Forgive and Forget (39 page)

There was an awkward silence before Polly, avoiding his questioning gaze, said shortly, ‘It didn’t work out.’

Eddie shrugged and let the matter drop – for the moment. But he intended to find out what had gone wrong. He wanted to know everything that had happened to his family whilst he’d been away.

‘Tell him, Poll,’ William spoke up from his chair by the fire, the chair where he spent most of his days now.

Polly glanced at her father, not quite sure what it was she was supposed to say to her brother.

‘Tell him he’s not to go.’

Eddie sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to explain it to him, Poll, but he’s not listening. I’m a soldier now. I can’t get out of the army even if I wanted to, specially not now. And, besides, I don’t want to. It’s a good life.’

She gazed at him, drinking in the sight of this stranger standing tall and proud in front of her – she knew that army life had been the making of him. She’d been right after all; it had been the best thing he’d ever done. And yet . . .

Polly took a deep breath. ‘Is it true you’ve – you’ve got to go to war? Abroad? Maybe – maybe to the Front?’

There was a sudden fire in his eyes and a straightening of his shoulders as if he relished the idea, couldn’t wait to go. ‘I’m with the First Battalion of the Lincolnshire Regiment. We’ve been stationed in Portsmouth and we’re one of the first battalions to go.’

William groaned and Eddie put his hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘There’s no need to worry, Dad. It’ll be over by Christmas. That’s what they all say.’

Of course it wasn’t over by Christmas; indeed the fighting was getting worse.

The Longden family had had to come to terms with Eddie’s commitment and they’d done their best to make his brief leave happy and memorable. On the day he left they’d all shed tears; even Stevie, who considered himself a grown-up at fourteen, had tried to hold back the tears but had failed. Only Eddie was genuinely cheerful.

There was one brief moment that caught at Polly’s heart as he hugged her and whispered in her ear, ‘Look after ’em, Poll. But then, I don’t really need to ask, do I? ’Cos I know you always will.’ He’d drawn back and held her at arm’s length looking down into her eyes, for a brief moment deadly serious and seeing far more in the depths of her eyes than she intended him to see. Whilst he’d been home, he’d learned all about what had torn the two young lovers apart. Now his voice dropped even lower so that she almost missed the words. ‘Even if it means sacrificing your own happiness, you’ll look after them, though I’m not sure they deserve it.’ Her brother knew her too well – even though he hadn’t been around much over the last few years. He cleared his throat and added, ‘Try to be happy, Poll, as happy as you can be. Roland’s a good chap.’

She’d nodded, unable to speak for the tears filling her throat. And the unspoken words lay between them.

But he’s not Leo.

As before, they heard nothing from Eddie for weeks on end. And now they worried more than ever before. But they were not the only ones. All over the city men and boys as young as sixteen were enlisting, urged on by the patriotic fervour sweeping through the streets into pubs, homes and places of work.

Polly kept herself busy, trying to keep her mind off thoughts of Eddie – and Leo. But she’d heard no more from Bertha Halliday.

Caring for her husband and child, and seeing that her father, Stevie and Miriam were all right too, left Polly little time. And at night she was far too exhausted to lie awake for long. But it was in the early hours of the morning that the fear struck and woke her from her sleep. Then she would lie staring into the darkness until a pale dawn, or her baby’s cries, reminded her that it was time to rise and begin another day.

If only, she mourned, things had been different. If her mother hadn’t died, if she’d been able to follow her dream and become a teacher. And, most of all, if she’d become Leo’s wife. How very different her life might have been.

‘Come and sit down to your tea, Roland dear. It’s all ready. Hard day?’ Polly bustled about the kitchen, setting his evening meal before him. Jacob was soundly asleep in his cot upstairs. Seven months old now, he’d been sleeping through the night for a while and was growing into a strong, sturdy infant. Already he could sit up on his own.

Roland sat down heavily and silently placed a tiny white feather on the table.

