Shadow on the Land (12 page)

‘Glad to help, sir. Wish I could do more to thank you for all you’ve done for us,’ he added, as they both brushed off fragments of green leaf.

‘I think we’re
much
in your debt, Hank,’ Alex said shaking the young man’s hand firmly. ‘We’ll miss you and your colleagues. Is Major Hicks going?’

‘No, sir. Our loss, your gain. He’s doing such a good job with the youngsters, they’ll not let him go. I guess there’ll be a lot more of them coming through, but our group has been posted and the five of us are off with them. I came ahead of the column to deliver a present,’ he said, reaching over into the back of the jeep and re-emerging with a well-filled cardboard box.

‘Easier to handle than the flowers,’ he laughed, as he passed it over. ‘Mrs Hamilton once confessed that she loved coffee, so the boys and ourselves have been saving up for her from our parcels from home. It’s from all of us to you both with thanks. She made us feel so welcome. And so did you, sir. We appreciated that,’ he said, lifting his head as both of them caught the sound of heavy lorries moving towards them.

‘Best of luck, Hank,’ said Alex, holding out his hand again. ‘We’d like nothing better than to see you back here again after the war. Don’t forget that.’

‘Not likely.’

He seemed about to say something more, but changed his mind and put his hand into his uniform pocket.

‘For Mrs Hamilton, sir. Didn’t want to have to send it through the censor or risk the post. Just a few thoughts … Must go …’

He hopped up into the jeep, roared off up the slope, paused on the verge and slipped neatly into a small gap between two Army lorries moving at the head of the long column bound for the docks in Belfast and an unknown destination beyond.

By the time Alex had cleared his desk and written a report to be delivered by messenger to Sir John, it was after seven and the main street of Banbridge was almost empty as he drove through it somewhat faster than usual, spurred on by a more than normal desire to be sitting by his own fireside.

It had been a long day and a tiring one, though he had to admit it was not without its moments of humour. He was looking forward to telling Emily about the flowering tree that had invaded his office and set him sneezing.

The sky was darkening as he came to the foot of the hill, a huge black cloud piled up behind
Cook’s farm. The pleasant afternoon had turned progressively grey, but now a chill and boisterous wind was whipping the branches of the trees overhanging the road. He reckoned that any minute now there would be a heavy shower.

As he changed gear and turned up the hill, he was amazed to see a small figure away up ahead on the empty road, a hand clutched to a bright red headscarf that threatened to blow away, a waterproof coat inflating with the gusts of wind and trousers blown flat against her legs. As the figure was carrying neither bag, nor basket, nor wheeling a bicycle, it was a couple of minutes before he realised it was Emily herself.

He pulled up a little way ahead of her, leant over and pressed the door handle at the very moment the clouds opened and threw a rattle of sleet against the windscreen.

‘That was good timing,’ she said, breathlessly, as she pulled the door behind her and swept fragments of sleet from her waterproof.

‘What happened to your driver?’ he asked, as he peered through the windscreen, the wiper blades struggling to move the accumulating fragments of ice.

‘No driver today, love,’ she said, smiling and rubbing her cold cheeks. ‘Have you forgotten? They’ve gone. All except Chris. But he won’t have any transport till tomorrow, so we were out
delivering the cakes and biscuits to the sick and the elderly. Don’t you remember he sent Hank the Tank to warn me last week?’ she prompted, as they turned into the avenue, which was already beginning to look like a Christmas card.

‘So how did you deliver all that stuff?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Bicycles. What else?,’ she said promptly. ‘No one has any petrol. But some of the older girls from the Academy came to help us. You can’t carry all that much in a bicycle basket, but there were fifteen of us at one point. After all that cycling around, I couldn’t face pushing my bicycle up the hill, so I left it with Mary,’ she explained, as they came round into the yard.

‘And you had it all planned?’

‘Well, of course. That was why Chris let me know. We couldn’t
not
bake in case the picnic went ahead. But if it didn’t, what did we do with all that lovely food? It’s not just cake for teatime. The children get a little bag to take home for their family. So, it does add up, sixty or seventy for tea, then at least thirty take-away bags and a little something for the office staff and the flower ladies who help us to set things up in the lunch-hour.’

‘Like doing the flowers?’

‘Yes, of course. Can’t have a picnic without flowers,’ she said lightly, as they stopped opposite the back door, now obscured by a further squall.

‘Have you seen what’s in the back?’ he asked, as they continued to sit, the sudden, angry fusillade bouncing noisily off the roof of the car.

She turned awkwardly in her seat, her waterproof catching on the Rexine covered seat.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Long story. But I’ll tell all when we’re sitting in front of a good fire. Shall we make a dash for it?’

Emily laughed.

‘I’m so tired, I couldn’t dash to save my life. The hill finished me off. But I’m game to get battered or soaked. We’ve plenty of dry clothes indoors and I would just so love to be home.’

The house was so cold that Alex plugged in two convectors, one upstairs and one in the hall, and brought the paraffin heater into the sitting room until the freshly-lit fire started to produce some heat. To his great surprise both convectors began to whir and produce the stream of warm air he’d not dared to expect.

Power cuts could occur at any time, but on a Friday night it was almost predictable. As he hung his suit on a hangar and found a warm sweater to pull over his shirt and warm trousers, he wondered what was so special about Friday night. Was it an extra demand that put up consumption or did output drop? He certainly wasn’t aware that any of the power stations worked other than a seven day week.

