Regret to Inform You... (31 page)

‘Albert, I think it would be nice if you went round to see Mr and Mrs Carey. Eliza Carey came in to the shop as soon as she knew we had received that lovely letter from your nurse, but I know it simply made it worse for her, not knowing anything about Jammy.' Albert's heart sank, this was something he knew he should do, but had fought shy of doing. His mother was right.

T
HIRTY-EIGHT

February – March 1916

When Arthur had spoken with Isabella and Sebastian de Maine about Jammy Carey in late November, he had no idea of the chain of command he would set in progress. It happened that a week later, the de Maines went to dinner at Isabella's brother's grand house just outside Steepleton. Sir Lancelot Prestwish was, in fact, little better off than the de Maines, but having inherited the fine Georgian house and its surrounding three hundred acres, he gave a grand pretence of wealth. He also had the caring nature of the past three generations and when his sister raised the matter of Jammy, he immediately knew to whom she referred. His brow became more and more lined as he paid attention to Isabella telling him what she knew of the young Rusfield man.

‘I remember him well; a strong lad who was working on some additional building here. He always seemed to be working harder than most. Sometimes I would see one or more of the others taking a few minutes off, probably smoking, but not him. But, perhaps, the time since his parents heard from him is not so strange for it must be hard to get letters home. Maybe it's not bad news, but if I can help find out anything I certainly will.'

He was as good as his word and a few weeks later met up
with
local Member of Parliament, Sir Humphrey Watkinson. They were old friends and whilst their meeting had nothing to do with the war, time was easily found by Sir Lancelot to speak about the young soldier. The well-whiskered and elderly parliamentary member listened in his attentive manner. He may well have been getting on in years, but his grasp of matters and speed with which he saw solutions or ways to move forward had not declined.

‘Well, it being the Suffolks helps, because I know quite a few of the senior officers of our local regiment. I believe Lieutenant Colonel Lewis is involved there and he's a good friend. I'll try to get to speak with Lewis although he's almost certainly abroad; but leave it with me.'

Sir Humphrey's name carried much weight and a communication was rapidly passed down the line to reach Lieutenant Colonel Lewis. Enquiries were made, reports filed and even in the midst of the continuous battle at the front, some weeks later word came back to England.

On reaching Sir Humphrey Watkinson, he spoke with Sir Lancelot who decided to telegraph his brother-in-law saying that he would drive out the following Friday to convey the news from France. Immediately Peter delivered the telegram to the manor on the Thursday, Sebastian discussed the meeting with Isabella.

‘Seb, since it was Arthur Windle who first raised the whole worry about young Carey, I think you should invite him along tomorrow. I also wonder whether you should invite the lad's parents as well.'

‘I think that would be going a little too far at this stage. We don't know what the news is, but I suspect it is not good. Let's see what Arthur Windle thinks, he's such a sensible and sensitive man and I will respect his view.'

At one o'clock the next day, a coach pulled by a splendid piebald drew up outside the de Maine's home. Sebastian and Isabella were at the door to greet her brother. Brother and
sister
were close and after a fond kiss, she took his coat (the services of a butler had been dispensed with a year earlier) and led him into the attractive, if slightly faded lounge. Arthur Windle was standing near to the roaring fire.

‘Sir Lancelot,' began Arthur, ‘it is extremely kind of you to come today.'

A wave of the baronet's hand accompanied by a generous smile at Arthur, brushed aside such an expression of gratitude. ‘These are terrible times for the men away fighting, but no less so for their loved ones back here. We must do what we can.' Sebastian de Maine's offer of drinks was also brushed aside and the three men drew their chairs closer to the fire.

‘Let me say straight away that it is bad news, very sad indeed. Two things are very clear. Lieutenant Colonel Lewis has gone to considerable pains to put together the report in spite of the terrible conflict raging and all the resulting chaos. Perhaps, I shouldn't say so, but no one seems to know exactly where everybody is, nor what is happening, but I'm sure the report details are as accurate as makes no difference.

