Chapter Nineteen

The second of June 1953 was to be a Tuesday that Esme would never forget. Like so many throughout the country, she had managed to get herself invited into the home of one of the neighbours who had one of these ‘new fangled’ television sets, the presence of which was advertised by the H-shaped aerial strapped to the chimney. The house that Esme went to was a detached property on the corner of the main road to Whitstable. Needless to say, the family that lived there was rather well-off. There were only two households that boasted a TV set in the whole of the village. It seemed that everyone who had not been able to go to London to line the streets had gathered around television sets throughout the land to watch the blurred, often flickering, images of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II at Westminster Abbey. Many husbands who were, by the nature of things, the sole operators of the ‘cutting edge’ technological apparatus had their abilities frequently questioned that day as they frantically adjusted the brightness and contrast controls, and more critically the vertical and horizontal hold control buttons at the back of the TV receivers.

Fifteen people had crammed into the front room of the house where Esme was, and all were sitting open-mouthed in awe at the spectacle unfolding before them. The crown was just being held above the head of the new queen when there was a knock on the front door of the house.

‘Who the Dickens can that be?’ the lady of the house exclaimed, with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice as she made her way to the door. It turned out to be the village bobby.

‘Could I have a word with Esme, please ma’am?’

The look on the constable’s face sent her hurrying back into the front room.

‘The constable wants to have a word with you, Esme.’

Squeezing past the bodies in the room, Esme’s heart was beating sixteen to the dozen. When she got to the front door, with a shaky voice she asked: ‘What is it, Albert?’

‘Maybe we’d better talk about it down at the station, Es.’

The Police Station was an end-of-terrace house, just six doors down, with a counter in the front room that served as the front desk. Albert was the sole occupant of this outpost of law and order. Esme grabbed her coat from the pile on the stairs and made her way to the station with him. It had stopped raining at last.

When they reached the station the constable said to her: ‘Just take a seat over there, Es and I will go and make a nice cup of tea.’

How long does it take to make a cup of tea? If you had asked Esme at that time she would have said an eternity. But, after a few minutes Albert came back into the ‘office’ with two enamel mugs of tea. He had put at least four spoons of sugar in Esme’s mug.

After she had taken a few sips of the sweet tea, Albert looked closely at her.

‘There’s been an accident, Es. George’s tractor rolled over with him on board.’

The constable watched as the colour drained from her face, until it became the same colour as the white in the red white and blue bunting that was decorating the office and which seemed so inappropriate for the present situation.

‘Is he .?’

‘I’m so sorry, Es - he didn’t make it.’

Albert just managed to grab the mug and prevent it falling to the floor.

Although the police constable was someone who tended to avoid any physical contact, he sat alongside Esme and put his arm around her shoulder, to comfort and support her. Albert had known George and Esme for almost seven years, and had spoken to them almost every day during that period. Although his position required that he shouldn’t be too friendly with anyone within his area of responsibility, he had without doubt become their friend and they had become his. He was a big man as was befitting of an officer of the law, with a normally stern face which he kept for display when he was on his beat. He wasn’t married. He had been ‘walking out’ with a young lady for more than two years, and everyone assumed they would get married, but the war intervened. When he was called-up and had gone off to fight for his country, she had told him of her undying love and how she would wait for him. The reality was that she only waited until the Yanks arrived. Whether it was the attraction of the uniform or the nylons with which she had been plied, the outcome was that she ended up ‘in trouble’, eventually becoming a war bride. She left for America with her infant just one week before Albert arrived home. She didn’t even leave a note to explain what had happened; she just left. Albert had been heartbroken, his mother was very bitter indeed and when a few years later she learned that the young lady’s life had gone right off the rails, with two more children and a husband who had moved on to pastures new, her only comment was that it ‘served the little cow right’. Albert, though not quite so vindictive, resigned himself to being a lifelong bachelor. Ever since he arrived in the village a year after the end of the war, Esme George and their children had become a surrogate family for him, despite the fact most of the children by then had flown the nest.

‘Look, Es - you will need someone with you. If you give me Alice’s address in Ashford I’ll phone the station there and they will send someone round to let her know what has happened.’

