THE CINDER PATH (30 page)

wasn't going to let her countenance this new situation.

And what did they think Victoria's attitude

would be when she knew that her sister was aiming to get the better of her in the end? Because that was how she would view it. And although she herself had no use for Charlie, and had made that very, very plain, she would, if she knew

anything about her daughter, put every spoke possible in the way of Nellie getting him, even maybe

to depriving herself of the freedom she so definitely

wanted. . . . But wait. She must remember that that

had seemingly been her daughter's intention up to a

few months ago. Then of a sudden she had stopped

discussing the matter. She again

looked up at Charlie, a deep frown between her

brows now. There was something fishy going on and she

couldn't get to the bottom of it.

She now watched her son-in-law take her

daughter's hand and say, "I'll leave you for a

while, dear; I'll be back before the time's up."

And when he did not excuse himself to her she stared at his back as he left the room and when the

door had closed on him she looked at Nellie

and said, "We're acting the big fellow these days, aren't we?"

"He's always been a big fellow, Mother, but none

of you could see it."

"Dear, dear!" Florence shook her head.

"What infatuation can do! The old saying that love is blind is surely true. ..."

"Mother!" Nellie was leaning forward now, her breath coming in short gasps, and she pressed her hand

tightly against her breast bone as she said, "Don't run Charlie down to me. And I'm not blind with love;

I began by liking Charlie MacFell when I was a

little girl, because you were always laughing at his father, making fun of him. You laughed at the ideas he had for his

son, and then you all laughed at Charlie as he

grew up because he didn't farm like the rest of you, or drink

I

like the rest of you, or whore like the rest of you. ..."

"Nellie! that's enough." Her mother's voice

held deep indignation. "I'll say this, that if he

didn't do any whoring, his father made up for it. And

who's to know what he did anyway?"

"Mother, you know as well as I do that

everybody knew what everybody else did in our

community, but I think Charlie was the only one who

didn't know that your eldest daughter was at it from she was fifteen and she never stopped, and now she's almost a licensed prostitute, her name's a byword in some

quarters."

Florence Chapman was standing on her feet now.

Her lips were working one over the other as she pulled

on her black gloves; then she adjusted the fur

collar of her black mourning coat before she said,

"I can see you're well enough to fight again, Nellie, so I'll leave you and hope to find you in a better

mood on my next visit."

"Mother! please." Nellie put out her hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry; but you know what I

say is true. You know it, you do."

"She's my daughter the same as you are."

"Then face up to the fact that if you can

condone the life she leads, then you've got to let me

have my way of life, and my way of life from now on

is with Charlie and he with me; and I'm telling you

something. Mother, and this is true, if I don't have

Charlie I'll take no one. The reason why I

tried to finish it-was she now drooped her head and

paused before going on, "I didn't think

he even thought of me as a friend any longer, because he hadn't shown up, and hadn't written-he could have been

dead, there was no word of any kindand . . . and I

knew that without him life would be totally empty. You

could say I'm young and I would get over it, but I

knew I'd never get over Charlie. I don't

know why, I can't explain the feeling, but without him

there is nothing. As you know I tried drink, but that

didn't do any good." She lifted her head sharply

now as she said, "But I never tried men, only as

pals. I thought of it more than once. Oh yes,

yes I did, but I knew I couldn't bring myself

to it. Funny"-she slowly shook her head-"the

difference between us, our Vic and me, both from the same parents, same blood, yet we're as opposite

as the poles, and you know, Mother, you won't believe

me when I say I'm sorry about this because we're

irrevocably divided and you

need comfort from us both, you need us as a family now more than ever and we'll never be a family again."

Florence stared at her daughter. How was it that

everything, everybody had changed? Was it the war? Would things have been different if there hadn't been a war?

No, not with her daughters. It was as

Nellie said, they were irrevocably divided. She

had always loved Nellie better than Victoria,

but in this moment she felt she loved neither of them, they had gone from her, life had taken them as the grave

had taken her Hal. Oh, how she missed Hal.

What were children after all compared to a husband? Children were mere offshoots of a moment's passion, they were of your body yet they didn't belong to you, whereas a husband

who was no kin, no blood tie, a stranger in

fact, became your all, your life merged with his and

when he left you all that was vital in you went with him.

She turned away from the bed and walked out of the room.

In the corridor she looked first one way then the

other. A sergeant was standing at one end, and at the

other end stood Charlie. They were both looking

towards the door behind her. She turned her back on

Charlie

TCP 12

and walked in the direction of the sergeant and she passed him without apparently seeing him, yet he stared hard

at her.

When Florence had gone Charlie and the sergeant

looked at each other over the distance and when Charlie made a motion with his head the sergeant grinned, gave

a salute, and went hastily into the side

ward.

Knowing it wouldn't be long before the sergeant came out again, and not wanting to witness the look on the man's face, he went into the main hall and stood to the

side.

He hadn't long to wait, not more than five

minutes, then he saw the man marching towards the

door. He didn't look to right or left but went

straight through the main doors and disappeared from view.

As he hurried back to the ward he felt a

spasm of pity for the fellow, who was likely thinking,

Bloody officers, they get in because of their uniform.

When he entered the room again, he made no comment

on either the sergeant's or Florence's visit; he

didn't speak at all, all he did was to gather

Nellie tightly into his arms and hold her there.

