Tommy and Octavia bickered all the way to the theatre. And all through the interval. And all through a rather good dinner, which they wasted. And all the way back to his flat, where being alone at last they exploded into a full-scale quarrel.
‘Dash it all, Tavy,’ he said, as he opened the door, ‘what’s the matter with you? I thought you wanted to marry me. I came hotfoot to London. You’ve no idea what a journey it was. Hotfoot. And I saw your father the very first thing. I couldn’t have done it better if I’d tried. I thought you’d be grateful.’
‘I am,’ Octavia said, throwing her hat and gloves in the nearest chair.
‘You’re not. How can you say that? You turned me down. In front of your own father. I said August and you turned me down.’
‘I didn’t turn you down,’ Octavia said, unbuttoning her coat. ‘Don’t exaggerate. I said a bit later. That’s all. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ he said, furiously. ‘You get a bona fide proposal and you call it a molehill. A molehill! That just shows you don’t want to marry me.’
‘Yes I do,’ Octavia said, throwing her coat across the chair. ‘I keep telling you. I do. It’s just that I want to go on teaching too. I thought you’d understand that at least. It’s important to me.’
‘Oh yes,’ he mocked, ‘I can see that, all right. It’s more important to you than I am.’
‘No it’s not. I didn’t say that.’
‘Yes it is. You think about it. If I was important to you you’d marry me. You wouldn’t put me off and say “later, later, later” all the time. You’d say “yes, Tommy, August would be ticketty-boo”.’
‘I don’t say ticketty-boo. It’s childish.’
‘Don’t split hairs,’ Tommy said. ‘You know what I mean.’ He was shivering and that annoyed him too. ‘What’s the matter with this damned place? It’s like ice in here. What’s happened to that damned fire? They were supposed to keep it in for us. Oh God! I wish I’d never come back.’
Octavia went to look at the fire, glad of a chance to move away from the quarrel. ‘It’s still alight,’ she said. ‘I’ll fix it if you like. Have you got a newspaper?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ he said crossly. ‘I don’t light fires.’
She looked behind the coal scuttle and found a copy of the Daily Herald. It wasn’t really big enough but it would have to do. At least it fitted over the grate. She held it there tightly to draw the embers back to life, while Tommy watched her and scowled. It took a few minutes before the coals began to roar and by then the centre of the paper was turning brown.
‘Drop it, Tavy!’ Tommy said, growing anxious at her daring. ‘You’ve done enough now. Drop it. I don’t want you burning yourself.’
She held on a little longer. ‘Give it time to take,’ she said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ And with that, the newspaper burst into flames.
He’d snatched it from her hands, thrown it on the hearth and was stamping on it before she could catch her breath. And then she was in his arms and being kissed with such relief and passion that she was breathless all over again. ‘Come to bed,’ he begged. ‘I’ve missed you so much. Don’t let’s quarrel any more. Come to bed.’
So it was a happy homecoming after all, if a trifle sooty. Afterwards as they lay warmly together in their familiar bed while their once recalcitrant fire burnt strongly as if to make up for its earlier shortcomings, they put their quarrel behind them, talked like the married couple they were to be and gradually found a compromise. He said he couldn’t understand for the life of him why she should want to go on teaching but could see that she did. She told him that she knew quite well that he wanted to marry her in August and in ordinary circumstances that’s when she would have married him but she did so hope he would wait a little while longer. And eventually they agreed that Easter 1915 would be a sensible time. It didn’t really satisfy either of them, of course, but they were both love calmed by then, and wise enough to know that mutual dissatisfaction is the nature of a compromise.
‘We’ll buy the ring tomorrow,’ Tommy said, as they got dressed ready for her return home. On this at least he could get his own way.
* * *
It was a rather grand diamond and he gave it to her at the start of their party on New Year’s Eve, to the assembled delight of their relations, who’d been rather surprised to hear that the wedding wasn’t until the Easter after next and had spent the first part of the party telling one another how odd it was to have such a long delay.
