Angelique (15 page)

After about an hour Edith returns takes her coat off and sits opposite us. She reaches over the table and takes Sandy’s hand. She says in a sincere manner. “Look my dear I know you want to attend your friend’s funeral but I am worried about you. Adam tells me you plan staying over for a couple of nights. Arthur you know why I am worried, this is what I suggest. I have made enquiries Mr Stanhope has offered to drive us there and back in one day. He has been in that locality before and he reckons it will only take about two hours to get there.” Sandy thinks her suggestion over then replies. “To be honest I have been worried myself since I made the decision to go. I like your idea Edith as long as Adam doesn’t mind? I will go by car with you.”

I reply. “No, no Sandy you do what is best for you. I will be going by train in the morning. I want to get there early to see what arrangements have been made. I shall be going back to New Brighton directly from there to travel south with my Mother.”

Edith is happy because Sandy and I have agreed to her plan she makes an offer. “If that is settled I will take you to Cuddington station in the trap, what time do reckon on going?”

After considering it for a moment I reply. “Hmmm If it’s no trouble will you will pick me at the pub about nine o’clock. That will give me time to have breakfast and I need to send a telegram from the post office. I have a couple of letters to write so if you don’t mind I will wish you goodnight. Thank you for a lovely meal and your hospitality. Please remember what I offered. If you are able to travel to France in the future you will be welcome as our guests. My Wife and I would be very pleased to accommodate you and show you both around.

Back at the Railway Inn I have a pint and write a long letter to Denise giving her all the news. I also send a letter to Billy, Dave and Toot informing them of the Colonels demise. I am not sure if the letters will get to them in time for them to attend the funeral but I know they will appreciate being informed.

My travels begin again on the 0945 train from Cuddington to Chester. Edith and Sandy bid me farewell at the station. I hope they make it to the funeral but Sandy doesn’t appear too well when they drop me off.

As I haven’t visited the village I have no idea where to arrange a meeting. Sandy solves the dilemma by pointing out they would just drive around until they see a funeral.

At a loss to suggest anything else I have to agree.

Two and a half hours finds me at Great Malvern station. The Station Master gives me directions to the Colonels village about ten minutes walk away on the outskirts of Great Malvern. My first task is to find somewhere for lunch and a nights lodging. I find a pub with the strange name.

The Unwilling Volunteer.

On a hand written board is the advertisement Good Homemade Food and Lodgings. I don’t know whether it is usual for a small village pub but when I enter the smoke filled bar it is surprisingly crowded for a lunch time.

I have heard this lovely part of the country is a great holiday centre but certainly not at this time of the year. Although the bar is crowded there is an empty chair in the corner by the fire that everyone appears to avoid. I am sitting in a window table eating a nice meal and drinking a pint of scrumpy when something occurs to me as I note the clientele. Many are cripples with limbs missing, some show signs of burns. There are a couple accompanied by mates that are obviously blind. When I home into the chatter it is obvious they are mostly ex service men. Good God it is such a small village and yet there are so many maimed and disabled men. When I have finished my meal as I order another pint of scrumpy I ask the barman about accommodation.”

He replies while pulling a pint. “You are lucky sir; there is just one room left. I’ll tell the Landlord you want it shall I?”

I decide to take it without looking at the room. “Yes for two nights please.”

He informs me. “We have never been so busy at this time of the year. Except for my time in the service I have worked here for fifteen years this is the first time we have had to bring in extra staff to cope with the rush.”

“What’s it all about?” I enquire. He gives me a strange look and replies as he serves another customer “They are all here for the Colonels funeral of course. Aren’t you here for that as well?”

Before I offer an answer he adds. “If you aren’t you’re about the only one isn’t, this was his local pub before er the accident, his funeral is leaving from here tomorrow.” He disappears for a moment through a door behind the bar and returns with a key. He instructs me.

