Miss Clare Remembers and Emily Davis (29 page)

'I cut the word,' said Emily. Her voice was steady.

There was a stir of amusement in the ranks behind her.

'Silence!' roared Mr Finch, and there was.

'Go to your classes,' he ordered. 'And you, Emily Davis, will come with me.'

He led the way into the lobby where the children hung their clothes. Dolly Clare watched Emily's small figure following the headmaster's portly one, looking like a diminutive tug following a liner. What would happen to her in the privacy of the lobby? Dolly trembled for her friend.

She need not have suffered so. Mr Finch was a just man and, after hearing Emily's side of the story, he realized that there had been provocation.

Emily's punishment was to have no play for a week. Whilst the others rushed about the playground, she was to stand by the headmaster's desk contemplating the fearful ends of those who took the law into their own hands. Alas, it was a lesson which Emily Davis never completely learned in life, and injustice was always quick to prick her into action.

As for Manny Back's marrow, it was never displayed. A lesser giant from his marrow bed gained third prize, and with this he had to be content. Dolly Clare and Emily Davis were not molested again by the biggest boy in the school, on their homeward journeys. Mr Finch saw to that.

Years later, looking back on the incident, Dolly Clare wondered if they had not underestimated Mr Finch's sense of humour which was so successfully hidden under his stern manner.

For could it have been coincidence alone that caused the headmaster to read the story of David and Goliath at assembly next morning?

I
T
was not only Emily's keen sense of justice that Dolly Clare remembered, as she moved slowly about the cottage, trying to accustom herself to the numbing sense of loss. Emily had always had courage in abundance.

It had needed courage to step forward and confess to the crime of defacing Manny's marrow. It had needed courage to stand by the headmaster's desk, dry-eyed, whilst the rest of the school played outside in the sunshine. But, to Dolly's mind, Emily's courage was supreme when she faced the darkest hour of her life as a girl in her twenties.

Dolly and Emily, as they grew up, made very few friends. The furthest they went from home was Caxley, where they went to evening classes as part of their teacher-training, or sometimes to shop for things which were unobtainable at the village stores.

Most of the young men had been known to them all their lives, had shared desks with them at the village school, and stirred them no more than a brother would. No one could accuse either Emily or Dolly of being flirtatious: many, in fact, thought them too prosaic and unromantic. Certainly, the flamboyant novelettes, so beloved by some of their contemporaries, did not interest them, and older women, gossiping by the village pump, looked sourly at the two friends when they passed.

'Heads too full o' book-learnin' to find them a husband,' said one, when the girls were out of earshot.

'They'll find themselves on the shelf, them two,' agreed another.

'Too hoity-toity to go out with my Billy as asked 'em to the fair,' added a third. 'Gettin' above themselves with all this teaching nonsense.'

Jealousy was at the root of such remarks. Most of their daughters were in service at twelve years old, or soon after, and to see Dolly and Emily aiming at higher things aroused maternal resentment.

It was not that the two girls were blind to male attractions. They discussed the pros and cons of the young men around as keenly as the other girls of their own age, and probably more wisely. But, whereas most of the girls talked of nothing else but their conquests and their intention of marrying, Emily and Dolly had many other equally absorbing interests. The children they taught, the books they read, the lovely natural things around them which gave them constant joy, engrossed them quite as much as the thought of marriage. Luckily for them, their work was fascinating, not something to escape from, as it was for so many of their over-worked young friends, at the mercy, very often, of dictatorial employers. If Emily and Dolly married, as they calmly assumed that they would do some day, then it would be for a positive cause, not as an escape from tedious or intolerable conditions.

It so happened that the two friends became engaged within a few weeks of each other. Dolly Clare was attracted, at first sight, by the tall young man with red hair who came to be under-gardener at the big house at Beech Green. His name was Arnold Fletcher, and his home was in Norfolk.

There was something exciting about this young man from far away. He was quicker and gayer than the friends of Dolly's youth, and the mere fact that he found his new surroundings stimulating made Dolly look at the old familiar places with a fresh eye. He shared Dolly's love of books and music, and he brought with him a breath of the salty wind which blew so refreshingly about his native Norfolk. Their engagement was considered an excellent thing, even by the most curmudgeonly of the village folk.

