Each man was engrossed in his attempt atdetaching himself from the realities of the trenches: Tom was asleep, a gentlepurring sporadically rising from his pillow; Leonard was reading; Jimmy andEdward were playing cards and smoking; Frank was eating and Charles was lyingdown clutching the photo of Nellie and Alfred inches from his face.
‘Anyone coming to the red lamps?’ Frank asked, suddenly rising from his bed.
‘Where are your morals?’ Leonard asked, lifting his head from his book. His smile revealed the lack of seriousness to his question.
Frank shrugged. ‘Lost. Last seen somewhere in Château Wood, Iguess,’ he answered.
‘I’ll come,’ Jimmy responded, jumping up and throwing his cards down onto thebed.
‘Charlie?’ Frank asked. ‘You must be missing your wife by now.’
Charles shook his head. Any moral condemnation he might have felt sixmonths ago had long since diminished; any vice or illicit comfort a man couldget to help him see the next day was fine by him. He missed Nellieterribly, and even though most visitors to the red lamps were married men, hecouldn’t bring himself to betray his wife. ‘Not for me, thanks.’
Frank and Jimmy strolled from the room, as quickly as their aching feet couldtake them.
‘Kitchener wasted his time putting that little pearl of wisdom in our firstwartime pay-packets,’ Edward said. ‘In this new experience, you mayfind temptations both in wine and women!’
‘You must entirely resistboth,’ Leonard responded with a chuckle.
Edward unscrewed his canteen and raised it into the air. ‘Cheers,Kitchener!’ He took a swig and sighed.
‘Oh, Nellie,’ Charles breathed almost inaudibly, as he stared at thephoto. Right now, he would do anything—anything at all—to get back homeand hold her in his arms. That was all he wanted: just to hold her andstroke her face. He was worried about her, too. Edward had beensent a copy of the Daily Mail from 17th December, the mainstory in which was the bombardment of Scarborough, Whitby and Hartlepool. That German ships could just sail unhindered through the North Sea terrifiedhim when Eastbourne was so close to mainland Europe. At any moment theycould cross the English Channel and attack the seaside town.
‘Ho ho ho!’ a sudden yell came at the door.
The men turned eagerly to see Davis from ‘B’ Company struggling to drag a fullhessian sack into the bedroom. Quickly, he distributed letters andparcels among the men. ‘Enjoy!’ were his parting words.
The four men delved into their post, desperately grateful to have heard fromhome the day before Christmas.
Charles received a parcel and letter from Nellie. He carefully tore intothe letter and read. My Dear Charlie, Thank you for your letter14/12/14. I’m pleased that the items were of use—of course it is not toomuch trouble to send them. Little Alfie and I are doing well. Hegrows every day, becoming more and more like you. His smile and laughteris enough to melt the hardest of souls. We muddle along, each day muchthe same as the last, eagerly awaiting news from the front. Dorothy andGwen send their regards—we are a great team, the three of us—sharing thehousework and employing various ingenious methods (which I daren’t tell youabout) to procure food for the table. Our greatest strength, though, isin the support we provide each other. Individually we are like fretful,jumpy lunatics, bouncing between good news and no news. I know Ishouldn’t complain—what you boys are suffering is unimaginable for us leftbehind. This might well be the last note you receive before Christmas,so, my love, I wish you every blessing and pray we three shall be reunitedagain soon. My love, Nellie xx.
Charles smiled and wipedaway a pair of tears that neatly coursed down his cheeks. Setting theletter to one side, he set about opening the parcel, taking his time andsavouring the anticipation of its contents. It could be entirely emptyand he’d be happy in the knowledge that his wife had sent it. Inside, hefound two Christmas presents wrapped in brown paper, a bundle of candles,coffee, cherry brandy, two packets of cigarettes and a jar of homemademarmalade.
‘Anything nice?’ Leonard asked.
‘Want to help me with this?’ Charles responded, holding up the cherrybrandy. He could see on Leonard’s bed the summary of his post: aChristmas card containing few words. Charles shared most things withLeonard, knowing that his only contact from home was an elderly aunt who seldomwrote and never sent parcels.
Leonard smiled. ‘With pleasure.’
For the six men in the shared bedroom, and for the rest of the company,Christmas Eve ended with smoking, drinking, eating and playing cards.
Charles fell asleep that night clutching Nellie’s letter in his hand, warmed bythe liqueur laced with the taste of the weald’s summer orchard.
ChapterEleven
19th August 1974, Westbere, Kent, England
Nelliestood at her kitchen window, watching the abundance of birdlife drawn to hergarden. Flitting, dancing and fluttering, they greedily scoffed thecrumbs and scraps which she had left out for them earlier that morning. Agentle breeze drifted in through the open French doors, bringing with it thechattering happiness from the birds, mingling in the air with the quiet musicalofferings from her radio.
Nellie took a sip of her tea and wondered what the day would bring. Shehad wanted to stick to her usual routines, but her granddaughter’s arrival haddictated otherwise. After four days, Nellie had yet to penetrate throughMargaret’s tough near-silent exterior. She sympathised with the poorgirl; even today with more enlightened liberal views about the world, she wasstill being judged by the clinging fog of Victorian attitudes. Her son,Alfred’s, disgust at her condition was evident from the very moment that he hadtelephoned her, asking her to see Margaret through the latter stages of herpregnancy. ‘People are talking,’ Alfred had said rather vaguely. When Nellie had pushed, he had elaborated further: church people, neighbours,friends and his colleagues at work. It seemed to Nellie that everyone hadan opinion on the poor girl. Of course, Nellie had accepted the requestonly too willingly. Len’s death last month had hit her hard—much harderthan she would ever have envisaged—and she was certain that Alfred saw foistingMargaret on her as a solution to the double-headed problem of a grieving motherand a pregnant
