Keepsake (43 page)

‘To France?’ Her mother was stunned, dribbling tea into the saucer before setting the pot down. ‘Oh, Henrietta, it’s so dangerous! You were always so impulsive.’ But recognising the depth of feeling Etta had for her husband, she
voiced her desire to assist. ‘I wish that there was more I could do, but all I can offer is money and I’m afraid to insult you again.’

Etta shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have behaved so rudely to you on our last meeting.’

‘Then please take this!’ Isabella reached for her bag, pulled out a fistful of cash and thrust it at her.

‘But your hotel bill…’

‘I can write a cheque! Please, take it.’

Despite her anxiety, Etta was compelled to chuckle. ‘And you label me impulsive.’ But, to her mother’s gratification, she took the money all the same.

Isabella smiled, and played with the fastener on her handbag. ‘So, how shall you get to France? Do you have a passport?’

‘I shall have to look into it. I’m afraid I know little of such things.’

‘We must make enquiries this afternoon!’

‘I’m sure your presence would be of great assistance,’ Etta told her mother warmly.

‘Then we shall go and have your photograph taken!’ Isabella began to look quite excited at being involved. ‘And you must be inoculated against enteric. Shall you join some organisation? I believe it’s pretty difficult to obtain a permit otherwise – but please, not the VAD, I wouldn’t wish that for you. Elizabeth Netherwood has joined and some of the things she has to deal with are quite disgusting, I believe. Her parents are so mortified they prefer us to believe she’s serving tea and coffee – oh, what a brainwave! I may be able to help you in that field. Lady Fenton has opened a canteen for soldiers in…now, what is the blessed name of that place, I can’t remember – oh, some wretched little town in France!’ She gave an irritable flick of her wrist and went on, ‘It has the full approval of the Red Cross so it’s quite near to the front. I could persuade your father to make a donation so that you may go and work there
too. You wouldn’t have to stay, of course, but it would gain you the permit you need to travel about. Naturally, I won’t divulge that it would benefit yo—’ She broke off to issue a sadly apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but your father won’t have your name mentioned.’

Etta waved this away. ‘It would be such a great help.’

‘Then I shall attend to it immediately I’m home. You shall have all the permission you need within the shortest time possible.’

The children came back at this point and the subject was hurriedly closed. Apropos the passport, however, there followed a trip to a studio where Etta had her photograph taken. After this it was back to unconstrained fun for the children, Etta and their grandmother taking them for a walk around the Bar Walls, then for another round of cakes at the hotel before it was time to go home, a most heart-warming afternoon being spent by all.

‘Do let me know how you fare,’ begged Isabella upon parting.

‘I will – and thank you.’ Etta dealt her mother a respectful peck on the cheek, then went home.

True to Isabella’s word, the required paperwork was to arrive within three days, along with a letter advising the beneficiary to use Lady Fenton’s name wherever she needed to smooth her passage. Yet, even financially equipped for an expedition to France, Etta held reservations as to the wisdom of her trip. Much as she feared for Marty, much as she ached to be with him, if she left her children in order to search for him who knew how long she would be away? Or even if she would return at all. It would be as if she were abandoning them as her parents had once abandoned her.

But Marty’s mother declared this was nonsense. ‘Abandoning them? Doesn’t their Granny Lanegan love them as much as anyone? They’ll be happy enough here till
their parents come home, as surely both will.’

Still unsure, Etta picked up the newspaper then, to be met by the announcement of her brother’s death. At such tragic event any doubt was banished.

Steeped in grief over her brother’s death, Etta was to delay her intended voyage for twenty-four hours, during which she wondered whether there would be any funeral or if John would be buried in France. She debated how to convey her sadness to her mother without raking up a storm from her father, and remembered the good times she and John had enjoyed as children, rather than the bad.

But there was no doubt in her mind now that she would go to find her husband. She would never forgive herself if something happened without Marty hearing directly from her lips how much she loved and cherished him.

‘Have you a plan?’ enquired Red when, that evening, she confirmed her decision to go.

