Remembrance Read online

  ‘But it’ll never actually replace the horse,’ declared Mr Dundas.

  ‘Too expensive,’ said John Malcolm. ‘There was a six-cylinder Siddeley-Deasey advertised in the Glasgow Herald last week. A thousand pounds! Who has that amount of money?’

  ‘Only Royalty could afford that,’ said Mrs Dundas.

  Everyone took a turn to sit in the driver’s seat and admire the upholstery.

  ‘It looks very complicated,’ said John Malcolm, studying the controls with his brother Alex.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Francis. ‘Even Charlotte can almost understand it.’

  Charlotte pinched his arm. ‘Don’t be so superior, brother dear. Isn’t it time we were off?’

  Francis took the hint. ‘Ladies in the back, gentlemen in the front,’ he declared. ‘It will give you some protection from the breeze,’ he added as he handed the two girls into the car.

  As Margaret Dundas stepped onto the running board and then settled herself down, Charlotte was pleased to note that she was wearing a blue box-pleated dress not dissimilar to her own. Maggie, who had decided for her brother’s sake to take part in this with good grace, bestowed on Charlotte a determined smile. Charlotte smiled happily back.

  John Malcolm put their picnic basket, a rug and a parasol in the stowage space behind. The small group waved them off.

  As they passed through the village, Alex was allowed to honk the horn loudly, despite the fact that the only object in the way was a grey and white cat leisurely crossing the street.

  Chapter 5

  FRANCIS TOOK THE road into the hills and soon the pastureland dropped away behind them. As the car climbed higher they could see forest and loch below them and wild moorland above.

  Charlotte leaned forward and tapped her brother on the shoulder. ‘Do you think you could capture this on canvas?’ she shouted above the noise of the engine. It was quite beautiful, thought Charlotte, and real. Not a painting, nor a photograph, nor one of the pretty picture postcards that people sent to each other nowadays, but a living landscape that she could see and smell. The trouble in Europe had prevented Charlotte from taking her promised Cultural Tour abroad, and she longed to see all the things Francis had seen at her age. He had told her of the sculptures in Greece, the buildings in Italy, and the paintings in France which reflected the grandeur of nature and inspired his own work. But she was able to experience some of that glory right here, thought Charlotte, looking around her. She felt elated merely by being young and alive among such beauty and promise.

  They stopped in the hills by the side of the road and unpacked the baskets.

  ‘Across that stile, I think,’ said Francis, ‘and if we follow the path we should come to a small river.’

  They set out their picnic by the edge of the water, spreading the rugs under a large tree. John Malcolm tied twine round the bottles of ale and lemonade and sank them in the water to cool them. Alex had brought some sailboats that his father had made and they all tried, without much success, to sail them on the water.

  Charlotte gave up first. ‘It’s far too hot,’ she said. ‘I’m going to sit in the shade under the tree.’

  Not very long after she was joined by John Malcolm. He took off his jacket and stretched out beside her on the grass. ‘I didn’t want you to be lonely off here all by yourself,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come and join you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t spoil your game on my account,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m quite happy here on my own.’

  ‘So …’ he looked at her carefully, ‘you’d rather I went away again?’

  She twirled her parasol and studied him from under her lashes. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she replied softly.

  He rolled over onto his stomach so that he was gazing up at her. In her cream dress with the dappled light of the green leaves behind her he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He looked down at the grass and then up at her again. ‘Shall I make you a daisy chain?’

  She folded her parasol and put it aside. ‘I haven’t seen a daisy chain for such a long time. Can you really make one?’

  ‘Easiest thing in the world.’

  They were both soon laughing at his clumsy attempts to slot the slender stems together. Eventually Charlotte took it from him and they sat side by side, heads close together, while she showed him how to do it.

  He is very handsome, she thought, as she stole little glances at him from time to time. His face was set in concentration as he followed her instructions, the strong tanned fingers among the fragile petals.

  ‘There!’ he said at last. ‘Now, how do you join both ends together?’