‘I mean,’ Mrs Meriton said to Amy, ‘it isn’t as if there’s anything to stop them, when all’s said and done. I can’t think why they’re being so long-winded about it.’
But it was a splendid party, they were all agreed on that, and when Tommy and Octavia kissed one another at the stroke of midnight, right there in the middle of the room before them all, they were misty eyed at the romance of it. ‘Long life and happiness,’ they called as they drank their champagne and were confident that there was nothing that could possibly stand in the way of either.
The next evening in the House of Commons David Lloyd George gave a speech in which he described the build up of armaments in Western Europe as ‘organised insanity’. Few newspapers reported it and, even if they had, the partygoers wouldn’t have paid any attention to it. They were too busy discussing the party over dinner or were lurking in their rooms nursing the remains of their champagne hangovers. The governments Lloyd George was castigating ignored him too and went on amassing guns and bullets, and training soldiers to use them.
In March, while Octavia’s pupils were cheerfully colouring in pictures of wild flowers and Tommy was moping in the embassy in Belgrade, miserable for lack of her, the Russian government announced that their standing army was to be increased from 460,000 to 1,700,000; Admiral von Tirpitz declared that the German navy had ordered fourteen new warships and, not to be outdone, Mr Winston Churchill, the first lord of the admiralty, asked the British government for two and a half million pounds to speed up the production of battleships and aircraft. The race to war was gathering momentum.
It began on a sunny day at the end of June in an obscure corner of the Balkans, just as Tommy had predicted it would, and two rapid pistol shots were enough to set it off. The first was aimed at the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, who was heir to the throne of the great Austro-Hungarian empire, and was visiting Sarajevo as its southernmost outpost. It hit him in the neck and killed him ten minutes later. The second killed his wife instantly with a wound to the stomach.
For several days there was confusion, as rumours circulated, were contradicted and reiterated. The assassin had made no attempt to get away, had been arrested immediately and said he’d carried out the killings to avenge ‘the oppression of the Serbian people’. It was rumoured that he was a member of a secret society of Serbian army officers called the Black Hand. In Berlin, the Kaiser made a point of reaffirming the strength of the German alliance with Austria; in St Petersburg, the French president arrived to visit the Czar; in Vienna, students took to the streets to demonstrate against the Serbs and to demand vengeance; there was confusion and anger throughout the Austro-Hungarian empire from Prague to Sarajevo.
Three weeks later, Austria broke off diplomatic relations with Serbia and in rapid succession, the Serbian army was mobilised, and the British embassy in Belgrade was cut down to a skeleton staff. Two days later Tommy was back in his flat in London and that afternoon he was sitting outside Bridge Street School in a swanky new car waiting for Octavia to finish work and come out and join him. Her pupils were owl-eyed at the sight of him and deeply impressed when she climbed into the car and they drove off together.
‘I shall never hear the end of this,’ she laughed, looking back to wave at them. They were standing in the road to watch her go but were too overawed to wave back. ‘They thought my ring was wealth enough, now they’ll think I’m royalty.’
‘So you are. To me anyway.’
‘Oh, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said. ‘I thought I was going to have to wait until we broke up. Are you home for good?’
‘So they tell me. Till the war ends anyway.’
‘So there is going to be a war?’
‘Looks like it,’ he said, laconically. ‘Foregone conclusion as far as I can see. They’re mobilising all over Europe. Got my commission last week.’
She was aghast. ‘What do you mean, got your commission? You’re not in the army.’
‘Am now, old thing,’ he said.
‘But why?’
‘Time of war,’ he said. ‘It’s expected of a chap. It’s what you do.’
‘But you might get hurt.’
‘Tell you what,’ he said, turning the car and the conversation equally deftly, ‘what say we go to the music hall tonight? I don’t fancy the theatre.’
She didn’t fancy the music hall much either. It was too light hearted for her sober mood. But she didn’t argue. It was enough to sit beside him in the dusty stalls and sing the familiar songs. She could find out about the commission later.