‘Other than to find him, no.’ Whenever Marty had written ‘we are at a place called’, the name of that place had been censored. There had been crude maps in the newspaper, indicating the progress of the war and the various battles that had occurred, and Etta had been studying these for a hint of where to start, though she was little wiser. ‘Perhaps I’ll begin by going to the canteen as Mother arranged for me.’ She had at least managed to locate that place via an atlas in the library. ‘With the amount of soldiers that pass through there, surely one of them must be able to point me in the right direction.’

‘Sure, I don’t like this at all, you going so near to the
battlefront.’ Red shook his head. ‘Marty left you in my care, I ought to forbid it.’ Seeing Etta’s dangerous expression, he sighed and declared, ‘Well, if your mind is made up there’ll be things you need,’ and he went upstairs, from where they were to hear a lot of banging of floorboards.

‘Is he taking the house apart?’ tutted Aggie, before he came back down to say:

‘If you won’t take my advice then take this.’

Expecting a suitcase, Etta could not have been more surprised at what was passed into her hand. It was a pistol.

‘Where the divil –’ began Aggie, then spun accusingly on her elderly uncle.

‘Don’t be looking at me!’ objected old Mal.

His cheeks sprouting fluff and his voice like a man, Jimmy-Joe made as if to pounce, asking reproachfully, ‘Aw, Da! How long have you had that?’

He received a cuff from his father and an order to, ‘Leave off! ’Tis not a toy.’

‘Then what are you doing flashing it about with children still here?’ demanded Aggie, jerking her head at the row of grandchildren sitting quietly in awe. ‘And that’s an officer’s pistol if I’m not mistaken.’

Fingering the leather holster and strap, Red agreed that it was, then explained to all, ‘I came by it in the ould country. ’Twas in a sack of rags I paid tuppence for – quite a bargain, don’t ye think? I knew ’twould come in handy one o’ these days.’

‘Handy?’ cried Aggie. ‘You crafty rascal, how long have you been hiding it away from me?’

‘About the same amount of time you’ve been hiding your bottles of liquor from me.’ He nodded curtly as she blushed and bridled.

‘It’s not the same thing! Ye could bring the polis on us – ye’ll have Etta arrested, encouraging her to carry that thing!’

Her husband remained calm. ‘It might be news to you,
Ag, but there are a lot of people with guns in France.’

‘She’s got to get there yet!’ His wife’s voice betrayed a scathing pessimism.

‘Unfortunately there’s no bullets to go with it,’ Red told his daughter-in-law, ‘but still, it might ward off unwanted attention.’ He sat down abruptly and fell asleep.

‘Pass it over,’ croaked Uncle Mal. ‘I’ll get you some ammo.’

‘Oh, that’d go down a treat,’ scoffed Aggie, ‘an Irishman going round the shops asking for ammunition.’

‘Is it stupid you’re calling me? I was thinking to ask Billy Watson, he’s sure to have some in that shed o’ his.’

Etta was unsure about carrying a loaded gun, but thought the firearm itself a good idea, for, ‘One might bump into Germans.’ The pistol was therefore designated for travel.

‘Well, we’d better gather the rest of your kit then,’ sighed a defeated Aggie. ‘What’ll you be wearing to travel in?’

‘One of those cotton dresses I bought.’ Etta hoped to make herself less conspicuous by furnishing herself in attire befitting a nurse; there were so many volunteers wearing such unofficial uniform that she should blend in nicely. ‘But that’ll be no good if it rains so I’m going to buy a waterproof cape on my way. This is the most unpredictable August I’ve ever known; one never knows what to put on, the mornings start so cold then by midday it’s absolutely boiling.’

The ancient uncle shook with laughter. ‘There’s folk bashing the tripe out of each other and the pair of you are concerned with the weather!’

Aggie’s eyes ordered the old fool to remember the children, who appeared apprehensive about their mother’s involvement. ‘But of course, Etta won’t be going anywhere near the trouble.’

He took note and said confidently. ‘Why, to be sure she will not.’

Red, who had woken as quickly as he had fallen asleep, grabbed the newspaper and sought to deflect his grandchildren’s
worry. ‘Here now, there’s a circus come to town – would you look at this splendid creature!’ He showed them the picture of the elephant leading the procession.