  ‘Ah, that is the tricky part …’ said Charlotte. She put her fingers over his and gently drew the last stem opening over the first flower head.

  There was a long pause. They could hear shouts of laughter from the riverbank but they seemed far away.

  He caressed her fingers gently. ‘You seem so delicate … and serene, and … and … I don’t know … good.’ He raised her fingers to his lips.

  Charlotte’s heart was like a caged bird, her mind was in confusion. This was more than flirting, she must be falling in love. How fortunate she was that her feelings for John Malcolm seemed to be returned by him. He took the daisy chain and wound it round her wrist.

  They both looked towards the water as the shouts of laughter grew louder. Maggie’s boat was sinking and its line was trailing in the water out of reach. Francis had taken off his socks and shoes and having rolled up his trouser legs was gallantly wading out to rescue it.

  ‘Is it very strange having a sister as a twin?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Maggie’s a good sort. She works very hard, in the shop and looking after the house,’ said John Malcolm. ‘We argue a lot, but she’s a great pal.’

  Charlotte thought about her and Francis. They were close, too, but in a different way. He looked out for her as his little sister, but she didn’t really have a friend, a ‘pal’ to use John Malcolm’s word.

  Francis had reached the boat and was now holding it triumphantly above his head. Maggie cheered and clapped loudly. Alex had taken his boots and socks off and had joined Francis in the water. John Malcolm scrambled to his feet.

  ‘My mother will have fourteen fits if he falls in,’ he told Charlotte. ‘They were both very ill when he was born, and she still worries about him a lot.’ He ran down to the water’s edge.

  Charlotte leaned her back against the tree and watched the rescue attempt as John Malcolm called to his young brother to come ashore. Maggie came to join her and together they unwrapped the sandwiches of cold meat, tomato and egg. Charlotte chatted easily as they set out the napkins and the cutlery.

  It’s shining out of her, Maggie thought as she helped put out the food: cheese and pickles, baps and buttered scones, fruit and apple pie. She had noticed the two heads close together earlier; her brother’s dark curls a foil for the girl’s soft blond hair. She tried to put her feelings of annoyance aside. Why should they not be happy together? An awful thought occurred to her. Was this jealousy she was feeling?

  John Malcolm, now barefoot, was capering about in the water with Francis and Alex. Eventually he grabbed Alex and swung him across his shoulders and marched towards them. He was laughing as he tumbled his brother down onto the grass beside them.

  ‘One bag of coal delivered.’

  Maggie laughed too then. Surrounded by their happiness she could not help herself.

  The boys dried off in the sun as they ate their picnic, and it was Alex who heard it first. He had wandered back down to skim stones across the water, while Francis sketched and they all talked of what they might do in an ideal world.

  They got to their feet when they heard Alex shouting. He was pointing to the sky and jumping up and down.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Maggie, shading her eyes and squinting at the sun.

  The noise, at first an indistinct buzzing, rapidly became louder until both earth and sky were filled with an almighty roar
ing. The two girls clapped their hands over their ears.

  ‘It’s a flying machine!’ yelled Alex. He was waving and yelling at the top of his voice.

  The pilot must have caught sight of them and took the chance to show off. He banked, turned and flew back over their heads. His face was hidden by helmet and goggles but they could see him wave to them quite clearly. Then, gaining height, he did a graceful loop the loop, waggled his wings and was gone.

  The sky was empty and quiet. Alex could hardly contain himself.

  ‘That’s what I’m going to be when I am older, a flyer.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell our ma that just yet,’ advised Maggie. ‘Anyway it’s probably one of those inventions that’ll come to nothing. It doesn’t look safe to me, all cardboard and bits of string.’

  ‘I don’t know …’ said Francis. He closed over his sketch-book. ‘I’ve been to an air show at Hendon in England, and they are developing all the time.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose being at war pushes the need for improvements forward.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ cried Alex enthusiastically. ‘I could have a great big aeroplane and put lots of bombs in it, and then fly over the enemy and drop the bombs on top of them. I hope the War isn’t over by the time I grow up.’

