Down an English Lane (7 page)

‘But your father is the squire…’

‘It’s only a sort of courtesy title, really. It doesn’t mean very much. He just happened to be the largest landowner in the district at one time, as were his father and his grandfather, although the estate was much larger in those days. There was a good deal of touching their forelocks and bowing and scraping went on then, I dare say, but times have changed now, thank goodness. Dad doesn’t care for any of that nonsense – he’s very liberal-minded – but he
goes along with it when they refer to him as the squire.’

‘Oh…I see,’ said Christine.

‘Anyway, what does it matter to us? My father isn’t going to “pop his clogs” as they say round here, for many a long day, or so I hope, nor my mother.’ He stubbed out his cigarette in the cut glass ashtray on the occasional table at his side, and put his arm around her again.

‘What shall we do tomorrow, darling?’ He did not give her time to answer. ‘Church in the morning is obligatory, of course.’

‘Is it really?’

‘Oh yes… And then it will be the usual Sunday roast and all the trimmings that my mother insists on. And after that… how about a walk up to Middleburgh Castle; that’s the ruin you can see up on the hill? Do you fancy that?’

‘Yes, why not?’ she shrugged. So much for asking her what she wanted to do tomorrow… ‘It’s all the same to me… How far is it?’

‘Oh, just a couple of miles…and two miles back again, of course.’

‘Is that all?’ She gave a sardonic little laugh. She was not a great walker, or had not been until she joined the WAAF, since when the drilling and marching and square bashing had played havoc at first with her legs and feet. Back home in her native Bradford all the walking she had done had been around the shopping streets.

‘You’ll manage it easily, darling, and I shall be there to help you along. So long as you have some comfortable shoes to wear.’

‘Of course I have; my WAAF regulation ones. They’re well broken in by now.’

‘So they are… I’m sorry about asking you to wear your uniform tonight, Chrissie, but I thought it would look better if we “flew the flag” together, so to speak.’ She had been relieved to shed the serviceable black shoes, though, when they returned home, and to replace them with her frivolous red velvet slippers; they had been purchased long ago at Brown Muff’s store in Bradford when such fripperies were still obtainable. And to take off her heavy blue jacket, too. It was a vastly inferior one to the uniform which Bruce wore as a Flying Officer.

‘You will be able to dress up in your “civvies” tomorrow when we go to church,’ Bruce continued. ‘I shall feel so proud of you, darling. I’m longing to show you off to everyone.’

She smiled at him. ‘And I’m proud of you too, Brucie. I’m only sorry that I have no family to show you off to.’ She had told him, soon after they had met, how her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was a small girl, and that she had been brought up by her maternal grandmother. When her grandmother died, a couple of years ago, she had been left more or less alone in the world, apart from a few friends, and it was then that she had joined the WAAF.

Meeting Bruce six months ago had provided the fillip to her life for which she had been waiting. She was looking forward confidently to the future, but she knew that she must play her cards right.

Rebecca Tremaine knew she would not sleep until Bruce and his young lady had come upstairs. She knew it was foolish of her to fuss over him. He had been away from home for many years, apart from the long holidays, ever since he went away to boarding school at the age of thirteen. Surely, by now, she should have ceased to worry about him, especially now that the wretched war was over.

She had not been overly concerned about him whilst he was at school, knowing that he was in safe hands in the place that had been vetted by herself and Archie. Since he had joined the RAF, however – something he had been determined to do as soon as he was eighteen – she had had little peace of mind. She had been proud of him when he had been awarded his wings, but her pride had been overshadowed by her anxiety for his safety. She was relieved that she did not know when the bombing raids over Germany had been taking place; and Bruce had phoned home frequently – he had always been such a considerate and dutiful son – to let his parents know that he was safe and well. One blessing was that he had not been old enough to join the RAF at the time of the Battle of Britain. By
the time he had enlisted, and had been accepted for officer training, there had been early signs that the war might be in its latter stages, and that Britain – please God – might be the victor.

Rebecca strained her ears as she heard footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of voices saying goodnight and doors closing. Archie, who she had believed to be asleep, was stirring at the side of her and when he turned over she could see that he, too, was awake.

‘They’ve just come to bed, Archie,’ she whispered, ‘our Bruce and Christine.’

‘Give over worrying about him, Becky,’ grunted Archie, his voice muffled by the covers. ‘He’s old enough to look after himself. And she seems a nice sort of lass.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course I do… Don’t you?’

‘Well…yes, I like her well enough, I suppose. But it was such a surprise – a shock, really – when Bruce wrote and asked if he could bring her home with him. We didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, did we?’

‘I shouldn’t fret about it if I were you,’ said Archie. ‘He had to start sometime. And I dare say this girl will be the first of many. Now…shut up and go to sleep.’ He leaned across to kiss her cheek, then humped the bed covers over himself as he turned round again. ‘Goodnight, love. Have a good night’s rest.’