‘Will we have one of those one day, Grandad?’ enquired Willie, thereby spurring light-hearted laughter amongst the adults.

‘No, but you shall have some sweeties.’ Etta smiled indulgently and, grabbing her purse, asked, ‘Does anyone else want anything from the shop?’

‘Not for me,’ said Aggie, but by means of covert hand signals made a request for a bottle of stout, pretending to scratch her head when Red looked sharply in her direction.

Etta paid a brief visit to the shop, encountering Aggie’s closest neighbours on her way. Breaking off her conversation, Mrs Thrush was keen to verify the rumour. ‘Eh, Ett, is it right you’re off to the war to find your lad?’ There was a note of admiration in her voice.

Etta nodded and turned to smile sadly at the other person present. Mrs Gledhill, dressed from head to foot in black, the grief over Albert’s death still haunting her face, reached out to press a hand to her arm, saying warmly, ‘Good luck, love. God keep you safe.’ And both women gave murmuring agreement as they watched the younger woman go on her way that she had improved out of all recognition to the girl Marty had married.

Etta returned with bags of sweets for the children, some tobacco for the men and Aggie’s bottle of stout, and tried not to smile as the recipient affected great surprise.

‘Oh, you naughty girl, you shouldn’t have!’ Aggie responded innocently to her husband’s disapproval by saying, ‘’Twould be rude of me to ask her to take it back now, wouldn’t it?’ And with a crafty wink at Etta she went to pour it into a glass.

In between gulps, in return for the favour, the matriarch spent a good deal of time sorting out the necessary provisions and items that might come in handy for Etta’s
expedition, plus some small gifts for Marty when he was found – cigarettes, soap, and muslin bags of lavender that the children had sewed – packing all of these in a small brown suitcase, which was finally handed to her daughter-in-law. ‘There, I think that’s just about everything…’

Etta beheld her warmly. ‘Thanks, Ma. Thank you for all you’ve done.’ And on impulse she put her arms around the other in a much more open show of fondness than she had been able to share with her own mother.

Surprised and touched, Aggie indulged this embarrassing behaviour for a moment, then patted her and escaped the embrace, looking self-conscious as she shrugged off her daughter-in-law’s thanks. ‘Sure, ’tis only a small little thing, for heaven’s sake.’ Though Etta’s gesture had delighted her no end.

Uncle Mal was also apportioned Etta’s affection, along with Tom and Jimmy-Joe, and finally Red, who gripped her paternally by the shoulders.

‘I’ve the greatest admiration for you, Etta,’ Marty’s father told her.

Aggie was to endorse this. ‘We’ve every faith you’ll find your man and bring him home safe to us.’

‘Not such a dilatory biddy now, then?’ teased Etta, a sparkle in her eye.

Momentarily taken aback that her past insults had been overheard, Aggie could laugh at herself. ‘Indeed you are not. There are others who might bake a better pie, but they’ve not half your adventurous spirit.’

Despite the latter, fully aware of how dangerous her mission, Etta was to spend a long time with her children that night, reading them story after story without complaint, explaining to them where she was going and how long it might take, assuring them she would be in no danger, kissing and holding them in preparation for the parting.

When they awoke the next day she had gone.

After closing the door behind her Etta seemed to be constantly on the move. First by train to London where she changed her money to francs, then a ferry to Boulogne. Thankfully the sea was quite calm, though the zigzag course of the boat and the knowledge that it was doing this to avoid enemy submarines did produce a thrill, and there was no need to take up the knitting she had brought along in order to stave off boredom. Advantageously, she was not alone in her quest, for, apart from French and Belgian travellers and the official groups of VADs and Red Cross workers – from whom she tried to steer clear in case she was commandeered – there were a few solitary females, anxious and hollow-eyed, wrapped in their thoughts. Naturally drawn towards them, Etta was to discover that they too had come to find their soldier husbands. An immediate rapport was struck up. Alas, the difference was that their men had been grievously wounded and were at a hospital in Rouen, meaning that, unlike her, they knew exactly where to go, and Etta’s hope of procuring a travelling companion was rudely thwarted. Upon reaching foreign shores she was still alone.

