‘So you see, Amy, we’ll have to suspend the struggle while the war lasts,’ Lavinia told her on the train one morning.
‘I suppose so,’ she said, unwilling to admit her relief. She hoped the war might distract Colonel Fairlawn from his urgent search for the perpetrators of the damage to the pavilion. She was anxious to avoid any similar activity for the foreseeable future.
Two young men in privates’ uniform sat opposite them, presumably on their way to a training centre, or to London to join a troop train. Raindrops were running down the outside of the windows.
‘It seems unpatriotic now to challenge the government,’ Lavinia explained. ‘The Suffragists, our sisters who oppose any kind of civil disobedience, are involved in helping the Belgian refugees. Have you heard Florence is helping with the project in Wealdham?’
‘Yes.’ Amy was impressed with her friend’s commitment. She must find it tiring, helping there as well as training to be a teacher.
‘Some of the Belgians are practically destitute when they arrive. Our women are knitting socks and gloves for them, and collecting second-hand clothes in good condition. Now the weather’s turning colder Florence wants us to set up soup kitchens.’
‘I’m sure I can help with that,’ she said, resolving to play her part.
‘And we can look out for any meaningful activity we can do to support the war effort. It gives us the chance to prove we’re more than fluffy-headed creatures who can’t be trusted to make responsible decisions.’
‘That makes sense.’ Now that Edmond had signed up, it was important that she found some role too.
‘They’re planning to enrol young women into nursing organisations, like the Voluntary Aid Detachment. They may even be sent to casualty clearing stations abroad, near the fighting. I plan to find out about it. I might enrol.’ There was a sparkle of excitement in her dark eyes.
It was bound to interest Lavinia, Amy thought, since her father was a surgeon.
‘Nursing! That would be so worthwhile.’ Already, shockingly, there were reports of young men being killed or injured in Flanders. ‘Do you imagine it’d be difficult? I know nothing about medicine.’
‘I suppose I’ll find out if I enrol. They won’t let anyone near wounded soldiers who doesn’t have some aptitude for the work. You might consider it, but office work is important too, now young men are leaving for the Front.’
‘Let me know if you find out any more about it.’ As they approached their station she got up and buttoned her coat.
‘We must play what part we can in the war. When it’s all over we can go back to promoting our cause again.’
‘Yes – we must do that.’ Now Edmond was involved, Amy felt that ultimately the cause was worthy and she should make some contribution.
They got out at Wealdham. Advancing along the street towards them was a column of soldiers, marching briskly through the drizzle. There was a pride about them, a sense of destiny. She watched them march past, keeping in time, arms swinging jauntily, towards the station, and could not help feeling admiration.
Edmond’s training was taking place some twenty miles away and before long she received a letter from him. The discipline is hard, he wrote, really it’s like being back at school again. We have parades and training in the use of arms. There was a paragraph at the end when he reminded her of their recent meetings with a tenderness which touched her. I’m longing to see you again, he said.
Before long he had weekend leave. On the Sunday he called at her house, smart in his khaki officer’s uniform, and bearing a bunch of pink roses for her. Bertie began to bombard him with questions about his training.
‘You soon find comrades there,’ Edmond said. ‘I knew some of the others at school.’
She put the sweet-smelling flowers in water, then set off with him for a walk. ‘Let’s go uphill towards the forest,’ he said. As they went along the High Street passers-by turned to admire him in his uniform, and she attracted some glances too. They walked to the edge of his family’s land and took the path along the perimeter. To begin with, it was muddy and he held on to her arm so she should not slip over. The path became steeper as they skirted The Beeches. The leaves were turning golden on the birch trees which grew along there, but ahead the commercial plantation remained green as the trees were mostly conifers.
She listened to his account of his new life, trying to gauge how soon his unit might be sent abroad, but it seemed there was no imminent danger of that as he needed to complete his training first. When she thought of the casualties, she could not help hoping the war would come to an end before he could be sent abroad. She read Father’s newspaper most days to follow the progress of the war, and had learnt of the rival armies forming an extended front across much of Belgium and northern France. Sometimes there was talk of a breakthrough, but on other days it seemed the British were barely holding their position.
‘A lot of the men want to be part of the cavalry,’ Edmond was telling her. ‘It’s enjoyable, exercising and parading on the horses, but I’m not sure they’re appropriate for modern day warfare.’
They reached the steepest part of the path and paused as she became a little breathless. There were few people to see them together up there. He took her in his arms and kissed her. His kisses were more lingering now.
‘You’re such a sweet girl,’ he said. ‘I’m so thankful I met you again. I hope the war doesn’t part us for too long.’
She leant her head against his shoulder. That’s what he wants, she thought, a sweet young girl. It’s what he needs, as a soldier planning to fight for his country. Should I try to live up to his illusion of a totally sweet young woman or confront him with who I really am? There’s still the chance that my role in the attack on the pavilion might come to light.