An hour later Alice and her doctor husband pulled up in their car outside. Almost before it had come to a halt, Alice jumped out of the car and ran into the police station. Albert had already completed a series of procedures, almost as if this was an everyday event, but the truth of it was that this was only the third occasion in all his time at Blean that he had had to deal with an unexpected death. The coroner had been informed, a police sergeant had arrived from Canterbury and the undertaker had been summoned. Alice just went and hugged her mum and they spent the next ten minutes crying their eyes out. The doctor, because of the nature of his work, had often come across grieving families, but this time it was his own. He went out his car to fetch his medical bag and administered a sedative to Esme and Alice. Half an hour later the three of them left the police station, got into his almost brand new Triumph Mayflower and set off for the cottage. Albert began sorting out the necessary paperwork, before making his way to the farm and the scene of the accident. As Esme got into the car, through her red-rimmed watery eyes, tried a smile and said: ‘This is a very nice car, Peter.’

‘Thank you, Mum - let’s get you home.’

Esme had always liked the fact that right from the day that he had married Alice, he had always called her Mum.

Before he had left his surgery Peter had made calls to Mary’s lodging house in Southsea and to Brian’s work place in Canterbury. He had been unable to get a message to Eileen because she was serving abroad with the RAF in Aden. When they got to the cottage, a great deal of activity was going on down by the Dutch barn. Esme wanted to go down to see George but Peter persuaded her that it would not be a good idea until the police had sorted everything out.

‘When they’ve done what they have to do, they’ll let you know and tell you when it will be possible for you to go and see him,’ he said. ‘It’s most likely they’ll suggest that you wait until he is being taken care of by the undertakers.’

From his past experience Peter knew that this would take quite a while, so he led them all into the cottage. He then suggested the universal panacea:

‘Let’s all have a nice cup of tea.’

Of course the cottage had all its unfortunate reminders of George. His coat was hung behind the kitchen door, his spare boots neatly placed in the corner, his shirts carefully folded on the dresser.

‘He’s such a tidy person,’ said Esme, then with an inward look added, ‘he was’.

She had temporarily run out of tears.

Shortly after they all entered the cottage Albert arrived back at the scene of the accident, reporting to the sergeant who had come over from Canterbury. The sergeant was satisfied that everything that needed to be done had been done. Statements had been taken from the two farm labourers who had witnessed the tractor rolling over, and a report had been compiled. Not long after this, the undertaker arrived and George’s body was handed over to him. He and his team took charge of George’s remains and set about transferring them to the mortuary.

Brian arrived at the cottage just after six o’clock, but Mary not until nearly 10 o’clock, just as it was just getting dark. The festive crowds in London had meant that it had taken her a lot longer to make travel connections.

When she arrived, at first she thought that no-one was at home because the cottage was in darkness. She tried the latch - it was undone. As she walked in she was just able to make out the four figures inside in the gloom. This was not the time for words. She walked across and just hugged and cried with her mum, in the same way that Alice had done. After a few minutes she dried her eyes, her organisational instincts took charge and she broke the silence.

‘Peter, perhaps you could take Brian home to his wife while Alice and I get Mum off to bed and then we can work out what to do in the morning,’ she said.

And that is what happened. When Peter got back, Alice and Mary had managed to get Esme into bed and had organised the rest of the sleeping arrangements. Peter and Alice were to have Brian’s old room and Mary had the room she had occupied for a little while three years ago. That night Hypnos and Morpheus were very tardy in arriving, and it was well into the small hours before all in the cottage had managed to get to sleep. The dreams that Morpheus brought that night were all of a sleep-disturbing nature which did not help at all. It was already light by five o’clock when, un-refreshed, the household began to stir to cope with the realities of the day.

Mary went into the village and sent a telegram to Eileen to let her know about her dad’s accident. By lunchtime arrangements had been made for the funeral on Thursday 11 June. Brian together with his wife Rose had been collected from Canterbury, and a family meeting was convened in the kitchen. It only seemed natural that Mary should take charge, which of course she did. After she had summarised what had been done, including the arrangement to go and see Dad’s body at the undertakers, she turned to what was going to be the most pressing problem. As the cottage which had been home for the past thirty-four years was a ‘tied’ property it meant that in the very near future Esme would have no home.

‘Look Mum, the farmer is going to want the cottage for a new stockman so we will have to think about where you are going to live,’ she said.

Almost in unison Brian, Rose, Alice and Peter said: ‘she can come and live with us’. Mary smiled and looked at Alice and Rose.

‘Do you two want to tell us anything?’ she asked.

They both looked at each other as if to say ‘how on earth did she know?’ and then back at Mary. Alice was the first to speak.

‘I don’t know how you knew, Mary, because Peter and I haven’t told a soul, but we are expecting a baby’.

Then it was Rose’s turn. ‘It’s the same for us, we’re also expecting a baby.’

There was quite a babble of conversation for a minute. It turned out that both babies were due about Christmas time.

Mary brought the family meeting back to matters in hand.

