Dr Pickles arranged for a family to be billeted on her, but the children were noisy and the woman rushed back to Hull after a few weeks, saying it was too dull in the country and too quiet.
How she missed Essie’s company, her calming presence. If only she felt stronger to do things. Now the garden was back to vegetables again, and another war was raging round her but she couldn’t be bothered to keep up with events.
She did manage some of the WI work parties when she could remember, but her knitting was slack and she kept dropping stitches. The car was in a stable with the wheels removed. She knew she wasn’t fit to drive after she crashed into a wall on the way back from town. She mistakenly thought she’d knocked someone over on the high road and it had shattered her confidence. This was not the old Hester Cantrell, this slow dithery creature.
‘Where’s the ghost now?’ she said, not really understanding the excitement.
‘That’s what I was going to tell you,’ said Mrs Beck as she put the shopping away. ‘The tall one looked the spitting image of your boys…like they were,of course.I did a double take but he raised his cap and smiled. I can see why the girls like them. They look so snug in their trousers and jackets, so tall and handsome. Now you’ve got me going on, what shall we do today, bathrooms, upstairs or down?’
‘Whatever you like,’ Hester said.
‘Another bad night again?’
‘Never slept a wink, up and down to the lavatory…if only I could sleep. I’d be so much better in myself. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve become so slow.’
‘Just sit where you are. A cup of tea will cheer you up.’
‘I wish we had real coffee. What I’d give for a cup of decent Kenyan blend,’ she complained. Complaining was something she was still good at.
‘We have to make do with what we can get these days. It’s Camp coffee or nothing, dearie.’
‘Why is that?’ Hester was puzzled.
‘There is war on, your ladyship…I told you yesterday. We’ve sent Rommel packing in the desert. That’s something to be grateful for.’
‘Who’s Rommel?’
‘I told you…a German general…in the paper, it is. Come on, don’t get agitated. It’ll all come back to you but you shouldn’t be living on your own in this big house. What you need is company, some evacuees or soldiers billeted, a bit of company.’
‘I suppose it is rather large, but I could never leave the garden.’
‘You’ve done wonders with it but now it’s going to pot for lack of a bit of help. Shall I ask round the village again?’ said Mrs Beck.
Hester sipped her tea. It tasted like wet cardboard. What was the point of eating if you had no pleasure in it? At eighty-two years old there wasn’t much to look forward to.
‘What were those ghosts again?’ she asked, knowing it was something to do with her.
‘One of them looked just like one of your boys. I never could tell them apart, Master Guy or Master Angus. Like I said, they were on their way up to the big school. Doreen
at the post office sent them up there. One of them said his father had been there as a boy.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Hester.
Mrs Beck looked at her again. ‘It’s not going to be one of your better days, is it, dearie?’
Hester stared blankly into the cup.
Charlie and Gary stood in the corridor speechless at the size of the school. It was like entering some ancient stone fortress set high on the hill overlooking the valley.
The headmaster, Mr Faulds, was a harassed little man brought out of retirement, but courteous enough to the visitors, showing them around the school with pride. ‘You say your father attended the school, young man—what dates were those?’
‘Before the Great War, I think. His brother died in battle but Pa was in the Merchant Navy. He doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘None of them does who was there. Let’s have a look at the roll of honour…his name?’
‘Charles Arthur West,’ Charlie replied. He’d never seen anything like an English public school before, the oakpanelled classrooms and long libraries of books on shelves, boys in blazers and short grey trousers, hair parted neatly, and that smell of chalk and disinfectant that couldn’t mask the sweaty stench of youth. The vaulted roof towered above him like a castle.
‘I’m afraid there’s no one of that name on our roll of honour,’ said the headmaster.
‘Hey, didn’t you say he was one of twins?’ Gary interrupted. ‘This is some place to go to school. Mine was a cabin on the prairie.’
‘Quite so…twins, now that’s different. I recall there were a pair. One died but, as I recall, that was Guy Cantrell.’ Mr Faulds was pointing to a photograph.
