A Family's Duty (6 page)

‘That’s very kind of you, Howard, and as it happens, I’m going to see it tomorrow with my mother who’s been overworking and deserves a break. Would you care to join us?’

Howard’s face was a study. He had been half-expecting a refusal, but was not prepared for this alternative. He decided that it would be better than nothing, so he forced a smile.

‘That would be very nice, Dora, as long as Mrs Goddard doesn’t mind.’

‘Not at all, Howard, she’d be delighted. What time shall we meet?’

A queue had formed outside the Embassy cinema, and Rebecca and Valerie joined it.

‘Oh, Valerie, look, there’s that nice Allingham boy over there – he looks as if he’s waiting for somebody. I wonder who she is?’

Valerie did not answer. Her eyes were elsewhere, and her heart had leapt as she caught sight of John Richardson looking quite the man-about-town in a light grey summer suit and shoes that were almost sandals but not quite. He was not alone; there was a smart young woman at his side, giving a tinkling laugh at something he’d said. Valerie abruptly looked away; she still dreamt that one day, at some
future time, he would return her love. And now here he was with another girl. She mustn’t look.

‘Look, there’s Howard, Mother, standing by the door,’ said Dora, waving to him. His eyes brightened at the sight of her, though he politely greeted Mrs Goddard first.

‘We must join the queue, Howard.’

‘No, Dora, we don’t need to, I’ve got three tickets, and we can go straight in,’ he said, offering his arm to her mother and acknowledging their thanks with a smile, refusing payment. I did right to agree to this, he thought, conscious of Mrs Goddard’s welcoming approval, and was further rewarded when they took their seats and Dora sat down between him and her mother.

‘Dora! If you’d told me earlier that you were meeting young Mr Allingham, I wouldn’t have come,’ Mary whispered.

‘Which is why I didn’t tell you, Mother,’ Dora whispered back.

During the interval when the lights went up, giving the enraptured audience a brief respite from the lovers’ torrid passion, Valerie Pearson imagined herself as Merle Oberon, adored by brooding, black-browed Laurence Olivier, looking a little bit like John Richardson. Suddenly these thoughts were interrupted.

‘Why, hello, Valerie! I didn’t realise
you
were here!’

(Heavens above, it can’t be John Richardson, but it
is
.)

‘Hello, er, John,’ she said with a shy smile, hoping that the dim light would hide her blushes. Rebecca looked from one to the other in surprise.

‘Valerie! You’ve never said anything to me about a gentleman friend!’ she teased.

‘Yes, er, at Thomas and Gibsons, he’s Mr Richardson’s son,’ faltered Valerie.

‘And
I
didn’t know that Valerie had such a charming friend,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me? By the way, this is Miss Morcom from Page’s lingerie department.’ Miss Morcom nodded coolly to the two ladies.

‘Yes, er, this is my friend from—’ Valerie hesitated, and Rebecca laughed.

‘I’m your friend Rebecca Neville from Hassett Manor, in case you’ve forgotten,’ she said, gently teasing poor, tongue-tied Valerie. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance, John – and Miss Morcom. Isn’t the film marvellous? Look, the lights are going down – you must get back to your seats so as not to miss any of it. Perhaps we can arrange to meet again some time.’

John agreed enthusiastically, though Miss Morcom was unsmiling. She had been anticipating an evening to remember – but not if he was going to fall for this tall, elegant creature called Rebecca.

The second half of the film was even more tempestuous than the first, but when it ended, there was still the Gaumont British News to see, introduced by the familiar tune and the town crier ringing his bell. The audience was suddenly gripped by the shaky black and white newsreel film footage showing a long, winding trail of Jewish refugees – men, women and children, some with horse-drawn wagons, others with
hand-carts
or on foot, fleeing with their possessions from German invaders. Then there were pictures of the signing of the treaty between Herr Hitler and a broadly beaming Signor Mussolini, a ‘pact of steel’ between two Fascist dictators. The loss of Italy as a potential ally was a severe blow, and Howard Allingham confided to Dora and her mother that Mr Chamberlain’s ‘peace in our time’ was now being called
‘appeasement.’ Privately he surmised that theological college would be replaced by military service, and he prayed for the strength and courage to face whatever the future held.