‘Well, Mum, it looks like you’re going to be a granny twice over before the end of the year.’ It was good to see her mum smiling in the middle of such a bad time. ‘Why I asked about Alice and Rose’s condition was because, although it is very nice of them both to offer to let you live with them, when the babies arrive it will be very difficult.’

‘But I would be able to help with the babies,’ interrupted Esme.

‘I know that you would, Mum, and they both would love it, but neither of them have enough rooms for it to be practical.’ Mary paused before continuing: she knew the pause would concentrate their minds. ‘How about if I look for a bigger flat in Southsea so that Mum comes to live with me? There are lots of nice shops, cinemas and parks nearby.’

The discussion continued for a little while. Eventually everyone agreed that Mary’s solution was the best.

As an interim measure, it was decided that it would not be a good idea for Mum to be left on her own at the cottage, so a bag was packed for her and she stayed with Brian and Rose until after the funeral. When Esme moved out of the cottage she would live with Alice and Peter until Mary arranged for the accommodation in Southsea.

After they had all been to the undertakers to say goodbye to Dad, Esme was taken to the two-up two-down that Brian and Rose rented in Canterbury. Mary made her way back to Southsea.

Two days later, on the Saturday, she caught the trolley bus to the harbour and took a ferry across to Gosport and then a bus to Lee-on-the-Solent. It was more than ten years since she had visited Uncle Jack and she fully expected that he and his family would have moved to a new address; nevertheless she decided to go to his old address to see if the present occupants knew where he might have moved to. She knocked on the door and a teenage girl answered.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but do your mum and dad have a forwarding address for Mr Jack Toulson who used to live here?’

The young girl smiled. ‘That’s my dad - we still live here.’

A voice from the back called out. ‘Who is it, Teresa?’

‘It’s a lady to see you, Dad.’

Jack came through from the kitchen into the hall, saw Mary through the open front door and recognised her immediately.

‘Come in, Mary, come in.’ Turning to Teresa he said: ‘Mum’s in the back garden - go and tell her that we’ve got a guest. Tell her that Mary’s here, there’s a good girl.’

As Teresa ran out through the kitchen, Jack showed Mary into the front room, which was exactly as she remembered it. After the usual formality of ‘I’ll just put the kettle on,’ followed by the production of cups of tea together with jam tarts and scones, there was quite a cacophony of chatter because there was so much to catch up with. There were, of course, the profuse apologies about not keeping in touch. After he had said it, Jack wished that he had waited just a little longer before asking how George was.

‘I’m sad to have to tell you, Uncle Jack, but Dad died in a farm accident last Tuesday.’

‘Oh, no - I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Jack. ‘How is your mum coping? Your dad was a good bloke - you don’t need me to tell you that. He and your mum raised a family to be proud of in very difficult times, and under difficult circumstances. I am so pleased that our paths crossed - but it seems incredible that I’ve known him - sorry... knew him - for over thirty years. You must have heard a hundred times how we met on a train all those years ago. We got on so well. I’m so sorry that I didn’t keep in touch with your dad and mum as much as I should’ve. It must be a very difficult time for you all.’

Mary went on to explain how the family were rallying round. She told Jack that the funeral was to be on the following Thursday at the little church in Blean. Before she could say any more, Jack chipped in.

‘I’ll be there - what time will it be?’

Mary’s face brightened, because this was what she had hoped to hear. Although the two families had drifted apart, Uncle Jack’s name came up so often in conversations that it was almost as if he was one of the family. During the previous ten years or so, getting in touch had been one of those things which was always going to be done, but somehow always got put off to another time. Now it was too late for her Dad.

The chatting went on for quite a while. Jack and Margaret were surprised to learn that Mary had been teaching in Southsea for nearly three years. When she told them that her Mum was going to come and live with her in the next few months, they insisted that she must bring her over to see them.

‘We really mustn’t lose contact with each other again. Now you promise?’

She did, and they didn’t, well - not for many years.

Jack and his family had not moved away because after he was demobbed he had managed to get a job working as a civilian employee in HMS Daedalus, in a similar role to that which he’d had when he was in the Fleet Air Arm. Getting a compassionate day off work would be no difficulty. After being demobbed at the end of the war, his demob suit had hardly had an airing. Fortunately it was a dark colour and with a white shirt and black tie, it looked quite respectful for the funeral.

‘Jack, will you please apologies to Esme and her family for me?’ said Margaret on the day that Jack set off for Blean. ‘Explain why I couldn’t come with you, as much as I would have liked to. Teresa has to have one of us with her when she goes for that interview.’