‘My God, that could be you, Charlie.’ Gary pointed to the portrait.
‘Let me go and ask Mrs Southall. She’s been here a long time,’ said the headmaster.
‘It doesn’t make sense, but it’s Pa all right, or his twin. If this guy died in the war, Pa must be the other one.’ Charlie felt a stab of alarm. Perhaps he shouldn’t be poking around into Pa’s past. He’d left all this behind deliberately. But why?
A middle-aged lady marched in, looking them up and down and then beamed at Charlie as if she knew him.
‘You must be Angus’s boy. Good heavens, it’s like looking at a ghost. Don’t look so alarmed. They were good boys. Guy was a captain. He died at Passchendaele. There he is on the memorial roll. Poor Angus was left behind like a knotless thread. He taught here for a while and suffered from bad turns…America? My goodness, and now he’s sent his son to fight alongside us! That’s typical of the Cantrells; a big military family they were, with a proud tradition. His father drowned at the side of Lord Kitchener. Lady Hester has such a burden of grief. She’ll be so pleased to see you both.’
‘Lady Hester?’ Charlie could hardly take this all in.
‘Your grandmother who lives outside Sharland village, on the hill in Waterloo House. You can’t miss it. What a surprise she’s going to get when she sees you.’
‘Just a minute,’said the head.‘You said your father’s name was Charles West and you are…?
‘Charleson West. That’s odd he should change his name.’
Charlie sensed a mystery. He nudged Gary. ‘There must be an explanation; perhaps the Lady will tell us more.’
‘Shall I ring ahead and tell her you’re coming? We don’t want to shock her. She’s quite ancient now,’ said Mrs Southall.
‘Sure. Can I look at the photograph again?’ Charlie asked.
‘Come with me. There’s a whole wall full of rugby team and cricket team photographs. The boys were good at sport, as I recall.’
‘You’re kiddin’. My pa would never touch a baseball bat.’ Charlie was puzzled.
It was as if a secret door was opening up to a life he knew nothing about. He couldn’t take his eyes off the line-ups. The images were clear: two of them, as alike as peas from a pod.He thought of his own twin brother,Gus…why,Angus, of course. It made sense. He didn’t know what to make of that but suddenly he smiled. ‘I know it’s an awful cheek but have you such a thing as a postcard I could buy to send to my folks back home? I’d like them to know I’ve visited here.’
‘We’ve got something even better, young man,’ said the school secretary. ‘Here’s our current brochure, only on wartime paper, of course. Put that in an envelope and tell your father all about your visit. It’s always good to meet old pupils’ families. It was such a bad time. We lost so many of our brightest pupils, a whole future generation of scholars lost with them. It’s grand to see someone who survived and has brought his boy up to fight for the old country.’
If only she knew the truth, Charlie thought.
‘How long will you be stopping here? The boys might like to meet some American troops,’ she added.
‘Oh, we must be going soon, back to base, ma’am,’ said Gary hurriedly.
They walked out of the grounds still in shock. ‘I think you’d better get down and give this old lady the surprise of her life!’
Charlie said nothing. Was it fair to go behind his father’s back? Something must have gone wrong for Pa to change his name and abandon his family. Charlie wasn’t sure he wanted to find out just what it was.
Hester was pottering in the garden when she saw the two soldiers strolling up the drive. The Yanks are coming, she smiled thinking of the song: ‘Over There, Over There’, sung at the end of the war with such gusto that you’d think the Yanks had won the war single-handedly.
She hobbled to see them at closer range, and then stopped in surprise. ‘Oh, Guy!’ she smiled. ‘It’s you at long last. What took you so long? Come in…come in. Where’s Angus?’
The two men stood looking at each other. ‘Ma’am, this is Gary Ambler and I’m Charles West…They sent me from the school. I think there must have been a mistake. They thought I was your grandson.’