‘Get that mucky thing off the tea table—’ she began and then was suddenly still, staring terror-struck at the offending feather. The gravy boat she was holding slipped from her grasp and smashed to the floor, splashing the hot liquid on her legs and spilling over the new peg rug she had only just finished making. But neither she nor Roland seemed to notice; she wasn’t even aware of the scalding pain. They were both staring, transfixed, at the white feather.

‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘Not that. Not that.’ She dragged her gaze away and looked at Roland, sitting with his shoulders hunched, his face pale and frightened.

‘Who? Not them bitches at work? Surely not? Ida? Was it Ida?’ She knew it wouldn’t have been Nelly. Nelly was her friend and it had been she who’d told Polly of the white feathers being handed out at the factory to men who were fit enough and the right age to enlist.

Slowly, Roland shook his head and said hoarsely, ‘No, it wasn’t any of them. Surprisingly, because I expect I’m not popular with all of ’em. No.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It was a woman in the street. There’s a band of them, marching up and down the High Street and handing out these – these badges of cowardice.’

‘Roland, no!’ She dropped to her knees beside him. For the first time her concern was wholly and totally for him. ‘You’re not a coward. Take no notice. You’re not to allow them to – to shame you into volunteering. Besides,’ she went on with a surge of fresh hope, ‘you’re too old, aren’t you?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘No, love. I’m not. I’m thirty-four and that’s not too old to – to become cannon fodder.’

‘Roland, don’t.’

At his words, her fears were back. All of them and now with an added worry: Roland too, might enlist.

He continued at his work for another two weeks, two weeks in which he became a changed man. He was quiet and withdrawn, locked in a world of his own private terrors where even Polly couldn’t reach him. At last she could stand the anxiety no longer and she sought out the one woman she knew would understand. Carrying Jacob in her arms, she knocked with trembling fingers, fearing that it might be Leo who came to the door.

She breathed a sigh of relief when it opened and Bertha stood there. Surprise flitted across the woman’s face, but she held the door wider, silently inviting Polly into her home once more.

‘Is – is Leo here?’

‘No, love. Did you want to see him?’

Polly’s head dipped. Of course she wanted to see him; she always wanted to see him. To drink in the sight of him and hold him close in her heart. But she couldn’t say the words. She must never again say those words. Instead she blurted out, ‘Has he – has he enlisted?’

The lines in Bertha’s face sagged. ‘Not yet.’

Polly searched her face. ‘But he’s going to, isn’t he?’

‘So he reckons.’

‘I – I think Roland’s going too. He was given a white feather in the street two weeks ago and he’s been so quiet and withdrawn since. Oh, Mrs Halliday . . .’ Suddenly, tears overwhelmed her.

Bertha put her arms around her and drew her against her ample, comforting bosom. Sensing his mother’s distress, Jacob began to whimper. ‘There, there, Poll. Give the bairn to me. You’re such a brave lass. Don’t give way now. We’ve got to be strong. All of us.’

But Polly couldn’t stem the flow of her misery. All the years of hurt welled up. She’d had to keep her family going after the death of her mother, through the humiliation of her father’s imprisonment and then, worst of all, she’d been forced to turn her back on the man she loved, the only man she would ever love. She was very fond of Roland – fond enough never to hurt him. But he wasn’t Leo. And no one, however good and kind and upstanding, could ever replace the love of her life.

‘Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’ It was Bertha’s answer to all troubles, whatever they were. She settled the child on Polly’s knee and whilst Bertha busied herself, Polly mopped her face on her apron. By the time Bertha set the hot, sweet tea in front of her, Polly had stopped weeping.

‘Now, love,’ Bertha said firmly, ‘it’s high time you an’ me put our differences behind us. We’re facing far more serious worries than we’ve ever had in the past. Oh aye,’ she added swiftly, before Polly could say anything, ‘I know yar dad going to prison was bad enough, but this – ’ Bertha sighed and shook her head – ‘is summat else.’

Polly didn’t answer immediately, but she knew the woman was right. William had brought all his troubles on himself. She could see that now.

