Praying That We Meet Again, page 22
“Not quite, my lord. Are you familiar with the Rabbetts family?”
“Viscount Sunderland, is it not?”
“That is the family. He has a younger brother who inherited heavily - normal thing, Indian uncle together with land left by the mother. The younger is far the better off, which is not entirely popular with the Viscount!”
“They came to know Henry?”
“Son at school with him. Younger boy again, not at all clever, man about Town, drunk more often than he is sober. Apparently, he allowed a sister, younger again, to come into contact with Henry with undesirable results. The Rabbetts have made a number of enquiries after your son, shotgun in hand, one might say. You might find it wise to inform them of your son’s death, my lord.”
“On the quiet, I presume. How remarkably embarrassing!”
“Untidy, my lord.”
“Quite! Do you know if there are offspring?”
“Fortunately, no, my lord.”
“Then count my blessings, I suspect. I shall make contact with the family. I wonder why they have not come knocking on my door already.”
“Keeping all quiet until the girl is old enough to be legally married, I suspect, my lord.”
“That bad! I am glad the little sod is dead! I knew he would create a scandal one way or another!”
Viscount Sunderland was in Town, it transpired and Lord Redwood was able to pay a call on him.
“Relating to my younger son, my lord. I have recently been informed that he had been in contact with your family.”
Sunderland knew nothing. He rarely spoke to his brother, had not seen him in a year.
“Suffice it to say, my lord, that my son had caused his family substantial offence. He had in fact behaved criminally. The full details are unknown to me and hopefully will remain so. My son is dead, my lord. Working for one of the clandestine departments and killed overseas within the last week. I trust the manner of his death may in some ways compensate for his misbehaviour while alive!”
“You do not seem greatly distressed, Redwood.”
“I am not. I much suspect he joined the department solely because he had made Town too hot for him. I cannot regret an early ending to a life that would probably have been an ongoing embarrassment to me.”
Lord Sunderland said he would inform his brother of the sad event and of his father’s comments.
“No doubt, all can be kept quiet, my lord.”
“I would hope so, my lord. We can ask for nothing more than that.”
Lord Redwood gave the matter of Henry’s death some little thought and decided he must inform the Griffin family. It was not impossible that the Rabbetts might make contact with them, knowing they were friendly. He called at the Place on his Saturday morning – he was a banker, did not work at the weekend, war or not. He found Alfred and Robert present.
“Untidy and unpleasant business, gentlemen, and one I would prefer not to mention except that the Griffins are known to be friends to the Redwoods. Henry!”
“I had heard he had joined up, my lord. My congratulations on the peerage, by the way. Eminently well earned, I do not doubt!”
“Thank you, Alfred. A matter of bringing in foreign finance for the war, a good few millions! Not what I am here for. I have discovered why Henry found it wise to leave London by the sole means available to him. He died on duty last week and his senior informed me in person of the event, and warned me of the possibility of scandal still arising. A word to the wise seems as well, gentlemen.”
Lord Redwood told the tale as he knew it.
Neither Robert nor Alfred knew of the Rabbetts family.
“Peter might, being closer in age to Henry. I will ask him if he returns here on leave before returning to France. He has transferred across to the RFC, my lord. Almost exhausted by the Salient, his colonel thought he would do better in the fresh air. Not my idea of fun, but Peter is a most capable soldier and may well do very well in the air. Military Cross and three Mentions say the youngster has something about him, my lord.”
“It runs in the family, Alfred!”
They smiled at the compliment, turned the conversation to Alfred’s return to a more academic existence at Oxford and with de Havilland.
“Makes good sense that you should do so, Alfred. I can only respect your wisdom, sir. I wish my own family displayed your judgement! Augusta has been made lieutenant and given command of an ambulance depot in France. I am most proud of her, though her brother George cannot approve! He is settled on Wall Street and is in fact serving the bank well there. The country needs American foodstuffs and munitions and must borrow heavily in America for the purpose. He is doing useful work for the war. I must imagine that the family can be said to be doing its bit – but not to compare with yours, Alfred!”
“Ours is a military family, my lord. Robert, of course, must now discover a civilian occupation. I am accounted for and may indeed wed in the near future. A Mademoiselle Delacroix, Belgian, of course. Her father is a general.”
“Congratulations, Alfred! I wish you joy, sir.”
Lord Redwood had no suggestions to offer Robert. He could not think of employment for him.
“I have had a look in the newspapers, Alfred, as you suggested. There are certainly some few of landed estates on the market just now and no mention of them being snapped up. I have checked some few and discovered two actually on the mainline to London and with stations immediately to hand. It might be possible to make contact with the agents who have them for sale, simply to test the water, one might say.”
They took the Rolls and visited the nearer real estate agent that morning.
“The Warboys estate, Major? We have the privilege of acting for the executors, sir. A difficulty inasmuch that the estate must be kept in production. The country needs wheat. The family is no more. Colonel Warboys died in September. His two sons followed his example on the next day. They were cavalry officers, all three. No daughters. Mrs Warboys died two years ago. There is a nephew, but he is resident in Australia and will not come to live in England. The estate must be sold.”
