The Caxley Chronicles (21 page)

But Bender forestalled him.

'It's a good house. We had some happy times there, didn't we, Sep? And some rotten ones too, but that's how it goes—and somehow it's only the happy ones we remember, thank God. I wouldn't want to go back there—not for all the tea in China. Too many memories, Sep. Far too many! Hilda and I are better off here.'

He put down the can resolutely.

'But it's good to think of it going to friends, Sep. I'm glad things have turned out this way.'

He opened the door of the greenhouse and gulped the cool air.

'Let's go and get Hilda to give us a cup of tea. Ain't no point in offering you anything stronger, I suppose?'

Wheezing and laughing, he made his way to the house, relishing the news he had to give his wife. And behind him, thankful in heart, followed Sep.

That night, lying sleepless in bed, Bender pondered on the changes of fortune. Who would have thought, when they were boys together in the rough and tumble of the old National School, that frightened little Sep Howard with holes in his boots would beat him—the cock o' the walk—as he had done?

There was Sep now, hale and hearty while he lay a crock of a man. Sep was a prosperous tradesman, a councillor, a pillar of the chapel, and now the owner of his old home. Not that he grudged him any of it. He'd earned it all, he supposed—funny little old Sep!

Well, that's how it went on life's see-saw, thought Bender philosophically. One went up, while the other went down! Nothing to be done about it, especially when you were as tired as he was. But who would have thought it, eh? Who would have thought it?

He turned his cheek into the plump comfort of his pillow, and fell asleep.

A
S USUAL
, there were innumerable delays in starting work on Sep's new restaurant. But one windy autumn day the workmen moved in and the sound of picks and shovels was music in Sep's ears.

It was market day, and he watched the first stages of the work to the accompaniment of all the familiar market noises. Cheapjacks yelled, awnings flapped and crackled in the wind, leaves and paper rustled over the cobbles, dogs barked, children screamed, and everywhere there was bustling activity.

Caxley was becoming busier than ever, thought Sep, picking his way through the debris underfoot. Cars and vans streamed along the western side of the square to continue on their way into the High Street. There would be plenty of travellers needing refreshment at the new restaurant, particularly in the summer. By that time it should be going well. There were plenty of local people too who would fill the tables at midday. He had already planned to have a simple three-course luncheon, modestly priced, to suit the time and tastes of the business people nearby. This should provide steady trade for all the year, and he hoped that he would be able to cater for evening functions as well. As Caxley expanded—and it was doing so fast in the early thirties—there should be plenty of scope for Howard's restaurant.

Sep made a daily inspection of the work. Never before had
he felt such deep satisfaction in a project. This was building for the future. The thought of Edward living in the house in the years to come filled Sep with joy. The union of the two families, which Bender had refused to recognize in the marriage of Leslie and Winnie, would be assured when Edward took his joint heritage in the property.

One foggy November afternoon Sep returned from his inspection to find the evening paper on the counter as usual. His eye was caught by a photograph of two trains, hideously telescoped, toppling down the side of an embankment. The headline said: 'Scottish Rail Disaster'. Sep read on.

'In the dense fog which covered the entire British Isles this morning, an express train from London crashed into the rear of a local train three miles outside Edinburgh. Twenty-four people are known to be dead. It is feared that almost fifty are injured.'

It went on to describe the valiant efforts of volunteers who scrambled up the steep embankment to help the victims. Fog and ice hampered rescuers. Survivors were being treated at local hospitals. It was estimated that it would take twenty four hours to clear the wreckage from the track.

A terrible affair, thought Sep. So many other people affected too—wives and mothers, husbands and sons. A number of children were among the dead, for the accident had occurred soon after eight in the morning, when people were going to work and children to school.

The shop bell tinkled, and Jesse Miller came in to buy buns to take back to the farm for tea. Twisting the corners of the paper bag, and asking Jesse about his affairs, Sep forgot the news he had been reading.

It was not until the next day that the Howards learnt that Kathy's Henry, on his way to the printing business, had been killed and now lay in an Edinburgh mortuary with the others so tragically dead.