She was tempted to try to keep her secret, but as they continued uphill, he seemed concerned about her.
‘You’re quiet today,’ he said. ‘Is everything all right?’
She concluded it was best to tell him straight away.
‘I’m not always sweet,’ she said, pulling away a little. ‘I have a few ideas of my own, sometimes ones some people regard as shocking.’
His eyebrows rose and he grinned. ‘Go on, shock me.’ They dawdled at the top of the slope, just below the forest. Further down she could see the greyish roof of The Beeches to one side, with the centre of Larchbury beyond, with its remaining clumps of yellowing larch trees on the outskirts.
‘What do you think of the Suffragettes?’ she asked him.
‘I’ve a lot of sympathy for their cause. I’m disturbed when they go on hunger strike and need to be force-fed… So, you’re a supporter?’
At least he did not condemn them or dismiss them as foolish. ‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘But what about their acts of civil disobedience?’ she pursued.
He shrugged. ‘There’s an unfortunate attitude that they’re wild, blue-stocking types, lacking in femininity. It must be hard to have their views held in contempt. I can see how frustrating that must be. I suppose that’s why they feel an urge to take action.’
‘I need to tell you something. Please don’t give me away. There are other women involved besides me.’
They came to a bench facing south towards the view, and he spread his tunic on it as it was damp. ‘Are you actually part of a Suffragette group, Amy?’ he asked as they sat down.
‘Yes.’
The expression in his eyes was soft and sympathetic. ‘In a way, I’d rather you had some views than being an empty-headed creature like Beatrice, my sister. She’s pretty and charming but thinks of little except gowns and hats. She spends her days shopping or at the dressmaker’s and her evenings at parties and balls whenever possible, or playing cards.’
The leaves on a nearby birch were wafting away in the breeze.
‘I was involved in something illegal,’ she admitted.
He searched her face, intrigued. ‘I promise not to tell.’
She confessed her part in the break-in at the pavilion. Whatever would he think of her now? He would have every reason to end their friendship, or even report her to the authorities.
‘Oh, Amy! What a naughty girl you’ve been!’ He was laughing. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny really and you’d be in trouble if you were found out. But I can’t help laughing when I think of Colonel Fairlawn seeing the slogans scrawled in his precious pavilion.’
‘The painted ones are still there, so far as I know. Aren’t you shocked at what I did?’
‘A little surprised, maybe. But it’s not a significant crime. The colonel is so overbearing I like to think of him shaken by the incident. His son Wilfrid was at my school and he was a terrible bully when he was a prefect.’
There was still an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘What would your family say if they knew what I’d done?’
‘I don’t suppose they’d approve. But times are changing gradually.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding.’
‘I’m actually quite proud of you, darling.’ He kissed her again.
‘The Suffragettes mean to suspend their activities during the war.’ Florence, who had come with her and Lavinia to the cricket pavilion, though she had not gone inside, was relieved that no further events of that kind were planned. She had turned her attention to helping the refugees.
‘It’s probably as well. It could be seen as unpatriotic. I’d rather you don’t do anything else risky, at least for a while.’
He actually accepted her stand and almost excused her actions. It drew them even closer.
They got up and began to dawdle back. The sun went in and light rain began but her euphoria lasted during their return journey, until she reached home.
Mother offered Edmond a cup of tea before he returned to The Beeches. Soon he was sitting with them all in their parlour.
‘It’s been good to see you again, Edmond,’ Bertie said. ‘I’ve come to a decision. I’m going to sign up. I hope to become an officer, like you.’
There was a gasp from Mother and Amy saw tears welling into her eyes. She herself was alarmed at the news.
Edmond got up and shook Bertie’s hand. Then he became aware of the atmosphere. ‘I’d better leave for home.’ He thanked them for the tea and Amy showed him out. In the hall, he took her into his arms for a final kiss.
‘Isn’t it bad enough that you want to fight?’ Amy cried when he released her from his embrace. Her feelings were in turmoil.
‘Your brother wants to do his duty,’ he replied gently. He left more abruptly than usual, seeming to sense the family’s impatience to discuss Bertie’s news.
Amy went back into the parlour. In those few steps she realised that she hated the idea of Bertie fighting. He always understands how I feel about women’s rights and supports me, she thought. If only we agreed about the war.
‘No, Bertie, promise me you won’t join up!’ Mother was saying, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.
‘I must play my part,’ he said. As Amy sat down she had seldom seen him so solemn. ‘Most of my class at school are joining up. And Edmond signed up almost straight away.’
Amy’s eyes were filling with tears now, chiefly from the reminder of the perils Edmond would soon face.
‘What about your career in accountancy?’ Mother asked Bertie, catching hold of his arm. ‘You’ll fall behind.’
He won’t care much about that, Amy thought, for he still grumbled to her about enduring boring days in his office. If only he had more inspiring work, to make him unwilling to leave.
‘Tell him he mustn’t do it!’ Mother begged Father.