“What can you tell us of the land, sir?”
“Just eight hundred acres, sir, of which no more than one hundred is good arable. Two hundred, more or less, pasturing a flock of about eighty sheep. Five hundred of poor woodland, silver birch country, good for riding and little else. The house is of twenty bedrooms, dating to Georgian times and in need of renovation. There is a Home Farm with house and buildings, in good condition, the estate having been mindful of its obligations to its tenant. Offers have been made for the wheatland, separate to the estate as a whole. None such have been accepted by the executors. Any purchaser will wish to examine the estate, naturally.”
“What say you, Robert?”
“It might well be worth taking a look, Alfred.”
The estate agent was as alert as any of his breed, hopeful he might be about to get rid of the burden of the estate.
“Is that Major Alfred Griffin, sir? My apologies for not immediately recognising you, sir. I should have done. I am not the military sort and do not know the medal ribbons, sir.”
Alfred managed a smile.
“In the circumstances, sir, I feel I should say a little more about the Warboys estate, sir. You will observe the railway line, sir, running along the northwestern boundary of the estate. That happens to be where the wheat fields lie, sir. Twice in the past twenty years hot cinders from passing engines have landed in ripening wheat and burnt out the whole of the fields. All of the crop lost. I believe the insurance companies will no longer offer cover on those fields, sir.”
“That is worth knowing. Thank you. I presume that is why local men have shown unwilling to purchase. I believe the estate is near a station?”
“Less than a mile from the station at Hook, sir.”
“Conveniently close, in fact. What sort of price might one be looking at?”
“Perhaps three thousands for the wheat lands, sir, plus two thousand for the pastures. The woodland is so rarely sold that it is difficult to set a value to it. At most three thousand for the five hundred acres, sir. House and Home Farm to go for two thousands more, perhaps. A bid of ten thousands must be very favourably considered, sir.”
“What say you, Robert?”
“Rather a lot for a speculative venture, Alfred. Nothing to do with the land until the war is ended. A trivial income from the Home Farm and that is it. I could not possibly justify spending so much of my father’s money on this particular estate.”
“The Army is seeking big houses in the vicinity for military purposes, gentlemen. They might well wish to rent the Warboys house and they pay generously.”
“Even so, sir. I do not really believe I could offer anything even close to ten thousand. Best to let it go, I think. Thank you for your time, sir.”
They were the first to display even the least interest in the whole estate. The estate agent was most unwilling to let them go.
“I could contact the executors, sir, and ask for a minimum acceptable price to them…”
They told him to make contact at the Place. They could at least listen to anything the vendor had to say.
“Two large houses and gardens to an acre. Four of smaller places. Say four hundred of big houses, located in the woodland, keeping as many as possible of the silver birches and perhaps retaining an amount of parkland. Two thousands of houses on the remaining acreage. Roads to be built, leading directly to the station. A small acreage retained for local shopkeepers to set up necessary businesses. There is the possibility of a massive profit, I would have thought, Robert. Managers and senior staff in the City able to get out of the Smoke and live in a modern suburban estate, close to the countryside. Quite possibly you could simply establish plans and sell the estate after the war for existing builders to actually bring to fruition.”
Alfred was concerned to give Robert an occupation. If it worked and actually made him a profit, well and good. If it was an absolute failure financially, he would have been forced to keep himself active, to remain alert. Idleness would be the death of him.
“The prosthetic people visited me earlier this week, Alfred. They brought a first version of the boot that will support the remaining foot. An interesting couple of hours. They asked permission to photograph the process, possibly for a brochure to send to surgeons, recommending their product. Even with the rough first model, walking was easier. They expect to be back next week with a version for me to walk on for a fortnight, to give it a trial. Then they can build the final boot for my permanent use. The other foot will be ready next week as well, for a first test. I have great hopes for walking far more freely when I am equipped with both boots.”
“Good. That may change your whole life, Robert. It may well give you back your freedom.”
Robert hoped it might. He might, he thought, be able to purchase a motor car and actually be able to get out of the house without having to rely on a helper.
“I might perhaps be offered employment with the manufacturer, Alfred. If the photographs come out well, I might be useful in advertising the prosthetic and possibly going around the hospitals to encourage them to buy the product.”
It seemed a little low to Alfred, but he could appreciate that a walking user of the boots would be able to sell many of them.
“A good idea, Robert. You would be busy and of the greatest service to other wounded men, allowing them access to a superior boot and a better life.”
They drove back to the Place to find their father recently arrived from the Salient. His uniform had been modified.
“Lieutenant General, sir! Well done! Thoroughly deserved, if I might say so. What comes next for you?”
“The Palace on Tuesday. I have a knighthood as well. Will you be able to come?”
Robert thought not. He would not be able to stand for so long.
Alfred was delighted to commit himself.
“Peter must be too busy, I would think. I know nothing of the training process but must imagine it will be intense. Do you know where you are to be posted next, sir?”
“I have a corps in Kitchener’s New Army. A year and more of training and then to take them out to France in the summer of ’16. The aim will be to steamroller the Hun and push our way direct to the Rhine. Bit of a problem there, of course, because getting across that damned great river will be no easy task! Assuming the bridges are down, and they must be, then it will be Hell’s own task to make an amphibious crossing.”
