‘You’ll never guess what,’ William told them excitedly when they arrived back and he’d heard about the arrival of his nephew.
Whilst they had been away, it had been decided that the unit should move back to Brandhoek.
‘I understand what you mean about this place now, Pips. It does feel like coming home,’ Robert had said.
‘There’s a large house being turned into a soldiers’ club in Pop,’ William went on.
‘Really? How’s that come about?’ Robert asked as he and Alice listened; it was the most animated and talkative they’d ever seen William. ‘The house – somewhere on the Rue de l’Hôpital – is owned by a wealthy brewer. In the summer it was damaged by shells and he moved his family and his belongings out. Anyway, it seems he offered it for rent to the British Army and an army chaplain, the Reverend Clayton, had the idea of using it as a place for the soldiers when they’re on leave.’
‘Pop has always been the centre for men arriving to go to the front or leaving it,’ Alice said. ‘What a brilliant idea.’
‘And the best thing is,’ William went on, ‘everyone’s to be treated as equals. No pulling rank, nothing like that. Of course, the house needs to be refurnished, but Mrs Parrott’s already on to that. She’s a miracle worker, that woman. There’s stuff arriving from England every day and enough books to fill the library. And, despite their own troubles, the locals are very generous.’
‘Will medical staff be allowed to go, d’you think?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve already asked. The folks running it say anyone involved in the war will be made welcome.’
‘What’s it going to be called?’
‘Talbot House, after the brother of Padre Talbot. He was killed at Hooghe at the end of July.’
‘We’ll have to take a look at it, Alice,’ Robert said.
‘I’m taking Brigitta as soon as we can go,’ William said. ‘Why don’t we all go together?’
The six of them went the day before Christmas Eve, taking gifts with them.
‘We’ll visit the trenches tomorrow like we did last year,’ Robert decided, ‘but today we’ll go and have a look at this house the troops are already calling Toc H.’
‘I wonder if there’ll be a spontaneous truce at Christmas on both sides like there was last year?’ Pips murmured.
‘I doubt it,’ Giles said. ‘There was distinct disapproval from the brass last time. I’m actually surprised your captain wasn’t in serious trouble for taking part.’
Pips frowned as she glanced at him. She was about to ask him a question and then decided against it. Pips could be outspoken and impetuous at times, but she also knew when it was wise to keep her counsel. George had told her in strictest confidence that he had had a dressing-down from his superior officer – the lieutenant-colonel commanding the battalion – over the fraternization of the troops on both sides.
‘I can’t think how he got to hear about it,’ George had said. ‘My men certainly wouldn’t have said a word.’
Now, Pips began to wonder . . .
If there was an oasis of tranquillity in the middle of the battlegrounds, then it was Talbot House. Local volunteers welcomed anyone who came through the door, plying them with tea and cake. It had been the soldiers’ idea to turn the upper floor into a chapel and furnish it themselves. Many a troubled soul found a few hours’ peace there. One of the volunteers showed them around, chattering in her own language, which Brigitta translated for them.
‘This has just opened but already we’re thinking we might have to expand. We plan to hold concerts and the soldiers hope to put on plays. But mainly, they’ll be able to come to rest.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Pips said. Brigitta translated and the lady volunteer beamed and pressed them to have more cake.
On her first outing after the birth of her baby, Peggy wheeled the old pram that one of the villagers had given her down the lane towards the Dawsons’ home. As she passed Len’s workshops, she hesitated. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since she’d told the family about her pregnancy. Yet, the baby was his grandson, surely . . .?
His gruff voice, coming out of the dark interior of the wheelwright’s, startled her.
‘What d’you want?’
‘I – er – thought you might like to see the babby, Mr Dawson.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea? I want nowt to do wi’ it. And when Boy gets home he’ll feel the back of my hand for bringing shame on our family. As if we haven’t had enough to contend with.’ He turned away from her and picked up an iron bar.
Peggy, with tears in her eyes, walked on until she came to the Dawsons’ cottage.
‘Nah then, duck.’ Ma’s voice from her bench outside greeted her. She laid aside her clay pipe. Peggy brushed her tears away and tried to summon up a watery smile. ‘Mrs Dawson, whatever are you doing sitting outside in this weather? It’s winter.’
‘Eeh, lass, you’ve known me long enough to know that the seasons mek no difference to me. Winter and summer, unless it’s raining or snowing – I don’t like the wet – you can find me sitting out here at least for a little while each day. I’ve got to get me fresh air.’
Peggy smiled tremulously. Yes, she did know. Ma Dawson was thought an eccentric – but a nice one. And she’d been good to her, Peggy thought, since the news about her pregnancy had broken.
‘I’ve brought the babby to see you.’
‘That’s nice, duck. Come on inside, then. It is too cold out here for the little mite. Norah’s indoors, busy as usual, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Moments later, Norah had picked her grandson up from the pram and was nursing him in front of the range. ‘He’s a grand little chap, Peggy. I can see Boy in him, though, funnily enough, I can see our Bernard too. Can you?’
Ready tears filled Peggy’s eyes. She was still a bit weepy, as her mother called it, since her confinement.
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ Norah asked conversationally. ‘It’d be grand having a little one in the house again, though he won’t have known much about it this year. But you wait till this time next year, then he’ll be sitting up and takin’ notice.’
‘It was all right.’ Peggy bit her lip and then burst out, ‘Me dad won’t hardly look at him, and just now – when I came past the workshops – Mr Dawson told me he wanted nowt to do wi’ him.’
Ma gave a snort of contempt. ‘That’s men for you. They’re not good around little ones. You tek no notice of either of ’em. Wait till the little ’un grows up a bit, then you’ll see.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Me dad, maybe, but not Mr Dawson. He said when – when Boy gets back he’s going to feel the back of his hand for bringing shame on the family.’ She didn’t add Len’s final words, hinting at William.
‘Ne’er mind, duck. There’s plenty of us women to fuss over him. You bring him here whenever you like.’ She didn’t add, ‘When Len’s out the way.’ She thought the girl had enough sense to know that.
‘If only Boy had been able to come home for Christmas,’ Peggy murmured. ‘I reckon he’d even have put up with getting a thick ear from his dad if only he’d had the chance to see his son.’