He had said nothing up to now, but his face sagged. ‘Don’t join up just because it seems like an exciting adventure,’ he told Bertie now. ‘Give it some serious thought.’
‘I already have. I’m going to the recruiting office tomorrow.’
‘It’s your decision, Son,’ Father said slowly. ‘I won’t stand in your way if you’re determined to do your duty.’
Mother was still crying as she went to prepare tea, and Amy hurried after her to help.
‘The refugees have been found temporary homes in a big house left empty when an old lady died,’ Florence explained to Amy as they set out by train to Wealdham. Amy had decided it was high time she joined her friends, and the women, often Suffragists, who were helping the unfortunate Belgians. It was a Sunday when Edmond did not have leave.
‘I joined in last weekend when we collected clothing,’ Florence went on. ‘We’ve been laundering the garments and sorting them, and now we need to take them to the families. It would be lovely if you could help.’ Her light brown hair was tucked beneath her felt hat.
From Wealdham station they walked to a nearby church. In the hall there were baskets of clothing, sorted into bundles with labels indicating whether they were intended for men, women or children, and the size. Two boy scouts helped load several basketsful on to their trek cart and began pushing it through the streets towards the home of the refugees.
‘Be careful!’ Florence told the boys as she picked up stray bundles which had fallen off.
‘The place is just here,’ she said soon, indicating a three-storey house in grey stone and directing the scouts into its drive. ‘You speak some French, don’t you, Amy?’
‘Only what I remember from school.’
When they rang the bell, a stout woman in a dark dress opened the door and beamed at them. ‘You are from the relief people? Please to come in. I am Madame Rousseau. You may unload the clothing parcels and bring them into our common room, if you would be so kind.’ Her English was accented and Amy could barely understand her words.
As they stepped inside there was a hubbub, suggesting several families were crammed into the limited accommodation. The aroma of soup and cabbage came from nearby rooms. Amy and Florence helped the scouts unload the parcels and carry them through to a large front room. Along the hallway, doors were opening and men and women hovering expectantly. Some curious children squeezed to the front, while more timid ones peeped from behind their mothers. Now more families were appearing, craning over the banisters from upstairs.
‘Attendez!’ Madame Rousseau told the others. She seemed to be telling them she would call them when they were ready.
Amy had not known what to expect and it was only now she began to imagine what it might be like to have to flee one’s country. They arranged the bundles according to clothing size on a large table. When they were ready, Madame Rousseau supervised the distribution, using her influence to keep the flow of anxious men and women to a steady trickle.
‘Bonjour Monsieur – bonjour, Madame.’ Florence was greeting them warmly from the end of the table, prepared to talk a little if they hovered and asked for news of the war.
Amy began to do the same. Sometimes it was possible for her to maintain a short dialogue in simple French and occasionally someone could speak English.
‘My husband is in the local hospital,’ a grey-haired woman told her. ‘He was injured in the fighting before we managed to get away. They have set aside a ward in Wealdham hospital for Belgians.’
‘I hope he is making good progress,’ she replied.
Another woman accosted her in a guttural language which was not French. ‘Ah, the English women will not understand you!’ cried her friend, and began translating what was being said. ‘Some of our people speak only Flemish,’ she explained. ‘My friend is trying to tell you how they had to wait at the port for over twenty-four hours before a ship brought them across the Channel.’
Madame Rousseau was trying to keep the column of refugees moving through the room as they claimed their bundles. As the last families reached the common room there were only just enough parcels remaining. Some of the Belgians continued to recount their experiences.
‘Ah, the Boches!’ complained one man, his features distorted in indignation. ‘Destroying out cities, plundering our crops, violating our young women! When will we have our own land back?’
Amy exchanged glances with Florence, moved by what she had heard. Why had the world suddenly gone mad like this?
‘It’s true, what he says,’ Madame Rousseau told them. ‘When our people tried to stop the Germans invading our land they took hostages and shot them.’
Amy shivered. What would happen if the Germans invaded Britain? But that was impossible, surely – they would never succeed in crossing the Channel?
‘We will form our own regiments here and return to liberate Belgium,’ said the man.
‘Some of our young men managed to escape,’ Madame Rousseau went on. ‘If they could not reach the coast they sometimes headed for the Dutch border. There was talk of brave people taking risks to help them, including nuns and nurses.’
It was hard for Amy and Florence to concentrate on giving out the parcels, but at last their task was nearly complete. Madame Rousseau beckoned forward a dark-haired girl of about fourteen. ‘Here, Yolande, see if this skirt looks the right size for you.’ She selected a few clothes for her daughter and herself.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said finally. ‘You have been like angels to us.’
‘We’re trying to collect furniture,’ Florence told her. ‘I hope that will be ready soon.’
‘I hope you’ll soon feel more at home here,’ Amy said as Madame Rousseau accompanied them to the front door. It had been a moving experience, meeting these vulnerable people, and she was determined to continue helping them.
They stepped out into the autumn dusk.