On a warm summer evening in the Tradesmen’s Arms Eddie Cooper waited for his old friend. In the bar the talk was all of air raid shelters being dug, gas masks being issued, and conscription of young single men to swell the numbers of the armed forces. That would apply to Tom’s grandson Paul Storey, thought Eddie, and the two sons of the Rectory; his own grandson Jack Nuttall would be nineteen this year, as would the Seabrook boy.

Tom Munday strode in, his face jubilant. ‘Ernest’s
brother-in
-law and his family are coming over at last, Eddie! They’ve had a letter from him, saying to expect them any day now. The reason for the delay was because they were expecting another child, and now it’s born, a son, and they’ve called him Benjamin. So we’ll have a baby in the house – and Devora’s dancing for joy. Eddie, old friend, they’ve seen sense, thank God!’

They ordered a couple of pints to celebrate.

A week later in the Munday’s house in Everham there was sudden urgency. A brief official letter had arrived, telling Mr and Mrs Munday to meet a midday train at Liverpool Street Station on the following day, instructing them to wear large labels with their names on. The Pascoes must be coming! They hardly slept that night, and set off early in the morning; from Everham they travelled to Waterloo Station, then by the underground railway to Liverpool Street, where they were amongst a crowd of others wearing labels. Officials scurried
around with clipboards, getting ready to team up the arrivals with their families and friends.

The train, when it arrived two hours late, was full of children – sad, weary, bewildered children aged from five to early teens. Officials went amongst them, calling out names.

‘Pascoe! Jonathan and Ayesha Pascoe!’ called a woman’s voice, followed by, ‘Munday! Is Munday here?’

Fifteen-year-old Jonathan and his sister Ayesha, eleven, were brought forward to meet their aunt and uncle. They appeared exhausted, and Ayesha was crying. They spoke in German, of which Ernest and Devora knew only a little.

The inevitable question: ‘Where are your father and mother?’

‘They’ve gone to – to a kind of camp,’ Jonny told them in his hesitant schoolboy’s English. ‘We were walking with them and many neighbours on a long road – and a man came up and took me and Ayesha away from them, and said we must go on a train.’

‘And Mummy and Daddy told us to go with him!’ sobbed Ayesha in German that Ernest and Devora tried to follow. ‘Mummy was holding our baby Benjamin, and crying, but they told us to go with the man, and said
Goodbye
!’

‘Oh, my God, you poor dear children,’ Ernest muttered under his breath as he and Devora put their arms around the brother and sister, trying to comfort them while fearing that there was no comfort to give. An official passed by the group, still trying to match children with whoever had come to meet them.

‘You’re lucky,’ he told them. ‘This is the last train on the
Kindertransport
– the last ones out!’

And when they realised that their nephew and niece
had been saved by a humanitarian scheme to rescue Jewish children – and that their parents and newly born brother had been taken away to whatever awaited Jews under Hitler’s rule – Ernest and Devora Munday knew for certain that war would be soon. They had no need to hear Mr Chamberlain’s sorrowful announcement on the third day of September.

And Clarence Tomlinson had nobody to meet him when he abruptly left his post in the Diplomatic Service and fled from Vienna, home to his mother in England.

Tom Munday sat in the rocking chair that Grace and Rob had given him on his 70th birthday; it was by the window in the living room, and the view of his vegetable garden was the same as it had been last week and last year, and yet everything was now changed. In the mild September sunshine his thoughts were sombre; the newspaper with its shrieking headlines had fallen to the floor, and his granddaughter Doreen was idly dusting the sideboard that was her mother’s pride, handed down from the grandmother she had never known. She picked up the
Daily Mail
and handed it to Tom.

‘Is there really going to be a war, Granddad?’

