The Shadow of the Sycamores (44 page)

‘What? What’s going on? Is Daphne all right?’ Each word was followed by a sharp intake of breath as the puffing Gordon Highlander tried to fill his lungs again.

‘She’s fine as far as I know,’ Rob said, sighing gustily, ‘but I’m not allowed to go in now. The midwife’s there with her.’

‘You mean …? You mean …?

Laughing at his incoherence, Rob nodded. ‘The baby’s on its way and I don’t suppose they’ll let you in either.’

‘They damn well
will
let me in!’ Jerry declared vehemently. ‘I’ve come all this way … and I’m the father … and I want to see my child being born!’

‘You’ll be lucky!’ was Rob’s retort to his retreating back.

Ignoring Lil’s shocked face, Jerry strode straight into the bedroom.

‘No, no, now.’ Mrs Drake admonished. ‘No fathers allowed.’

But Daphne stretched out her arms, beseeching, ‘Oh, Jerry, I’m so glad you’re here. Please let him stay, Mrs Drake.’

And Jerry stood, holding her hand, as the searing pains racked her body and the stout woman did what she had to do. Two hours passed but still he did not move, still the moans and screams forced themselves out of his wife’s mouth and he
wanted to push the midwife out of the way and ease his child out himself. But he knew that was impossible – even stupid and dangerous.

At long last, Mrs Drake gave a triumphant cry. ‘It’s crowning! It’s coming! One last push, dear,’ and, with a plopping sound, the little body slipped out.

Jerry wanted to close his eyes to the blood and mucus that oozed out along with it but Mrs Drake took the towel Lil was holding ready, wrapped it round the tiny being and handed it to him. ‘What is it?’ he asked, not having had time to notice the sex.

‘Oh, God give me strength!’ the woman sighed. ‘Never even saw whether he had a son or a daughter. That’s fathers for you!’

Thoroughly ashamed of what he termed as his weakness at the sight of the bloody mess, he forced himself not to flinch as he took the little bundle in his arms and Lil came to his rescue. ‘It’s a boy!’

Pride blotted out everything else from his mind, his chest voluntarily expanding. He had actually fathered a son! What was more, he had watched the birth, seen the crown of the head as it came into view, seen the speed with which the blood-covered, miniature body left its haven and now he was watching the midwife guiding out what she called the afterbirth. He had not known that giving birth was such a complicated and painful process – it was a wonder that any babies ever got born at all.

Now the little midwife claimed the occupant of the towel and sponged it gently in the basin Lil had waiting. Only after he was patted dry with a clean towel did the little creature look human. Red of face and wrinkly but still a human being, with a dashed good pair of lungs.

‘I’m glad it’s a boy,’ Daphne whispered, when the two women went out.

‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ Jerry admitted honestly. ‘I didn’t care what it was as long as you were both all right.’ He looked at his wife in concern. ‘You
are
all right, Daphne, aren’t you?’

‘Never better,’ she grinned. ‘I never dared to think you might be here and I can still hardly believe it.’

Jerry spent most of his one full day in Dover sitting by his wife’s bed because Mrs Drake would not allow her to get up. ‘No, no, my lady, a week before you can get on your feet, then up a little longer each day till you’re strong enough to stay up. Even then, you have to watch and not do too much. And remember, Father, you must control yourself.’

Mortified at what she was suggesting, Jerry merely nodded. He was happy as long as he could be with his wife, holding her hand and telling her how much he loved her and how proud he was of her and kissing her when he felt like it.

His luck held the next morning. A merchant ship was making ready to leave for Zeebrugge when he arrived at the docks and he gratefully accepted the offer of a spare bunk. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before but he lay awake for some time thinking. Not many men were fortunate enough to be witness to the birth of their own child. It was a process kept shrouded in mystery by women – a tightly guarded secret that was seldom divulged to the male sex.

Yet he had been there with his wife. He had seen everything and he would never forget that wonderful, wonderful moment when the tiny person he had helped to create made his entry into the world.

It was a moment he would cherish until the day he died.