It was young Robert Howard who escorted Edna to Scotland to comfort Kathy, and to attend the funeral, for Sep could not leave the business or the supervision of the new building.

The news was soon known in Caxley and Sep received many messages of sympathy. Kathy had always been popular, and Henry, so stalwart and handsome, had impressed the neighbourhood during his short time there. It was Winnie who told Bertie the news. His face turned so ashen that she thought that he would faint, but he remained calm and very quiet.

Inwardly he was in turmoil. He would like to have snatched his coat, leapt in the car and headed for Scotland to comfort her. The thought of Kathy in trouble, in tears, lonely and broken, was insupportable. But it could not be. Instead he sat at his desk and wrote, offering all help possible. He would come at once if it were of any assistance. Please let him help in any way possible. He wrote on, feeling all the time how inadequate it was, but the best that he could do in the circumstances.

Kathy's reply arrived in a few days. She was so touched by everyone's kindness, Bertie's particularly, but she was being well looked after. Her mother and Robert were still with her, and Henry's family lived close by and were taking care of
everything. She was planning to come to Caxley when the weather improved and looked forward to meeting all her friends again.

This letter, Winnie noticed, was put into Bertie's pocketbook and was carried with him, but she made no comment.

Some days after Robert's and Edna's return, Sep walked up the hill to visit Bender. The shops were beginning to dress their windows for Christmas. Blobs of cotton wool, representing snow flakes, adorned the grocer's, tinsel glittered in the chemist's, and a massive holly wreath was propped tastefully against a grave vase in the local undertaker's. Sep shuddered as he passed. Death was too near just now.

He found Bender sitting in his high-backed winged armchair by the fire. He looked suddenly very old and his massive frame seemed to have shrunk, but his eyes lit up when he saw his visitor and his greeting was as hearty as ever.

'Hilda's down at Winnie's,' said Bender. 'They're making a party frock or some such nonsense for young Joan. She won't be long. Nice to have a bit of company, Sep.'

The two men warmed their feet by the fire. The kettle purred on the trivet. Chrysanthemums scented the firelit room. Hilda had always had the knack of making a house attractive, thought Sep. It was something that Edna had never really managed to do.

'Terrible business of Kathy's,' said Bender. 'I can't tell you how shocked we were to hear it. How's the poor girl getting on? And the children?'

Sep gave him what news he could. The little boy was the
hardest one to console—just old enough to understand things. The baby girl was thriving. She should be a great comfort to Kathy. They hoped to see them all in the spring for a long visit. They might even persuade Kathy to stay for good, but she was very attached to Edinburgh and to Henry's people. It was too early to make decisions yet.

Bender listened and nodded, sipping a glass of brandy and water.

'And the shop?' asked Bender, turning the conversation to more hopeful things. Sep's face lit up.

'We've taken down the wall between the shop and the parlour,' began Sep enthusiastically and went on to explain the plans he had for the interior decoration. Bender thought he had never seen him so animated. Howard's restaurant would not lack care and affection, he thought, as he listened to Sep running on.

'You're looking ahead,' he commented when Sep paused for breath, 'and a good thing too! Young Robert will have a fine business to carry on when you want to give up.'

'The business will be his,' agreed Sep, 'but not the house. Our own place will go to him, no doubt.'

'And what about North's?'

'He doesn't know yet,' said Sep slowly, 'but it's to be Edward's.'

A long silence fell. A coal tumbled out of the fire, and Bender replaced it carefully. The tongs shook in his hands, his breathing was laboured. At last he sat back and gazed across at Sep.

'That pleases me more than I can say, Sep. The old house will stay in the family—in
both
our families—after all!'

He picked up his glass again, raised it silently to Sep, and drained it.

It was at that moment they heard a car draw up at the front door and the sound of voices. Hilda hurried into the room followed by Bertie and Edward.

'Bertie brought me back,' said Hilda, when greetings were over, 'and I want him to stay to supper, but he won't.'

