Forgive and Forget (42 page)

Polly’s joy at embarking on what she hoped would turn out to be the fulfilment of her dreams was tempered by the news from the Front and guilt swept over her in waves. How could she revel in her achievements when they’d only come about through such tragic circumstances?

The casualty lists continued in the newspapers and a cloud of despair hung over the whole city as family after family lost a loved one; sometimes even more than one member of the same family was killed. Fathers, brothers, sons and friends, who, caught up in the fever of patriotism, had enlisted together, trained together, were posted together and even died together. These became known as the ‘Pals’ battalions. And so many families mourned two or three at once and every street commiserated with one another when bad news came.

Polly still went to her old home every day after school, pushing Jacob in the perambulator. Although Miriam, now aged ten, was doing her best to care for her father and brother Stevie, she was still very young to take on the responsibility of looking after the household. And Polly was determined that the fate she’d suffered as a young girl should not fall upon her little sister. So, despite her work at the school, which, although she found it exhilarating, was also tiring, she still made the effort to go to her father’s house every evening. At weekends she spent most of each day there.

The Longden family settled into a routine, but it could not be called a happy one. When a printed postcard with the sentences that did not apply to him scratched out arrived from Eddie or a longer letter from Roland came, the family felt a surge of relief. But when the days stretched into weeks, and there was no word from either of them, the whole family became anxious and jittery and tempers were frayed. And Polly had the added burden of her secret fear: she couldn’t talk to anyone about Leo. Not even Bertha. Though they still bumped into each other in the street now and again, and Polly dared to enquire after Leo, she could not unburden the secrets of her heart.

So the months passed. Violet was an affectionate, if careless, mother but a happier one because she could go out to work. Selina was in heaven with two little boys to care for. And Polly was following her ambition, yet she never forgot the reason why this had come about. Every day she prayed that this terrible war might come to an end, even though it might also mean the end of her dreams.

Another Christmas, subdued for everyone, came and went and the New Year of 1916 dawned with still no sign of an armistice.

‘Will Eddie come home, d’you think?’ Miriam had asked hopefully.

Polly had sighed. ‘They do get leave, but they don’t always have enough time to get back to this country. Sometimes they do,’ she added, trying not to dash the young girl’s hopes completely. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

But neither Eddie nor Roland had appeared in time for Christmas. Nor did Leo and so Polly’s private anxiety continued. If only there was someone she could talk to, someone she could trust. She couldn’t speak to anyone about it, not even Selina, in case she should let a word or a gesture slip in front of Violet.

But Polly had reckoned without Selina’s intuitive gifts.

One cold, dark evening when Polly called at Selina’s home to pick up Jacob, Selina opened the door and gestured her inside.

‘Jacob’s having a little nap upstairs. Don’t disturb him yet, Polly. And Michael can play on the rug with his toy farmyard. Have you time for a cuppa?’

Polly nodded, shivering as she stepped gratefully into the warm kitchen. ‘I’d love one, Selina.’

‘Sit down and get yourself warm.’

Polly sat by the fire, drawing off her gloves as Michael tipped his toy animals out of a box onto the rug.

When she’d made the tea, Selina sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace and regarded Polly steadily.

‘How are you coping, Polly?’

Polly looked up sharply, almost spilling her tea into the saucer, but the woman’s gaze never flickered.

‘I – I – ’ Polly forced a smile. ‘All right. I love the work at the school. I can’t thank you enough for . . .’ Her voice trailed away as Selina shook her head.

‘I know that. But how are you – inside? There’s the worry of your family, I know. Your husband and brother. But – ’ She paused and her glance flickered briefly to Michael as if deciding how much the young boy might or might not understand of their conversation. ‘There’s your fears for someone else too. Someone you can’t speak of. I know it’s hard for you, Polly dear, and if you ever feel the need to talk, just know that I’m here.’ Selina smiled a little wistfully. ‘You’d be surprised how many secrets I hold. Some because folks feel they can confide in me, others – well, because I just know, I suppose.’ She held Polly’s gaze again. ‘And I know how you’re hurting deep inside.’