“Send the Navy up the river, sir. It is deep enough for a cruiser and their guns can flatten any opposition.”
“The mouth of the Rhine lies in neutral Holland, Alfred.”
“If we are obviously winning, the Dutch will have no objections at all, sir. How do you propose to break through the trenchline, sir? What is the new weapon to do it?”
“None, Alfred. Lines of men after a great bombardment. That will have to be the plan.”
“It will not work, sir. Utterly impossible. There is no way riflemen will batter their way into defended trenches. If there is one thing we learnt in the first week of the trench war, it is that the defence is massively stronger than the offence. A head on attack will fail, sir. Every time.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Farman Shorthorn was a boring machine. It had evolved from the crazy Longhorn by a process of removing everything that was wrong with the original aeroplane; the designers had neglected to add anything new. It was a slow, stable, workhorse, just capable of seventy miles an hour, rumoured to be able to reach something in excess of ten thousand feet, though no pilot knew of anybody who had achieved that. It was in use in substantial numbers in France for reconnaissance and bombardment, though it could carry only a little in excess of one hundred pounds weight of bombs.
As a trainer, it was surprisingly good. It was stable and forgiving. Provided the trainee was awake, it often gave him a chance to correct a mistake. It was so slow that a learner could change his mind after committing it to a landing. The pusher engine was well to the rear and it was possible to hear the instructor’s shouted comments and orders.
Peter Griffin found it easy to learn the basics of flying in a Shorthorn. The machine was wholly undemanding and he could concentrate on his own performance. Captain Lepper was pleased with his progress, found himself able to relax when sat in front of Peter, calling out his instructions and comments and telling him what to watch out for. He sent him solo after six hours.
“You don’t need me, Griffin. You can spend the next week in a spare machine, getting two or three hours a day in turning your learned skills into habits. By the end of next week, you need to be able to sit into the bathtub, catch the engine and take off almost without thinking. Your brain should be watching the sky, seeing who else is up and where, picking out anything interesting on the ground, generally looking outside the aeroplane. That way, you will be useful to the RFC. I will have the privilege of spending extra hours with Crosbie and Howard.”
Crosbie was bright, alert and knew he was to win the war single-handed. He would be a much-decorated colonel within the year, a general in two. He had, as everybody in the mess now knew, been head boy designate at school but had chosen to join the RFC at the earliest possible age instead. He had surrendered his place as captain of the First Fifteen to join up! Success was a certainty – he had never failed at anything! He had narrowly failed to crash the Shorthorn on three separate occasions, was expected to succeed on a fourth. Captain Lepper abandoned all hope whenever he joined Crosbie in his aeroplane.
Howard was simply dull. He knew very little and had done less but his uncle was a minister in the government and his elder brother was a staff officer to Sir John French. More importantly, his mother had been a mistress to Lloyd George. Young Howard was born to success and had no doubt it would be given to him. The concept of work had escaped him, as had more than the basic traces of literacy. He could count up to ten with some ease.
Lepper had tried to fail Howard but had been informed that he was premature. He needed to display a little more patience; the boy would certainly achieve success. All Howard needed was his wings. As soon as he had gone solo, he could be sent off to HQ where a staff officer’s place was waiting for him. He, too, would be a colonel in the RFC within a couple of years, could sit at a desk to make policy, as was only right for a man of his background.
Lepper had informed the major that Howard would probably kill him and that if he failed, Crosbie would do the job.
“Can’t have that, Captain Lepper. Crosbie’s family is far too important and Howard even more so. The war is being run for their benefit, you know – a vehicle for their careers. Can’t allow them to fail. Literally, that is. If I failed them, then I would be in France in the next week and my successor would be ordered to ensure that they passed. I know they should not be allowed to continue, but I cannot prevent them doing so, Lepper!”
Peter stood in front of the Major and was formally handed his wings.
“First of your course, Lieutenant Griffin. Well done. Captain Lepper tells me you are to spend a few days honing your skills before posting. As it should be, of course. We have an Avro 504 coming in and you can learn the rotary engine in that. A different set of skills, the rotary engine making demands upon the pilot that the pusher of a Shorthorn does not. I do not doubt you will do well, sir!”
Peter had been told that the new Avro was coming because the three previously at the field had all been crashed in the past month. He gathered that the aeroplane was less easy to fly.
He took up a spare Shorthorn to make circuits of the field, practising his landings more than anything else, training himself to bring the aeroplane down at the exact same point on the field at the same angle of glide and speed, every time. He saw Captain Lepper walk out in company with Crosbie, ushering the boy into the pilot’s seat and climbing up in front to the observer’s place as always.
Peter eased himself out into a wider circuit, giving Crosbie a lot of air space. He grinned as the boy failed to catch the engine on the first spin of the propellor, knew he would be red-faced and humiliated at his error. Crosbie rolled out and into the wind, gave the engine full revs and pulled into his take off, bouncing as he tried to lift the aeroplane too soon, finally staggering into the air and then pulling into a hurried climb to a thousand feet.