She found out at the end of the week, when he told her with the studied flippancy that she was beginning to recognise as a mask for something serious, that he had ‘to pop off to Salisbury plain for a spot of training’. She was very upset for by then there was no doubt that war was imminent. Every day brought fresh news – now fully reported in every newspaper – of another ultimatum, another threat, more mobilisation. People were jittery with the uncertainty of it.
On July 28th Austria declared war on Serbia and the next day the Czar responded by mobilising his enormous army. On July 30th Kaiser Wilhelm sent the Czar an ultimatum saying that Germany would mobilise too unless Russia stopped its own mobilisation at once. The threat was ignored and the mobilisation continued. Things were now moving almost too quickly to be reported, diplomatic messages being sent between the great powers one after the other. The Kaiser contacted Paris asking what the French government intended to do, and having received no reassurance from that quarter, promptly declared war on Russia; the Royal Navy was mobilised; the Italian government declared its neutrality; and London sent a message to the Kaiser pledging to ‘guarantee Belgian neutrality and protect the French coasts’. But it was already too late. On August 4th the German army invaded Belgium and by the end of the day Britain and Germany were at war.
From that moment everything changed. It was as if a fever had passed, or an ugly boil been lanced. The long months of anxiety and uncertainty were over. The war had begun, the time for action and decision had come. Now it was all excitement and a joyous, uplifting, wonderful sense of relief and importance. Crowds came out onto the streets to shout and cheer.
In Paris they thronged the Boulevard Haussmann from the Opera House to the Place de la Republique, throwing their hats into the summer air and shouting ‘A Berlin! A Berlin!’ as though they were ready to march on the enemy there and then. In London they gathered in Parliament Square to hear the declaration, their summer boaters bobbing like pale flowers above the green lawn of the central garden, or they marched down the Mall, waving paper flags, as though it was the Jubilee all over again, and stood before the gates of Buckingham Palace, flushed with patriotic fervour, singing ‘God Save the King!’ Oh, what splendid times to live in! Every day brought a new thrill.
Within days, young men were volunteering in their thousands all over Great Britain, glad of the chance to leave their dull lives and prove themselves heroes. Everybody said the war was going to be short and decisive, ‘over by Christmas’ according to Sir John French, so they had to be quick about it. By the time Tommy returned from his training, in the full uniform of a second lieutenant and looking extremely handsome, the British army had doubled in size, the British Expeditionary Force had landed in France and the war was under way.
He got back just in time for a celebration. Cyril and Podge had enlisted on the first day of the war and their proud parents had followed their training day by day, commiserating with them for the lack of tents and provisions and consoling their impatience as the weeks grumbled past. Now they were organising a family party to give them a proper send-off.
‘Such good brave boys,’ Maud said to her sister. ‘Heroes, the pair of them.’
Amy was sorting out a pile of bunting, which was in such a tangle it was harder work than she expected. She had to pause for a minute to catch her breath. It was something she often had to do those days. ‘You will miss them when they go,’ she said.
‘Oh, I shall,’ Maud agreed. ‘But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m so proud of them. Especially when they’re in uniform. They look so splendid! They wear it all the time you know, even when they’re on leave.’
‘So does Tommy,’ Amy said. ‘And you’re right, it does make them look handsome.’
‘Do you think we ought to invite his parents?’ Maud asked. ‘Tommy’s I mean. Now he’s home. After all, he is part of the family and he’ll come to the party, won’t he? It would be rather nice. A combined send-off.’
So the guest list was extended to include Tommy’s family and friends, and extra catering was ordered, and even though it all had to be done in a matter of days, it was a great success. By then Tommy’s brother James had enlisted too, so there were four soldiers to be petted and toasted and told they were heroes, even if young Jimmy wasn’t in uniform yet. In fact, they had so much champagne urged upon them that Podge, who wasn’t used to quite so much praise nor quite so much alcohol, became incoherent and giggly. When the time came to make a speech he could barely manage a sentence and every word in it was slurred, although he was applauded to the echo. And Jimmy was little better, saying, ‘Thank you. Most kind. King and country and all that,’ and then sinking back into his seat to happy cheers and laughter.