‘Grandson? What are you talking about, Guy? Why are you talking like an American film? You’ve grown so tall, or have I shrunk? There’s so much I need to tell you…Come in, I’ll make you some tea, or would you like sherry?’
‘No, ma’am,’ said Charlie. ‘We’re fine. We just wanted to say hello before we made tracks. You are Lady Hester?’
‘Of course I am. I’m your mother!’
The young men looked at her and then at each other again.
‘Why have you stayed away so long? I wrote to you but you never replied when I told you about Angus and the
village boy. I’ve been waiting so long for you to come back to me. And now you’re home for good? Who’s your friend?’
‘Ma’am, we’re soldiers, American soldiers, on a visit to meet with you, but we can’t stay long.’
‘Oh, don’t tease me, darling. I’m not going to let you go after all this time. I’ll make up your room and some tea. There’s so much we have to say to each other.’
It was so wonderful, seeing Guy so handsome. He’d not aged a scrap in thirty years. He’d been away so long and forgotten all his manners and now had that terrible accent. Amazing, the other one looked a much rougher type. On closer inspection they were both looking at her as if she was not making sense.
‘Come and see what I’ve done in the garden since you left. You shouldn’t have sneaked away like a thief in the night. I know Dr Mac put you up to it. I went to the sanatorium and they told me all about you. Mr West, indeed! You didn’t have to do that. Cantrell is a fine pedigree. There were generals in your father’s family dating back to Waterloo. Where’s Angus again? Oh, I forgot, silly me, poor boy was lost in the war. You shouldn’t have run away. The boy was only doing his best for us all.’ She didn’t notice them back, down the drive, waving and then walking away.
‘Come back! You’ve not had your tea,’ she cried. ‘Don’t leave me not when I’ve found you again, Guy…Guy!’
There was no one there and for a moment her mind went blank. ‘Did I dream that? Had Guy really come or was it another trick of her mind? But there were two of them. The mist in her muddled head cleared for a second. Yes, two American boys in uniform. If he wasn’t her son, who on earth was he?
Charlie hardly spoke on the long drive south back to the base at Burtonwood. He was too stunned. Had he dreamed it all? Knocking down the soldier who wasn’t there? People smiling at him and welcoming him back to West Sharland as if they knew him, and the school secretary with the team photos of his pa and his brother. Guy and Angus Cantrell, one dead and one still alive. He was so confused he couldn’t recall which was which and then that old woman in black thinking he was her son, calling him Guy, pleading with him to stay home. What had happened to his pa that made him change his name and flee his native land?
Anyone could see his grandmother was mad, a pitiable sight, waiting for the son who never came.
Whatever had happened wasn’t good news and he didn’t know what to make of it, but he did post the school brochure. That would rattle some bones back home. He suddenly felt sick with uncertainty at such discoveries, but one way or another he was going to make his pa face the truth and give him the real story.
Whatever it was, it had driven that old lady crazy. Perhaps he ought to go back again on his own and apologise for their rudeness.
‘You OK?’ Gary asked.
‘Sort of…one hell of a crazy day,’ Charlie replied.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear. I think next time we’ll go and see London. Check out the city and have ourselves some fun.’
‘You’re on!’ A trip to London would take his mind off all this mystery. At least in the big city, he wouldn’t go bumping into ghosts from the past.
It was in the lull between Christmas and New Year that Ruth and Sam took Shari on the train back to her mother’s village. They stopped off in Sowerthwaite to find a little café that was open. It had been a cold Christmas and now people were getting into the country to walk and take the air.
Shari was taken with the stone square and fine Georgian buildings. It was just as she had imagined and she bought a postcard to send back to Mom.
They sat on the single-decker bus to West Sharland and Shari posed by the square outside the Hart’s Head. There was nothing that said the full name, no road signs or fingerposts. The church bell was tolling and a funeral procession went past slowly. Men stood by the roadside doffing their caps, all the curtains were closed and doors shut in respect. Ruth asked someone whose was the burial.