IT was a conspiracy. Why him? Why his

platoon? Radlett was older than him. As for

Lieutenant Calthorpe, he had been in this

depot for over a year now . . . yes and would

likely remain here until the end of the war, if he

knew anything about it. In any case, if he had

to go why wasn't Radlett going along with him and not

the new young fellow who was so raw he still thought it all a merry game?

But why was he asking such damn silly questions?

He wouldn't have minded in the least being sent over there if it wasn't for leaving Nellie. She was still at the

farm and he'd seen her only twice since she had

come out of hospital, and now with this lightning move

there'd be no chance of seeing her again.

If he could only be with her for just five minutes,

just five minutes. He'd a damned good mind

to walk out and take the consequences. . . . And what

would be the consequences? Absent without leave. But what could you expect from someone who in the first place had to be dragged into the army. The result would be worse

than the white feather, the colour would be yellow.

Things would have been simpler, he thought, if he

hadn't discovered how he felt about Nellie; much

simpler, yet he wouldn't wish his feelings to be

other than they were at this moment.

He had been told to stand by, and he was standing by,

but in the hope that all those for embarkation would be given at least twelve hours' leave. Wasn't there a

rule about this? But then who considered rules when chits were flying about? You did what you were told, or else.

"I'm glad I'm goin' with you, sir."

"Thanks, Miller. I'm glad you are too."

"Where do you think we're bound for, sir?"

"I'm not exactly sure at the moment,

Miller."

"Could it be across the water?"

"It could be."

"Well, if that's the case I'm afraid I

won't be looking forward to it, sir."

"Only a fool would, Miller."

"They were breakin' their neck to get

across there this time last year, sir, but they've changed their tune now I think. The Somme did that for

"em."

"Yes, the Somme did that for them."

"Do you think there's any chance for any of us

gettin" a bit of leave, sir?"

"I don't know, Miller; quite candidly I'm as

much in the dark as you with regard to that, but I certainly hope we get a few hours."

"Yes, so do I, sir. There's the missis,

she's likely as not to go and raise hell... I

mean play up, sir, if I don't say her

ta-rah."

They smiled at each other; then Miller proffered

his usual comforter, "Will I brew up, sir?"

"No, thanks, Miller; I'm going to the mess

and there's a meeting after." Hastily he

looked round the room. "Everything ready?"

"Yes, sir. An' I did as you said, I just

packed two of the books. What's goin' to happen

to the rest, sir?"

"Oh." He glanced towards the bed, then laughed and said, "My replacement will likely use them

to heighten the bed, it's too near the floor." They exchanged smiles again before he went out.

When the door had closed on his officer,

Miller looked towards the small pile of books

in the corner of the room and nodded. Aye, that's

likely what the next one would do. Poetry

books, and books in French, and others that were as

understandable as that one written by a fellow called

Platt-o. Funny fellow his officer, nice,

kind, a decent bloke, but somehow he still didn't

seem to fit in. It was a pity. He was glad he

was going with him; he felt sort of protective

towards him somehow.

THE dock had the appearance of a madhouse. There

were two ships lying alongside, both discharging wounded; ambulance men were running hither and thither with

stretchers; nurses were assisting limping men, leading

blind ones; Salvation Army lasses were handing

out mugs of tea; non-commissioned officers were

issuing orders; the only people who seemingly weren't

joining in the mad frenzy were the lines of soldiers,

who stood at ease, their kitbags by their sides.

Charlie's platoon was at the end of the jetty.

He and his men had been assigned to lst6th Durham

Light Infantry. The lst6th, lst8th and lst9th

were battalions that had been made up of remnants

from other companies. As Charlie's new lieutenant

had laughingly said, "The stroke apparently

indicates we are not all there, but let's get across

and we'll show "em. What do you say?"

Charlie could do nothing but confirm his superior's

words for he was still both angry

and worried inside by the fact that there had been no

embarkation leave. And now here he was in the midst of this madness. Yet it was an ordered madness and

strangely in parts a jocular madness for the wounded men were throwing jokes at the waiting platoons. That their cheerfulness was in most part the outcome of hysterical release at being back in Blighty didn't

matter, it had a cheering effect on those waiting

to take their places in the mud.

For the men knew they were going into mud. It

was strange but they didn't talk of killing, or of

being killed, but of how to combat mud. One joker had

cut out a pair of cardboard snowshoes, and

Charlie's new captain by the name of Lee-Farrow

had encouraged the joker and all those with him by saying,

"That's the spirit, boys. That's the spirit."

It was funny, Charlie thought, the little things that

brought loyalty. All the men would now consider the

captain a decent bloke, whereas back in camp his

platoon had considered Captain Blackett a

bloody stinker because he rarely addressed them; and

yet he was a very good fellow. His lieutenant came

up to him now, saying, "Everything all right at your end?"

"Yes, sir."

"Taking their bleeding time to unload.

"They must have been heavily packed, sir."

"I'll say ... God! I wish we were across and

settled in."

A sardonic smile rippled somewhere in Charlie

... I wish we were across and settled in. It sounded

as if they were off on a holiday trip with an hotel

at the end of it.

They both moved aside now as a line of

stretcher-bearers came towards them. There were

five stretchers; on the first two the men were conscious and were looking about them; on the third stretcher a

man's whole face was bandaged up except for a

slit where the mouth was; on the fourth stretcher the

man looked asleep; and on the fifth one the man