‘Goodnight, Archie…’ she replied. The first of many? she thought. Perhaps her husband was right. He usually was, about so many things. But this time Rebecca did not think so. She guessed that Christine Myerscough might well be around for quite some time, maybe for ever…

Chapter Four

T
he Reverend Luke Fairchild always tried to have some time alone in his vestry before the start of a service; to collect his thoughts and run his eye over his sermon for a final time, and to have a few moments in silent prayer. This morning, more than usually, he felt that he needed the solitude, and so he had left the Rectory a few minutes earlier than he normally did. His church wardens, Thomas Allbright and Albert Carey, who had served him and the congregation faithfully for many years, would join him about ten minutes before the service began, but for the moment he was on his own.

There was little quietude to be found in the Rectory nowadays. Even when he closed his study door, insisting that he did not want to be disturbed, the needs of his family had to come first, whenever there was a problem or a dilemma. That was how it should be when he was at home. He was the head
now – he and Patience together, of course, because he regarded her in all family matters as equal with him – of what was quite a large family. And for that he had never ceased to give thanks to God for finally answering his and Patience’s prayers.

For many years following his appointment to the living of St Bartholomew’s church in Middlebeck, he and Patience had rattled around in the large Rectory like two peas in a jar. It had been designed, in Victorian times, for a large family such as was common in those days, not least amongst the clergy. But although he and Patience had prayed and longed for a child – and played their part enthusiastically, too, in what they hoped would lead to a conception – none had arrived. When the war started in 1939, they had both been more or less resigned to their childless state.

And then young Maisie Jackson had come to live with them. She had brought such happiness to them with her liveliness and warmth of personality, and also by her need to be loved and protected. Then, only a couple of months later, Audrey Dennison had come to live with them as well. She was a very different sort of child from Maisie in many ways; in her home background – a happy one, whereas Maisie’s had been quite appalling – and in her more retiring and nervous disposition. But she, too, had needed love and care in those early days of the war. When her parents, separately, but both in tragic circumstances, had died, Luke and Patience had
known that they must adopt her. Now Audrey was their dearly loved daughter and a great blessing to them, as was Timothy, who they had taken to their hearts and into their lives some time later.

And then, in a miracle too great at first to be believed, there had arrived their very own son, John Septimus, born when Patience was forty years of age and Luke just a couple of years away from fifty. Luke knew that he had, indeed, been blessed beyond measure in his home, his lovely wife and his happy family life.

But this morning, on this last Sunday in August, as he contemplated the service he was about to conduct, to give thanks for the final victory of the war, Victory over Japan, Luke’s heart was heavy and his mind burdened with conflicting thoughts. Yes, he rejoiced in the victory and in the cessation of bloodshed and strife; but at what a dreadful cost had this victory been won.

Luke was by no means a pacifist. If he had been then he would not have served in the First World War, as he had done, as a second lieutenant in the Shropshire Light Infantry. And at the start of this recent war he had had thoughts at first of re-enlisting; he had been only in his early forties. But his bishop – and his wife, too – had told him, in no uncertain terms, that his place was here in his parish. And so he had remained, to be a leader to his flock, and to offer comfort and advice to the many members of the congregation who suffered
tragedy and bereavement, or just weariness and depression during the long years of the war. There had been problems a-plenty in the little town of Middlebeck and Luke had known he was in the right place.

But he was a peace-loving man and he abhorred war and all that it entailed. What was war, when all was said and done, but a demonstration of man’s greed and the desire to possess what he believed was rightfully his, and to subdue others to his own way of thinking? His wife had often said that if women were left to sort out the affairs of state then there would be no conflict between nations. It could all be resolved over a cup of tea. A very simplistic view, but maybe there was something in what she said.

Did the end justify the means? This was what he often asked himself. Archie Tremaine had been of the same opinion, he recalled. His son, Bruce, had become a pilot late on in the war. How they had hoped and prayed, Becky and himself, Archie had told him, that the war would be over before he was old enough to enlist. Alas, that was not to be; and Archie’s concern, once the young man had started flying – apart from his constant anxiety for his son’s safety, of course – was that he could have been involved in the devastating attacks against the city of Dresden. Bruce had never actually told them so, but Archie had wondered and had asked himself whether such an onslaught, killing thousands of
innocent people, could ever be justified. Luke had empathised, knowing how he would have felt if a son of his had been involved.

And now Luke was asking himself the same question over the recent catastrophic assault on Japan. He had followed with mounting dread the news of the ‘Forgotten Army’, the British troops still fighting in the Far East. There had been furious resistance by the Japanese against any attempt to land in their country. The Allied leaders knew that over a million British and American prisoners of war would be massacred if Japan was to be stormed in November, as had been planned.