‘Lady Hester from Waterloo House,’ came the reply. ‘A right cantankerous old beggar who went queer towards the end. They found her in the garden searching for her son, would you believe, and him dead years ago.’ The woman paused.‘I mustn’t speak ill of the dead…Like many others she had her cross to bear, gentry or not.’
Ruth turned to Shari. ‘It was the lady who looked after your granny when she fell sick, the one I told you about. She owned the cottages over there that your granddad rented next door to the forge. There was a bit of a romance when your mam was young with one of her son’s during the war, but Hester put a stop to that. There was no mixing in those days.’
They watched the procession, the black horses pulling the glass hearse. There weren’t many mourners.
‘How sad she had no relatives,’ murmured Shari.
‘That’s because there’s no one left to mourn her, I expect. Essie once told me Hester was the daughter of an earl; the youngest one and they’re all passed on and the title with them. She was a bit of a martinet but your gran spoke highly of her. Gentry or not, that’s what we all come to in the end: a box and a few feet of soil. I heard as how Lady Hester stood her ground on some things, all that war memorial business. I see they still haven’t erected anything. Happen they’ll get round to putting something up now she’s gone.’
‘What took so long?’ Shari said.
‘Complications, village politics…Come on, let’s have a grand tour. There’ll be neighbours who still remember your mother. They’re getting used to visitors poking round the churchyard, looking for ancestors and relatives.’
Shari tried to imagine her mother as a little girl at school. They visited her grandparents’ grave after the burial was finished and the people dispersed. She was introduced to Mrs Beck, the housekeeper, who eyed her up and down with interest.
‘Another American visitor,’ she smiled. ‘We had a couple of GIs the other week. That’s what finished off Lady Hester,
seeing the lad who reminded her of her lost son. She was convinced he’d come home for good. She dreamed it all, of course. She pined and wouldn’t eat and went downhill very fast. So you are Selma’s daughter, Essie’s granddaughter? I can’t say I can see the resemblance. How’s your mother shaping in Hollywood? I remember her as a right little tomboy with her brothers.’
‘She’s still making pictures, under the name of Zelma Barr,’ Shari said.
‘Well, I never. She was such a one for the horses. Is she famous?’
‘Not really, but she still rides horses.’
‘Tell her I was asking after her. Her mother was Lady Hester’s one true friend in the end. Poor old woman was left with nothing but memories to live on after Essie died, and that’s not a good diet for anyone.’
Ruth seemed anxious to get away. ‘Come on, Shari, time to make for the bus. I think we’ve seen all there is to see for today. We don’t want you to miss your train back to London.’
Shari took one last look at the freshly dug mound, covered with an expensive wreath. How sad to lie alone in the world with no one to visit your grave, and all because of falling out over a war memorial? What was special about that?
Guy’s back ached from all the hoeing and weeding on the farm. They were trying to increase production to help the war effort. The girls were doing their best, but it was now when he could do with his son helping out.
He tried not to think about Charlie too much. They prayed for him every night, of course. The postcards were never displayed, but Rose looked out for their arrival none the less. The school brochure had taken some explaining.
Charlie must know everything by now if they had sent him to Waterloo. Well, the truth would come out; it usually did.
He wanted to write a full explanation but hadn’t got Charlie’s address or his unit. He owed him the truth about why he’d reinvented himself. One night he sat down and confessed everything to Rose too: the whole sorry tale, his mother’s part in it, his own shame, and she held him in her arms to reassure him.
‘I don’t know this Guy Cantrell. All I know is you, Charles. What you were in another life doesn’t matter here. That worldly man has gone and Charlie didn’t know him either…Yet I don’t like to think of your mother suffering remorse and having no means to make her peace like my ma and pa with Zack. You must write and give her a chance to hear who you are now. It’s only fair. “My son, keep thy father’s commandments and forsake not the law of thy mother…” She gave you life and loved your brother so don’t cast her off in bitterness.’
‘But it’s been so long. I don’t know what to say,’ he said, feeling such relief that Rose had been so understanding.