“Your room is upstairs at the end of the landing, room seven. Evening meal for patrons is in the back room at seven o’clock. Breakfast will be served from seven thirty until nine o’clock. That will be two pounds in advance please sir?” As I pay him I ask “What’s with the chair by the fire I notice even though the place is crowded its left empty, is it too warm by the fire or something?”

“That’s the Colonels chair.” He replies without any further explanation and carries on with his duties. After I have stowed my gear in my room I go for a walk around the village.

I would describe the place as chocolate box pretty. In the centre is a village green complete with duck pond. This pleasant open area is surrounded by thatched cottages I note the largest one has the name I recall from the address on the head of the Colonels letters. As I arrive at the ancient church I notice a man cleaning a Rolls Royce automobile outside the vicarage.

There is something familiar about him but I can’t place where or whether I have met him before. I carry on with my walk and arrive at a small field on a crossroad. Two men are digging an oblong trench to a goodly depth. I have to smile as I hear them cursing the frozen ground. Must be digging drains or something passes through my mind. I recall frantically digging trenches for protection against air raids at the dressing station. I can’t help wondering if the two men have had similar experiences as they chat, curse and leisurely dig. I have reached fields on the edge of the village and begin to backtrack towards the pub. As I approach the vicarage the man I observed when I passed earlier has finished cleaning the Rolls he is now leaning on the gate having a smoke. As I pass him by I bid him. “Good Day.” He returns my greeting. I had not taken more than ten paces when he calls after me. “Is that you er Scouse?”

I complete a smart about turn and move towards him.

He says. “I thought it was you. You don’t remember me do you?”

As I am close to him I realise I recognise him but still can’t recall from where until he informs me. “It was in the dressing station and the Chateau hospital. I am the padre’s driver George Wilkinson.”

It still doesn’t ring a bell until he adds impatiently. “You know Captain Thomas De Silva.”

I reply with derision. “Oh that shit! Are you still with him?” He replies. “Yes I’m still with him as a matter of fact he is in the vicarage at the moment.”

I shake my head in disgust. “I can’t understand that George I’m surprised you stayed with him. I mean I know you had no choice during the war but after you got demobbed? I remember how much you hated the bugger when I saw you last?

I burst out laughing as I remember the last time I saw the Padre.

“Hey George remember when my mate fed him that jollop and gave him the shits at the Sunday service. I recall you danced with joy that day.

What was it that the lads were singing? Oh yes I remember now. It’s a long way to the”

I break of suddenly as he doesn’t join in my laughter instead he asks.

“Where are you off to now, Scouse?” I respond. “I’m going to the pub down the road a way I’ve booked in for a couple of nights.”

He enquires. “Are you here on holiday or something?”

Before I answer he says. “It’s a queer time of the year for a holiday if you don’t mind me saying.” I inform him. “I’m not here on a holiday mate I’ve come to attend an old war time comrade’s funeral.” He replies. “That will be Colonel Sanders you are on about I reckon?”

I agree he then asks. “Do you mind if I come with you to the pub I wouldn’t mind a pint and I have something to tell you I think you should know?” I shrug my shoulders and invite him along. “Yes by all means come with me for a pint. It’s nice to see you George even if you are still with Captain bloody Silva.” As we stroll towards the pub I enquire.

“I presume you will be here overnight as well? Where are you staying?” George informs me he has a room at the vicarage he and Captain De Silva are staying as guests of the local vicar. The pub had officially closed for the afternoon when we arrive but being a guest my companion and I are served a drink in one of the small rooms. When we settle down and the chit chat is over George relates an incredible story to me that justifies why he remained in Captain De Silva’s employment. “It was a couple of weeks after the armistice. I was ordered by the Captain to take him and a photographer to the front line. I think he wanted pictures to take back to blighty so his cronies would think he had regularly been amongst the fighting.

We were about to leave when he spotted a bombed out church. It was a right mess but amongst the chaos there was a statue of an Angel virtually unscathed.”