Emily had made Irish stew in the morning and the large saucepan only needed careful reheating. After one of the afternoon gatherings which were now a regular feature of life, it had become a regular thing that they had a supper that could be reheated and eaten by the fire in the sitting-room.

Tonight they ate in silence, tasty, hot food and the fire burning up brightly creating a smell that Emily loved, easing away the cold, hunger and weariness of the day. She blessed Sam Hamilton. On his last visit, he’d brought them bags of turf he’d managed to buy in Portadown from a man who had a strip of bog at Annaghmore.

‘That was great, Emily. I didn’t realise how cold I was till the food began to warm me up.’

‘There’s no warmth in a suit, Alex. At least dungarees give you a double layer,’ she added, as she finished off the last of her meal. ‘Aren’t we so very lucky to have food and fire?’

He looked at her sharply, disturbed by something in her tone.

‘What is it, love? Something’s on your mind.’

She nodded, leant forward in her armchair and held out her hands to the blaze.

‘Alex, I know about poverty and I know about old age, but what I saw today really got me down,’ she said honestly. ‘Some of those wee mill cottages have two or even three families in them, maybe seven or eight children and an old granny bedridden
in the same room. There’s people that were bombed out in Belfast two years ago still staying with the family that took them in after the Blitz. They’ve nowhere else to go. There’s no new houses going up, only more of the old ones falling down. I’ve seen better old cottages being used to shelter cattle.’

Alex nodded and said nothing. Sometimes he didn’t notice things and then when he did, he was ashamed he’d not paid more attention. But there wasn’t much time for thinking these days, not beyond the problems in front of him, and there were plenty of those.

‘Have they enough to eat?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Just about,’ she replied. ‘The W.V.S. are very good. But you should have seen the eyes of those children when the Granny opened her packet of cake and biscuits.’

Without the slightest warning, he saw himself looking at a table covered with food. He almost imagined he could smell it. It must be Thanksgiving. Turkey on a great decorated platter. Roast potatoes piled high. Small dishes with sauces and little spoons in saucers for putting it on the slices of meat. It was snowing outside and he’d been sent for more logs for the fire. As he went to put them down on the hearth, he caught sight of a great pyramid of fruit on the sideboard, oranges and bananas and something else he’d never seen before, a large fruit with scales
on its skin and sharp leaves sticking out at the top.

Then a hand fell roughly on his shoulder and someone said, ‘Leave them down there and get out,’ and shoved him towards the door.

‘Alex?’

‘Sorry, something just came into my head.’

‘Tell me,’ she said, as she saw the hard lines of concentration ease.

‘Nothing very interesting, love, but I will if you want me to. How about a cup of coffee?’ he asked, standing up.

‘We haven’t very much left.’

‘You haven’t seen the box your friends sent you. It’s in the back seat of the car,’ he replied, beaming at her. ‘Not surprised you missed it with the size of that thing full of daffodils. But if we haven’t enough in the cupboard for two cups, I’ll go out and bring it in, sleet or no sleet.’

It was as they finished their coffee that Alex suddenly remembered Hank’s letter in the pocket of his suit. He fetched it from upstairs and handed it to her.

‘But when did you see him?’ she asked in surprise.

‘He came ahead of the column and dropped back in as they passed Millbrook. He’s very nippy in that jeep of his.’

‘We met them further out when we were coming back from our deliveries,’ she replied. ‘He spotted me and waved and tooted his horn and of course
the whole column saw us then. At least we were able to wave them goodbye, though what the passers by thought of the racket they made shouting and waving at us, I’d rather not know.’

Alex saw her glance down suddenly at the crumpled envelope and wondered why she looked so uneasy.

‘I wish we knew where they were going,’ she said sadly. ‘No, that’s silly, I don’t mean that,’ she corrected herself. ‘What does it matter where they are going. What matters is that they’ll be safe. And no one is safe anymore, anywhere.

‘Maybe we never were,’ she went on, surprised at her own words and close to tears. ‘We only thought we were, but now we know for sure. Death is round every corner. I can manage death, I think, but I can’t manage loss. I can’t bear the thought of Hank, or any of those boys, never coming back, or never going home.’

‘It’s hard, love. And its harder for you than for others. You give so much. It’s the way you are, but it costs. That’s why those boys cheered when they saw you. You need to remember that.’

Emily wiped her eyes quickly with her hanky.

‘I’m sorry. I’m probably just tired.’

‘I’m sure you’re tired after all you’ve done today, but that’s not what’s making you weep.’

‘What is then?’

‘Fear of loss.’

To his great surprise she smiled. A bleak little smile. After which, she seemed steadier.

‘The worst thing about you, Alex Hamilton, is that you have a habit of being right,’ she began. ‘I can’t complain that you don’t understand me. Do you realise how irritating that is?’ she asked, her face softening, as she pushed back her hair from her forehead and looked across at him.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said, trying to look repentant.

She looked again at the envelope lying in her lap, took it up, tore it open and pulled out the small, neatly written sheets.

‘It’s to both of us,’ she said coolly, ‘Shall I read it to you?’

‘Yes, please,’ he said, leaning comfortably back in his chair.

She paused for a moment only and then went on, her voice steady, her tone clear.