The Caxley Chronicles (17 page)

'He's doing fine,' said the voice, warm and hearty at the other end of the line. 'The arm should be as good as new in a few weeks. Just a little stiffness maybe.'

'And the leg?' Bender pressed the receiver closer to his ear. Hilda stood beside him and he clasped her hand with his free one. She could only hear the distant murmur of the surgeon's voice, but her eyes scanned Bender's face anxiously. His grip tightened, he swallowed noisily, and his voice was husky when he said the final words.

'I'm sure you did. Quite sure you did. It's a sore blow, but you know we're grateful to you. Good-bye.'

He hung up and turned to his wife.

'The leg is not as bad as they feared, but his foot, Hilda ... His foot has had to come off...'

Bender had expected tears, but they did not come. For all her pallor, Hilda looked calm.

'I'm thankful,' she said in a low tone. 'Honestly thankful! Now he'll never have to go back. He'll be safe at home for always.'

Women, thought Bender in wonderment, were truly unpredictable.

Bertie's lengthy convalescence took place at a riverside nursing home within fifteen miles of Caxley. He made slow but steady progress, but endured great pain, and had to learn to walk again with an artificial foot.

Lying in bed, or in a chair on the green lawn sloping down to the river, he had plenty of time for thought. In many ways he regretted the end of bis soldiering days, but he was realistic enough to be grateful that he need not return to active fighting. He had seen enough of war's squalor and agony to sicken him, and had often remembered Kathy's remarks about 'the lucky ones who were left at home'. He did not think she was wholly right, but he could see her point more clearly now.

But what of the future? Bill Blake had guaranteed him a job in the firm—possibly a partnership after the war. He looked forward to returning. There was no place like Caxley and no business like the motor business. It should be more flourishing than ever when the war ended. He supposed he would live at Rose Lodge as before, but he longed to have a
place of his own. If only he could have gone back to the old home!

He thought, as he so often did, of Kathy. He had never met another girl to touch her, and felt positive that he never would. But how could he ask any girl to marry such an old crock? He was irritable when he was in pain, which was most of the time, and devilish slow in making progress with the new foot. He must simply persevere and hope that things grew easier. Meanwhile, he received many Caxley friends, and learnt all he could about Kathy's circumstances. She was still nursing at Caxley Hospital, he heard, and having as gay a time as war allowed in the evenings.

Bill Blake, who knew what was in Bertie's mind without being told, offered to bring Kathy over one afternoon when she was free, and was as good as his word.

Bertie watched the clock anxiously all the morning. By two o'clock when she was due, he was in a state of feverish excitement. He sat in a wicker chair on the lawn waiting impatiently.

She was as lovely as ever when she finally arrived, clad in a pink fluttery frock with pearls at her throat. Her dark hair was piled on top, her great eyes danced as gaily as ever. She gave him a light kiss, making his head swim, and settled herself in a chair beside him. Bill, the soul of tact, vanished to make some imaginary adjustment to the car which had brought them.

They fell into conversation as easily as ever. Kathy told Bertie all about her life at the hospital. She chattered of the patients, the staff, the doctors. She talked of the Howards and the fun of looking forward to being aunt to Leslie's baby. Only when she spoke of Jim did her lovely face cloud over, and she let Bertie take her hand. But within a minute she was happy
again, and Bertie thought how like her mother she was, with the same gaiety and the same ability to throw off trouble. Could it be lack of feeling? Sadly, listening to the welcome prattling, Bertie realized that it could, but he would not have her any different. Kathy was perfect.

'Want to see me walk?' asked Bertie suddenly. Kathy leapt to her feet. They made careful progress along a path beside the river.

'It reminds me of the Cax,' said Bertie, shading his eyes with his hand and gazing along the shining water. 'It makes me think of you. I still do you know.'

Kathy squeezed his arm, her smile mischievous.

'Bertie, don't think of me any more. I wasn't going to say anything. Nobody knows—not a soul. But I'm going to tell you, because somehow I can tell you everything. I'm going to be engaged any day now. We shall tell our families this week.'