‘Just tell her what you told me. Ask about Charlie, see if she met him. Tell her about your family and your newfound faith. Give her hope. I wish you’d told me earlier,’ Rose said. ‘There’s been such a coolness between us because of Charlie. You must have carried all this on your own.’
They clung together with passion for the first time in years. Rose could always surprise him with her generous spirit.
‘We ought to write to him. The silence has gone on for months. It doesn’t feel right to punish him any longer. He has his own free will. I am beginning to think we’ve been too hard on the boy,’ Guy offered, but Rose shrugged her shoulders.
‘That’s up to you and your conscience,’she replied.‘Every night, I pray he’ll return safe and come back into full fellowship with us, find a good wife within our community and settle down again, but sometimes I am so torn about what is right or not. We have to trust the Bible and its truths for our answers.’
‘I suppose so, but never forget the story of the prodigal son who was welcomed home,’ Guy offered. ‘He’s our only boy. He needs to know we still care.’
‘Write that letter then. Write both those letters. They’re long overdue.’
It was another busy night at the Rainbow Club on the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue, near Piccadilly Circus. It had been raining and the soldiers wanted shelter, a warm meal and some a bed for the night. Saturday nights were usually hectic. There was a sickness bug going round the Red Cross staff so they were short of helpers downstairs. Shari was due another pass but it was cancelled because she was needed. She’d palled up with Deirdre and Pam and they were going as hostesses to the dance in the Rainbow Corner Ballroom.
It was going to be packed and noisy and full of homesick GIs wanting to jitterbug and jive the night away. Respectable girls were always needed to keep them in line. So much for an early night with a good book to read on her night off, Shari sighed. There was always a gang of boys hanging around Piccadilly Circus, eyeing up the British girls who were hoping to get into the ballroom and pick up someone. The district was notorious for goodtime girls and ‘the Piccadilly warriors’, out to do business in the local parks.
She could see the desperation in the faces of the soldiers,
bored, lonely and wanting excitement. They’d come over to fight the Nazis not hang around in England in base camps. The Red Cross did their best, providing clubmobiles, dishing donuts and Cokes, magazines and gum around the base camps. Shari was too young to be part of these crews. She worked in the admin office most of the time and had to keep reminding herself, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’
It was an exciting place, though, since you never knew who would put in an appearance in the club: famous film stars like Clark Gable or band artists like Glenn Miller and Artie Shaw. It was the hub of London life for American troops, despite the raids, and Shari felt safer here than anywhere else. The Red Cross girls were considered little sisters. She was their ginger-nut kid. They were as American as apple pie and soda, a reminder of the women back home, to be treated with respect…most of the time.
‘Hey, sister, come and shake a leg.’ A drunken soldier sidled up, grabbing her hand as they walked towards the dance hall. ‘You can be my warm blanket for the night,’ he laughed. Shari ignored him.
‘Come on, foxy lady, don’t be frosty with me. You redheads are always hot for it.’
Deirdre, the tallest of them, pushed Shari forward out of the way of his attention. ‘Go boil your head, Private!’ she shouted, but the stupid private was too drunk to take no for an answer.
‘Don’t be a prick tease, you little vixen!’
‘Shut it!’Another soldier standing in the shadows stepped forward. ‘Would you speak to your sister like that?’
‘Who gave you permission to butt in?’ The private hadn’t seen the young sergeant’s stripes.
‘I did. Chuck him off the pavement. It’s your sort that give us a bad name. Sober up and go find your manners.’
‘To hell with you!’ The soldier pushed ahead, knocking Shari against the door. This time a bunch of soldiers pounced on him and threw him out onto the pavement.
‘I’m sorry, miss,’ said the tall blond sergeant. ‘Too much whisky…where do they get it from?’
‘That’s OK, Sergeant,’ said Shari, brushing down her skirt, eyeing her rescuer with interest. ‘It’s busy tonight. There’s going to be a crush in there.’
‘So they tell me. I’m not much of a dancer myself,’ he said.