'I can't, mamma. I've three business letters to write and young Edward has his Latin prep, to do. We promised Winnie we'd go straight back.'

Hilda looked rather put out, but made no further demur, and Sep watching them all, thought how well Bertie handled his parents. He was, in truth, the head of the family now, with an air of authority which was not entirely hidden by his gentle and affectionate manner. Edward began to make obediently for the door.

'Can I sit in the front, Uncle Bertie? I wish I could drive! I could if it were allowed, you know. Uncle Bertie says he'll let me have a go in a field one day.'

'You must take care—' began Hilda.

'Don't worry, Grandma. A car's easy. I'm going to fly an aeroplane as soon as I get the chance.'

'Really, Edward!' expostulated Hilda, laughing.

'No, I mean it. I've told Uncle Bertie, haven't 1? I'm going into the Air Force, and in the next war I shall be a pilot.'

'Time enough to think of that later,' put in Sep. 'You're only fourteen. You may change your mind.'

'Can I give you a lift?' asked Bertie, turning to Sep.

They made their farewells to Hilda and Bender and went out into the starlit night. An owl was hooting from a nearby
garden, and another one answered from the distant common. The scent of a dying bonfire hung in the air. It smelt very wintry, thought Sep, as they drove down the hill to the market square.

Bertie dropped him by St Peter's and drove off. Obeying an impulse, Sep mounted the steps and opened the door. He rarely went inside the church, but was proud of its history and its beauty. It was dimly lit and Sep guessed that the cleaners were somewhere at work. There were sounds of chairs being moved in the vestry at the far end of the church.

Sep sat down in a pew near the door and gazed up at the lofty roof. Tattered flags hung there, relics of the Boer War and earlier wars. He thought of Edward's excitement as he talked of a future war in which he proposed to fly. Would there ever be an end to this misery and wrong thinking? Would the League of Nations really be able to have the last sane word if trouble brewed?

And there certainly was trouble brewing, if the papers were right. Not only between nations, but here on our own doorstep. What would be the result of these desperate hunger marches, some of which Sep had seen himself? It was an affront to human dignity to be without means to live. A man must have work. A man must have hope. What happened if he had neither? Life, thought Sep, chafing his cold fingers, was a succession of problems, and only some of them could be solved by personal effort.

He sighed and rose to his feet. His boots made a loud noise on the tiled floor as he made his way to the door. Across the market place the lights of his home glowed comfortingly. On his left shone the three great windows of young Mr Parker's
drawing room above the gaunt black emptiness of the future Howard's Restaurant.

Warmth suddenly flooded Sep's cold frame. A man could only do so much! He had set his hand to this particular plough and he must continue in the furrow which it made. What use was it to try to set the whole world to rights? He must travel his own insignificant path with constancy and courage. It might not lead to the heights of Olympus, but it should afford him interest, exercise and happiness as he went along. And, Sep felt sure, there would be joy at the end.

As Sep was crossing the market square to his home, Bertie sat at his desk, pen in hand, and a blank sheet of writing paper before him.

His thoughts were centred on Edward who sat at the table, head bent over an inky exercise book. His dark hair shone in the light from the lamp. His eyes, when he looked up, were just as Bertie remembered Leslie's at the same age. He was going to have the good looks of his father and his grandmother—vivacious, dusky and devastating.

And so he wanted to fly, mused Bertie! There was no reason on earth why he shouldn't. Bertie thought it was an excellent idea and would do all in his power to help him. Flying was going to develop more rapidly than people imagined. With the world shrinking so fast, surely the nations must settle down amicably together! Edward's calm assumption that there would be another war did not fill Bertie with quite the same horror as it had Sep. Bertie could not believe that the world would go to war again. The memory of 1914–18 was too close. Even
now, years after its ending, scenes came back to Bertie as he drifted off to sleep at nights, waking him again. It had been a war to end war. Thank God, Edward's flying would be used for more constructive ends!

He pulled the blank paper towards him and began to write the neglected letter.