It was as well that Kathy's arm supported him for Bertie could have fallen with the shock. It was really no great surprise. He had known that Kathy must marry one day and that his own case was now doubly hopeless. She had never felt for him in that way, and now his injuries made him shy of asking her again. But now that the blow had fallen it was hard to bear.

'Say you're pleased, Bertie dear. I shall be so miserable if you're not pleased. I'm very fond of you. I want you to like Henry. Shall I bring him next time?'

Bertie did his best to rally. She was gazing at him anxiously for his approval. He could deny her nothing, and told her sincerely that he hoped she would always be happy. The
unknown Henry he loathed with all his being at the moment, but supposed he would feel less savage when he got used to the idea. But God help him if he was not good to Kathy!

He let Kathy tell him more, glad to be silent to regain his composure. Henry was very tall, and big, with red hair. He was in a Scottish regiment. (That damned kilt, groaned Anglo-Saxon Bertie inwardly! What havoc it caused among susceptible young women!) He was as brave as a lion, and always happy. (Who wouldn't be with Kathy beside him, thought poor Bertie?) His home was in Edinburgh and he had shown her pictures of the great castle there. He would take her to see it, on his next leave, and then she would stay with his parents. They hoped to marry in the spring.

It was small wonder that Bill Blake thought Bertie looked a bit off colour when he returned to take tea on the lawn. He commented on it with some concern, adding that there were bound to be ups and downs in a long illness.

'In life too!' agreed Bertie simply, smiling across at Kathy.

Winnie's baby, a boy, was born soon after Kathy's visit to Bertie, and he was glad to hear of this event for his mother's sake as well as Winnie's. It diverted attention from his own affairs and enabled him to get a grip on life. Now that Kathy was irretrievably lost to him, he set his mind on getting back to his unit as quickly as his tardy body would allow.

But it was autumn before he was discharged, and no medical board would pass him fit for military service. Philosophically, Bertie returned to Rose Lodge, the raptures of Hilda, and the welcome routine of the motor trade. He undertook more
voluntary work than Hilda felt he should, bin he gained in strength and seemed happy enough in his sober way.

The Norths received an invitation to Kathy's splendid wedding in the spring, and surprisingly, Hilda insisted on going, but she went alone. Bender pleaded overwork. Bertie simply stated flatly that he was unable to accompany her. There was a stricken look about Bertie's face, when he told her this, that gave Hilda her first suspicion of his feelings towards Kathy. Not another Howard, surely! She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had come to life, and dwelt with relief on Kathy's union with another and her probable; abode in the northern fastness of Edinburgh. The further away the better, thought Hilda privately. The Howards brought them nothing but trouble, one way or another.

As it happened, Kathy did not move away immediately. Whilst the war still ground on remorselessly, Kathy lived with her parents in the market square and continued nursing. Bertie often saw her as he drove his little A.C. to work in the morning, and his heart turned over as disconcertingly as it had ever done. She looked so pretty and trim in her nurse's uniform, and Bertie envied the lucky patients who would spend their day in her presence.

In the early days of November 1918 it became apparent that, at last, victory was near. After four years of suffering it was hard to believe, but on Monday, November nth, there were excited murmurs in the streets of Caxley.

'It's true, Mr North,' said an old woman across the counter in his shop. 'The war's over!'

'Who told you that yarn?' quipped Bender. 'The papers don't say so.'

'The paper shop does though,' she retorted. She shook her umbrella at Bender's unbelieving face. 'He's put up a notice saying "Yes! Yes!" that must mean it's true!'

After she had departed Bender made his way out into the drizzling morning. Little knots of people had gathered and were asking questions. A cheer went up as several bell-ringers were seen to run up the steps into St Peter's.

'Where are the flags?' yelled one. As if in answer to his question the cross of St George began to mount the flag staff on top of the church.

'The Post Office should know if it's true,' Bender said to fat Mrs Petty who stopped to get news. He resolved to walk there and make enquiries. Miss Taggerty and young Pringle could cope with slack Monday morning trade for once.

