Regret to Inform You... (26 page)

‘Sir, it was for Mrs Rowe, the Mrs Rowe who lives in Meadow Way.' Arthur nodded.

‘Peter, I have a high regard for you and what you do. I know it's not an easy job and you clearly care about people. We are all in the midst of very sad times and there's not much any of us can do, but sometimes it may help if I know who needs support: from me, from my wife, relatives or friends in the village. None of us wants to interfere, just to help in these bad times. Do you understand what I'm saying, Peter?'

Peter did. ‘Yes sir. I want to help as much as I can.'

‘Well,' replied Arthur, ‘if you have any of these terrible letters or telegrams to deliver in the village, it may help if I know as soon as possible. I leave it with you to think about.'

As Arthur went back into the warmth of his house, he wondered if he was right. Was he guilty of prying into matters that were not his concern? He had thought long before speaking to Peter Woods; Eleanor had voiced her gentle support for what her husband intended. ‘You may be able to help Arthur. I know you are only doing it for the right reasons.'

By the next day, the news of Private Ernest Rowe's death in Flanders was known throughout the village. He, like Copper Chambers, had grown up in the village and been to the school. That the most recent death was of a man whose home was still
in
the village, brought an added thrust; leaving a widow and a month-old son a still deeper grief.

Arthur Windle knew he had been largely responsible for supporting the war effort by organising the meeting addressed by Sir Humphrey; if that had not happened, would poor Ruby Rowe now be grieving and her young son fatherless?

As the winter was gently transformed into an early spring, more bad news followed: three men wounded. When Tommy Bruce returned home to recover from a fractured ankle, his parents and friends were surprised that he was loathe to tell them about his time in France, dismissing questions with the words: ‘Not much. You just get on with things.' His parents were further surprised that he appeared anxious to get back to the war, whilst Tommy just pondered on his feeling of guilt at leaving his mates to carry on while he was back home.

‘The trouble,' Arthur Windle commented to Eleanor over the breakfast table, ‘is that amid all the bad news everyone wants to support the young men and the whole war effort, but there doesn't seem anything we can do to help.'

Whether an answer to a prayer or simple coincidence, Eleanor felt the latter, a response came the next day – and from an unexpected source, indeed, from two.

Neither Violet Rushton nor Robert Berry had ever been to the vicarage, but mid-morning both appeared on the doorstep. It was Eleanor who answered the knock. ‘Sorry to disturb you ma'am,' said the usually reclusive Robert Berry, ‘but we wondered if we could speak with the Vicar for a few minutes?'

He looked mildly embarrassed, yet determined. Violet Rushton just smiled, adding, ‘And you too, of course, Eleanor.'

Eleanor, surprised, even puzzled, was quick to respond. ‘Of course, come in. Arthur is in his study, I'll give him a call.' She led them into the light, restful lounge and beckoned them to sit. Violet Rushton sat on the edge of an upright leather armchair, her colleague remained standing.

A
few minutes later Arthur appeared. After warm greetings, the four sat. ‘Now, how can I help?' asked Arthur turning to the unexpected duo. ‘Please.' The two looked at each other and, surprisingly to Arthur, it was Robert Berry who spoke. He was usually to be found in his large garden, although Arthur had noted his occasional attendance at St Mary's when prayers and meditations were announced for the men abroad.

‘Well, Miss Rushton and I have been talking. I called in at her shop a month or so ago and we got to talking about how we could help the men who are away. It wasn't too long after quite a lot of people had sent parcels to their men and Miss Rushton here got to saying that it was a shame if that only happened at Christmas. Maybe the rest of us could do something. Anyway, Miss Rushton came round to my house last week and we talked things through a bit. We thought we might be able to help.'

Arthur's interest was certainly aroused at his unexpected visitor's enthusiasm for an idea that obviously mattered to him. Eleanor smiled and murmured her encouragement. Looking at Violet Rushton, Eleanor did not want her left out of the conversation. ‘So, Violet, please tell us your thoughts.'

