A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel (10 page)

It was Jack who answered. ‘It won't be that easy.'

Jack and Mart had caught them up and were walking either side of the youngsters, with Charlie at the back. ‘To stop you two getting up to mischief,' Charlie said.

Bridie knew it was to keep them safe. Rain still fell, the shops and houses looked dark and dreary, but after all, it was October in Britain. She said to Uncle Jack, ‘We should do something. He could get hurt, he could—'

‘Hush your noise, lass,' Jack said, peering over the heads of the crowd. They were keeping pace with the banner. ‘Give it a rest. Let the lad find things out for himself.'

James almost shouted now, ‘But what if he doesn't? What do we do then? He'll be one of us, but not one of us, and how can he not see what's happening out in Germany, to the Jews, to the communists, socialists, all those who fought his lot at Cable Street? When I met him for a drink, he said that I didn't understand how inefficient democracy was, that a leader was needed to drag the country out of depression, that it was the good of the whole that mattered, not the individual.'

Bridie turned on him. ‘You met him, and didn't tell me?'

James shook his head, irritated. ‘I can meet him, if I want to, but I bloody don't any more. Beggin' your pardon, Uncle Jack.'

They were out of the town now, and a gap opened in the crowds. James ploughed a way through, taking his umbrella with him, heedless of the rain falling on the others. They followed until they were walking alongside the marchers. Ahead of her Bridie saw James and a young marcher talking together. She
heard James replying, ‘A doctor, really? Looking after them on the march, are you? Oh, you're going over?'

She didn't hear what the man said, but she knew from the set of James' shoulders and the way he moved that it was something interesting. Other marchers were pressing forward, and James fell back, calling, ‘Thanks for that. I'll have a good think, now I've a contact.'

Uncle Jack called from behind, ‘What's he up to now, our Bridie?'

‘I'm not a mind reader, Uncle Jack, but don't you worry, I'll get it out of him.'

His laugh was so like her mam's. ‘I'm right glad you've got the lad to keep you company these days,' he said. ‘It's hard when you lose a friend, even if it's only for a while.'

She looked at the marchers, already thin and tired. What on earth would they be like after a march of three hundred miles? She hoped they would be well fed in the towns they rested in overnight, but two hundred men was a lot to take on. When they got there, would it do any good? Would the government listen? How many of the MPs knew what unemployment and poverty meant? What the men needed was a safety net for when they were out of work. It would make things so much better.

She found herself saying to her uncle, ‘Tim's not right, is he? We mustn't get rid of our parliament, our democracy, or our law. Would one Führer, like Mosley, make Britain fairer and more efficient?'

He put his arm around her shoulders. She was soaking. The rain was running down her face and squelching in her shoes. ‘Aye, well, Bridie, they'd have your mam and your Aunt Ver to deal with if they tried that trick. Those women fought long and hard for their suffrage, and remember it took a war to give men of all classes the vote too. By, Bridie, I remember that call after the war – “If they are fit to fight they are fit to vote.” Aye, it'll not be given up easily, you mark my words. As I say, give him time.'

He squeezed her to him. She said, ‘You are so calm, so certain.'

‘Maybe I'm certain, but calm? Not sure your Aunt Gracie would agree with that, but I know my boy has a good heart. One day he'll see past the blather, and know that though Britain is slow, no-one is locked up for what he is, or turfed out of the country.'

James was alongside them now, holding the umbrella over Bridie. ‘But what if he doesn't see, Uncle Jack?'

‘Then we'll have to show him, but until then, you two, let it lie. Promise me?'

His voice was so serious, so sad, that they both nodded. Uncle Jack dropped back then, as James and Bridie walked along together, and slowly the marchers drew ahead until finally, they were left looking after them, feeling gormless and useless. Uncle Mart suggested they head for home, and have their drink at the Miners' Club in Easton, with James too. They could drop Bridie back at the Hall. She
had to be back for a patient who was going to try his hand at riding for the first time.

As they reached the car, James surprised Bridie by telling the marras that he'd like to be dropped at the Hall too.

