‘That’ll be Mrs Maitland again,’ Norah said to Ma as a knock sounded on the front door of their cottage. Henrietta was the only caller who ever entered their home that way. Everyone else in the village always came to their back door, knocked and walked in. Norah dried her hands on a towel and hurried to open the door.
It took a moment for her to register that it was not Henrietta standing there, but a young boy in a post-office uniform with a yellow envelope in his hand. As realization sank in, Norah gasped and put her hand to her chest. When she didn’t take the telegram immediately, the boy thrust it towards her. He was anxious to be gone. He’d had to deliver far too many of these telegrams now in the district and he hated seeing the distress his brief visit brought. With trembling fingers, Norah reached out and took the envelope. The boy turned, mounted his bicycle and pedalled as hard as he could down the lane.
Slowly, Norah closed the door and, on leaden feet, returned to the kitchen. Seeing the envelope in her hand, Ma turned white. ‘Open it, lass,’ she said huskily. ‘Let’s see which one it is.’
Norah passed it to her mother-in-law. ‘You do it,’ she whispered. ‘I – I can’t.’
Ma tore it open and read the words:
‘. . . deeply regret to inform you that Private Harold Dawson died of his wounds on 2 July 1916 . . .’
There were more words of condolence, but Ma couldn’t read them for the tears blurring her eyes.
‘It’s Boy,’ she said hoarsely. The telegram fluttered to the floor as she covered her face with her hands. Norah sank into the chair opposite Ma, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and that was how Len found them when he came home from the workshop for his midday meal.
Len picked up the telegram from the floor and read the dreadful news.
‘Silly little bugger. He had no need to go. I blame William for this. If he hadn’t refused to go, Boy would at least have waited until he was old enough.’ It was the first time that Len had spoken William’s name since his son’s refusal to join up.
‘I don’t know if he would have, Len,’ Ma said quietly. She was filled with unbearable sadness, but she couldn’t bear to hear William blamed for everything that happened, but Len rounded on her angrily. ‘Don’t you dare stick up for that – that shirker. D’you know what they’re calling ’em now? Conchies. But it’s just another name for coward. And you know what they do to them, don’t you? They put ’em up against a wall and shoot them, that’s what. And quite right too. So, Ma, don’t you dare mention his name again else you’ll find yarsen in the workhouse.’
‘Oh Len, don’t say such things to your mother. You don’t mean it.’
Len grunted and turned away, flinging the telegram onto the table. ‘Where’s me dinner, Norah? I’ve work to do and no one to help me do it now.’
‘William would have helped you if—’ Ma began.
Len swung round and pointed his forefinger at her. ‘I warned you, Ma . . .’
When Len had scoffed his dinner and gone back to his workshop, Norah said softly, ‘Take no notice of him, Ma. He’s taking out his hurt on us. He can’t shed tears like us women and his heartbreak comes out in anger.’
Ma sighed. ‘I know, lass. I know. But to tell you the truth, after the news we’ve had today, I’m past caring. I really don’t care what he does to me. Not now.’
There was a silence between them until Norah said quietly, ‘I’ll have to go and tell Peggy, won’t I?’
‘Aye, you will. And I shouldn’t leave it long, duck. Folks will have seen the telegram lad come to our door and rumours’ll be rife.’
Half an hour later, Norah had plucked up the courage to visit the Coopers’ home. As she passed her husband’s workshop, she saw him wielding a big hammer and crashing it down on his anvil. But there was no piece of metal beneath his blows. He was just smashing his hammer against his anvil again and again.
Norah sighed and walked on. She would have liked to have gone to him, have tried to comfort him, but there was no reaching out to Len. He would deal with his grief in his own way and entirely on his own. And it sounded as if he would turn his pain into even more resentment against William.
‘Hello, Bess,’ Norah said flatly when her knock at their back door was answered. ‘Is Peggy in? I’ve got bad news.’
‘Aw, lass, no! Not Harold. Tell me it’s not Harold.’
‘I’m afraid it is. He was killed at the Somme.’
‘Come in, Norah, duck. I’ll mek tea for all of us. Peggy’s in the kitchen giving the babby his dinner. She’s breastfeeding him, but you don’t mind that, do ya?’
Norah shook her head and followed Bess.
At the sight of their serious faces, tears welled in Peggy’s eyes. They didn’t even need to speak as she clutched the baby closer to her and began to cry, loud, heartrending sobs. Luke, his mouth dislodged from her breast, began to whimper, his cries mingling with his mother’s until, gently, Bess took him from Peggy and leaned him against her shoulder, patting his back and walking around the kitchen table with him.
They gave Peggy time to calm herself a little until, through her tears, she asked, ‘Is he – is he dead?’
‘I’m so sorry, love, but yes, he is. He was killed a few days ago on the Somme.’
Peggy crossed her arms over her waist as if she had a physical pain there. ‘I don’t want to live any more if he’s not coming back. I want to die. Just let me die . . .’
‘Now, our Peggy, I won’t have such talk,’ Bess said firmly. ‘I know you’ve had a terrible shock, but you’ve this little one to think about and all your family. You’ve got to bring Luke up. Young Harold’s son. Never forget that. We’ll stand by you. We’ve said we will.’
‘And we will too, Peggy,’ Norah said. ‘He’s our grandson too.’ She glanced at Bess as she added, ‘And Harold would have expected you to be strong and look after his son, now wouldn’t he?’
The young girl’s sobs subsided a little, but tears still streaked her face. ‘I’ll always be an unmarried mother now. Luke’ll be so ashamed of me when he grows up. If only Harold had come back and married me.’
‘Don’t fret, love,’ her mother said. ‘It’ll not be easy, but you won’t be the only one to have a bairn by a soldier who’s been killed before he’s had chance to do the decent thing.’
Norah winced at Bess’s words, but said nothing.
‘And besides, you’re still young. Maybe you’ll meet someone . . .’
Peggy shook her head adamantly. ‘I’ll never love anyone else.’
Norah left the Coopers about an hour later, feeling drained.
‘Was it very bad?’ Ma asked.
‘Dreadful. Poor girl’s distraught, but Bess is strong. She’ll pull her through this.’
But who is going to pull me through? Norah thought. I’ll never get over this. A fresh fear clutched at her heart as Ma said, ‘Just let’s hope the others come back safe and sound.’