‘Yes, my dear, the war has started already, though it hasn’t made much difference to North Camp as yet,’ he said with a smile. ‘There’s no need for you to worry yourself about it, though – we don’t know how long it will take.’

‘But they’ve dug an air raid shelter, Granddad!’ she said
eagerly. ‘It’s the other side of the green, in case we all have to go down in it to escape from the bombs!’

‘I don’t think that’s very likely, dear,’ he answered, straining his ears to hear what Grace and Rob were saying in the kitchen. Grace’s voice was raised, and Tom could guess only too well what they were talking about.

‘There’s no “of course” about it, Rob,’ Grace was saying, and Tom could hear the fear in his daughter’s voice. ‘They couldn’t call up Jack, he’s far too useful to us here, I mean he’ll run the business when he takes over from you, just as you took it over from Dad. Which is why we’ve never been able to move away from North Camp,’ she added in an undertone.

‘I doubt there’ll be so many jobs now that this war’s started,’ said her husband doubtfully. ‘And as for the call-up, they’re mobilising the reserves and territorials first, and your nephew Paul at Hassett Manor is likely to be called on first.’

‘Oh, yes, Hassett Manor, I dare say Isabel will make a great song and dance about
him
,’ she said bitterly. ‘The likes of Paul Storey and his university pal –
they’ll
be safely closeted in Oxford while the North Camp lads like our Jack get called up. It’s not fair!’

Her voice had steadily risen, and Tom Munday got up from his chair, frowning.

‘You stay here, Doreen, and finish your dusting while I have a word with Mum and Dad.’ He closed the door behind him, and went into the kitchen.

‘Hush, keep your voices down,’ he told them. ‘You don’t want Doreen hearing that sort of talk. It’s too early to start worrying about the call-up. Just think about Ernest and Devora, losing her brother and sister-in-law to these Nazis,
and poor Jonny and Ayesha being rushed out of Germany without parents or possessions, landing on their aunt and uncle without a penny to their name, and not even able to speak English. I hope you’ll find time to go over to Everham and see them, Grace. Isabel’s been over with Rebecca.’

Too late he realised that the last sentence had been unwise. Grace was furious.

‘Oh, yes, of course, her ladyship of Hassett Manor would be
sure
to go over there in the Hassett car – or maybe riding their horses? – loaded with home produce from their farm, taking the children out shopping for clothes – and showing off her beautiful, clever daughter. I can’t compete, can I, with my poor, simple Doreen.’

‘Be quiet, Grace,’ said her father sharply. ‘Such talk isn’t worthy of you.’

Rob put his arm around her. ‘How many times have I told you not to dwell on it, Gracie –it’s all a long time ago, and people don’t know, so the less said about it, the better.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, everybody in North Camp knows, you can’t keep a secret like
that
, especially when the people concerned live scarcely a mile apart!’ she retorted.

Tom spoke again, very gently. ‘Both those girls are my granddaughters, remember, and I don’t see half as much of Becky as I do of our Doreen, and I prefer it that way. Doreen needs me – needs
us
, all of us, more than her cousin. Everybody likes her, she’s so sweet and loving, and she’ll never give you any kind of trouble. Little angel.’

Tom’s voice trembled as he said the two last words, and Grace fell silent. Rob looked gratefully at his father-
in-law
, for the two men had long shared a mutual, instinctive protection of the mother and the daughter.

For Doreen Nuttall had been a ‘blue baby’, slow to breathe, and had grown up to be slow to learn. Her parents had removed her from school early, and her grandfather had taught her the alphabet and the basics of reading and writing. A pretty girl with a sweet face, her preferred occupation was to help her mother at the household tasks of sweeping and dusting, washing and ironing, preparing vegetables and gracing the table with her artless smiles.

‘Miss Neville! Good morning to you – we’re both up with the lark!’

Rebecca reined in Sunbeam, and looked down at the young man who had hailed her. His good looks were vaguely familiar, but his name evaded her.

‘Good morning,’ she replied, slightly raising her eyebrows in a question.