‘You’ve never been to our ballroom?’ Shari laughed. ‘I think it’s about time you learned. We can’t have a GI letting the side down. It’s all we’re famous for. We’ll take care of you, won’t we, Pam?’
‘You bet, soldier. No excuses…in you go.’ Deirdre grabbed one of his arms and Pam the other. ‘Come on in and join the fun.’
Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off the red-haired girl with those dark eyes. What a looker! This was going to be so embarrassing. He was getting used to jazz music and all that jigging around but he’d only make a fool of himself and he didn’t want to look stupid in her eyes. There was something about that bright smile and laughing face that was like sunshine on a cold rainy night, eyes that lit up his sagging spirits. He was still troubled by that visit to West Sharland.
He’d written to the old lady at Waterloo House, apologising for backing out of her invitation. It had been a stupid thing to do, but he was shocked at her calling him her son.
Then he received a letter from a lawyer in Yorkshire, saying that Lady Cantrell had died suddenly and if he was a relative to get back in touch with them. Did he know the whereabouts of Garth Angus Charles Cantrell, her last known living relative? Charlie didn’t know what to make of any of this. Ought he to send the letter to his pa back home?
So he was glad when Gary suggested they make a trip to London. They had walked their feet off in the pouring rain looking at the sights—or what was left of some of them. How did people manage to live normal lives under the grim conditions and the air-raid warnings?
He was shocked at the way some of his fellow GIs were behaving like dogs with local girls in the parks. Even Gary called him a prude and went off in search of his own pleasure, while Charlie had made his way to Rainbow Corner. There was a canteen and a library for troops there, and a chance of a decent meal, but now this had happened. Perhaps he could make a quiet exit. It was all so raucous, but everyone was having fun. The band got his feet tapping. Perhaps if he bought them all a drink it would delay the moment of his shaming. He couldn’t dance their way.
‘Cokes all round,’ he shouted, ‘if you find the table.’
‘He’s going to slink off. Not so fast, buddy. We don’t even know your name,’ the tall one mouthed.
‘Charlie,’ he yelled. ‘And you?’ He was looking at the redhead shyly.
‘I’m Shari and this is Pam and Deirdre. We work in the offices at the club.’ While Shari was talking someone asked Pam to dance and they drifted off. Deirdre hung around eyeing the crowd until she was whisked away. If he didn’t do something soon, Shari would disappear while he got the drinks.
He watched the dancers leaping and leapfrogging and jumping onto each other.
‘Don’t look so scared,’said Shari.‘It’s only the Lindy Hop. There’ll be a slow one soon. Have you never really danced before, not even in high school?’
‘I’ve done some barn dancing. I’m sorry…if you want to move along, I don’t want to tread on your toes.’ Better be honest that he was no Fred Astaire
‘You’re a challenge and I like a challenge,’ Shari laughed, and he smiled, knowing it was going to be OK. He must just relax and let himself go.
‘You’re from the West Coast, right?’
‘Los Angeles, and you?’
‘From Pennsylvania, Springville, a farm.’
‘That explains it then. No dance halls, no jazz, not even in Philadelphia? Then you must be a Quaker, but I thought they—’
‘Don’t fight. OK, I confess I’m just one of the plain folk. I enlisted against my folks’ wishes.’ He paused, surprised. ‘Why am I telling you all this?’
‘Because we’re going to be friends, you and me, and the first thing I’m going to do is teach you a slow dance. Listen to the music, put your arm round me like this and we’ll set off real slow. Don’t worry, it’s my job to make strangers feel at home, wherever they come from. Can’t have you feeling left out now, can we?’
Charlie smiled and did what he was told. This was going to be one heck of a lesson and he meant to make the most of his teacher’s tuition, even if it took all night.
‘You made a hit there,’ Pam laughed as they were getting ready for bed.‘I love shy guys. There’s something so appealing,
especially when he looks like a cross between Leslie Howard and Gary Cooper, all mixed up. Where’s he from?’