Regret to Inform You... (27 page)

There followed an hour's wait and the two and a half hour journey to Sherborne. By the time they alighted at that station, the light had faded and a slight drizzle was falling.

‘Good evening sir, madam, are you looking for a cab?'
Arthur
was delighted, spoke his thanks and gave his parents' address. The driver set out on the Yeovil road, turning off after a mile to the small village where Charlotte and Colonel Hector Windle had lived since his retirement ten years previously. Wrapped in their thoughts, neither paid much attention to the journey and within twenty minutes the cab pulled up outside the eighteenth-century former farmhouse with its five acres of well-tended garden and woodland. The driver took the two cases along the cobbled drive and Arthur, having thanked and paid him, knocked at the door.

Within a few moments the door opened to reveal Charlotte Windle, as always elegantly dressed. ‘Oh Arthur, how wonderful to see you.' She threw her arms round him. ‘And Eleanor, how kind of you to come so quickly. Come in. It's warmest in the kitchen. I didn't dare dream of you coming today.' Her close embrace of Eleanor expressed as much warmth as to her son. They followed her into the much warmer and well-lit kitchen. Charlotte, her gaunt face breaking into a smile which Arthur knew and loved so well, stepped forward and, in turn, kissed both he and Eleanor. ‘Oh, thank you for coming. Arthur, your father is very ill, sometimes barely conscious in between his long spells of sleep.'

The three sat in comfortable, well-worn chairs arranged around the open fire. ‘So, Mother; tell us about father and then perhaps I can go up to see him.'

‘As you know, he has not been well for many months, suffering from a shortage of breath and becoming increasingly tired. He hated that because he has been so vigorous all his life. Doctor Randall told me your father is suffering from a cardiovascular disease; I remember his own father's death and wonder if the problem is hereditary. As I told you in one of my letters, just before Christmas the doctor prescribed tablets, but told me that your father's heart was failing.' She momentarily paused in describing the deterioration in her husband's health. ‘Two weeks ago, he had a particularly bad
night
and when Doctor Randall came in the next day he told me there was really nothing more he could do, his heart was rapidly failing. Doctor Randall arranged for me to have a nurse call twice a day and she is very supportive. Your father seems to drift in and out of consciousness, although I'm not always sure whether it is more a case of drowsiness.'

Arthur stood up, walked the few steps to his mother, leant down and lovingly placed an arm round her. ‘I'm sure you are doing everything possible and if pain can be kept at bay that's the main thing. Eleanor and I can stay here as long as you like; we just hope that will help.'

‘Of course it will; bless you both for coming. I suppose this is the time that everyone has to face. Now would you like to go up to see him; he's in the main bedroom. You must both be starving,' and turning to Eleanor, added: ‘perhaps you would kindly help me get something simple to eat?' Eleanor willingly agreed, feeling that Arthur should see his father alone. She realised how distressed her mother-in-law was in telling them about her husband's illness, but could not help noticing a slight remoteness in her words. Thinking back over the years, Eleanor could not remember Colonel Windle always being referred to as “your father”; surely Arthur's mother used to slip a pet name in from time to time?

Twenty minutes later, Arthur came back into the kitchen with a worried expression. ‘I sat with father, just holding his hand. We spoke only very briefly, but he knew I was there.' He turned to his mother: ‘Father asked me if you had told me something and I said that you had described how poorly he was. I wasn't sure he understood. Then he drifted back to sleep.'

Eleanor was the first to realise that Arthur's mother was crying, silently but with shoulders shuddering. She went over to Charlotte whom she had always loved and put her arm round her. ‘There's really nothing that I can say that's of much comfort, but know that Arthur and I care for you deeply and will do anything and everything we can at this sad time.'

Charlotte
looked up, took a lace handkerchief from out of the sleeve of her green dress and wiped her eyes. ‘Thank you, dear. I know you mean that and I really appreciate it.' She turned to face her son, ‘Arthur. It was not your father who failed to understand what you said; rather that you didn't understand what he was saying. He asked you if I had told you about something; that's what is troubling him.' She sighed and stemmed her tears. ‘You must both be very tired so we should all have this little supper and go to bed. But there is something that I have promised your father, albeit with some reluctance, to tell you. It's complicated and something that I shall find hard to say, but I promised him. Furthermore it's something that I feel you should know, but let us leave it until the morning.'