  Charlotte looked anxiously at Francis. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything out of place. Alex was still a boy, barely fourteen at most, excited at seeing an aeroplane.

  ‘I’m tired of sitting still for so long,’ she said quickly. ‘I brought racquets and a ball. Shall we play a game?’

  They returned home just as twilight was falling. The headlamps of the car cut a bright beam across the road, and although Alex honked the horn at every corner the only traffic they met was a herd of cows sauntering lazily along the road. The old herdsman touched his forehead as they passed. Then he shook his head and stood gazing down the dusty road after them.

  ‘Do you realize something?’ Charlotte said to Francis as they unpacked the picnic basket in the kitchen. ‘We managed to spend a whole day in company and we hardly discussed the War at all.’

  That night she slept with a daisy chain under her pillow.

  Chapter 6

  BUT AS THE days shortened in the weeks that followed it became impossible not to talk about the War. It had now become part of everyday life. Collection tins stood on the counters of all the shops. Churches and schools were used as centres for donations of food, clothing and gifts to send to the men at the Front. Children were encouraged to write letters and send sweets to their soldier friends. Women ripped out old jumpers and gathered the wool to knit scarves, gloves and socks. Charlotte’s mother and her friends ran tea afternoons, charging guests one shilling to attend and taking it in turns to entertain. Annie often helped out on these occasions, and enjoyed the idea that she was doing something for her boys. Rory and Ewan were now in France and had written home to say that they expected to be sent forward soon. Mrs Armstrong-Barnes’s sister wrote from Belfast with news of her own children. All the girls were involved in some kind of nursing, and her sons, Connor and Phelan, had both obtained commissions and joined their father in the Irish Guards. Nothing had been said openly in the house about Francis’s lack of involvement but Charlotte knew that her mother was uncomfortable that he was not serving in any capacity.

  The casualty lists grew each day, and as they grew, so did the army’s need for more men. Special newspapers and posters were printed and circulated, urging young men to join up. Factories and shops posted leaflets encouraging workers to enlist, and huge billboards shrieked out the message: ‘Join up! The safety of our Empire is in your hands!’ Newspapers had photographs of Glasgow trams carrying adverts for women conductors, the first city in Britain to do so. In the shop Maggie glanced at these, and wondered at the sudden reversal of public opinion. Previously, it was frowned upon if a woman worked outside the home, and if they did, they were restricted to certain types of occupation. Now, they were being implored to take jobs to release men and enable them to enlist! Wives and girlfriends were told that the safety of their homes and children depended on them sending their men to fight for King and Country. ‘Tell them to go!’ said one poster. ‘When the War is over and your husband or son is asked “What did you do in the great War?” – is he to hang his head in shame because you would not let him go?’

  Charlotte was working more days and longer hours at the hospital, so Francis often walked alone to the village in the late afternoon to buy a newspaper. The jingoistic tones of the headlines contrasting with the constant news of death lowered his spirits. He felt helpless in the face of what he saw as some desperate intent by civilization to destroy itself, and absented himself from the house before any visitors were due to arrive, spending long hours in the library, or walking the hills, sketch-book in hand. But there came a day when even he could not avoid what was happening.

  The King’s Own Scottish Borderers Regiment mounted a big recruiting drive in Central Scotland, and about 200 men from the Reserve Battalion conducted a series of marches throughout the area, lasting several days. Led by a pipe band they marched through Linn, Royalmount and Ferryglen, arriving in Stratharden early one weekday afternoon. They had permission to billet for the night in the field behind the school, and as soon as lessons were finished Alex and the rest of the schoolchildren were swarming all over their camp.

  The soldiers were constructing some trenches ‘exactly as they would be at the Front’, with a real dugout where the officers sat discussing battle plans. The villagers were invited to walk along the line and keep a lookout over the parapet ‘just as the soldiers do’ by using a box-periscope.