I intercede excitedly. “I know exactly where you mean it was one of our pick up points for the wounded. I used to be amazed at the sight of that Angel myself. All around it there was chaos and yet that one headstone with the Angel on survived virtually intact. Weird that wasn’t it eh? In fact I nearly copped it there when the Boche shelled us. Carry on George I’m sorry to interrupt.” He continued. “Anyway as I was saying, he wanted his picture taken looking at the statue for some reason. The photographer was setting up his camera on one of those tripod things. He was advising the Captain where to stand for the best picture. As the Captain moved closer to the Angel there was a bang and puff of smoke, to cut a long story short the explosion blew him backwards, when I got to him the Captain was in a right mess. I thought he had bought it when I saw the state of him. To be honest I wasn’t that bothered because at that time as you know I hated him. An engineer officer close by reckoned he had disturbed an unexploded shell and it had partially blown up. He thought maybe just the detonator had gone off. He would have been certainly dead if the whole caboodle had exploded.

Your dressing station had closed down by then and we had to take him a long way to the Chateau hospital.” I sympathise. “Phew that’s a long way to transport a casualty. I know that road it’s in a right mess. I bet he didn’t half suffer?” George reveals. “Actually he was lucky in a way because he was unconscious. When we got him to the chateau he remained in a coma for weeks under the care of the Colonel and his staff. But this is the crunch to the story. When he eventually came around he was as blind as a bat. All he remembers is the last thing he saw before he lost his sight and that was the bloomin Angel. It must have been like some kind of holy retribution he had brought down on himself for being an absolute shit. In your wildest dreams you will never believe how it has changed him. He is the most caring Priest and humane man you would ever wish to meet. Since demob he has involved himself in all kinds of charities for ex servicemen. That is the reason we are here now. I read the newspapers to him every day, when he learned of the Colonels death he decided to travel here immediately. He has even offered to conduct the funeral service because of the Colonels suicide the Parish Priest won’t have anything to do with it.”

I enquire “So where do you live are you married?”

He replies with a cynical laugh. “Who would have me Scouse? No I am not married I have a good life to be honest. I live in De Silva’s house in Bath. I want for nothing. Great food, the maids do the cleaning they look after all my needs. I have this understanding with the housekeeper a comely Lady, know what I mean?” He winks and gives me a knowing nudge. “And the best of all I get to drive his brand new Rolls. No Scouse on the whole I think I’ve cracked it since he saw the light. Saw the light ha, ha. I shouldn’t laugh but eh! I got to remember he was a right shit for years so I reckon a little laugh now and again kind of squares things up a bit, don’t you?”

I hesitantly reply. “Well George. I wouldn’t normally wish blindness on anyone but as you say he was a shit when he got himself blinded. If it has made a better man out of him maybe God does move in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. I remember him saying that at one of his long, long, boring, sermons.”

Changing the subject George asks. “By the way how did you get on with that little French bit at the Chateau? I remember you really had the hots for her?”

George falls into an embarrassing silence when I inform him I am married to the little French bit.

Fortunately an elderly chap enters the room and introduces himself as the Landlord Edward Stokes. “Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen? The bar staff are going off duty for a couple of hours. May I get you another drink or something to eat perhaps?”

I reply. “That sounds great, two more of the same if you please and have one for yourself?”

He replies. “Thanks for the offer but I am teetotal.” He smiles and explains. “Strange that eh? A Pub Landlord teetotal but I can assure there is a reason.” He returns with two foaming tankards and a book under his arm.” He enquires. “I take it you Gentlemen are here to attend Colonel Sanders funeral?” We agree. “I wonder would you care to sign the condolence book. We admired the Colonel around these parts you know? After the funeral I want to display the book with pride along with his medals in a glass case over his chair. People in the future will know he died a hero in our eyes, not a coward as that despicable paper portrayed him.”

Both George and I sign the book immediately. I read some of the remarks men had written alongside their names. Without exception they all praised the Colonel, many gave him and his staff credit for saving their lives. When the Landlord returns to collect the book I enquire.

“Have you any idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, have the pall bearers been selected? Where is the internment taking place?”