When Alice Met Danny (14 page)

‘Mug all right? My mother would be appalled.
Guests deserve the Wedgwood
, is what she always says.’

‘A mug is perfect. Is your mother here?’

‘She was, right up till two days ago.’ He turned round to face her, his face once more sombre. ‘Even with twenty-four hour nursing help, I just couldn’t cope any more. She’s gone off to a nursing home. She’ll be much better looked after there.’ He poured the tea and set a mug down in front of her. ‘She’s got Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know where she is, who anybody is; she’s even stopped talking. It’s so sad, considering what an active woman she used to be.’

‘It must have been very hard for you.’ He looked so sad, Alice wanted to throw her arms around him and give him a cuddle. She restrained herself.

‘It’s been a pretty tough time, all in all.’ Then, to her relief, he shook himself out of his melancholy. ‘Anyway, we’re here to do a bit of cheese tasting. Here, try last week’s effort first.’ He looked up and explained. ‘Like I said, it was made months ago. I mean that we reckoned it was ready to eat as of last week.’

She helped herself to a piece. It was delicious. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. Tell me where I can buy some and I’ll be straight in there.’

He gave her a smile. His whole face lit up and, for a moment, she had a glimpse of what he must have been like before the crash. He also looked very handsome. She hastily dropped her eyes to the cheese.

‘Right, now take a mouthful of tea to cleanse your palate, and then try the new stuff.’ He turned the board so that the other slices were by her hand. She tried the new batch and was even more impressed with the result.

‘You know, Daniel, this taste is something really new, really good. I think you’re definitely onto something here. So, how do I buy some?’

‘You are welcome to take these cheeses with you today. We are just selling at Farmers’ Markets at the moment, but my plan is to open a farm shop here before long.’

‘Big business. That sounds good.’

‘Now there’s a thought. Megan was telling me that you used to be in big business. Maybe I should come to you for advice.’

She shook her head. ‘I never produced anything. It was all financial stuff. Millions of pounds coming in, going out, but you never saw any physical result for the work. I like the sound of a farm shop very much indeed. I’m sure you’ll do well. And I promise I’ll do my shopping there.’

He looked at his watch. Seeing that she had finished her tea, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I really should go out and relieve the men in the milking parlour.’

She stood up. ‘Of course. Thank you for the tea and the cheese.’

He closed the lid of the box containing the cheeses and handed it to her. ‘Here, please take these. Tell all your friends!’ As they struggled back into their boots, he had a thought. ‘Alice, do you play tennis?’

She straightened up. ‘Not for a long time. But I did play a lot at school and a bit at university. Why do you ask?’

‘That sounds perfect. You see, we’ve got a tennis court here. Like you, I haven’t played the game for years, but we’ve cleared the court and got it up and running again. I need to get some exercise. The medics have told me I’m fit to start running around again. Try to shift some of the flab.’ He didn’t look in the least bit flabby. She tried to catch his eye, but he avoided her gaze and continued. ‘So, would you fancy a game?’

‘I’d be delighted. Whether I can remember how to play is another question after all these years. When would you propose?’

‘The forecast’s good tomorrow. Why not come over after lunch? We could have a game and then, if you’re interested, I’ll show you round the house.’

Chapter 24

We have taken over some trenches from the Frogs. We have spent almost a week now just cleaning up. They left them in a terrible state. In some places Fritz is less than a hundred yards away. We sometimes hear them shouting things at us. One or two of our boys have been trading insults with them. Captain Martin speaks a bit of German and he told us some of the things they say. I couldn’t possibly begin to tell you some of the names they call us. Anyway, I’d rather have insults come across than a mortar bomb like they dropped into one of the XXXXXXXXX trenches two nights ago.

Alice stopped as she always did when she got to a word that had been censored. Thick black pencil had shaded out the name of the regiment which had suffered the bomb attack. By the looks of it, it had nine or ten letters in it, but the shading had been well done. She wondered what the result of the blast had been. By now, she had few illusions. Men would have been killed. She sighed and read the rest of the letter.