A short period of tension whilst her papers were inspected, then she was onto French soil. Thenceforth she was plunged into another world. Already tired and grubby from her travels, she felt her head begin to spin as she was engulfed by a malodorous sea of khaki, troops of all nationalities, jabbering swathes of foreigners, women of dubious character and competent-looking nurses, all of whom appeared to know exactly where they were going. Affecting to appear similarly knowledgeable, yet without any real sense of direction, she pulled her crumpled summer dress to order and, with her cape over one arm and her suitcase in the other, tagged onto the crowd and struck out smartly towards what she assumed to be the railway station.

Here, confused even more by trying to read all the foreign names on the notice board, she experienced a moment of
panic and rushed for the nearest retreat, a canteen, but upon entry she saw that the inhabitants were nearly all soldiers, and the hubbub was only marginally less than outside. Unsure whether this place catered for the general public, she deposited her cape on a stand and her luggage at its base, then hovered for a moment, imbibing her surroundings, the clink of teaspoons in cups producing an involuntary thirst, unaware that eyes turned to look at her for she had long been accustomed to male admiration. Then, feeling rather foolish, she told herself how ridiculous and disorganised she was being and decided she had better start asking for directions. After tucking a strand of loose hair back under the white cotton triangle that enfolded her head, her hand moved involuntarily to the bulge in her nurse-like uniform as she wondered, not for the first time, if anyone would guess she had a pistol strapped beneath.

‘Two teas, please, dear, when you’re ready!’

She glanced down at the soldiers seated on a bench nearby, about to explain politely that she was not a waitress, but then veneration for their heroism got the better of her and, with a nod and a smile, she made her way between the throng and approached a woman in charge of an urn, wondering how she would make herself understood if the other were foreign.

However, it transpired that all the staff were English volunteers. Upon discovering this she introduced herself.

‘Oh, good-oh, are you come to join us?’ asked the jolly looking matron who wore similar attire to herself, her voice raised above the clatter of crockery and the buzz of male conversation.

‘I’m afraid not!’ Etta raised her voice too. ‘I’m here to look for my husband.’ It seemed safe enough to drop the pretence now that she had the necessary permit to travel about France. However, her conscience pricked, she added hastily, ‘But I’ll help for a while if I can. The chaps over there have asked for two teas…’

‘Two teas coming up!’ Her bosom thrust proudly, the other duly filled the mugs and presented them along with a small bundle of cigarettes.

Keeping her elbows pressed to her sides for fear of causing spillage, Etta made her way through the throng of tired-looking soldiers and handed the mugs to those waiting; then, being accosted for service on her way, was to attend to numerous others, some very charming French ones, going back and forth for a good while before finally being able to make her own request to the woman on the urn.

‘Do you cater only for soldiers? I’ve had nothing for hours and I’m absolutely gasping.’ She brandished her purse. ‘I’ll pay of course.’

‘Gosh, no, you deserve a cup for mucking in – you only came in here to look for your husband, you said?’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean he’s in here,’ Etta hurried to explain. ‘At least I don’t think so, that would be luck indeed. No, he’s somewhere out there, amongst the fighting.’

‘All the more reason you deserve a cup of tea then,’ said the jolly woman. ‘Here, have a bun too.’

‘Thanks.’ Etta was deeply grateful, then realised aloud, ‘I’ve had nothing since breakfast.’

‘I say! Then you should be having more than that.’ She told Etta where a reasonably priced meal could be had, and, upon learning that she was a complete stranger to France, gave her all manner of useful information.

Racked by guilt in the face of such friendly treatment, Etta decided that she would after all go to Lady Fenton’s canteen as promised, and confessed to her new acquaintance, ‘I feel so wretched. I’m here under false pretences. I’m supposed to begin canteen work myself but I used it as an excuse to come and search for my husband.’

The other merely shrugged. ‘It’s natural one should pay greater importance to one’s own.’ She cast wistful eyes around the roomful of soldiers.