‘Richardson – John Richardson, don’t you remember? We met at the Embassy cinema when everybody was going to see
Wuthering Heights
. You were with your friend Miss Pearson, and she introduced us!’

‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Rebecca nodded. ‘It seems so long ago now, after all that has happened since.’

‘Yes.’ He stood beside Sunbeam and looked up at her rider as if he had more to say. Rebecca wondered if she should dismount; they were on a bridle bath that led back to Hassett Manor. She had been out for an early ride, and a chill October mist still lingered over the ploughed fields; it now occurred to her that Mr Richardson was walking out early, and that he might have a reason for being here. His next words answered her.

‘It’s because of all that’s happened since, Miss Neville –
I’d better be truthful, and confess that I’ve been hoping to meet you again.’ He did not say that he had been hanging around in the vicinity of Hassett Manor on a number of mornings. ‘As you say, being at war has changed all our circumstances, which is why I – well, I’ve thrown aside convention and decided to speak to you again before – well, there is a possibility that I may be conscripted.’

Rebecca gave a little gasp, and saw how intently he was regarding her. She climbed down from Sunbeam, and held the reins loosely. ‘Ah, well now, Mr Richardson—’

‘Please call me John – Rebecca.’

‘Forgive me for asking, Mr – John – but is it certain that you’ll be called up?’ she asked. ‘My brother hasn’t received any information as yet, perhaps because he’s an undergraduate at Oxford – though they expect to have their studies interrupted if it becomes necessary for them to join the armed forces. Have
you
received call-up papers?’

‘I expect to receive them any day now, Rebecca, and before I do – would you – will you come with me to see another film that’s going the rounds –
The Wizard of Oz
?’

‘Isn’t that a film for children?’ she asked with a smile, trying to adjust her mind to this unexpected admirer.

‘Yes, but it’s for adults too, and all in this new technicolour, with amazing special effects, or so I’ve heard.’ He was close to her, and she could breathe in the clean, soapy smell of his skin, and she blushed. This young man was expecting to be conscripted into the army, navy or air force, and here he was, practically begging her to go out with him. His manners were impeccable, and there seemed no reason to refuse; but …

‘But if you’d rather not see the film, we could perhaps go
for a walk, or for lunch somewhere,’ he added with respectful persistence.

‘Thank you, I’d like to see the film,’ she told him, and his eyes brightened.

‘Thank
you
, Rebecca, that makes me very happy,’ he said, eagerly taking hold of her free hand. ‘Let me know when you’d like to go – one evening next week? Have you any idea where we could meet?’

‘You could call for me at Hassett Manor,’ she replied, letting him hold her hand, though she was taken aback when he raised it to his lips and kissed the fingers.

John Richardson could hardly believe his luck: to call at Hassett Manor would mean meeting Sir Cedric and Lady Isabel Neville, and here was his chance to make an impression on them, for surely she could have no other fellow in mind if she had accepted his invitation so readily. He watched as she remounted Sunbeam, and greatly daring, blew her a kiss as she rode away.

As for Rebecca, her thoughts were in a whirl, but she was not sorry she had accepted his unconventional invitation. And he was certainly good-looking.

At the Rectory there was both consternation and bewilderment. Roland Allingham had become even more hostile to his curate whose gloomy predictions had proved to be all too true. Joan Kennard was indignant on her husband’s behalf.

‘The way he speaks about you is downright insulting, Alan,’ she said after a Sunday morning service when the congregation were leaving and commenting on the war. Mrs Pearson was worried because her daily newspaper was
forecasting food rationing because of German submarines attacking merchant ships bringing vital food from overseas.

‘Scaremongering, Mrs Pearson,’ the Reverend Mr Allingham had told her, ‘and to spread such alarming rumours is unpatriotic and will only play into the enemy’s hands. Don’t be disheartened by this kind of talk.’

‘But Mr Kennard said at Evensong last week that—’

‘I’m afraid Mr Kennard says a great deal of things that would be better left unsaid, Mrs Pearson, and I shall have to speak to him about it again. In the meantime let us all show our native British spirit, trust in God, be filled with hope and confidence – and don’t be misled by the likes of Mr Kennard!’