‘Young Carey and some twenty other members of the Suffolks were in the front line near Loos. Around 30 September, or at least within a week from that date, Private Carey was involved in some form of night activity. It seems that in a great blaze of gunfire the trench to which he and others were in was destroyed in a direct hit. In confidence, I read that whilst some casualties were taken to a nearby dressing station, some poor men were completely annihilated. No identification, no way of knowing which men were lost for ever is available. Sadly, the certainty with which loved ones can be given information is often out of the question. In Private Carey's case the official language is “missing, presumed dead”. Sadly, I am assured that there is no doubt, no hope.'

There was a stunned silence. None of these men, not even the battle-hardened Major de Maine knew what to say. It was Arthur Windle who quietly and eventually said, ‘Let us just
have
a moment of silent prayer for Eliza and Sparky Carey, that somehow they may be comforted in the days ahead.' The fire crackled and a log rolled forward in the silence.

It was Arthur Windle who went to see the parents to deliver the awful news they had been dreading. He asked Eleanor to go with him, as she was so close to Eliza and still not really knowing what to say, they knocked at the door of the small cottage. Sparky, who opened it, realised in a moment they were bearers of bad news; he called his wife and gestured for their sombre visitors to enter.

They sat down and having warned them to brace themselves for bad news, Arthur told them as much as he felt able. The moment when both parents stood, threw their arms round each other and howled in despair created an awful tableau, a bridge of misery, to remain with Eleanor and Arthur for ever. The parents' weeping would last for a long time; the grief and agonising loss for the rest of their lives.

It was ten days later that Peter delivered a letter which, when shown to him the following day, Arthur appreciated the sensitive nature of words:

I deeply regret to inform you that your son Pte. J.A. Carey, No. 62732 of this Company was killed in action at the end of September. Death was instantaneous and without any suffering. I further regret that this letter reaches you so long after the sadness, but it has taken much time to establish all the circumstances.

The Company was preparing for an attack and a small group of men, including your son, volunteered for a night action. The action was successful, but on their return an enemy shell made a direct hit.

It was impossible to get his remains away and he lies in a soldier's grave where he fell.

I and the CO and all the Company deeply sympathise
with
you in your loss. Your son always did his duty and now has given his life for his country. We all honour him, and I trust you will feel some consolation in remembering this.

His effects will reach you in due course.

In true sympathy, James Bentley (Capt.).

T
HIRTY-NINE

March 1916

Albert Jones was devastated to learn of Jammy's death. His mind swam as he was prompted to remember how the two of them, in company with Taffy and the sergeant, had left the trench to carry out their gruesome night duty; but then his mind went blank. His lifelong mate had been killed, but fortune had smiled on him. Yet, when he read the letter passed to him by Jammy's mother, he almost wished he, too, had died.

His health gradually improved, his hand now restored to full use thanks to Nurse Hazlett. Each morning she bicycled from Meadow Way to Wood Lane, turning down the patient's suggestion that he should walk to her house. He felt stronger, yet his mind remained in turmoil. As he sat in the kitchen with the village nurse, he was surprised to find he could talk more easily with her than with his parents. She chattered about small village happenings and told him of her work before moving to Rusfield. It was into the second week of treatment that he realised he should be feeling happier in his mind. Was it the death of Jammy or the thought of returning to France? Yet part of him wanted to return.

‘Nurse, I really am grateful to you for your kindness in helping me with my hand. You've done wonders for me. Now I can easily pick things up and the pain has disappeared.'

‘
I'm so glad,' the kindly nurse replied. ‘I think that physical injuries are probably the easiest to get better.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, you've really been through the mill and that must have an effect. I mean, I hope you begin to feel better in yourself?' Strangely, or so it seemed to him, Albert felt he wanted to talk about things and their time together that morning was longer than the usual half hour. When she left, he reflected on their conversation and wondered why he was so depressed. Perhaps it would be easier when he got back to France and could play his part again.

