The wind whipped among the spiky black buds of the ash trees, but the crowd gathered round them was well wrapped up in the uncertain March weather. Even those in wheelchairs, with blankets round their knees and muffled in scarves and gloves, ignored the cold and waited expectantly.
Mary Bryson sat in her chair, surrounded by her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Rose Carson had Rachel on one side and Nick Potter on the other. Peter Davies and his wife stood between the two trees on the extreme left, and Cecily Strong was with her niece, Harriet, beside the tree on the right. There was a murmur of conversation as the small groups gathered, and more people walked across the green to join the growing crowd.
Rachel had worked long and hard tracing the families of the men on the church memorial and had reasonable success. Only the family of Corporal Gerald Winters were not represented, and, try as she might, Rachel had been unable to trace them. Sergeant Hapgood’s family still lived in Belcaster, and his great nephew, Paul Hapgood, had been fascinated to hear that one of the Ashgrove trees, which had caused such a stir in the paper recently, commemorated his grandfather’s brother.
“I shall certainly attend the dedication of the stones,” he had written to Rachel in reply to her invitation.
She traced Alfred Chapman’s family through the parish records, discovering that his daughter Jane had indeed married a man from Belmouth, as Cecily had thought, and, though she had died just a year ago, her three sons and one daughter were alive and well, and living in Belmouth. They would all like to be there for the service. Rachel’s greatest triumph was finding the descendants of Freddie Hurst. His daughter, Adelaide, had been adopted by her stepfather and had taken his name, but his surname, Anson-Gravetty, had been unusual enough for her to pick up the trail, and Adelaide’s grandson James Auckland was standing with his wife in the gathering crowd.
Under each tree was a small wedge of granite, engraved with the name and dates of the man it commemorated and hooded with a canvas cover. As part of his public relations exercise, Mike Bradley had agreed that Brigstock Jones should donate the stones and Rachel had researched them all with the War Graves Commission, to ensure each was correctly engraved. The crowd was swollen with people who had come out from Belcaster, the press, and not just the Belcaster Chronicle. The national press had latched on to the stories that Rachel had been telling each week in the paper and had come to see the dedication of the stones for the famous Ashgrove for themselves. Mike Bradley was there, with Tim Cartwright from Brigstock Jones, making sure any favourable publicity going came their way, and to add to the solemnity of the occasion, all the workers on the embryo building site beyond the trees ceased work and came over to watch the ceremony.
The buzz of conversation died away as the rector, Adam Skinner, came across the green, in cassock and surplice, and the service of dedication began. It was not long, there was an introductory prayer, a simple explanation of why they were there, and then he went to each stone, removed its canvas cover and read aloud the soldier’s name. As he reached the tree off centre at the back, Rachel gripped her grandmother’s hand. The rector drew off the cover, and there for the first time, with tears in their eyes, they saw the stone with the simple inscription,
PRIVATE THOMAS CARTER
1ST BELSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRY
1893–1916
Rachel leaned down and kissed her grandmother on the cheek and whispered, “He’ll never be forgotten now.”
They joined in the Lord’s Prayer and then Freddie’s great-grandson read the Laurence Binyon poem. As he read the final lines
“At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them”
the crowd echoed the words “We will remember them”, before a bugler played the Last Post, followed by two minutes’ silence.
When the ceremony was over, Nick took Rose back to the manor while Rachel did her journalist bit on the village green. He had moved in three weeks before, having made the kitchen useable and two other rooms habitable, and was camping out as the necessary work on the house was done. Wombat gave them an ecstatic greeting, and jumped up on to Rose’s knee, sure of his welcome. He and Rose had become old friends.
“How are you coping?” Rose asked Nick, as he brought her a cup of tea. They, too, were comfortable together, their friendship having grown over the months he and Rachel had been together.
“Not too badly,” Nick said. “In some ways I’d have preferred to have got a bit more done before I moved, but Bradley needed the access to the building site. Still,” he smiled, “I love the house and I’m glad to be living in it.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Do you think Rachel might live in it with me, one day?” So far her independence had demanded that she keep her own flat.
Rose laughed. “Don’t ask me,” she said, “ask her!”
“Oh, I will,” Nick assured her with a grin.
When Rachel got back to the house almost an hour later she was flushed and excited. She had spoken to all the families who were connected with a memorial tree and had arranged proper interviews with the few whom she had only met for the first time that day.
She flopped down in an armchair and said, “It went well, don’t you think? The Ashgrove is a real memorial again, now.” She smiled at the two favourite people in her life and went on, “And I’ve more news, two letters came today,” she said. “Perfect timing!”
“Who from,” asked Rose.
“One’s from the convent at St Croix. You know I wrote to them, Gran, about Sarah? Listen I’ll read it to you.” Rachel extracted a letter from her bag and read,
7th March 2002
Dear Miss Elliott,
Thank you for you letter of enquiry about Sister Marie-Pierre. I am sorry to take so long to respond. She joined our Sisters in 1917. In 1938 she was elected Reverend Mother. During the Nazi occupation in the war, she sheltered many Jewish children in the convent and in 1943 she was arrested by the Gestapo and sent to a camp. She was never heard of again and we can only imagine that she died continuing the Lord’s work there.
Our numbers are small now, but we too continue in the Lord’s work, looking after the elderly.
With prayers and blessings
Marie-Therese
Mother Superior
Convent of Our Lady of Mercies
Rachel looked up at them, bright-eyed. “So, you see, Sarah was an unsung heroine in both wars,” she said. “She must have been very brave don’t you think? Now that I know the end of it, I can write her story. If he knew what she had achieved, I don’t think Sir George would have been disappointed in her after all, do you?”
“No,” agreed her grandmother. “I think he’d have been proud of her.” She smiled at the eager Rachel and asked, “Who was the other letter from, then? You’re obviously very pleased with that one as well.”
Rachel beamed at her and produced the other letter saying, “This is the other one, and it affects us more. You know I told you I wrote to the Belshires’ Regimental Archivist about Tom? Well, his reply came today as well. Listen. ”
10th March 2002
Dear Miss Elliott,
Thank you for your letter of the 25th February. I was very interested in what you had to tell us about Private 8523241 Thomas Carter of the 1st Battalion, Belshires. Of course, we knew of his execution in 1916 from our regimental records. In view of the move to obtain pardons for men shot for desertion and cowardice during the 1914–18 war, and in line with other regiments, we have already restored his name to the Regimental Roll of Honour. We are delighted to hear that he will also be commemorated in the Charlton Ambrose War Memorial Ashgrove, and that his daughter, Mrs Rose Carson will be at that ceremony.
Yours sincerely
David Hobart
Curator of the Belshire Regimental Archives
“So,” Rachel said, “all we need now is a pardon from the government.” Smiling at the surprise on the faces of Nick and her grandmother, she went on, “There’s a campaign already up and running, called the Shot at Dawn campaign, which is working for just that, and I’m going to join it. That’s what we need, a pardon for Tom and all the others like him.” And looking at the determination in her face, Nick knew she would never give up until she had got it.
THE END
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