We'll Meet Again (11 page)

He was very grave.

“It’s bad news,” he said. “The boys’ parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trimmell … their house has been hit. It happened last night.”

“Oh no … and … ?”

He nodded. “Both parents killed instantly.”

“How terrible! Those poor boys. What will become of them?”

“They’ll stay here for a while … well, as long as they want to. Is it not tragic? Mother and father … gone like that. Apparently the father was home on leave from the navy … so both were there.”

“The boys will have to be told,” I said.

He looked at me helplessly. “It’s what I dread. How can I, Violetta? I thought you would know how to do it better than I.”

I was silent, thinking of the boys, how best to break the news to them. It was going to be difficult. But I could see that Gordon would not be the best one to do it.

I pondered. I said I thought I would speak to Charley first and then we could tell Bert afterwards. Charley was a shrewd boy. I always felt he was far older than his years. There were times when it seemed as though I were talking to a young man of eighteen; at others he would seem just like a child. He would have need of his maturity now.

I went up to the nursery where I was greeted with vociferous pleasure by Tristan, while Hildegarde, who always imitated Tristan, also showed her delight in my arrival.

I told Nanny Crabtree what had happened.

Her face creased with tenderness.

“The poor mites,” she cried. “I wish I had that Hitler here. I’d give him a dose of the medicine he’s giving to little children.”

I arranged with her that when the boys came home from school Charley should be told I wanted to see him. I would break the news to him and with his help tell Bert—or perhaps it would be better for him to do it alone.

I felt sick at heart when he came and still could not decide what was the best way to tell him.

His face was bright with expectancy, and I heard myself say hesitatingly: “Charley, there’s something I have to tell you …”

I paused. “Yes, Miss,” he said.

I bit my lip and turned away. Then I stammered: “Something has happened. It’s very sad. You know London has been badly bombed?”

He stared at me. “Is it my mum … or Aunt Lil … or someone like that?”

I said: “Charley, it is your father and mother. Your father was home on leave …”

He stood very still; he had turned very pale and then the color rushed into his cheeks.

“Charley, you know how dreadful this war is …”

He nodded. “Does Bert know?” he asked. “’Course he don’t. You told me first.”

“Yes. I thought you would know how best to tell him.”

He nodded.

“Charley, we’re all very sorry.”

“If we’d’a bin there,” he said.

“You couldn’t have done anything for them, you know.”

“Why wasn’t they in one of them shelters?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll hear. I suppose sometimes the raids start before people can get there.”

He nodded again.

“This is your home now, you know, Charley. Mr. Lewyth wanted you to know that.”

He was silent for a moment, then he said: “I’d better tell Bert.”

“You’ll know how to do that.”

He looked bewildered and, on a sudden impulse, I went to him and put my arms round him. I held him tightly for a few seconds. He did not respond, but I sensed he was glad I did it.

Then he went off to tell Bert.

Nanny Crabtree was very gentle with them that night. She called Bert “My Pet” when she addressed him.

They were strange boys. I guessed their parents had never been demonstrative in their affection. I kept thinking about them throughout the evening and I could not resist going up to their rooms that night when they had gone to bed.

I looked in at Charley’s first. He was not there. Then I went into Bert’s room. Charley was on Bert’s bed, holding him in his arms. The night-light on the table beside the bed was still on.

Charley looked at me rather aggressively as I came in.

I said: “I thought I’d just look in to see how you were feeling.”

“All right,” said Charley, almost defiantly.

“And Bert?” I asked. It was clear that Bert was not “all right.”

“He couldn’t sleep,” said Charley, by way of explaining his presence. “So I just come in to talk to him.”

Bert started to cry.

Charley said: “It’s all right. This is our home now. She said so. It’s nice here. Better than Oban Street, now ain’t it?”

I sat down on the bed.

“Charley’s right,” I said. “This is your home now. There’s nothing to worry about.” I put my arms round him and, surprisingly, he turned to me. I stroked his hair.

“There,” I went on soothingly, “it is very sad, and we are all very, very sorry. But you are here now and Charley’s here with you.”

