front and the signature, before passing it over to the other gentleman. He seemed to compare it with some other papers that he had, and then simply said, “No doubt about it.”’

‘Oh that’s bloody marvellous,’ said Jack.

‘Crudely put,’ said Jimmy, ‘But I think it expresses the view of us all.’

Ted then continued with his story.

‘Mr Longman said he understood we were going to be in town for a couple more days, and thought it would be safer if we left the book with him rather than in our hotel room. He would give us a proper receipt, and then we could pick the book up when we were ready to come home. In the meantime he would prepare a note for us to bring back for Mum and anyone else she wanted to see it’

With this he opened the envelope he had been holding, and held up two sheets of closely typed A4.

‘I think this is your province Jack,’ said Jimmy. ‘You spend your days on this sort of thing. I’ll top up the drinks while you look at it’

Jack read and then re-read the papers while the others talked quietly together.

‘OK. Do you want the full SP, or just the gist?’
The gist being chosen by all, he gave it to them as follows.

‘Right. The book is rare. Only 5,000 were printed in this first edition. Bound in red cloth the book is prone both to wear and to fading. Ada’s copy is in good condition, however, apart from the cover which is faded. The spine and back cover are fine. The signature is undoubtedly genuine. The book will certainly be worth thousands, but exactly how much is uncertain because nothing like it has come on to the market before. The effect of Tom’s pencil note is felt to be uncertain. It may or may not affect the price one way or the other, but if it were possible by any means to establish with certainty that there was a meeting, and where and when, then that would certainly increase the value significantly.’

Jimmy emptied his glass with an emphatic gulp. ‘I take back all I said Jack. There’s no other way of putting it. That’s absolutely bloody marvellous’

‘But what’s Ada going to do?’ asked Celia. ‘Is she going to put it up for auction?’

‘Says she wouldn’t hear of it,’ said Charlie. ‘Told us it’s our nest-egg when she’s gone, and we can do what we like with it then. She wants us to see if we can find out anything more about Dad’s time in South Africa. Do you think that’s possible Jack?’

‘Well if you’re hoping to prove that there was a meeting you’re going to be hoeing a hard row, and I think with little prospect of success. It would probably need the talents of an expert researcher too. But if all you want to do is find out a little more about your Dad’s part in the campaign, then the best place for you to start would be in the Regimental Archive.’

‘There you are,’ exclaimed Jimmy. ‘QED: the practical advantages of having a literary taxman as a neighbour.’