James leaned back against the fencing around the exercise paddock and listened as Bridie read out details of David Weare's injury, weight and height. Poor beggar, James thought, hurt in a steeplechasing fall – how quickly life could change. The canny thing was that all David wanted was to get back on a horse.

James said, ‘I wonder if it's just bravado, and once he's done it, he'll walk away. Well, roll away?'

Bridie shrugged. ‘Not if Prancer's got anything to do with it. I reckon his daughter Fanny has the same gift. Wonder if Primrose will have it too?' She tucked the clipboard under her arm.

James watched as David Weare, who looked about thirty, appeared, pushing himself along in his wheelchair while Matron walked beside him on the concrete path from the Neave Wing. David's arms looked strong, but you never could tell. ‘It'll be a total lift, I think, don't you, Bridie?'

She nodded. ‘Can you?'

He smiled. ‘These muscles can do anything, but just in case, I've asked Young Stan along. He's happy to leave sweeping the leaves for now.'

Matron waved, and now Sister Newsome appeared,
walking across from the Hall laundry where she'd left sheets to be laundered. She was never far away when needed, and James thought that the two women worked by some sort of telepathy. That would be a useful tool where he'd decided to go, especially after the talk with the doctor who was on the march. He just wished telepathy would work with Bridie, and then he wouldn't have to actually tell her of his decision to go to Spain with the International Brigade.

He stopped lounging, and walked with Bridie along the path to meet David. James called, ‘Good to see you. We've Young Stan on his way to help with the lift; we might just need him. He's used to lifting sacks of spuds, and you'll be a damn sight easier than that, with those arms. Look like they could knock a few blocks flying.'

David laughed. Bridie had started this therapy by being polite and kind, but James had said if he'd lost the use of his legs, not to mention possibly his willy, he'd much rather be treated as an ordinary bloke. It seemed to work. They all chatted as they headed for the ramp and in between explained the procedure.

While they did so, Bridie and James studied him. People might say they were fine, but often, deep inside, they were petrified. It sometimes showed at the foot of the ramp, or when they saw Prancer, who was large; it was a long way to fall, after all. Clive, the groom, was standing with Prancer at the
platform of the mounting ramp. He'd put on the double saddle. This time they'd decided James would get on board with David. It was Matron's suggestion, and she was always right.

‘Two blokes together,' she'd said. ‘We're one man down now Tim's busy, so you'll have to do a bit more, James. Bridie can't do it all. Well, she can, but it's good for you, young man.'

So that was that, James thought ruefully. She was right, of course, but fairly soon Bridie would have to do it on her own. Or he'd have to train someone up; perhaps Young Stan?

Bridie called, ‘Are you going to stand there catching flies all day, James? Come on, don't know when the rain's going to start again, and we don't want David getting soaked.'

Matron said, ‘We need an undercover paddock. I will talk to Sir Anthony.'

Oh dear, James thought, poor Sir Anthony. Bridie winked at him.

They were at the foot of the ramp, and now James shoved the chair up it, while David thrust at the wheels. Bridie slipped into the paddock and moved to Prancer's side, ready to guide David's leg. Young Stan was here now, but James said he would try to do it, if Stan would just wait in case he was needed.

James and David reached the platform, and again talked through what was to happen. Stan positioned the chair facing Prancer's head. James faced David, putting his arms securely around the rider, and
knee-to-knee he lifted David forward, swivelled him around and lowered him onto the centre of the saddle in a side-sit position, never letting him go for a second. ‘How are you, David?'

James' back ached; well, let it ache. At least he could feel it. This young man had broken his. Bridie helped James to ease David's right leg over the front of the saddle, while Young Stan supported David's back. All the time Bridie and Clive talked quietly to Prancer, who never moved a muscle, but waited, as though willing the rider to have faith and courage.

‘Right, Clive,' Bridie panted. ‘Let's slip this left leg just where it should go. David, Clive will ease Prancer forward and then help me put your feet into the stirrups. They're wooden, with a bigger platform, which seems to work better.'

James had left Young Stan on the mounting platform, where he was holding on to David's shoulders, and jumped down into the paddock. He took Prancer's head, moving him forward a bit, to make room for Clive to take up position by David's right leg. ‘How are you feeling? Sick, dizzy, in a bit of a tizzy?'