He nodded and kept close to me.

Charley lay back on the pillows.

“It’s all right, Miss,” he said. “I’ll see to him.”

I nodded, rose, and went quietly out of the room.

I saw Charley the next day. Bert was not with him. Charley seemed to feel I needed some explanation of Bert’s behavior on the previous night.

“He’ll be all right,” he said. “It wasn’t much good there. Better here. I tell Bert that. Our old man, he was always drunk and when he was he’d belt us … Bert more than me. And Mum … she was always on at us.”

“My poor Charley,” I said.

He looked at me rather scornfully and said: “I was all right and I looked after Bert. But, well, it was his home, like. He’s only little. That’s what it is with him. It was his home, see.”

I said I did see.

“It will be better here,” I assured him. “We’ll make sure of that. You like it here, don’t you?”

“It’s all right,” said Charley grudgingly.

I thought: We must make sure that it remains so. He was a good boy, Charley. I was not surprised that his little brother thought he was wonderful.

Mrs. Jermyn was forging ahead with her plan. It had not been difficult to convert the Priory into the kind of home she had visualized, and she already had half a dozen soldiers there. Some of them walked with sticks and there were others who had to be taken into the hospital in West Poldown for dressings of their wounds, so we had plenty to do. Mrs. Jermyn had taken up the project with such enthusiasm that she seemed years younger. I could not believe she was the same woman to whom Jowan had introduced me not so long ago.

Dorabella, Gretchen, and I were all working for her. Dorabella was an immediate success with the soldiers. She did them a great deal of good, I was sure, by joking with them in her mildly flirtatious way. Gretchen worked hard and I must say, so did I. We were all tremendously enthusiastic, and we had the wholehearted approval of the authorities.

Tom Yeo had immediately found work for Simone on the estate, and she was sharing a cottage with old Mrs. Penwear. It had worked out very satisfactorily, for Mrs. Penwear had been recently widowed and did not like living alone. Mr. Penwear had been retired for a few years before his death and his wife had been allowed to keep the cottage for her lifetime.

Simone seemed very pleased with life. She was clearly relieved to have left France and was eager to do all she could to bring about Hitler’s defeat. She proved to be of a friendly nature and Mrs. Penwear was obviously delighted to share her home with her.

In the evening, Simone told me, they would walk together. Mrs. Penwear liked to tell her about the people in the neighborhood. These conversations were a great help to Simone and her knowledge of English improved perceptibly. Everyone was very kind and welcoming to her. They thought she was very brave to have crossed the sea with her brother. They could all understand why she did not want to stay in her own country, and felt impelled to come over to England to work with the brave de Gaulle and help drive the enemy out of France.

Most of the soldiers who came to us stayed for two or three weeks. Many of them seemed just like boys who had been thrust into experiences of horror and were somewhat bewildered by it; but in the main they were light-hearted and prepared to enjoy life.

I remember one rather serious young man in whom I was particularly interested because he had been in the R.F.A. and had trained at Lark Hill; it occurred to me that he might have known Jowan.

He was not badly hurt. He had a leg wound and walked with a stick which he hoped in a few months he would be able to discard.

One day I found him in the gardens alone and I joined him.

I said: “You will be leaving us soon.”

“I shall always remember this place,” he told me. “It has been a happy time here. I feel so restful … away from it all.”

“Scarcely that,” I replied. “There’s a lot of activity in the air and then the continual watch for invasion.”

“Ah yes, that’s true, but where could one get away from this ghastly war? You and the young ladies, and Mrs. Jermyn, of course, have helped a great deal.”

We were silent for a while, and then I said: “I told you my fiancé was … over there?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It is some months since Dunkirk now … do you think …?”

“One can never be sure. Some of them were taken prisoner. Others may be on the run. There are some good brave people over there. They hated this patched-up peace and are working underground. I believe they help people get across the borders into neutral territory … Switzerland, for instance. The lucky ones could manage to get home … in time.”

“What of the soldiers who were taken prisoner?”