The weather was fine and warm on that Thursday, but there were less than two dozen people who attended the service. Funerals are always a sombre time, but George’s was particularly poignant. Esme had no living relatives other than her children. Her mother and father had died before World War II, she never had any sisters, and her two brothers had been killed in a mine disaster just after the war. George’s parents were also dead, and his only surviving relative - a brother - who lived in Middlesbrough, was infirm and unable to travel. They were all pleased that Eileen had been flown home from Aden. It was quite clear from the congregation for his funeral that George and Esme had lived for each other and their children. After the interment in the small graveyard most of the mourners made their way back to the cottage. Fortunately it was dry and sunny, because there was no way they could all have fitted into the little kitchen. Mary had organised all the available chairs to be placed in the sunny parts of the back garden; she had even got Brian and Peter to go down to the barn and get half a dozen bales of straw so that people could use them to sit on. In the morning, before the service, Mary had persuaded her mum to make some small cakes and sandwiches - this was to take her mind off the funeral.

When they got back to the cottage, Jack was one of the first to have a consoling conversation with Esme. Several times while they were talking he was mentally transported back to the first time that he had met George and Esme on that train over thirty years before. She, understandably, was wearing the same worried face that he had seen on that first meeting.

‘I’m going to miss this cottage with all of its memories good and bad,’ she said. ‘Did Mary tell you that I’m going to go and live with her in Southsea, where there are lots of nice shops?’

It was at this point that Jack saw Esme’s face take on that look of pleasure which she had shown on the train when mentioning the fact that George’s job had a cottage to go with it.

‘She did, Esme, and that also means that you will be able to come and visit us.’

Once again her face took on a less haggard look.

Jack really enjoyed catching up with all that had happened to Esme and her family, but a conversation he had later that afternoon was to prove to be the most intriguing he had ever had. Shortly after his chat with Esme, he went and sat on one of the straw bales, and Eileen came and sat alongside him. After they had been talking for a while about the past, she started to tell him about her life in the RAF and in particular about her life at Aden.

‘Mary told us kids when we were young how you had taken a photograph of something that wasn’t there when you were in Aden. Well, here’s something weird that happened to me only a few months ago’.

She then went on to relate how she, together with two other nursing sisters, had gone out on a day off in a Jeep with a female corporal as driver.

‘I remembered hearing about how you found that stick and the rattling stones just to the south of Marib, and I told a couple of my colleagues in the hospital about it, and we decided to go and have a look at the place for ourselves,’ she said. ‘It didn’t look to be very far on the map. Well, although those Jeeps can get a fair old lick on, and the fact that we left early in morning, it was after midday before we got there. It can’t have changed very much because I could recognise the building from the descriptions that I had heard. There were still some of those orangey ball-shaped stones scattered around. We tried shaking quite a few but could only find one that rattled - one of the other Sisters found it, so she kept it. Now here’s where the weird bit comes in. After we had a picnic lunch we decided to take some pictures of us as a group, with the old building in the background. Using my camera, we each took it in turn to take a photo of the others in the group. The driver took the first one, I took the second then the other two took photos in turn. A few days later I had the film developed. Well like you, Uncle Jack, I discovered that I had taken a photograph of something that wasn’t there. Instead of a photo of the others in the group, my shot showed an out of focus picture of what appeared to be an elderly female - I would say a ‘bejewelled dignitary’ - sitting on a camel. We hadn’t seen a camel for at least twenty miles.’

After she had finished telling her tale Jack said: ‘When I mentioned that I had taken a picture of something that wasn’t there - what was it, nearly thirty year ago? - I was told that it must have been some sort of mirage effect, but I was not convinced. What made it spookier for me was the total lack of noise just at the instant that I took the picture. It was as if the surrounding area had swallowed the voice of the camera and all other noises with it.’

Eileen looked at him wide-eyed.

‘That’s exactly it, the lack of sound,’ she said. ‘Like you, I’m absolutely certain my picture wasn’t a mirage effect either.’

Their conversation continued for a little while. Eileen said that she would have another chat with him later, before excusing herself to go and have a few words with her brother and brother-in-law. Unfortunately they never got round to having a second chat. After she went to find them, Albert, the village bobby - who was not in uniform - came up sat alongside Jack and introduced himself.

‘You must be the famous Uncle Jack,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you. George and Es were always talking about you and the young chap who committed suicide.’

Albert and Jack sat and chatted for over a quarter of an hour.

It was getting on towards four o’clock when Peter offered to give Jack a lift into Canterbury so that he could catch a train to London. When he arrived home, Margaret had some good news: Teresa had been successful in her interview and would be starting a job at the bank in the High Street in September after her sixteenth birthday.