Emily's choice was a local farmer's son. His name was Edgar Bennett and his father and grandfather had been tenant farmers at Springbourne, a neighbouring village, for many years.

Edgar was as tall as Dolly's Arnold, but his colouring was pale. He had ashen-fair hair, and the clear grey eyes which so often go with it. He was a quiet, gentle fellow, and the general feeling was that Emily's drive and vivacity would 'put some life' into him.

He was the eldest son and it seemed likely that he would carry on the farm when his father gave up. Two younger sons were in business in Caxley, and it looked as though Emily would live eventually in the sturdy four-square Georgian farm house set in a hollow on the flanks of the downs.

But to begin with, the young couple were to make their home in a cottage near the boundary of the Bennetts' farm and that of Harold Miller who owned the Hundred Acre field hard by the Clares' cottage.

Dolly and Emily planned to have their weddings in the autumn of 1914. By that time, Edgar would have helped to bring in the harvest and there would be a break before winter ploughing began.

But these plans were made in the spring, a few months before the outbreak of war with Germany shattered their hopes.

'Better postpone it,' said Arnold to Dolly sadly.

'We'll all be back by Christmas,' said Edgar to Emily, consoling her.

The two young men went to Caxley to enlist, one bright August day, waving from a farm wagon, crowded with fresh-faced country boys going on the same errand.

Dolly and Emily were heavy-hearted, but saw the sense of a postponement of their plans. Far better to continue steadily with their teaching while their men were away. Everyone said it would be over before long. Perhaps a spring wedding would be better still?

They were false hopes indeed. Far from being over by Christmas, as the confident had boasted, it was quite apparent, by that time, that the war could drag on indefinitely.

In February, when the year was at its coldest and most cheerless, Dolly came home from school one day to find a tear-stained letter from Arnold's parents, telling her that they had heard of his death in action. Dolly's first reaction was complete disbelief.

Someone as loving and alive as Arnold could not possibly be snuffed out like a candle flame! This was some cruel mistake. It could not be right.

It was the stricken look on her parents' faces which finally brought home to her the awful truth. Even then she could not cry, but went about her affairs, numbed with grief, in a dreadful strange calm which frightened those about her.

It was at this time of her life that Dolly felt the full strength of Emily's support. Her sympathy took a practical turn. She brought her a bunch of violets to smell, or a bottle of homemade wine to tempt her listless appetite. She persuaded Dolly to accompany her on quiet walks where the gentle sounds of
trees and birds could act as a balm to her friend's torn spirits.

Emily said little about Arnold's death, unlike so many neighbours, meaning well, who poured sympathy into Dolly's ears but only succeeded in torturing the girl and distressing themselves. The fear that Edgar too might die, was constantly with Emily, but she gave no sign of it to Dolly. Outwardly, she remained cheerful and loving, and Dolly, looking back later, realised just how bravely and generously Emily gave all her strength to comfort her. There was an unselfishness and nobility about Emily, at this time, far beyond her years.

A more cruel blow was in store for Emily. One spring day, when the high clouds scudded across the blue sky above the downs, and the lambs skipped foolishly below, an urgent message came from Edgar who was fighting in France. It said simply: 'For God's sake send me a gas mask.'

The two bewildered girls had done their best with cotton wool and tape to design some poor defence against this unknown method of warfare. Together they had taken the precious parcel to Caxley, cycling through the balmy evening air filled with the music of the blackbirds' song, so that it should go by the quickest possible post from the main office in Caxley High Street.

They heard that Edgar received it, but the gas attacks continued relentlessly. Some weeks later, Edgar returned from France, a victim of gas, and was sent to a hospital, not far from Bournemouth, for long months of recovery.

Emily took the blow well. She was now headmistress of the tiny school at Springbourne, for the headmaster had enlisted as soon as war broke out. Despite the hard work which this involved, Emily made the long journey to see Edgar every week-end, staying overnight in cheap lodgings near the hospital gates.

