Oates was amused and embarrassed by the sheer number. Bryan estimated there were 120 children, or perhaps more, ‘but they won’t sit still to be counted’—which was hardly surprising, given the swings, donkeys and coconut shys they had been provided with—and Oates handed out nearly that many pouches of fine tobacco to the many male well-wishers. Lillian and Violet had spent the previous evening and morning supervising the maids tying small but elegant posies for the ladies.
The children had jam and cake at the village school at three p.m., while 275 adults sat down for dinner an hour later, with Oates at the centre. His appetite still feeble, he picked at the beef and mutton, although he enjoyed two glasses of rich brown ale.
Afterwards, they decamped to the lawn, where a small, bunting-draped dais had been erected. The desultory showers that threatened to blight the day had passed, and the sun shone on the honeyed stone of Gestingthorpe and the lightest breeze flapped the flags and banners.
The Reverend Bromwich made the first address to the satisfied throng. He stared out over a sea of flushed and grinning faces. ‘I must thank Mrs Caroline Oates and her family for their remarkable generosity.’ There were cheers and heartfelt applause. ‘And it is an honour and a privilege to be allowed to officially welcome Lieutenant Oates home. A genuine example of an Englishman and a patriot, loyal and true to king and country. We were all very moved to read the accounts of his bravery.’ He turned and looked at Oates directly. ‘Indeed every other Englishman’s heart must have soared when he read of your valour. My emotion left me choked, with pride and pleasure that this was one of ours. Yet look at him.’
Those nearest craned to see Oates, standing next to his mother, cheeks burning, a fixed smile on his face. If they had looked closely, they might have noticed he was taking discreet support from Caroline Oates and his brother Bryan, who had sandwiched him. Although he had devised a way of padding the shoe to make his legs equal length, putting his weight on the damaged left leg for any length of time still caused a nagging ache.
‘This is a man who did his work without swagger, without fuss, without thinking of himself. It was as if he were doing some everyday task, not fighting for the life of his men. So we give thanks to God for his safe return. And we give thanks to Mrs Oates once more. As part of the jubilations, she is—’ Caroline Oates shot the vicar a glance, but he ploughed on. ‘No, I have to say this. She is to fund the recasting of our church’s poor cracked fifth and sixth bells.’
The roar of approval banished any doubts Mrs Oates had about the public announcement and she nodded to acknowledge the cheers.
Oates was feeling the effect of the sun on his neck, and longed to undo his collar. His knee was throbbing and he could feel the familiar spikes of pain in his thigh. ‘I have to go in soon,’ he whispered to Bryan.
‘They want to hear you, brother.’
The vicar, though, was reluctant to vacate the stage, and ultimately it was left to Lillian and Violet to find a pretext to lead him away, to lubricate his hoarse voice. Oates hobbled to the platform and took the three stairs slowly, leaning on the rail. The crowd fell silent. He found he could think of nothing to say other than thank you.
‘Speech!’ someone yelled.
‘No speeches. The good vicar has made a fine talk for all of us. And I would like you to remember that, although I made it back in almost one piece,’ he tapped his leg, ‘many of my friends and colleagues did not. I know what much of the continental press has said about our soldiers out in South Africa. Let me tell you, if there were a Boer here’—there were boos at the very thought—‘if there was a Boer here, he would agree with me that our soldiers did us proud.’ Another cheer. ‘So, if I could ask for a minute’s silence for fallen comrades.’
Hats
The children had jam and cake at the village school at three p.m., while 275 adults sat down for dinner an hour later, with Oates at the centre. His appetite still feeble, he picked at the beef and mutton, although he enjoyed two glasses of rich brown ale.
Afterwards, they decamped to the lawn, where a small, bunting-draped dais had been erected. The desultory showers that threatened to blight the day had passed, and the sun shone on the honeyed stone of Gestingthorpe and the lightest breeze flapped the flags and banners.
The Reverend Bromwich made the first address to the satisfied throng. He stared out over a sea of flushed and grinning faces. ‘I must thank Mrs Caroline Oates and her family for their remarkable generosity.’ There were cheers and heartfelt applause. ‘And it is an honour and a privilege to be allowed to officially welcome Lieutenant Oates home. A genuine example of an Englishman and a patriot, loyal and true to king and country. We were all very moved to read the accounts of his bravery.’ He turned and looked at Oates directly. ‘Indeed every other Englishman’s heart must have soared when he read of your valour. My emotion left me choked, with pride and pleasure that this was one of ours. Yet look at him.’
Those nearest craned to see Oates, standing next to his mother, cheeks burning, a fixed smile on his face. If they had looked closely, they might have noticed he was taking discreet support from Caroline Oates and his brother Bryan, who had sandwiched him. Although he had devised a way of padding the shoe to make his legs equal length, putting his weight on the damaged left leg for any length of time still caused a nagging ache.
‘This is a man who did his work without swagger, without fuss, without thinking of himself. It was as if he were doing some everyday task, not fighting for the life of his men. So we give thanks to God for his safe return. And we give thanks to Mrs Oates once more. As part of the jubilations, she is—’ Caroline Oates shot the vicar a glance, but he ploughed on. ‘No, I have to say this. She is to fund the recasting of our church’s poor cracked fifth and sixth bells.’
The roar of approval banished any doubts Mrs Oates had about the public announcement and she nodded to acknowledge the cheers.
Oates was feeling the effect of the sun on his neck, and longed to undo his collar. His knee was throbbing and he could feel the familiar spikes of pain in his thigh. ‘I have to go in soon,’ he whispered to Bryan.
‘They want to hear you, brother.’
The vicar, though, was reluctant to vacate the stage, and ultimately it was left to Lillian and Violet to find a pretext to lead him away, to lubricate his hoarse voice. Oates hobbled to the platform and took the three stairs slowly, leaning on the rail. The crowd fell silent. He found he could think of nothing to say other than thank you.
‘Speech!’ someone yelled.
‘No speeches. The good vicar has made a fine talk for all of us. And I would like you to remember that, although I made it back in almost one piece,’ he tapped his leg, ‘many of my friends and colleagues did not. I know what much of the continental press has said about our soldiers out in South Africa. Let me tell you, if there were a Boer here’—there were boos at the very thought—‘if there was a Boer here, he would agree with me that our soldiers did us proud.’ Another cheer. ‘So, if I could ask for a minute’s silence for fallen comrades.’
Hats
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