The older woman’s voice was laden with anxiety and a sorrow that, although it was yet to come, she knew was inevitable. ‘We’re going to lose a lot of men from our city. Fathers, husbands and – and sons. It’s started already. You’ve seen the casualty lists, haven’t you?’

Polly nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

‘We’ve got to face it, lass,’ Bertha went on. ‘They’re going to go whether we like it or not and there’s nowt we can do to stop them. Not mothers, wives nor – nor sweethearts.’ Then disbelief crept into her tone. ‘Why, they’re even making out that any woman who doesn’t encourage her man to go is being unpatriotic. Well, Polly, if it’s being unpatriotic not to want my lad to get killed – ’ now there was vigour surging back into Bertha’s voice – ‘then I am.’ She thrust her head forward across the table, as if defying Polly to argue with her. ‘And I’ll stand up in front of anyone and say me piece if I have to. There’s nobody more loyal to King and Country than me and mine, but I can’t see the sense in going to fight someone else’s war. Can you?’

Polly smiled wanly as she felt the courage seeping back into her tortured mind. ‘No, Mrs Halliday, I can’t. But then, I don’t understand rightly how it’s all come about. Roland tried to explain it to me, but I can’t understand why some foreign Archduke getting killed makes half the world go to war.’

‘It’s all to do with alliances,’ Bertha scoffed. ‘Alliances, indeed. They’re not worth the paper they’re written on.’

‘But why are
we
in the war? That’s what I don’t understand.’

‘Me neither, lass, but like I say, it’s all to do with promises we’ve made to other folks – other countries. Why we can’t keep ourselves to ourselves and mind our own business, I don’t know.’

Bertha fell silent, realizing she was treading on dangerous ground. If she said more, it might sound as if she was harking back to the riot and all the trouble that had caused. But Polly’s mind was too filled with her present worries to notice.

Heavily she said, ‘Then there’s nothing we can do?’

‘I’m sorry, lass, but I don’t think there is.’

And there wasn’t. Ironically, Roland and Leo enlisted in the Lincolnshire Regiment on the same day in April.

‘I’ve done it, Polly.’ Roland said when he returned home and sat down heavily in his armchair near the range. ‘I’ve joined up.’ His tone was flat, completely devoid of any of the excitement that had been in Eddie’s demeanour. Her brother hadn’t been able to hide his enthusiasm for the cause and his keenness to ‘get up and at ’em’. He’d been excited at the prospect, but Roland had been forced into it because he didn’t want to be branded a coward or thought unpatriotic.

Polly sank into the chair opposite him. For a brief moment anger surged through her, overwhelming the fear. She pursed her mouth. ‘So you think more of being a hero than you do of taking care of your wife and son, do you?’

His face was bleak. ‘Aw, Poll, don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You know how much I love you and little Jake . . .’

‘His name’s
Jacob
,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, trying to latch on to anything that would take her mind away from the dread growing in her breast.

She heard Roland’s heavy sigh of disappointment, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort him; she was too angry. Why, oh why, did responsibility always fall so heavily on her? Wasn’t it enough what she’d had to suffer in her young life already?

Evidently not, for at Roland’s next words a dread such as she’d never experienced before in her life, flooded through her and twisted her insides into knots.

‘Polly, love, there’s something else you – you ought to know. Leo Halliday was there at the same time as me. He’s enlisted an’ all.’

Polly and Bertha stood side by side on the station platform waving off the two men. Polly forced herself to turn to the right, where she could see Roland’s head poking out of the carriage window towards the end of the train. She dared not risk a glance towards the front, where she knew Leo was waving from another carriage. Bertha was waving her handkerchief frantically, trying to catch her son’s attention.

‘He’s seen us, Poll. Give him a wave.’

But Polly kept her back resolutely turned and waved again to Roland, blowing him a kiss and holding a squealing Jacob aloft so that her husband might catch a last sight of his son.

The whistle sounded, doors banged and the train huffed and puffed and drew out of the station in a cloud of steam. Polly turned slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on Roland.