David grinned. ‘Bloody marvellous. I never thought I'd mount a horse again. Bit of a palaver, but worth it. Thank you.'

James let Prancer nuzzle his hand. ‘Prancer is special. Bridie's da came home from the war minus a leg, and my dad left his arm and leg behind. Very careless. They both ride now. Prancer seems to know
things we don't. Dad also drives a car and we wish he wouldn't. He seems to think if he drives it fast enough he can take off. A frustrated pilot, I reckon.' All the time he spoke, he kept his eye on David, monitoring him for sweating, paleness, panic. There was none. This man was bred for riding.

Bridie and Clive finished fixing David's feet in the broad stirrups, which Grandpa Forbes and Tom Wilson had designed. Bridie was at David's right knee. Clive at his left, and James at his front. Bridie asked, ‘How's your balance? Should Young Stan release your shoulder?'

David nodded. Young Stan had followed David as James eased Prancer forward just a bit, but now he let him go, hovering a bare inch above his shoulders. Young Stan was a natural, James felt, with relief – for how could he leave Bridie without help? – and there was time to train him, on the quiet. They all watched, alert to rush to David's aid. Bridie was supporting his back from her side, and Clive was doing the same from his.

‘Can I walk him?' David asked.

James laughed quietly. ‘Thought you might say that. Clive will give me a leg up, and then I'll sit behind you; they'll walk either side. How does that sound?'

Clearly, rather good. Clive boosted James on board, and Prancer strolled around the paddock, once, twice. As they neared the ramp, Matron and Sister Newsome waved their hands. ‘Enough,'
Matron called. ‘We don't want to wear him out. When he's back in his chair he can go and have a look at Primrose and Marigold, and meet Fanny and Terry, and then that'll be his lot for today. There's always tomorrow, young man. Bridie combines kitchen duties with this, and James is intermittent, but it looks to me like Clive and Young Stan are coming along nicely – not that you knew you were in the picture, Young Stan. You are.'

The same procedure occurred, but in reverse. This time it was Young Stan who helped David roll down the ramp, pulling back so he didn't head down at a rush. As Clive slung Prancer's stirrups over his saddle, prior to walking him back to his stall, David said, ‘He's a good horse; not that young, though.'

Bridie snapped, ‘He's not that old, either.'

David and James exchanged a look. Something passed between them. David said, ‘No, he'll never be
that
old. Horses like that aren't. They're always with us.'

Bridie wouldn't listen to this and strode ahead to check on Marigold and Primrose, and give carrots to Fanny, Prancer's other daughter, and Terry, who had come from a friend of her da and was absolutely trained up now, and ready to join Prancer in his work. As Clive took Prancer to his stall, to remove his saddle and bridle and replace it with his halter, she called back to Clive, ‘Make sure he has a play in the pasture, won't you, Clive? He's been such a good boy.'

She leaned on the stall barrier looking at Primrose, who had been brought in with her mother because of the rain. ‘She's a good mum, isn't she, Primrose?' she muttered to the foal, who was developing nicely. ‘Bet your da's pleased with you, little Primmy.'

James and David were at her side now, with David peering through the horizontal slots. ‘She's a belter,' he muttered.

‘Prancer's foal,' Bridie said.

‘She'll have his spirit, you can tell.' Primmy had come to David, who leaned forward and extended his hand through the gap. She nuzzled it.

Bridie smiled. ‘His other daughter, Fanny, is the same, but she's out in the pasture right now. We're going to be able to help more people once we have them all trained. Fanny is five now, and almost ready. I do that in the evenings, or the odd hour off. Terry is just perfect, and we're already using him.'

They stayed for a while longer but then heard Matron calling, ‘Time.'

David turned his wheelchair and trundled out of the stable, stopping at the doors. ‘If you ever need someone like me to help, perhaps to give people confidence, I have my own money, but I have no life. I'd like to make mine here.'

Matron was waiting for him just outside and said, ‘Good heavens, you're here five minutes and taking over, young man. Let's see how you do over the next few weeks, or months, and if Bridie and James can get you to the stage of a shining example, then
it might be worth considering.' She pushed him out into the drizzle that had begun.