‘Well, as Mr Berry said, we got talking about the Christmas parcels and we thought why not organise the sending of parcels, food, cigarettes and a few warm things on a more regular basis? Why not encourage everyone in the village to contribute? We could all give something. How many men are there from the village that are away fighting now, Vicar?'

‘When I looked at the list in the porch on Monday it was fifty-one, but it's growing all the time.'

‘Well, we could try to send a parcel to everyone, say, once every three months. We could ask people to give what they can, it needn't cost a lot of money as some could sew or knit things. I've got my store at the back of the shop and can make space for things to be kept there, so people could bring things
along
at any time. Then, when the time comes round we could find people to make up the parcels ready to send.'

‘It certainly sounds a wonderful idea,' Arthur enthusiastically replied. ‘I know how much the men welcomed their Christmas parcels.'

‘I also think,' added Eleanor, ‘it's about them knowing they are in people's minds. It must be terribly lonely as well as dangerous wherever they are and just to know that people are thinking about them probably means a lot.'

‘I'm sure that's true,' interjected Robert Berry, ‘but there's something else we need to remember. The families of some of the men are very poor; I was talking to one lady whose son is in France, and she happened to say how difficult things had been made worse, since a soldier's pay isn't very much and little came her way. Some can't afford parcels on their own.'

Eleanor wondered whether their visitor, whose thoughtfulness was revealing a caring side of which she had not been aware, was thinking of Liz Smith who scraped together a living by hard laundry work and must miss Fred's earnings at the smithy.

The four went on gathering ideas and were surprised when they heard the hall clock strike twelve. They could all see the idea becoming a growing activity in the village, although just how much, they could not have imagined.

As the couple left the vicarage after warm goodbyes, Arthur turned to his wife. ‘I'm not surprised at Violet Rushton, she has always seemed a caring person, but I wouldn't easily have placed Robert Berry in the same mould. I know some find him not only reclusive, but rather brusque.'

‘Ah, Arthur. You've seen how he always has the Union Jack flying in his garden and we've heard he served in the army. Obviously, he has a great feeling for our men overseas; knows what that must be like and wants to do something practical about it. Bless them both.'

T
HIRTY-THREE

Saturday, 10 April 1915

The excitement opposite the pond was reminiscent of the time, five months earlier, when the children had been allowed to mount the soldiers' horses. ‘It's as well it's a Saturday,' remarked Gwendolyn Edwards to Rachel Fielding from The Queens Head. ‘The children would hate to miss this.'

The source of excitement was a red and green omnibus parked in the gravelled area between John Francis' shop and Gwendolyn's cottage. It was only half past eight on this grey April morning, but a crowd had already gathered. Twelve-year-old Lily Reynolds had been the first to spot it, when at first light she had been up as it was her birthday. Now there were at least thirty gathered round the impressive, shining omnibus, hooded but open-sided. Rachel Fielding had often wondered how her smartly dressed neighbour, John Francis, made a living from his shop. There never seemed much to buy there with few customers although some went into his back room where he doubled up as a barber.

When he had been in The Queens Head a week earlier and told Rachel how he had bought a bus and was going to provide a regular service to Steepleton, she thought the drinks she had served him had whetted his well-known ability to exaggerate. She realised now that he must have driven it into his large
barn
running alongside his shop several days previously; she had seen him bustling between cottage and barn on several recent occasions; often wearing overalls. It was also Lily who had first spotted the name on this brightly painted vehicle: “The Rusfield Rocket”.

‘So what are you planning, John?' asked the elderly Joe Bacon from the forge opposite. ‘It looks very smart and somehow you've managed to keep it a secret.'

‘Ay,' replied the robust, proud owner of the village's first omnibus. ‘It's time folks were able to get in to Steepleton without having to walk or bicycle. I plan to drive in every morning, except Sundays, and return about two hours later. I may think about an afternoon run as well. Anyway, I'm going in on an introductory ride at eleven o'clock this morning. I can take twenty-one passengers so we'll see who wants to go.'

Children rushed home to ask parents to take them into town and plans for the morning were changed. There would be no shortage of passengers.