‘How
dare
he!’ Joan muttered as she took a roast leg of lamb out of the oven. ‘It’s blinkered fools like
him
who should be disregarded, not realists like you!’

‘Hush, Joan my love. Remember the Allinghams have two sons of an age to be called up for military service. Allingham probably dares not think about what might happen. We have no such sword hanging over our heads.’

Joan was not to be so easily calmed. ‘Howard’s supposed to be going to Bible college, and the younger one’s a trouble-maker. The Seabrooks have forbidden their daughter to go out with him, or so I’ve heard.
Their
son Robin might have to go, so they’ve got worry enough, without Barbara giving them more.’

‘If that’s true, there’s no surer way of encouraging them to meet secretly,’ Alan replied mildly, sharpening the carving knife.

‘You’re too kind to the Allinghams,’ Joan said, lifting Josie into her high chair and tying on her bib.

Alan looked fondly on his two ‘girlies’, as he called them, his pretty young wife and fourteen-month-old daughter. As a clergyman he was not required to fight for his country, but he could volunteer as a chaplain to the Forces if he wished.

But that was something he did not share with Joan or anybody else.

In the Munday household in Everham, the two young newcomers were proving unable to forget the experience of being torn from their parents’ side and sent on a terrifying journey that had ended in the home of this kind but unknown aunt and uncle who spoke a different language. Miriam Munday was ordered by her parents to be especially kind to her cousin Ayesha, and help her to mingle with the other children at Everham Council School. Though Ayesha was a year older, she was allowed to sit beside Miriam in class, so as to pick up English at her own speed. It was a slow process, for Ayesha pined for the life she had left behind at Eberfeld; at night she would dream she was back home again with her mother and father, only to wake up suddenly, screaming with terror and frightening Miriam who shared a room with her. Jonathan Pascoe, known as Jonny, was two years older than David, and his efforts to be brave were noted by his uncle Ernest with mixed admiration and pity. The boy was readier to learn English than his sister, and the Mundays engaged a tutor for him, letting him pass on his knowledge to Ayesha, with benefit to them both. Every so often the newspapers had to be hidden from the children when they reported Nazi cruelty to the Jews, and their banishment to sinister camps.

At home the news was bad enough: the sinking of the battleship
Royal Oak
in her home base at Scapa Flow brought
the war before the nation in a way that overseas events did not. The
Royal Oak
and her crew had been torpedoed by a German submarine, a U-boat, and these enemy vessels were to become dreaded by Royal and Merchant Navies alike throughout the course of the war. Posters went up in towns and villages all over the country, warning that spies could be anywhere, and that careless talk about positions of ships could cost lives.

At Hassett Manor Cedric and Isabel were discussing the personable young man who had come to call for Rebecca to take her out.

‘It’s a great pity young Bannister isn’t here, he’d soon see the fellow off,’ said Cedric. ‘Cheeky young upstart – a floor manager in a department store, if you please!’

Isabel shook her head. ‘If he gets called up to serve in the armed forces, he’ll be as good a conscript as any other,’ she said quietly, and Cedric knew she was remembering her own origins as Isabel Munday, the carpenter’s elder daughter.

‘As you say, my love, danger is a great leveller,’ he replied. ‘And our young Don Juan will soon be put to the test. Another quarter of a million men are to be conscripted before Christmas, and I’ll be going over to the recruitment board at Guildford.’

‘Guildford? Why not Everham?

‘Because I’m not known there, so won’t have to face boys who recognise me.’

She was silent, but he knew her thoughts. ‘Paul and Geoffrey will be interviewed at the university,’ he said gently. ‘And if they pass their medical, they’ll most likely be sent on an officer’s training course, Sandhurst probably, being Oxford undergraduates.’

She nodded. ‘And we shall ask Geoffrey to come and stay with us before they go.’

‘We most certainly will, my love,’ he said, smiling to hide his own misgivings about the destiny of the two young men.