Peggy had made tea for them all and they sat round her kitchen table.
‘What’s Len Dawson going to say to this?’ Peggy whispered.
‘I’ll tell him in the morning,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll see Mrs Dawson too. You go and see your mother, Peggy. I don’t think we should tell anyone else tonight.’
‘There might be more news in the morning,’ Robert said, but he didn’t sound too hopeful. ‘We’ll let you know at once, of course, if we hear anything.’
‘Are you going to tell Daisy?’ Peggy asked. ‘And I’d better write to Harry.’
‘Yes, of course, and I’ll also write to Pips. They’ll probably both telephone us then.’
It was still an hour or so before dawn by the time they arrived on the outskirts of Ypres, yet already people were about.
‘I go no further,’ his guide whispered. ‘Germans in town.’
They were near the Menin Gate, the huge white memorial dedicated to all those who had lost their lives in the Ypres Salient in the Great War. Strangely, Luke felt comforted. He felt – foolishly or not – as if all those named there were watching over him. He thought back to when he had been here almost fifteen years ago now at the inauguration of the memorial. That time, his grandfather Dawson had allowed Luke to come to Belgium because Pips had promised to take him to see the graves of his father, Harold, and his uncles, Bernard and Roy Dawson. How sad it was that all these thousands of men had given their lives believing that their sacrifice was to bring peace to the world for ever, only for the same foes to be fighting over the same ground just over two decades later.
Luke shook hands with the man who had brought him here. ‘Move at night,’ his guide warned and then he slipped away into the shadows. As the dawn filtered through the streets and lit the memorial with a rosy glow, Luke walked the length of the towering archway. Still standing beneath its shadow, he looked down the street towards the market square. He could see mounds of rubble and was shocked to think that the city had received yet more damage after it had been so lovingly restored after the devastation of the Great War. But he dared not venture from his current shelter to take a closer look. He pondered what he should do for the day. He didn’t want to run into the enemy and yet he didn’t want to hide. If he were found doing so, it would be a giveaway that he had reason to conceal himself. If only he could find something to do that would look completely normal. He walked back through the memorial, going up the steps on either side and then up more steps in each direction. He marvelled at the massive construction. On every surface there were lists of names. So many, Luke thought soberly, and each one with a family left in mourning.
Passing back beneath the archway towards the direction they had come from, Luke now saw in the morning light that a river, which he’d not noticed when they’d arrived in the dark, ran close to the memorial. Further along the bank, he saw a mound of earth with a spade sticking up out of it. There was no one there, so he walked towards it. Reaching it, he looked down to see an oblong had been marked out with tape and about a quarter of it dug to a depth of about two feet. There was still plenty of work to do.
A voice spoke behind him making him jump; surprisingly a voice that spoke in English and with a proper English accent.
‘Sent someone else to finish the job, have they? Well, don’t just stand there looking daft. Get digging.’
Luke stared at him and shrugged as if he didn’t understand. The big, burly man gave an exaggerated sigh and made the motion of digging. Then he spoke again, now in a language that Luke did not understand, but he pretended to, nodded and smiled and picked up the spade. The man looked pleased and spoke again, but luckily also made the motion of eating. Luke presumed he was saying that if he dug the hole he would feed him later.
He nodded, though he wasn’t sure he would take up the man’s offer. He didn’t want to get trapped sitting in a café somewhere. He was puzzled at what the hole could be for in a public place on the river bank, but it wasn’t his concern, so he dug slowly trying to eke out the time until nightfall. It would be a long day.
‘Daisy! Daisy!’ Gill rushed into the room where the ferry pilots had congregated, waiting to receive their delivery chits for the day.
The Fox Moth had picked Daisy up early that morning and she had come straight to the office; she had not been home to their digs and so had not seen Gill.
‘I’m here. What’s the matter?’
Gill, her eyes wide with fear, her hair flying loose, gripped Daisy’s arm like a drowning man. ‘Luke! It’s Luke. He’s been posted missing. He didn’t come back from a mission yesterday.’
‘Sit down and tell me calmly what you know.’
‘Calmly?’ Gill’s voice rose an octave. ‘How can you tell me to be calm?’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘It’s Luke, Daisy. Luke.’
‘Because getting hysterical isn’t going to help. Now, who rang here?’
Gill released her grasp on Daisy, flopped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. In a muffled voice she said, ‘His friend, Tim.’
‘So – what did he say exactly?’
Slowly, Gill pulled her hands away from her face. ‘They’d been on a mission to northern France yesterday – that’s all he could say, but Luke and three others too, I think, hadn’t come back.’
‘Did anyone see his aircraft crash or a parachute? Anything?’
Gill bit her lip and shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said hoarsely.