How could he feel low when the adorable Doris was so near? His mind dwelt on the day before. They had walked hand in hand across the lower level of Bramrose Hill when the sky had suddenly released a torrential downpour and they had run to an unused barn. As they sheltered, their ardour erupted and within a few minutes they were lying with clothes hopelessly disarranged. Their touches, their kisses, their words were passionate. Doris said afterwards that she did not know how she had the strength to push him away when nothing protected them from consummating their love. Yet each had given the other a beautiful and loving climax. ‘My darling Albert, it would have spoilt everything if I'd become pregnant. It won't be long before this terrible war is over and when you are back I promise you, I will be yours. No one else will ever know me as you have just known me.' He clung on to Doris with the tremors of war momentarily cast aside. Doris wondered how she could bear him going away; it would be so long before they could be together again.

He would have dreamt on, but his pensiveness was broken by a sharp knock at the door. He sprang to his feet, opened the door and gasped in amazement: ‘Racer! What the devil are you doing here? God, it's good to see you.' The cousins and long-standing friends embraced, stepped back, laughed and shook hands again. ‘I can't believe it.'

Abraham
did not seem to have changed at all. ‘I got home yesterday evening for ten days' leave, so I came round as soon as I could. I'm sorry you've had such an awful time, but you look better than I thought you would. It's terrible about Jammy, isn't it? Poor Jammy. I'm going to see Mr and Mrs Carey tomorrow. That won't really help, but it's all I can do.'

‘Oh, they will be pleased to see you. They've taken things very hard of course, but are struggling to get back to normal. Mrs Carey has thrown herself into helping with the parcels for sending off to France and dear old Sparky is giving more help to people than ever.'

Turning to news of friends, Boney said: ‘I was talking to Mrs Atkins recently and she told me how Jack was always mentioning Patricia in his letters. Indeed she has written to Jack's mother several times.'

‘She's a fine girl,' Racer reminisced. ‘Indeed they are a splendid family. They were so kind to Jack and me when they let us stay with them before the big race. I met up with James, that's Patricia's brother,' he went on to tell his friend.

‘Talking of girls, Racer; how is the lovely Grace?'

‘I'm sure she's fine. She doesn't actually know I'm home; you don't always get advance notice of leave and with me it was just a case of “go now”. So I'm going over to Wensfield later this afternoon and give her a surprise by calling at the school to meet her. I hope she'll be pleased to see me.'

Neither volunteered much about their time in France except light-hearted incidents and some of the people they had met. To both of them the great thing was not the conversation, but being together again. They walked round to The Queens Head for a drink; maybe The George held too many memories. It was while they were there that Boney remembered something.

‘Racer, did you hear about your running friend?'

‘Who's that?'

‘
That army runner you just beat when we all went up to Stamford Bridge.'

‘You mean Captain Wyndham Halswelle. What about him?'

‘I'm afraid he was killed last year. I'm surprised you haven't heard,' Boney went on, seeing how the news upset his friend. ‘He was something of a hero, I believe.'

‘He would be. He was a really great man. I shall never forget his kindness when he took me on to the track and showed me how to run in lanes. If he hadn't, I would never have won. How did you get to hear about him?'

‘Well, it's really quite strange. I've never had anything to do with Major de Maine, indeed I always thought of him as a little stand-offish, but soon after I came home from the hospital I got a note from him inviting me up to the manor. When I got there we sat in their lounge and had a wonderful tea. I saw a different major that day. I asked him about his time in the army and he told me how he had served in South Africa and Egypt and then he mentioned your racing friend. Apparently the major was something of an athlete in his youth and this interest caused him to look at an athletics magazine when he had been in the Steepleton library. That's where he read about the athlete's death. The article said how he had been killed trying to rescue another officer, even though he was badly injured himself.'