Thank you for the socks. My old ones were so worn you could see right through them. The rain finally stopped a few weeks back, and even down here by the river, the ground is drying out. But, on the other hand, the drier it gets, the more likely it becomes that they’ll send us over the top. They say we are going to get issued with new XXX XXXXX soon. That’ll be good. The old ones are terrible.

The pencil had clearly thought about shading out the last word, but had resisted the urge. The final paragraph contained a tantalising clue as to the location of their special spot.

I had a dream last night. We were sitting on the bench, looking out over the cliffs, towards Berry Head in one direction and Portland Bill in the other. The view was beautiful and so were you. I would love to tell you more, but the Captain will be reading this before it gets sent, so you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you it was a wonderful dream.

He finished the letter in his usual way,
yours forever, Danny
.

She glanced back over the letter, searching for clues as to the identity of Danny or the cliff top bench. She made a mental note to check where Berry Head and the other place were. Idly, she wondered if the censored words in the last paragraph were maybe
gas masks
. Her eyes alighted on the name of the German-speaking officer, Captain Martin. Picking up her iPad, she typed in his rank, surname and the year, 1916. To her surprise, his name appeared on the first page. Clicking on this led her to the National Archives. Captain Duncan Lenox Martin died in 1916. He was an officer in the Devonshire Regiment. Alice sat up in excitement.

‘Danny, I think I’ve found it. I’ve found Danny’s regiment.’

Danny the dog was clearly impressed by the emotion in her voice, or maybe it was hearing his name twice in one sentence. He pulled himself to his feet, stretched with a cavernous yawn, and then came across to lay his head on her lap. Alice stroked his ears with one hand while she searched for the Devonshire Regiment. Soon, she found the website of The Keep Military Museum, Dorchester. She searched for the battle of the Somme and found a page detailing the exploits of the Devonshires on July first, 1916. Captain Martin, serving in the Ninth Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment, was killed leading his men across no man’s land towards the village of Mametz. Out of 775 men who went over the top, 463 were killed or wounded in the space of a few hours.

‘It was sheer carnage, Danny.’ She felt her eyes burn as she took in the full implications of that statistic. So many men butchered, and for what? A quick bit of mental arithmetic told her that nearly two men out of every three had been lost. The ground gained was insignificant. ‘What an awful, awful waste. I wonder if my Danny was among the dead.’

The telephone started ringing. It was Megan.

‘Hi, Megan.’

‘Hi, Alice, you sound a bit down in the mouth. Something wrong?’

Alice told her what she had just discovered. Megan had been doing her own investigating.

‘I’ve been reading up on the battle of the Somme. On that one day, July first 1916, the British army suffered almost sixty thousand casualties. Of them, about twenty thousand were killed. It was just plain butchery.’ Her voice tailed off.

‘But, on the plus side,’ Alice did her best to sound a bit more positive, ‘I now know which regiment Danny was with.’

‘That’s why I rang. A surprising number of my colleagues at yesterday’s meeting knew straight off about the tower that collapsed. It was the church at Conibere, a little place just up the river from Beauchamp. January 1916 was brutal down here. They had more rain in a week than they normally had in several months. The rivers burst their banks, the ground turned to mud and the foundations of Saint Swithun’s church just weren’t up to it. Apparently there’s a memorial stone on the site of the disaster. Three people were crushed to death when it came down.’

‘Oh, Megan, that’s amazing. I bet there’ll be a war memorial over there too.’ She looked at the time. It was five o’clock. ‘What are you doing for the next hour?’

‘Coming with you to Conibere, I would think.’ Megan sounded enthusiastic. ‘But you’ll have to promise to get me home for six. I have to get ready for my dinner date tonight.’ She sounded very proud of herself. ‘Mind you, the older I get, the longer that takes.’

‘Danny and I are walking out the door as we speak. I’ll pick you up in two minutes.’

The drive through the lanes to Conibere took less than a quarter of an hour. Alice was lost within minutes, but Megan knew her way through the tangle of narrow roads. The village itself, when they got there, was hardly worthy of the name. A cluster of cottages around a tiny red stone church, a triangular village green and, to one side, a granite memorial. Alice parked alongside the church and they jumped out. A wreath of faded poppies on the granite memorial told her this was what she was seeking. While Megan hunted around for something commemorating the people killed under the collapsed tower, Alice and Danny went over to the war memorial.