Polly’s cup rattled in the saucer as her hands began to shake. Tears ran down her face. Selina rose quickly and took the tea from her. Polly covered her face with her hands and rocked backwards and forwards.

‘It’s all right, Michael,’ she heard Selina say softly. ‘Auntie Polly’s just a bit upset, that’s all.’

Polly gulped back her tears and let her hands fall. ‘I’m so sorry. Michael, don’t worry. I’m fine.’

Michael looked up at her, his face solemn, his eyes wide. She ruffled his hair. ‘You play with your toys.’

Above his head, the two women exchanged an understanding look. ‘Any time you want to talk,’ Selina murmured. ‘I’m here.’

‘Thank you,’ Polly whispered.

But then Selina dropped the bombshell that Polly had not been expecting. ‘Stevie’s sixteen in April, isn’t he?’

Polly nodded.

‘Do you realize,’ Selina said slowly, ‘that he can enlist at that age? And probably will.’

Polly gaped at her in horror. ‘No, no. He’s not old enough. It’s eighteen, isn’t it?’

‘Officially, I believe so.’ Again the violet eyes watched Polly. ‘But if boys lie about their age, the army sometimes doesn’t enquire too closely . . .’

For the next two months, until his sixteenth birthday in April, Polly watched Stevie closely. But he gave no sign of wanting to enlist; indeed he displayed little interest in the progress of the war. He still worked for Mr Wilmott, still took home unsaleable vegetables on a Saturday night and went out with his friends at the weekend. And Stevie, Miriam told her, always arrived home at a reasonable hour and was helpful about the house too. Unlike Eddie – and Violet, for that matter – at the same age, Polly couldn’t help thinking.

His birthday came and went and still he seemed settled. Conscription had been brought in in January, and at the beginning of May new rules were approved by Parliament. Polly devoured the item in the daily newspaper. The Prime Minister had stated that recruitment rallies all over the country had still failed to gain enough volunteers for the army. Now the ages of conscription would be between eighteen and forty-one. Polly gasped as she read the words; her father was only forty-five. He was safe for now, but what if they extended the age range yet again?

‘I don’t think I’d have to go, Poll,’ William tried to reassure her. ‘Working on the railway is classed as important work for the war effort. No, I think they’ve already got everyone they’re going to get from this family. ’Cept of course, Micky. He’ll likely be called up now.’

On 1 July the British and French began an offensive in Picardy near the River Somme. From the very first day the casualty numbers were catastrophic. And now, when she visited her old home, she saw to her horror that Stevie was scouring the papers for news of the war.

Stevie, the merry, outgoing one who always had a smile on his face, became quiet and withdrawn. Polly watched him anxiously and questioned Miriam. ‘Does he talk about – about joining up?’

‘We don’t talk about it at home, Poll. It upsets Dad. It reminds him Eddie’s out there and his son-in-law, to say nothing of – ’ Miriam bit her lip and glanced away before muttering, ‘others too.’

At twelve, Miriam was having to grow up quickly, just like Polly had had to do, but for a different reason. Polly sighed. She’d have given anything to see her little sister having a happy, carefree childhood.

So, though she’d feared it, it came as no surprise when a solemn-faced Stevie knocked at her door late one night.

‘What is it?’ she asked at once, pulling him inside. ‘It’s not Eddie, is it?’

Stevie, his shoulder hunched, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s me.’

Polly gasped and her eyes widened. ‘Oh no, you haven’t done it, have you? You haven’t enlisted?’

Stevie nodded. ‘I’ve got to go, Poll. I can’t be the only one left at home.’

‘But you’re not old enough. You’re only sixteen. Why did they take you?’ She stared at him, but knew the answer before he uttered the words.