  Alex did not join in as the younger children ran up and down the lines and played football with the off-duty soldiers. He had something more important in mind. Approaching the most senior Private he said, ‘My name is Alexander Dundas, and I’d like to know as much as you can tell me about the Army because I’m going to be a soldier when I’m old enough if the War is not over.’ He squinted up at the tall Private whose bulk almost blotted out the sun. ‘Do you think it will be? Over soon? The War, I mean?’

  The Private looked down at the earnest face of the boy before him. Then he drew himself up and gave Alex a full formal salute. ‘I’m Senior Private Cooper,’ he said, ‘and I’m heartily glad you’re going to be a soldier, because, pal, we need all the help we can get. But even if the War is over by the time you’re old enough, soldiering is still a grand life.’ He took off his helmet and put it on Alex’s head. ‘Now …’ He held up what looked like an odd-shaped spade. ‘This is called an entrenching tool. Would you like to learn how to use it, and help me dig a bit of a trench?’

  A Recruiting Office had been set up in the school assembly hall, and later that evening, after he had had his tea, Alex went back along there. The pipe band was drumming up in the playground, and the soldiers were executing various parade manoeuvres. The noise of the music and the presence of the soldiers had attracted quite a crowd from the whole locality, including a sprinkling of young ladies. Already a number of men were waiting to give their names and addresses. Onlookers applauded as they went inside, one by one.

  Alex waited patiently. After about ten minutes the soldier on duty at the door turned away to answer ah enquiry. Alex seized his chance and slipped inside. Private Cooper was sitting behind a table in front of the stage with the recruiting sergeant.

  Alex went up to him and saluted. ‘Need any help, sir?’

  ‘At ease, soldier,’ said Private Cooper. He turned to his sergeant. ‘What do you reckon, sir? This man is reporting for duty. Acquitted himself well on trench work earlier.’

  The Sergeant inspected Alex thoroughly. Then he leaned across the table so that his face was on a level with Alex’s own. ‘One of the most important jobs at the Front is the Company Runner. He’s up and down the line through shot and shell, bringing ammunition to the men, messages to the officers, rations to everyone. He has to be nimble, clever, fearless, and …’ the Sergeant winked broadly
, ‘able to nose out supplies where folks will tell him there are none.’ He turned to Private Cooper. ‘I’d say if your soldier could scout us out two mugs of mother’s brew, with sugar, mind, then he’d be up for a decoration.’

  Alex saluted and ran off down the corridor. It required some undercover work in the teachers’ staff room, but he was back in ten minutes with two mugs of well-sugared tea.

  The Sergeant broke off from his form-filling to take a huge mouthful. He smacked his lips and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. ‘If we had more lads like that in France, this war would be done in half the time.’

  Alex thought he would burst with pride. For the next hour, while the makeshift recruiting office was open, he stood to attention behind the two soldiers ready for further orders. And he watched closely everything that went on.

  It was almost time to pack up when a hired hand from one of the outlying farms came in. Alex knew him. He was only a year older than Alex himself, and had finished his schooling that summer.

  He came up to the table and gave his name.

  The Sergeant looked at him keenly. ‘Date of birth?’ he said, and as the boy hesitated, he asked, ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen,’ the boy lied.

  ‘Sorry, son.’ The Recruiting Sergeant grinned at him and shook his head. ‘The Army has had too many complaints from mothers wanting their under-age boys back. I’ll need your birth certificate.’ As the boy went away, the Sergeant turned to the Senior Private who was helping him and said in a low voice, ‘If it’d been in the city we might have got away with it, but not out here where everybody knows everybody’s business before it happens.’

  The Private laughed. ‘You’re right there, Sarge. His ma would be chasing after the parade tomorrow, and it would be her fist not a flag she’d be waving at you.’

  ‘How did the Sergeant know that last boy was too young?’ Alex asked Private Cooper as he helped him carry his things back to his tent in the field.