Arthur and Eleanor quickly heard about “The Rusfield Rocket” when an animated Eliza Carey came in to do a morning's cleaning. She could hardly contain her excitement. ‘Won't it be wonderful if we can easily get into Steepleton?'

‘Indeed it will,' smiled Eleanor. ‘We must be one of the few villages where there isn't easy transport, so what Mr Francis is promising is excellent news.'

Arthur had heard his wife talking and came into the kitchen to see who had called; he had forgotten it might be Eliza. ‘Good morning Eliza.' He turned to his wife, ‘I heard you mention John Francis' name, is he all right?' He was quickly brought up to date with the news by the excited Eliza.

‘That is excellent,' he smiled, ‘I wish the new “Rusfield Rocket” every success. It's long been needed and since the county authority gave us a proper road into Steepleton last year, it really is about time.'

‘And,' added Eleanor, ‘it's time we had some good news.
Nurse
Hazlett told me yesterday that over twenty children now have measles and young George Jones is really quite ill.' She turned to Eliza, ‘Will you please help me with putting up the curtains in the guest bedroom? I've been meaning to do the job for the last few days.'

‘And I must take another look at my sermon for tomorrow,' interjected Arthur.

But neither replacing the bedroom curtains nor the next day's sermon were to be completed on that day. The knock at the door took both Arthur and Eleanor through the hall.

‘Peter, how are you?' Eleanor smiled her greeting to the young man, who was becoming an increasingly important figure in the village; regrettably, sometimes for heartbreaking reasons.

Arthur saw the young man bearing a telegram. ‘Oh Peter, more bad news! Who are you taking this telegram to?'

‘It's for you, sir.'

‘Oh, I see. Well thank you; perhaps an urgent note from the bishop.'

‘Goodbye, Peter. Go carefully,' added Eleanor, realising how much Arthur wondered at the telegram's content. She closed the door.

Arthur hurriedly opened the telegram:
Your father is ill. Please come urgently. Love Mother.

He passed it to Eleanor. ‘Arthur, I'm sorry,' offered Eleanor, putting her arm round her husband. ‘We know he's not been well for a while and clearly your mother wouldn't have sent this unless it's really urgent. We must get down to Dorset as soon as possible.'

‘Indeed,' agreed Arthur. ‘Poor mother, she will be so worried. There will be regular trains today, but tomorrow will be much harder; Sunday ones are few and far between. I'll have to get word to Fred Richards and he'll make the best arrangements he can for tomorrow's service. Maybe he can get the Reverend Herbert Mainwaring in from Steepleton. I'm so fortunate having Fred as a churchwarden.'

‘
And while you're dealing with that I'll have a word with Eliza and see if Sparky can conjure up some transport to take us to the station.' She smiled and gave Arthur a gentle kiss. ‘I don't think the “Rusfield Rocket” would be a good idea on this occasion; we don't want everyone to know and add their well-meaning words before we set out.'

Arthur nodded. As Eleanor left to seek out Eliza, he went into his study and took down the green Bradshaw railway guide. There were two trains that could get them to Sherborne and it should not be too difficult to find a cab to take them the further three miles to his parents' house. He hurried along to the Richards' cottage.

‘I'm so sorry,' sympathised the kindly churchwarden. ‘You must get away as quickly as you can. I'll get word to the Reverend Mainwaring and I'm sure he will help out if he can. In any case we shall manage and I know everyone will be thinking of you and your family. Just leave it to me.'

The thought went through Arthur's mind of how much he was reminded of Abraham when talking with Fred Richards, his father. By the time he got back to the vicarage, Eleanor was busy packing. ‘Sparky will be round here in half an hour. I think we need to take enough clothes for several days.'

Sparky, resourceful as ever, got them to Steepleton in good time with only a thirty minute wait for a train into London and they then made good time to Waterloo station. They were amazed at the vast crowds of soldiers, many with tearful loved ones; whether greeting or bidding farewell was hard to know. The awful thought went through Arthur's mind and, as likely as not through Eleanor's, as to how many of the young men soon to cross the Channel, would never return. How many would soon have their lives completely changed?