‘I told them I was seventeen, nearly eighteen. And they believed me.’

Polly snorted. ‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they? You’re tall for your age and – and they want anyone they can get.’ She touched his arm. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. But they shouldn’t be taking you. You’re too young.’

Her eyes filled with tears. Polly didn’t often cry, but this was too much. Her little Stevie going to war, into a carnage that was so horrific that the men who came home injured or on a brief leave refused to talk about it even to their families.

Stevie and Miriam had seemed like her children. She’d brought them up and the two of them had never caused her a moment’s worry or disappointment. She’d hardly ever had to chastise them and she could only remember that one time, when Stevie went swimming in the river, that she’d been angry with him. He’d been her pride and joy; they both had. And now he was going to become cannon fodder.

‘Oh, Stevie, don’t go. Please, don’t go.’ She rested her head against his shoulder and wept, embarrassing the young boy.

‘I’ve got to now, Poll. I’ve taken the King’s shilling.’

Her head snapped up. ‘I’ll go and see them tomorrow. I’ll go up to the barracks and bang on the door until they let me in. I’ll tell them you’re only sixteen. They’ll listen to me. I’ll
make
them listen to me.’

‘I – I didn’t enlist at the barracks.’

‘Then where? Tell me!’ She gripped his arms until her fingers dug into his flesh, but Stevie was mutinous.

‘I’ll find out,’ she threatened. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out.’

But Stevie steadfastly refused to tell her and when she rushed to her old home early the following morning it was to find that Stevie had already left.

‘He volunteered a week ago,’ William told her sadly. ‘But he didn’t tell us until he knew he was actually going and it’d be too late to stop him.’

‘I’m still going up to the barracks. I’ll tell them . . .’ She stopped, staring in amazement at her father. She’d thought she could count on his support. Surely he didn’t want his younger son to go to war, but William was shaking his head. ‘Don’t do that, Poll. Don’t make him look a fool in front of his superiors. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘But he’s only . . .’

‘I know, I know. He’s only sixteen and to you and me, Poll, he’s still a lad. But to the army he’s a man now. And there’s nowt we can do about it.’

‘You sound as if you don’t want to.’

William smiled sadly. ‘Oh, part of me does, Poll. Part of me wants to do exactly what you’re suggesting, but the other part . . .’ He stopped and his face took on a dreamy, faraway look.

‘The other part?’ Polly prompted.

‘The other part of me is that damned proud of him, I’m envious.’

‘
Envious?
’

‘Yes, envious. I’d give anything to be marching off to war with me head held high because, even if he does get killed, he’ll be a hero. His name will be feted and remembered forever.’

‘He’ll likely get blown to pieces and never found, just buried beneath the mud and forgotten.’

‘Aye, aye, mebbe that’s what will happen – the first bit anyway. But as for being forgotten, you’re wrong there, Poll, because our war heroes are never, ever going to be forgotten. We’ll make sure of that.’

Only two weeks after Stevie had gone the news they had all been dreading came to the Longden household.

One Saturday morning towards the end of July Polly wheeled a sleeping Jacob round to her old home.

‘You’ll soon be too big for this pram,’ she murmured. At almost two, the child was growing fast. He was sturdy and could walk well now, but he still liked a sleep in his pram and Polly hadn’t the heart to wake him when it was time to see if Miriam needed any shopping. Polly enjoyed the walks into the city with her sister on a Saturday morning and later on, towards evening, they’d sometimes go again to pick up the best bargains in the market.

It was just beginning to rain, so she pulled the pram through the door and left Jacob in the quiet of the front room.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she found her father slumped in his chair by the fire, still holding the dreaded telegram in his hands. Miriam was standing beside him, her arm around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. She was weeping silently, the tears flooding down her cheeks.

‘Oh no!’ Polly clutched at the doorframe for support as her legs threatened to give way beneath her. ‘
No!
’