Lil Nelson was feeling somewhat annoyed with herself and it was all that Jerry Rae’s fault. She hadn’t been herself while he was there, what with the birth and all the excitement, but it had dawned on her just after he left. Around the time of the wedding, she had figured that her daughter’s monthlies had been due to start on the day of the ceremony but Daphne hadn’t come to her as she usually did asking for napkins. She knew Daphne was always as regular as clockwork and had assumed that it was the frenzy of the wedding that had made her period late. But the reason it hadn’t come when she expected it to was that the little bitch had been pregnant. Why the hell hadn’t she tumbled to it before? The blighter had been at her beforehand.

Lil was in a proper quandary now. However she felt about the filthy brute, she felt duty-bound to reassure the girl at not hearing one word from him. ‘Nothing’s happened to Jerry. He’ll be in the heart of the fighting and they don’t get time off to write billets-doux to sulking wives.’

‘I know that and I’m not sulking. I’m worried. He’s been away for months.’

‘The army would let you know if anything happened to him.’

‘What if they don’t know he’s married?’

‘Of course they know. He’d to get the Commanding Officer’s permission, hadn’t he?’

‘Maybe he didn’t give them our address. He was recalled in such a rush, he could easily have forgotten. And they were sent abroad right away.’

Lil pulled a face. ‘In that case, they’d likely notify his parents if anything happened and they’d write to you.’

‘I don’t know where they live,’ Daphne wailed. ‘He didn’t tell me anything about them – they could be dead, for all I know. Even if they’re not …’ She broke off as another horrifying possibility struck her. ‘What if he hasn’t told them he married me? They maybe don’t know about me at all.’

Lil’s patience, already worn thin, snapped at that. ‘Pull yourself together, girl! If you keep on like this, it’ll affect the baby. Jerry must have let his mother know he was married.’

She was not altogether certain of this herself. He had obviously got what he wanted from Daphne before marriage was ever mentioned – he’d likely had no intention of marrying her at all. The wedding had practically been forced on him – at her instigation, Lil thought wretchedly – and he hadn’t really had time to write to his mum and dad. She wished she’d had the chance to let him know how she felt about him, though. Dirty swine, deflowering an innocent girl before he was forced to put the ring on her finger.

She had to watch what she said, though. It was up to her to keep Daphne’s spirits up. Whatever Jerry Rae was, the girl was still married to him. ‘You’re worrying for nothing, dear,’ she consoled. ‘A whole bundle of letters will turn up one of these days, just you wait and see.’

If only that would come true, there would be peace in the house once more … for a while, at least.

A similar scenario was being played out in Ardbirtle. Fay’s anxiety for her son was deepening with every day that passed and Henry was more of a Job’s comforter than any real help.

‘It’s been more than six months since we’d a letter,’ she sighed one rainy morning, having seen the postman go past without stopping.

Her husband drained his teacup and stood up. ‘He’s not over there for a holiday, my Fairy Fay. They’re fighting against a treacherous enemy and they’ll have to be on their guard constantly. No time to write letters home. No time for anything except to mind their backs. I just wish I knew exactly where he was so I’d have an idea of what he’s having to face.’ He
lifted his peaked soft hat from the hook at the back of the door and slapped it on to his head. ‘It’s time I was off. Just stop worrying. Jerry’s fine, I’m sure.’

Fay gave a little snort when the door shut behind him. What did he know about it? If the enemy was as treacherous as he said, it stood to reason that Jerry was in danger and, as his mother, she was entitled to be worried about him.

After washing up and tidying the kitchen, she decided to go to Corbie Den. She needed someone to speak to, to take her mind off …

Leo greeted her in a more affectionate way than most men would greet their mothers-in-law but her stomach churned at the thought of Jerry suffering injuries like his. Nevertheless, after an hour there, she had almost forgotten her worries. Mara and her husband were so obviously happy, so obviously in love, even though the miracle they’d hoped for had not taken place. The horrific scars had toned down a little, the gaunt cheeks had filled out, his speech was easier to understand … but he had regained less than fifty per cent of his sight and his legs were as useless as ever.

Mara went to the garden gate with her when she left so she was able to admit to her worries about Jerry and, fortunately, her daughter was more sympathetic than Henry had been.

‘I know how you feel, Mother,’ the girl said gently. ‘I was the same when I didn’t hear from Leo for so long. I imagined all sorts of things.’