“Even the Germans should respect the rules of war and must treat prisoners according to them. But it would mean waiting until the war is over …”

“Do you think it is possible for people to escape?”

“Everything is possible.”

“Do you really believe it is reasonable to go on hoping? Please tell me the truth.”

He said solemnly: “Yes, I think it is reasonable to hope. How can we know what is happening over there?”

I did feel a little comforted after that, and I had a conviction that somewhere Jowan was alive and that he would come back.

I could not sleep that night. I kept thinking of Jowan in some prisoner-of-war camp in France … in Belgium … in Germany. It could be in any of those countries. Or perhaps he had escaped capture. Perhaps he was in hiding with some French people who were looking after him and would get him to Switzerland.

And as I lay there, I saw a sudden light flash across the sky. I got out of bed and looked out to sea. It was dark, but as I stood there I saw a beam of light. It flashed and was gone in a moment.

In view of the invasion fears, I felt I could not dismiss this lightly. At the same time, I remembered the laughter we had aroused through our shoal of fish which we had thought was an invading force. I was cautious.

I slipped on some clothes and went out. Everything was still. I could see nothing as far out as the horizon. I waited a while and went back to bed, but not to sleep. I had definitely seen those flashes.

When I went down to breakfast I saw Gordon and told him that I had seen flashes of light during the night.

“Strange,” he said. “Could have been lightning. I don’t think any invading force would flash lights to warn us of their arrival.”

“No. That’s why I did not raise the alarm. I did not want to appear ridiculous again. It was all quiet, so I just returned to bed.”

“It was almost certain to have been lightning.”

But it seemed that others had seen the lights. We were still keeping our watch on the cliffs, though it seemed less likely now that the Germans would try to invade.

We were, according to reports, showing a strong resistance in the air, and the battle which must be won before a landing was attempted was not yet over. Unlike the French, the British had shown they were determined to fight, no matter at what cost to themselves.

All the same, we had to be on the alert.

There was a great deal of talk about the lights.

Naturally there were exaggerations that the lights were signals and there was the inevitable conclusion that there were traitors amongst us who were sending messages to the enemy across the sea.

Charley came home from school one day with a bruised face and a black eye.

Nanny Crabtree seized on him.

“Fighting again!” she cried. “You’ll get really hurt one of these days, young fellow. I tell you, I won’t have it. What was this all about?”

Charley looked stubborn. “Knocked me ’ead on a post,” he said sullenly.

“Don’t give me that,” said Nanny Crabtree. “You’ve been having a scrap, that’s what.”

She showed extreme displeasure, but Charley refused to talk and he was in disgrace. I was surprised to detect how much he cared; but he put on that defiant, almost insolent, look which always maddened Nanny Crabtree.

“I can’t do with a child that gives me that look,” she explained. “He says nothing … just looks at you as though he knows it all and you know nothing. And what can you do? All he’s done is look. And another thing, I can’t stand a child who lies. Walked into a post, my foot!”

Poor Charley, I was sorry for him. However indifferent his parents had been, they were still his family and there did not seem to be anyone else but Aunt Lil, for whom he obviously had little respect or affection. All he had was his little brother, and I was deeply touched by the protective care he bestowed on him. I liked Charley and I hated to see him on bad terms with Nanny Crabtree.

At the same time, I was visiting Mrs. Pardell now and then. She had been a good friend to us at the time of Dorabella’s return and I knew she was pleased when I called on her, though her nature prevented her from showing this pleasure.

She was fiercely patriotic and was constantly knitting sweaters and balaclavas for the troops; she also worked a few hours a week with the Red Cross.

She gave me a glass of her home-brewed wine and, as we sat talking, she mentioned the lights which had been seen flashing out to sea.

I said: “Mr. Lewyth thinks they were probably lightning.”

“That could be,” she agreed. “And yet again it might not.”

“If it were not, what was it?”

She pressed her lips tightly together and said: “Well, I suppose there could have been something out there … a submarine, or something like that … something out of sight that could get in close … and someone on land could be sending out messages.”