one left. In one day back in 1914, the village had lost all its men. They’d marchedoff to the train station, off to war, chummy and triumphant, their arms around each other’s shoulders, like work gangs swaggering across the barley fields at the start of the harvest.
She thought of Vivian and her married life often. It was still a regret that she had missed the wedding. Nellie had bought Vivian a bale of damask table linen as a present, and the day of the wedding Nellie had left the house with it under her arm, in plenty of time to catch the train. Shoes polished, gloves in hand, she had wandered down to the river. Standing under the willow tree, she tried to work out how her life and Vivian’s had changed so drastically. She’d lost track of the hour, mesmerized by the waters and the fish gliding in the depths. By the time she walked hurriedly the six miles to the station, she’d missed the train, and Vivian, in a county town miles away, was married without her sister there to be glad for her. She had tried to explain several times to Vivian what had happened, but she was sure her sister did not believe her and thought instead her non-appearance had been a way of punishing her for leaving. Perhaps there was a little truth in that too.
At the Parish Rooms up by the church, Nellie stepped into the warmth of the wooden hall. On a trestle table were plates of boiled tongue sandwiches and slices of walnut cake. The vicar’s wife was serving tea from a big metal urn.
‘Ah, Nellie.’ She handed her a cup of tea. ‘We missed you at Red Cross classes. We were bandage rolling. You didn’t call for the laundry either. Have you been ill, my dear? Really, you must say if you can’t manage to take in washing any more.’
Nellie muttered her apologies and accepted a sandwich. She’d not eaten all day.
The vicar was showing newsreels of the war. The film flickered and jumped. Men in uniforms, smiling and dazed-looking, marched in unison across the big white sheet stretched over a wall of Sunday-school Bible pictures. Some of the men had bandages around their heads like turbans. They pointed at themselvesand laughed, giving the thumbs up to the camera. It was hard not to smile back. She watched the long rambling lines of them in heavy uniforms, scanning their faces, looking for Joe Ferier.
‘This is rather old footage,’ announced the vicar, breaking Nellie’s thoughts. She blinked as the gas lights were lit, and glanced at the film tin beside her.
‘September 1916,’ the vicar said. ‘A whole year out of date.’
‘The main thing is to see our boys overseas,’ said his wife. She smacked the hand of a child trying to take a sandwich. ‘We must try to be informed about what is going on.’
‘And how is Vivian? Is her husband still doing warden duty?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Poor you,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘You must miss your sister terribly.’
Nellie took another sandwich and nodded. She wondered if Nathan Rumsby had found himself a wife. Perhaps she should go and see if he would still consider her. She had to do something. She couldn’t rely on free sandwiches to feed herself much longer. Farm work was sporadic since Langham had retired and a new tenant had taken on the farm. Recently she’d got a letter in the post saying a rent collector was going to be calling to inspect the cottage. The new tenant couldn’t let her have the cottage rent-free any more.
The vicar’s wife had moved on to another conversation.
‘They are prisoners, let us not forget.’
‘Conscientious objectors …’ the vicar said. ‘What do you think, Nellie? We have prisoners in our village and just one guard with them. I find this a very dangerous situation.’
Nellie swayed away towards the door.
‘It’s a patriotic duty to join up,’ the vicar said. ‘Our young men willingly give themselves to defend the Empire. It is our duty to serve God, King and country. Nellie, do say hello to your sister if you
She thought of Vivian and her married life often. It was still a regret that she had missed the wedding. Nellie had bought Vivian a bale of damask table linen as a present, and the day of the wedding Nellie had left the house with it under her arm, in plenty of time to catch the train. Shoes polished, gloves in hand, she had wandered down to the river. Standing under the willow tree, she tried to work out how her life and Vivian’s had changed so drastically. She’d lost track of the hour, mesmerized by the waters and the fish gliding in the depths. By the time she walked hurriedly the six miles to the station, she’d missed the train, and Vivian, in a county town miles away, was married without her sister there to be glad for her. She had tried to explain several times to Vivian what had happened, but she was sure her sister did not believe her and thought instead her non-appearance had been a way of punishing her for leaving. Perhaps there was a little truth in that too.
At the Parish Rooms up by the church, Nellie stepped into the warmth of the wooden hall. On a trestle table were plates of boiled tongue sandwiches and slices of walnut cake. The vicar’s wife was serving tea from a big metal urn.
‘Ah, Nellie.’ She handed her a cup of tea. ‘We missed you at Red Cross classes. We were bandage rolling. You didn’t call for the laundry either. Have you been ill, my dear? Really, you must say if you can’t manage to take in washing any more.’
Nellie muttered her apologies and accepted a sandwich. She’d not eaten all day.
The vicar was showing newsreels of the war. The film flickered and jumped. Men in uniforms, smiling and dazed-looking, marched in unison across the big white sheet stretched over a wall of Sunday-school Bible pictures. Some of the men had bandages around their heads like turbans. They pointed at themselvesand laughed, giving the thumbs up to the camera. It was hard not to smile back. She watched the long rambling lines of them in heavy uniforms, scanning their faces, looking for Joe Ferier.
‘This is rather old footage,’ announced the vicar, breaking Nellie’s thoughts. She blinked as the gas lights were lit, and glanced at the film tin beside her.
‘September 1916,’ the vicar said. ‘A whole year out of date.’
‘The main thing is to see our boys overseas,’ said his wife. She smacked the hand of a child trying to take a sandwich. ‘We must try to be informed about what is going on.’
‘And how is Vivian? Is her husband still doing warden duty?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Poor you,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘You must miss your sister terribly.’
Nellie took another sandwich and nodded. She wondered if Nathan Rumsby had found himself a wife. Perhaps she should go and see if he would still consider her. She had to do something. She couldn’t rely on free sandwiches to feed herself much longer. Farm work was sporadic since Langham had retired and a new tenant had taken on the farm. Recently she’d got a letter in the post saying a rent collector was going to be calling to inspect the cottage. The new tenant couldn’t let her have the cottage rent-free any more.
The vicar’s wife had moved on to another conversation.
‘They are prisoners, let us not forget.’
‘Conscientious objectors …’ the vicar said. ‘What do you think, Nellie? We have prisoners in our village and just one guard with them. I find this a very dangerous situation.’
Nellie swayed away towards the door.
‘It’s a patriotic duty to join up,’ the vicar said. ‘Our young men willingly give themselves to defend the Empire. It is our duty to serve God, King and country. Nellie, do say hello to your sister if you
Similar Books