Feeling ashamed at not remembering the long months of waiting before Leo’s father had written, Fay couldn’t help thinking that it might have been better for Mara if Leo hadn’t come back. Yet, looking at her daughter, a pretty young woman still, it heartened her to see the peace in the sweet face, the contentment of being with the man she loved, in spite of what he was now.

*    *    *

Captain Frederick Lindsay felt himself to be in a tight corner. He had taken over as acting adjutant because the battalion’s appointed adjutant, John Lawrie, had been killed during the last offensive. And then the CO had been killed too and he was left to carry out a duty for which he was totally untrained. Having been sent in to boost the dwindling numbers on this front – the remnants of various other regiments – they had, thank God, gained their objective but at the cost of so many lives. So far, he knew only the figures for his band of Gordon Highlanders – it could no longer be called a battalion – and, of the sixty-seven who had begun this latest battle, only eighteen remained. It was his job to notify the next-of-kin.

It should have been straightforward to look up Lawrie’s records, get each soldier’s rank and number and the name and address of the person to be notified in the event of his death and pass on the information to HQ. Should any problems arise, contact the CO – that was how it should be – but it was turning out to be much more complicated than that. Like all the poor beggars who had been wiped out, the records, that Lawrie had kept so meticulously up to date in even the worst possible conditions, had been blown sky-high. And there would be no help from the CO either, now that he too had been killed.

The only thing to do, Lindsay thought, a kind of last resort, would be to talk to the survivors and try to glean some information on their dead comrades. This plan was quite successful, as far as it went. He was given all the names and ranks, some of the numbers from kitbags and personal possessions left behind but hardly anything on the next-of-kin – or should that be next-of-kins since there were forty-nine to worry about? Still, he had done his best and, if he collated the information in alphabetical order and sent on the effects properly labelled, the clerks at HQ should be able to take it from there. Only one thing was nagging at him. It seemed that one of the privates, a Jeremy Rae, had got married just before the battalion was shipped out but no one could give him any details about the wife’s whereabouts.

So the telegram and the boy’s pathetic possessions would be
sent to his mother who was down as his next of kin. Captain Lindsay did not feel easy about this but, after agonising over it for some time, he decided that the boy’s parents would let the widow know. It wasn’t his worry now and nor was it his fault. If it was God’s will that Rae should die, the Almighty should have made sure that all eventualities had been covered.

Because of the lack of details received at HQ, the information did not reach Ardbirtle until some weeks later.

‘You had better look for Henry Rae and give it to him,’ the postmaster instructed the young telegraph boy. ‘I wouldn’t like to think of his poor wife opening it on her own.’

This, then, was why the vital telegram was handed to Henry while he was doing his duty as street sweeper. His stomach churning, his heart barely able to beat, he managed to give the young lad a threepenny tip and sent him on his way. Then, with surprisingly steady hands, he tore open the yellow envelope to confirm what he was already suspecting. Only then, seeing it printed on strips of paper, did he actually believe it. Jerry had been killed in action! His first son had died as a child and his second had died an eighteen-year-old, practically still a child! Now his hands shook, his legs had difficulty in taking him home to tell his wife. His poor Fairy Fay! What would this do to her?

She was stronger than he thought – at least in front of Mara, who had gone in for a few minutes after finishing her shopping. ‘I knew something had happened to him,’ Fay murmured but there was no tremor in the words, no tears in her eyes.

With her father just standing looking shocked, Mara stepped forward to put her arms round her mother, to console her, but Fay waved her away. ‘I’m all right.’

‘But, Mother …’

‘I’m all right, I tell you. Now, go home to Leo, he needs you more than I do.’

Casting one accusing glance at her father, Mara reluctantly went out. His daughter’s look prodding him back to life, Henry
pulled his wife gently against his chest and they wept for their son together.

It was almost a month later before the parcel arrived and by this time they had more or less come to terms with their loss. Touching his bible, his cap, his badge and all the little trifles he had left behind in his kitbag, brought it all back to them, affecting them even more the second time round. They spent the next hour clasped tightly in each other’s arms, recalling the manner of both their sons’ deaths, weeping softly but bitterly, then sat for the remainder of the day, one at each side of the fireplace, remembering little incidents in Andrew’s short life, as well as in Jerry’s.