Arthur realised his mother was determined not to divulge anything further that night. Soon they kissed each other goodnight, Eleanor insisting that she be called if there were any worries in the night. Both she and Arthur wondered what it was that Charlotte Windle would tell them in the morning.

T
HIRTY-FOUR

Sunday, 11 April 1915

Apart from the rain lashing against their bedroom window, Arthur and Eleanor heard no sound during the night. No one slept well and by a quarter to eight the threesome were sitting down to a breakfast for which they had no real appetite.

‘So what time does the nurse come in?' asked Arthur.

‘Well, as it's Sunday she will come in just once today, probably within the next half-hour.'

There was tacit agreement that they wait until her departure before Charlotte Windle revealed what she had promised her husband. Arthur was relieved when Nurse Higgins left just before nine o'clock, having performed her duties in an efficient manner. They busied themselves clearing away the breakfast table, their minds on other things. After talking about her garden, Arthur's mother turned as the last plate was put away.

‘My dears, hard though it is, it's time for me to tell you what I have promised your father. Shall we stay in here or go through to the lounge?'

‘Let's stay in here, Mother. It's warm and comfortable.'

‘What I have to say is by far the most disagreeable thing of which I have ever spoken. I would be reluctant to break my promise to your father, Arthur, but that I would do if I didn't
feel
you deserved to know the truth. You are a wonderful son and deserve to know this part of our family history, awful though it is. Whilst telling you I shall probably break down, but please don't worry or say anything. Simply let me get this out of the way although I realise that for both of you, things will never be quite the same again.'

Eleanor and Arthur acknowledged that they had been asked not to interrupt, so they simply smiled their encouragement. Charlotte went across to a kitchen drawer and extracted a green folder. ‘This contains the full story. Arthur, I leave you to decide how much of it you pass on to dear Eleanor although having seen you so close for six years or more I can guess the answer to that.' She clasped the folder tightly, resting it on her lap. ‘This contains the full and awful facts that I'm passing to you; I think it best you read it privately. However, I must first explain how this came into existence.' Eleanor noticed the tremble in her voice, a tear appear and a slight movement of the shoulders which prefaced a determined effort to continue.

‘The whole saga goes back many, many years and I'm still not sure why your father told me what had been a secret with him for nearly forty years. When I asked him, he said that he did not want to die without telling me. I think it was more that he had begun to feel poorly at that time and did not want to die without forgiveness. It was only when he realised he was confronted with the inevitability of dying that his conscience got the better of him. I wish he had never told me; that I had been allowed to die in ignorance. If he was hoping for my forgiveness I have never been able to bring myself to grant that. Arthur, maybe you can help me to know how to forgive, I would love that. But let me continue.

‘You may remember that we came up to Rusfield three years ago. As always it was lovely to share that Easter in your friendly village, but in other ways it was an awful time. You see, it was about two months before coming to see you that your father had first felt unwell and the doctor had hinted at a heart problem.'

Eleanor
thought back to that visit and recalled how she had felt a distance, a gulf between Arthur's parents.

‘I didn't want to worry you with the news of his heart condition, and certainly couldn't bring myself to tell you what I had so recently heard, although at first he only told me half the story. Whatever his reason for telling me, it was about what happened only a few years after we were married, when you were just a young boy. Arthur, you and I, friends, army colleagues and many others know the event of forty years ago when as a young officer your father was the only one to escape from a group of ferocious natives in a village in the Gold Coast.'

She paused; clearly this was a moment about which she had warned her listeners. Both Arthur and Eleanor wanted to comfort her, but again refrained from interrupting.

‘In a few words, what we have believed for forty years was so far short of the truth that in reality it was the most awful lie any of us could ever hear. Yes, some of the story was true, but the part missed out is what I find unforgiveable. You must be wondering why and how things are recorded in this folder. Well, his experience made him aware of army bureaucracy and he knew some record would have been made of what happened on that day in January 1874. Whilst he had retired from the army, he still had important connections and made a visit to Aldershot. The record office there made available the report he had in mind. In fact, this was a record of the story he had told after he recovered from his injuries; with the additional record of the army officer who had found him when he had collapsed. Indeed, that captain was leading a small number of men to carry a message to your father when they came across him. If that had not happened your father would not have survived.

