We'll Meet Again by Philippa Carr Page A

help. I thought about you.”
    “But, of course!” I cried. “I have been wondering what I could do to help. They say that soon we shall all be called up.”
    “My dear,” she said, “I should find it hard if you went away. It is so helpful for me to talk to you. You know how I feel. You understand …”
    She meant that we were the two who loved Jowan and we had to keep the belief that he would come back alive. We helped each other in that.
    I said: “It seems an excellent idea. There are several bedrooms. It would make a wonderful convalescent home.”
    “So I thought. We could get your mother to give us a few hints of how they ran their place.”
    “She would be delighted to help.”
    “You and I together could run the place. And perhaps your sister would like to help.”
    “I am sure she would. It is a wonderful idea.”
    We talked excitedly. It took our minds from the fear of what might come—and chiefly from what might have happened to Jowan.
    How grateful I was for all that had to be done in the next few weeks! I was constantly at Jermyn’s Priory. The authorities came to look at the place and we were in touch with the hospital in Poldown. It seemed that the idea of a convalescent home for the war-wounded was very acceptable.
    The rooms were made ready and we were expecting the first arrivals. There were several servants at Jermyn’s and these would stay and help with the running of the place instead of going into factories or on the land, as so many of them would be called upon to do. There was no doubt that running Jermyn’s Priory in this way was considered to be essential war work.
    In the midst of this something very tragic occurred.
    I was leaving the house on my way to Jermyn’s, where I now went each day, when Gordon opened the door of his study and asked me to come in for a moment.
    He was very grave.
    “It’s bad news,” he said. “The boys’ parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trimmell … their house has been hit. It happened last night.”
    “Oh no … and … ?”
    He nodded. “Both parents killed instantly.”
    “How terrible! Those poor boys. What will become of them?”
    “They’ll stay here for a while … well, as long as they want to. Is it not tragic? Mother and father … gone like that. Apparently the father was home on leave from the navy … so both were there.”
    “The boys will have to be told,” I said.
    He looked at me helplessly. “It’s what I dread. How can I, Violetta? I thought you would know how to do it better than I.”
    I was silent, thinking of the boys, how best to break the news to them. It was going to be difficult. But I could see that Gordon would not be the best one to do it.
    I pondered. I said I thought I would speak to Charley first and then we could tell Bert afterwards. Charley was a shrewd boy. I always felt he was far older than his years. There were times when it seemed as though I were talking to a young man of eighteen; at others he would seem just like a child. He would have need of his maturity now.
    I went up to the nursery where I was greeted with vociferous pleasure by Tristan, while Hildegarde, who always imitated Tristan, also showed her delight in my arrival.
    I told Nanny Crabtree what had happened.
    Her face creased with tenderness.
    “The poor mites,” she cried. “I wish I had that Hitler here. I’d give him a dose of the medicine he’s giving to little children.”
    I arranged with her that when the boys came home from school Charley should be told I wanted to see him. I would break the news to him and with his help tell Bert—or perhaps it would be better for him to do it alone.
    I felt sick at heart when he came and still could not decide what was the best way to tell him.
    His face was bright with expectancy, and I heard myself say hesitatingly: “Charley, there’s something I have to tell you …”
    I paused. “Yes, Miss,” he said.
    I bit my lip and turned away. Then I stammered: “Something has happened. It’s very