Edgar was a wraith of his former self. His eyes looked huge in his pale wasted face, and the terrible coughing attacks, which tore his damaged lungs, tore just as cruelly at Emily's heartstrings.

But Edgar's welcome and his joy in her presence were worth every minute of the long journey. She stayed with him until the last train each Sunday, and it was often past midnight when she reached home to fall exhausted into bed.

Throughout the dismal winter Emily continued to make her journeys, and now it was Dolly's turn to be comforter. Once or twice she accompanied Emily, but she could not afford to make the trip very often. Emily herself had foregone a new winter coat and boots to pay the fare each weekend, and Dolly had insisted on giving her money as a Christmas present, so that she could visit Edgar as often as possible.

Gradually, Edgar improved. They made their marriage plans anew. Now they would have a summer wedding.

Edgar was moved to a convalescent home not far from the hospital. It was an easier journey for Emily, with one less change by railway.

She was as blithe as a summer bird as the days grew longer. She and Dolly set about preparing the cottage which had been waiting empty for so long.

The two girls spent the long light evenings distempering the walls and scrubbing out cupboards and floors. There were wide serene views from the cottage windows, looking down over the sloping downs dotted with the sheep of Edgar's farm. They would perch on the wooden window seat or on upturned buckets in the porch, and revel in the last rays of the sun as they
rested from their labours. Sometimes, they took a simple meal of cheese and biscuits and would sit outside, their hair lifted by the soft breeze, gazing at the view which would soon be Emily's daily one.

These busy, but tranquil, hours did much to restore Dolly's spirits, and her own sense of loss was lessened by Emily's bubbling happiness. It was plain that Edgar would never be fit for active service again. As soon as he was released from the convalescent home he would return to the farm to work as best he could. His future, it seemed, held no more war-like excursions, and Dolly rejoiced for her friend.

Doubly bitter was it then when the blow fell. One evening of golden sunlight, only a few weeks before the appointed wedding day, Dolly arrived at the cottage to find Emily sitting with a letter on her lap, and tears rolling down her cheeks.

She handed the letter to Dolly without a word. It was a short note from Edgar stating baldly that he had fallen in love with one of the nurses and that they planned to marry as soon as possible.

'I don't deserve you anyway' the letter ended. How true that was! thought Dolly, putting her arms round Emily's shaking frame.

They sat thus for hours it seemed, while the sun grew lower and the sheep's distant cries came to them through the open windows.

At last, Emily rose and left the house, followed by Dolly. She locked the front door and put the key and the letter together into her belt.

'Emily?' questioned Dolly, searching her friend's resolute face for an answer.

'He's made his choice,' said Emily, taking a deep breath. I'll abide by it.'

'But won't you try and see him?' asked Dolly.

'Never!' said Emily. 'It's her house now. I can't bear to look at it ever again.'

From that day Emily Davis had done her best never to look upon the little cottage where she had dreamed of happiness. It was Dolly and Mrs Davis who had removed Emily's curtains and the few pieces of furniture which were already put into the downstairs rooms.

It was they who disposed of them, for Emily would have nothing to do with this bitter clearing-up. The wounds were too fresh and raw to bear this added salt rubbed into them. For a time, she spoke to no one about the tragedy, but gradually she brought herself to say a little to Dolly, and as the months and years passed, Emily faced life without Edgar with a courage which was typical.

Only Dolly guessed how deeply Emily was wounded by this affair. Edgar married his nurse one July day of thunderstorms and torrential rain. Maybe it was augury, thought Dolly, for the years that followed were stormy ones indeed for Edgar. He had married a virago, it turned out, and despite three bonny children there was little happiness in the cottage on the downs, and later in the farmhouse which they took over at his father's death.

There was no doubt in Dolly's mind that Emily's tragedy was far more difficult to bear than her own. Edgar lived in the same small community, his marriage under constant scrutiny by his neighbours. Emily was forced, throughout her long life, to keep a still tongue and a calm face when informed of Edgar's doings.