On the side of the stone column there were simply the words
The Glorious Dead
. Alice thought back to some of the descriptions of death in Danny’s letters. There seemed to be precious little glory to be found in his trenches. Underneath the dates 1914-1918 there were sixteen names. She looked around. There probably weren’t more than sixteen houses in the whole village. No fewer than twelve of the names had died on the same day, July first 1916. Alice chewed her lip and tried to stay objective. She read down through the names.

The first thing she noticed, with regret, was that there were no Christian names, just initials. This would make things more difficult. She checked them all. Three of them had an initial “D”. One of them was a second lieutenant, and Danny clearly wasn’t an officer, so that left just two: Carter D.G. and Milford D.D. No ranks were mentioned, so she presumed they were both privates, as she imagined Danny to have been. She copied down the names. She stood quietly, staring down at the memorial, imagining the impact on such a tiny village of the news of so many deaths.

After a few minutes she turned and looked about. There was a bench under a huge tree to one side of the green. For a moment she wondered if this might be Danny and Gladys’s spot, but there was no possibility of a view of the cliffs from there. They were a good few miles inland. She made her way over to Megan.

‘It’s here, look.’ Megan pointed down to a stone slab, set into the turf of the village green. There was simply the date in January 1916 and the names of the three people who had been killed. Two of them had the same surname, presumably the same family. This disaster, along with the regular reports of deaths over in France, must have made this a very, very sorry place back in 1916.

Sobered, they headed back to Woodcombe. Alice deposited Megan at her house and then returned to Duck Cottage. She thought about going down to the King’s Arms to eat, but then decided against it, remembering the cheese she had been given that morning and deciding on a night in instead.

She poured herself a glass of wine, sliced some pieces of cheese, picked up the computer once more and sat there, wondering what to search for. She could hardly just type in
where did DG Carter and DD Milford
die?
However, after a few minutes of trial and error, she came upon the website of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Using their clever search engine, she found herself directed to the Devonshire Cemetery in Picardy, where the body of Captain Martin was laid to rest along with 160 others. She flicked anxiously through the pages listing the name, age and date of death of these men. On page three she came upon Carter, David George, age eighteen.

‘I don’t want a David, I want a Danny. Are you listening, Danny?’ The dog opened a weary eye, but refrained from participating. She returned to the list. Sure enough, on page seven, she found the other name, Milford, Daniel Dryden, age twenty-four.

‘I’ve got him, Danny.’ She took a celebratory mouthful of wine and sat back to consider where she should go from there. Now she had his name and his age, she knew she wanted to find out as much as possible about him.

Already well into Danny’s First World War letters by this time, now that she knew so much more about him, and about the horrors of battle that awaited him, they felt all the more meaningful. She settled down to her reading once more.

Chapter 25

On Sunday morning, Alice drove down to number 23. She decided not to visit Mrs Tinker in hospital as her son, Derek, had just arrived from Canada. She thought it better to leave them to their family reunion, although poor Mrs Tinker was really very weak now.

She parked in Lyndhurst Avenue, anxious to see what progress had been made that week. She was delighted to find that the plasterers had finished. The walls in the lounge and all the downstairs ceilings had been done. The plaster was drying out and the insides of the windows were running with condensation. She eased a couple slightly open, in the hope of getting a through draught. Now that they had installed new double-glazed windows and insulated throughout the house, the place was almost hermetically sealed.

As she was inspecting the new plaster around the fireplace, she noticed a date carved into the underside of the mantelpiece; 1896. Had the carpenter who carved it found himself in the hell of the trenches twenty years later, just like Danny Milford? Danny talked in his letters of men who lied about their age in order to join up. He mentioned a boy of sixteen and a corporal of sixty-two in his company, so the carpenter might well have been involved. She was so caught up with her thoughts that she barely heard the knocking on the window. When she raised her eyes, she saw the handsome face of her next-door neighbour,
my friends call me Danny
.