And then, on the sixth of August, the war in the Far East had been brought to its conclusion when a US Army Air Corps bomber had dropped the first atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima. This had caused eighty thousand deaths. And the second bomb dropped on Nagasaki on the ninth of August had resulted in forty thousand more. On the fourteenth of August the Japanese had accepted the demands of the Allies; and in Britain, on the fifteenth of August the day had been celebrated as Victory over Japan day.

And their own Victory tea party and concert for the folk of Middlebeck had taken place yesterday. How trivial it all seemed, Luke mused, when one considered the global situation. The Second World War – and after the first it had been believed that there would never be another one – had resulted in
over forty million deaths throughout the world.

But men and women must be given a chance to celebrate. They needed to give thanks and to look forward with renewed hope to what the future might bring; but never must anyone forget at what a tremendous cost this victory had been won.

Luke bowed his head in prayer… Lord, help me to think aright, and to set aside my depressing and gloomy thoughts. Help me, please, Lord, with the words I say, that I may, through You, offer comfort and hope for the future…

Later, as he looked around his congregation from his place in the pulpit – six feet above contradiction as his wife often joked – he found that his melancholia had lifted. The opening hymn, ‘For all the saints who from their labours rest’, had been sung heartily by the choir and congregation, and he could almost feel the raising of everyone’s spirits.

For Luke there was always a sense of pride and quiet joy when he glanced down at his beloved wife sitting in her accustomed place in a pew near the front. That had been her place ever since he had been rector of the parish. And now an added joy was that she was accompanied by Audrey and little Johnny, who was sitting between them. The little boy would go out during the sermon as it was asking too much of a small child to be still and quiet for the whole of the morning worship. A few of the
teenage girls, including Audrey, had a rota and they took it in turns, Sunday by Sunday, to look after the young children who had come to church with their parents. Patience and Luke had agreed that John should get used to the idea of church attendance at an early age; and in September, when he was four years old, he would start at the afternoon Sunday school.

Patience looked very attractive, and elegant, too, in her leaf-green costume with the white collar, and a white straw hat trimmed with a green ribbon on her short auburn curls. Audrey, keeping a watchful eye on Johnny as he made a tower of the hymn books, was wearing the same sky blue dress as she had worn the previous night at the concert, and how well it complemented the colour of her eyes. She gave a knowing little smile at Luke as she met his glance, as if to say, Don’t worry; I’m keeping an eagle eye on him…

Timothy was not with them as he was in the front row of the choir stalls, looking angelic, as all the choir boys did, with their white surplices and ruffles around their necks. He was taking his duties as a chorister very seriously, his eyes seldom straying from the music in front of him and his mouth opening wide, like a hungry little bird, to enunciate the words clearly, as Mr King, the choirmaster, had taught them to do.

Luke smiled to himself. Timothy, once so timid and unsure of himself, had come on by leaps and
bounds during the last year. Luke glanced covertly at the row behind him where Maisie was sitting. What his wife had told him last night about the girl’s fondness for Bruce Tremaine had surprised him. He still tended to remember Maisie as the odd and shabby, but delightful, little girl who had come to share their home six years ago. It was incredible to think that she might be old enough to consider herself in love… But then, so might Audrey; they were much the same age. He remembered, however – although it was many many moons ago – the pangs of young love and how they could hurt.

Maisie looked very much in control of herself this morning, he thought. She was singing away cheerfully, in her usual confident manner, and not letting her eyes wander into the congregation, as he was sure she must be wanting to do, for a glimpse of the young man that she…what? Luke asked himself. That she loved…or was it just a schoolgirl crush?

Bruce was there, sure enough, dressed in his uniform as he had been the night before, sitting quite near to the front with his parents and his lady friend, Christine. She was not in uniform this morning, but dressed in a pink and white candy-striped cotton frock and a white straw hat with a large brim. She looked very stylish, but very demure, too, with her eyes downcast at the hymn book in her white-gloved hands.

The hymn before the sermon, ‘Lord of our Life and God of our Salvation’ was one of Luke’s favourites.

He knelt down in the pulpit for a few quiet words of prayer whilst the choir and congregation sang the final verse…

The words were singularly appropriate for the occasion, he thought, as he stood to deliver his sermon. ‘Now, Lord, may the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be always acceptable in Thy sight…’ he prayed aloud as the members of the congregation bowed their heads.

He glanced around at them, these folk who looked to him for spiritual guidance, and often for guidance in more worldly matters as well. He sometimes felt inadequate and unworthy of such a responsibility, and yet, somehow, he always
managed to find the appropriate words of advice or comfort. The appointment of a rector, or of any minister of God, was for the ‘cure of souls’. That was the ancient wordage and the one that was still used in the Church of England.

‘My text this morning,’ he began, ‘is not taken from the Bible as is usual. Instead I would like to remind you of the words that our King, George the Sixth, spoke to us in his first Christmas broadcast of the war, when spirits were low and we were full of anxiety for the future…

‘I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown”. And he replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”