Having reached the maturity of twenty-six, Cyril and Tommy could take as much drink as they were offered and still retain their eloquence. Tommy thanked his guests for their good wishes and told them he considered himself the luckiest man alive to be part of the great British army and to have persuaded Octavia to be his wife, ‘which took some doing, I can tell you!’ Cyril surprised everybody by quoting poetry.
‘It’s a sonnet by Rupert Brooke,’ he told them. ‘You know. The feller from Cambridge. Jolly good stick by all accounts. Anyway here it is. I think it speaks for us all.’ And he cleared his throat and began.
‘Now God be thanked who has matched us with His hour
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping
With hand made sure, clear eye and sharpened power
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary.’
It was done with such style that his guests broke into admiring applause. ‘Bravo that man!’ they called. ‘Well said!’
‘I don’t mind telling you,’ he admitted, a touch bashfully. ‘It speaks for me too. I was getting to be absolutely stifled in the bank before this happened. Sorry about that, Pater, but it’s the truth. Banks are a dashed good idea and all that but they ain’t for everyone. I feel like a free man now. Absolutely top hole. Off to do my duty and show the Hun what’s what. They may think they’ve got everything going their way, invading poor little Belgium and all that rot, but you wait till we get there. It’ll be a different story then.’
That was applauded too. ‘That’s the style!’ his guests called. ‘You show ’em, Squirrel!’
‘Didn’t I tell you he was a hero,’ Maud said to her sister. ‘My dear brave boy.’
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ her hero went on. ‘If there are any chaps out there who haven’t enlisted yet, you’d better tell ’em to jump to it or it’ll all be over before they’re trained. I give it till Christmas.’
Later that evening when the drinking and dancing were done, Tommy walked Octavia home across the quiet heath. They strolled together in the moonlight, dreamily, his arm about her waist, stopping for kisses that roused them to the sharpest desires, kissing again and again, aching and unsatisfied.
‘You will come to the flat tomorrow,’ he urged.
‘Yes,’ she said between kisses. ‘Yes. Of course, my darling, darling.’
‘If we were married we could go there now,’ he complained. ‘All this observing the proprieties is such a bore.’
‘I know,’ she soothed. It wasn’t the time or the place to argue, for the heath was tranquil about them and the western sky already greened by the approach of dawn. Trees and bushes rustled in a sudden breeze as if they were sharing secrets, the grass was dappled with mysterious shadow, the white stars studded in their familiar patterns, aloof and watchful.
‘Will it be over by Christmas?’ she asked.
He was kissing her neck and in thrall to sensation, so it took him a minute to answer. ‘Who can tell?’ he said. ‘Wars ain’t predictable.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I prefer not to think about it at all,’ he said. ‘I’d rather take you to bed and love you all night.’
‘There’s not much of the night left now,’ she told him. And teased, ‘You’re running out of time.’
He was suddenly and unnervingly serious. ‘We’re all running out of time,’ he said, bitterly. ‘That’s the truth of it. Squirrel and Podge and me, all of us; running out of time, running away from our homes and the people we love, running, all of us, running headlong into a war and we don’t know what it will do to us, or what we shall see, or anything about it. Blind fools, the lot of us.’
She was riven with pity for him, remembering that dreadful massacre and how she’d felt when she heard about it. He was right. It was all very well people saying it would all be over in sixth months but how could they possibly know? War was unpredictable. He was right about that too. There was no knowing what he would have to face in France, no knowing how monstrous the battles would be – and there were bound to be battles. It occurred to her that she was being selfish, thinking of herself and her job when he was going away to war. She ought to have agreed to marry him in August and not made him wait till Easter. Maybe she ought to do it anyway, now, quickly, before he leaves, while there’s still time.
He was walking on, his arm still round her waist, as the trees whispered above them. I will speak to Papa, she decided, and see what he advises. Tomorrow, at breakfast.
Sunday breakfast at South Hill Park was always a leisurely meal, with plenty of time to read the papers and discuss the news. J-J said it was the one moment in the week when they could relax and be themselves. ‘When I retire,’ he promised, ‘we shall have Sunday breakfast every day of the week. How will that suit you?’