‘I’ll ring Daddy. Luke’s family might have been told more.’
Daisy went into the office and explained swiftly to the Operations Manager what had happened and got permission to telephone home before she set out on her delivery for that day.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but make it quick,’ was all Mary said. ‘You still have your duty to do.’
‘Daddy?’ Daisy was saying into the receiver a few moments later. ‘Do you know about Luke?’
‘Yes, but we don’t know much.’
‘I know, we’re the same. Just that he’s been posted missing. Have you told Aunty Pips?’
‘No, I’ll write to her.’
‘Telephone Aunty Milly. She might be able to get a message to her quicker than a letter.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.’
Word soon spread both through the village and in the various parts of the country. Pips heard from Paul working at the War Office. Harry heard eventually from his mother by letter and, of course, all the villagers heard via the ‘grapevine’.
Henrietta walked down into the village to see Norah. She found Bess there and so was able to speak to both Luke’s grandmothers at the same time.
‘Peggy’s had a telegram now, Mrs Maitland,’ Norah told her, ‘but I aren’t going to believe it until they have proof that he’s dead. I mean, it’s not the same as last time, is it?’ Her sad eyes glanced towards the black-shrouded photographs of Luke’s father, Harold, and his two brothers on the mantelpiece. ‘Then it was certain, but with planes and that, you don’t really know, do you? I mean, he could have parachuted out, couldn’t he?’
‘He could indeed, Mrs Dawson,’ Henrietta said, keeping her voice bright and optimistic.
Bess, sitting by the range, was unusually quiet. ‘I thought I’d feel summat,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean that I’d have an instinct that he was still alive or – or that he’d gone, but I don’t.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes as she met Henrietta’s gaze.
‘I know, Mrs Cooper. I know just what you mean.’ She turned to Norah. ‘How’s Mr Dawson taken it?’
Norah shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. He’s still mad at Luke for going. Harry too, though he’s not so bothered about him. Sorry, Bess, but you know how he is.’
‘I do, Norah duck,’ Bess said wryly.
‘He didn’t say owt when Sam came here early before work to tell us both,’ Norah went on. ‘He just grunted and went to work as usual.’
‘He’s a hard man to live with, Norah. We can see all that. Will you be all right? I know Luke used to keep an eye on you.’
‘I’m fine, Mrs Maitland, honestly. ’Course I have to put up with his moods, but I’m used to that and Bess comes every day without fail. I’d soon tell her if there was real trouble.’ She gave a small smile. ‘And Len knows that.’
Henrietta got up. ‘I’ll leave you to it. We’ll let you know if we hear anything else, of course. By the way, there’s a meeting of the WVS at the hall tomorrow afternoon, but I’ll understand if neither of you feel like coming.’
The two women glanced at each other. ‘We’ll be there, Mrs Maitland,’ Norah said. ‘We need to keep busy.’
At lunchtime, the man for whom Luke was digging the hole came back carrying a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of water. He spoke to Luke in a language that Luke now thought was French. His own French was very limited. He’d learned a little at the Lincoln Grammar School but certainly not enough to pass as a native speaker. He nodded his thanks and smiled. Hoping that it was enough.
‘Don’t say much, do you?’ the man tried English again, but this time, although he obviously understood him perfectly, Luke did not dare to reply. He was afraid of a trap.
Luke smiled again and bit into a sandwich gratefully.
‘Ah well, have it your way, then. But if you do need help of any kind, I’ve got a café just down the road, though if you decide to disappear’ – he paused and pulled out a couple of notes from his pocket – ‘here’s something for saving me a job.’ He pointed to the hole and smiled. ‘You’ve saved me a bad back. Thanks.’
Luke took the proffered money. He didn’t know how much it was, but anything might be useful. Again, he nodded his thanks.
He’d finished digging the hole by late afternoon, but it was still several hours until nightfall when he would be able to leave. He’d decided that he would linger around the memorial, pretend he was searching for a name, perhaps, on the many panels. He walked back purposefully towards the Menin Gate. It wouldn’t do to appear furtive. He walked through the archway to the centre and took the steps up to the left, which then divided and rose on each side. There were wreaths laid on several steps. He found a vantage point where he could watch the roads if necessary. He sat down behind a wall to wait.
He heard movement through the archway and people’s voices, but there didn’t seem to be the usual ‘Last Post’ service at eight o’clock taking place. He wondered why as the hour came and went and the sounds from below grew less instead of more, as he might have expected.
When it was completely dark, he slipped quietly down to the road and began to walk westwards towards Poperinghe, but he took side roads, sometimes across country; anything to avoid coming across a German patrol. He wondered if the signposts had been altered as they had in England to confuse any invaders, but he didn’t need them anyway. He was sure he knew the way.