‘Copies of your father's report and the brief notes of that captain are in this folder. What surprised, indeed really frightened your father was a third document. I don't know all
the
details of what was happening over forty years ago in that part of Africa, but I do know that there was a war going on with the Ashanti people; it was an important possession of the British. As always, lots of innocent people suffered, but a few months later peace treaties were signed between the Ashanti and the British. Some of the terms imposed by the British were harsh, but they conceded a few fairly unimportant points. One of these was that the British would deal with any of their officers who had needlessly brought suffering to the local people. Some kind of tribunal was set up in Accra and local witnesses made statements. One of these concerned your father and a copy of it is in this folder. Of course, the British had no intention of acting on the tribunal findings and I doubt if anything was done other than record witness statements.

‘It's a statement signed by two tribesmen that reveal the events that were kept hidden from us; it's what your father eventually told me about. He admitted it was all true. I still can't really understand why he told me everything so many years later. Do you think it might have been his conscience, Arthur?'

Arthur was clearly thinking hard what to say and Eleanor was glad he offered no quick answer. What, indeed, could he say?

‘Mother, of course what Eleanor and I have heard from you is distressing. We don't yet know what happened, but it is clearly something that has had a terrible effect upon you. It sounds likely that the events have been on father's mind for years, so perhaps it is about a feeling of guilt. Maybe he does not want to die with a secret still on his conscience. I don't know. Let me read the documents and, perhaps, we can all share in knowing what we should do.' He got up, walked two short paces to his mother, bent down and kissed her. The tears were streaming down her face.

It was Eleanor who spoke. ‘I hope you won't think I'm interfering in something between both of you, but as Arthur
said,
I am so sorry that you are being caused so much grief. Why don't you and I go and look round your lovely garden? This will give Arthur time to read everything. How does that sound?'

Eleanor's suggestion was immediately accepted; Charlotte kissed Arthur and arm in arm with her daughter-in-law walked from the kitchen through the conservatory and into the garden.

As Arthur lifted up the flap of the folder he wondered just what he would find. Yes, three separate documents, none more than a few pages. He flattened out the one entitled:
In the words of Lieutenant Hector Richard Windle: 30
^th
March 1874.
The names of the two recorders of the statement and a further witness were given along with name of regiment, previous service and other military details.

On 31st December 1873 I was stationed near Bekwai along with a large contingent of troops recently transported from London. At a briefing I learnt that 2,500 of our men together with several thousand West Indian and African troops were to advance towards Kumasi, the Ashanti stronghold. There were also smaller habitations where law and order was to be brought to bear, hopefully by peaceful means. I was in the force to move eastwards and deal with some small villages.

After a two day march we set up camp by a river. Major Flatman formed us into five groups, each to deal with specific villages. It was the first time I had led men on such an important mission.

The first settlement was peaceful. It was then a long march mainly through forest, although later we crossed a large area which had been cleared and previously farmed. One of the guides had spoken of Akrowbi as a primitive village occupied by two hundred natives. At around 11.00 hours on 6th January 1874 we were on a slight rise from which we could see smoke; I assumed this to be Akrowbi.
We
advanced until we were close. In an open area cut into the jungle I could see a number of crude huts with around sixty natives including women and children. We must have been seen, because suddenly a spear plunged into the ground just in front of us. My guide told me this was the way the natives would indicate we had been seen, that now we should go forward and speak with the village leader. I ordered my sergeant and two men to accompany me as I went forward, the rest giving us cover. The chieftain came forward and raised his hand, but then everything changed. Two of the men with me fell, I could see the spears in their bodies; there was a great commotion as a horde of natives descended upon the men who were giving cover. I raced to the nearest trees to find myself with my sergeant and one other. We opened fire, but the numbers against us were overwhelming. My sergeant fell and I retreated. Only then did I realise I was wounded, blood was flowing freely from my upper arm. All I could see were bodies of men and some natives going from one wounded soldier to another and spearing them. I could barely lift my gun, so opposition was impossible.