There was no confirmation yet of the rumours, the official at the Post Office said austerely. As soon as anything was known it would be posted publicly. Bender made his way back across the market square. By now there was quite a crowd. Some wag had lashed a Union Jack to Queen Victoria's hand and tied a red, white and blue bow on her crown. Sep, standing at his shop window, would normally have felt shocked at such sacrilege, but today he was sure Her Majesty would have forgiven this little frivolity had she known the circumstances.

The children began to pour out of school. It was twelve o'clock, and they gathered round the statue to enjoy the fun before racing home to Monday's meagre cold meat or war-time rissoles. At twelve-thirty the suspense was over. A notice was put up in the Post Office window. It said: 'Armistice signed.
Hostilities ceased this morning.'

Now Caxley rejoiced. The flag was run up over the Town Hall. The bells of St Peter's rang out and people left their homes to run through the streets to the market square. The crowd joined hands and danced in a gigantic ring round Queen Victoria. Overhead, an aeroplane flew back and forth, very low, over the town, the pilot waving madly to the crowd. Someone had wrapped himself in a Union Jack and rode majestically through the streets on a high old-fashioned bicycle, acknowledging the cheers of the throng.

The town band was gathered hastily and marched through the pouring rain, blowing away at their instruments with gusto. Outside the hospital, an effigy of the Kaiser dangled from the portico, and a bonfire was being prepared for his funeral pyre in the grounds by enthusiastic patients.

Union Jacks waved everywhere. Buttonholes and hair ribbons of red, white and blue blossomed on all sides. The pouring rain did nothing to dampen the spirits of Caxley folks on their great day. After dark came the greatest thrill of all—the street lamps were lit for the first time for years, and children gaped in amazement at the wonderful sight. Fireworks were let off by the river, and as the rockets soared and swooshed, and the Catherine wheels whirled in dizzy splendour, Caxley celebrated victory with frenzied excitement which lasted till the small hours. Now it was over—the suffering, the parting, the misery! Let all the world rejoice!

But not all could rejoice. Not all could forget. Some like Sep, thankful though they were that the war was over, mourned the loss of a son. Standing outside his shop in the dark market place that night, Sep watched the surging crowds with
mingled joy and sorrow. The flags fluttered bravely, the bells rang out, beer flowed freely, singing and laughter echoed through the square. And above all, indomitable and unchanging, Queen Victoria surveyed her people from beneath her beribboned crown. She too, thought Sep, had seen war and victories. She too had lost sons. She would have understood his own mixed feelings.

Poor Jim, dear Jim! But it was no use grieving. Leslie was still spared to him, and Winnie, and the new baby. Kathy too and her husband, and young Robert at large somewhere in the town, and enjoying all the fun with a twelve-year-old's zest for it.

He turned to go in and caught sight of Bertie North limping resolutely along the pavement towards the firework display. What was Bender feeling, Sep wondered as he mounted the stairs? Despite the jubilation in the streets, Sep guessed that there was mourning in many hearts today, not only for a million dead, but for many more damaged in mind and body.

It was going to be hard, thought Sep, to build the new world the papers spoke of so hopefully, but somehow it must be done. Resolutely, Sep looked to the future.

T
HE MEN
came back with relief and with expectations of unalloyed bliss. But things were not as simple as that. The first flush of joy necessarily cooled a little. Wives who had enjoyed freedom found the kitchen routine irksome. Children born during their father's absence resented the intrusion of the stranger in their homes. Food was still short and jobs were hard to get. But families shook down together again as well as they could, and it was good to see young men again in the fields and on the farms and working in the shops, and in the market square of Caxley.

About a third of them did not return, and some came back only to succumb to the plague called Spanish influenza which swept the country in 1918 and 1919. Among them, tragically, was Harry Miller so recently returned to his Beech Green farm› covered in honours. Once more Jesse Miller was left to farm alone.

Sep Howard, his Red Cross work having dwindled, threw himself with added concentration into his council duties. He had been made chairman of the local housing committee and found plenty to occupy him, for many new homes were needed for the returning men. Leslie was back in the business and doing well. He and Winnie were living in a small cottage which Sep had bought some years earlier for Edna's mother. Now that the old lady was dead it provided the young couple
with an attractive little home, strategically placed at a distance from the parents of both.