‘I shall be married by then,’ Octavia told him, making her opportunity. ‘In fact, to tell you the truth, I’m beginning to wonder whether I ought to be married now.’
‘Now?’ her father asked, laughing. ‘Today do you mean?’
‘Before he goes to France.’
Her mother was alarmed. ‘Don’t think I’m trying to discourage you, my darling,’ she said, ‘but it would give us very little time to prepare. We would do it of course, if that is what you truly want, but it’s very short notice.’
Her father was looking at her quizzically. ‘I thought you had decided on next Easter,’ he said. ‘Is this a change of heart?’
She answered him seriously ‘No, Pa,’ she said. ‘A change of obligation. He is going to war and I’m staying here. I shall be safe at home and he’ll be in the thick of it. He could be wounded – or even killed.’ It made her shudder to think of it. ‘Perhaps I ought to marry him before he goes. It’s what he wants.’
J-J became serious too. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘But what of your work in the school?’
‘That is the problem.’
He considered for a few minutes before he spoke again. Then he said, ‘Would you be happy to leave it now? Have you achieved all that you hoped to?’
‘Oh no,’ Octavia said earnestly. ‘I’ve barely begun. I’ve learnt a great deal over the year but there is so much more I need to know.’ And as her father’s expression was encouraging her, she began to elaborate, exploring ideas as they came into her mind. ‘There are so many educational practices I don’t understand. For example, why do we tell children the same things over and over again and make them learn everything by heart? The other teachers say it’s because children can’t learn without endless repetition and reinforcement, but that isn’t true. I know it isn’t. When they’re happy in what they’re doing, they learn easily and only need telling once – or at most twice. I’ve seen it on so many occasions.’
The pins were falling out of her hair, as they always did when she was agitated but she didn’t notice. It was such a relief to be able to speak like this. She’d never been able to tell Tommy what she felt about teaching. He’d never seemed interested. He was a darling and she loved him passionately but he didn’t care about her work at all. Now with her father’s intelligent face approving what she was saying, her ideas pressed in upon her so hard she could barely contain them. ‘And there’s another thing,’ she said. ‘Why do people think it’s necessary to shout at children so much? You don’t have to shout at them. When they’re happy they will listen to a whisper. There are times when I think the others just want to punish the poor little things, they shout so much and cane them for so little. You would hardly believe what small transgressions merit the stick. But then again, to imagine teachers as sadistic is rather harsh. Too harsh to be acceptable, anyway. I have to admit that. Sometimes I suspect that they’re just doing what they’ve always done, without thinking about it. And they should think about it. If I could find a way to make them think, I should have lived to some purpose.’
There was a strand of hair in her mouth and she stopped to remove it. ‘But then there are other matters too. Most of our children are underfed and poorly clothed, many are ill. They have head lice and adenoids and toothache. When the weather’s bad they cough all the time. And they truant. If they’re girls and their mother goes to work they have to stay at home to look after the little ’uns. If they’re boys and their father is working he takes them along as an extra pair of hands. And who can blame him? They need the money. Mr Shaw is quite right. We should be attending to all their needs, for food and clothing and somewhere to live, not just making them chant their tables. And that’s another thing…’
‘Stop! Stop!’ J-J begged, holding up both hands in mock alarm. ‘You are making my head spin.’
‘Yes…well…’ Octavia said and grimaced at him. ‘I’m sorry, Pa. I have gone on a bit but you did ask me.’
‘You have answered my question,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think so?’
It was true. She had. Her work was too important to her to be left. But knowing it didn’t stop her feeling selfish and when Tommy’s embarkation leave was over and she went to Victoria station to wave him goodbye, she felt worse than she’d ever felt in her life. She stood on the platform among all the other wives and mothers, watching as the long train snaked away from her, khaki arms waving from every window and grieved to think how badly she had treated him. My poor dear Tommy, she thought. I should have married you. I was wrong to put the school first.