Snapshots from Home, page 15
Anne played well and Edie applauded eagerly at the end of two songs, then June took her turn. She wasn’t as accomplished a musician, but after one poorly played sonata, she launched into a song Edie recognised. June’s eyes sparkled with mischief and she directed the song at Teddy.
Can you with calm, unruffled mien
Peruse the war news daily,
And go about, on business keen,
And take your pleasures gaily?
Your countrymen in hundreds fall
Before Great Britain’s foemen
Will you not answer to the call,
You stout Australian yeomen?
For Blackboy Hill is calling, ever calling,
At Gallipoli our boys are falling, falling;
But we’ll soon drive out the Turk,
If your duty you don’t shirk,
So come and lend a hand, for Blackboy’s calling.
Edie watched him the whole time. It was hard not to laugh at the way he listened to the lyrics with grave attention. Beside him, Donald and Sam were in fits and Anne had a hand over her mouth, trying to repress her own amusement. The elders scolded or laughed at June from a distance, while Mrs Macmillan paid no attention whatsoever – she was far too interested in the card game.
At the end, June rose and gave a deep curtsey in response to her brother and Sam’s applause. She approached Teddy and gave him a winsome smile.
‘Did you like my song, Mr Macmillan?’
‘It was a fine ditty, Miss Ellington. Was it written for the Governor’s son?’
June shrieked a laugh and playfully batted his arm. For all her scandalised reproaches, June Ellington was not immune to Teddy’s handsome face and fine figure.
Dancing commenced. For this, they had to fetch the younger children, since the Ellington sisters both wanted to dance. Edie was surprised to see them seat seven-year-old Amy Ellington at the instrument, but she soon learned that the child was a prodigy, as Kitty had promised. Tables and chairs were pushed back and they danced a tiny cotillion, the bumps against the furniture becoming part of the steps. Then they danced a waltz and after that the Miss Ellingtons taught Edie a couple of country dances they knew. Partners were rotated each time the dance changed, and both Sam and Donald seemed like very pleasant young men.
When he was dancing with Edie, Teddy took the opportunity of leaning down to say, ‘What did you think of June’s song, Miss Stark?’
His nearness, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, rattled her. ‘I thought it rather good,’ she said without thinking.
Teddy laughed. ‘Did you really? You take some convincing, don’t you?’
‘Convincing? You’re trying to convince me to think like you?’
‘Merely trying to open your eyes to the many injustices of war.’
Edie shook her head. Teddy released her hand for an instant and she thought he might abandon her, but he was only adjusting his grip.
He dropped his voice again. ‘I suspect there are political leanings in you, Miss Stark, beneath that “calm, unruffled mien”, as they call it. Perhaps we are not as dissimilar as you think – there may be slumbering socialism in you yet.’ He kept his eyes on her face as they squeezed past June and Donald.
‘We are very, very dissimilar, Mr Macmillan, and I have no interest in being awakened by you or anybody else with the presumption to attempt it. Why must you continually direct this – this rhetoric at me?’
‘We can make change through words.’
‘Words!’ Edie couldn’t repress the scorn in her voice. ‘Words are well and good, but I don’t see how you’re effecting change by haranguing a schoolteacher. If you really believe in this claptrap, you’ll need to reach more people with it than just me. You’re an educated man. Why aren’t you making up handbills or writing books? Why aren’t you meeting with our politicians?’
He gave a low whistle. ‘She cuts me to the quick. No, Miss Stark, my duty lies elsewhere. I am determined to stay here and awaken fine young ladies from their bourgeois sentiments.’
‘I’m no fine lady. I endeavour to be kind and respectful to those of all classes.’
‘You think you do,’ he said, maddeningly. ‘But consider – would you marry a farm labourer? Would you befriend a maidservant? Or are you too far above them?’
‘Would you befriend the farm labourer?’ she retorted. ‘Would you marry a maidservant, like Maria?’
‘Yes, if I were so inclined.’
Edie shook her head and smiled.
‘You’re amused?’
‘I’m imagining you married to Maria.’
‘And that’s funny?’ Teddy sounded cool.
‘It’s inconceivable. Be plain with me, Mr Macmillan. You wouldn’t marry Maria because she isn’t fine or educated enough for you.’
He hesitated. ‘I’m entitled to find the girl I marry charming, aren’t I?’
‘But why isn’t Maria charming to you? She was born into the working class, so she’s had a poor education. She has no money to spend on fine dresses or powders and creams. She has rough hands from physical work. How can Maria compete with … with June Ellington, for instance?’
For an instant she thought she’d silenced him. He glanced at June, who was thankfully laughing at her brother for getting the steps wrong and didn’t notice. He brought his frown back to Edie.
‘If I wanted to marry Maria, I would marry her,’ he said. ‘Be she soft-handed, educated, able to play the pianoforte – or not.’
‘She’d never have you.’
Teddy’s frown dissolved into laughter. ‘Touché, Miss Stark! Touché.’
The dancing eventually gave way to coffee, then Mrs Macmillan said it was time to go. Teddy went to arrange the sulky and Edie thanked the Ellingtons, complimenting their home and supper. She had the gratification of hearing herself called a ‘pretty, pleasant young lady’ by Mrs Ellington as she left. Edie offered to walk home but Kitty was as keen as ever to ride on the rear of the sulky. This time Edie was glad to be squashed next to Mrs Macmillan because it kept her warm in the chilly night air. They shared a blanket and the rocking motion of the sulky made Edie long for bed.
When they reached Mrs Mason’s boarding house, Teddy jumped down and assisted her to alight from the sulky.
‘What time will be convenient for us to drive to the Longbottoms’ farm tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘I’m free at noon,’ he said.
‘Kitty, you’ll come, too?’ said Edie, recalling she hadn’t yet organised their small chaperone.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To Longbottom Farm to take some snaps.’
‘Yes!’ said Kitty. ‘I love a long drive.’
‘Can you spare her, Mrs Macmillan?’ Edie asked, and the lady chuckled and waved a hand. ‘In that case, I’ll be at your house at noon.’
Teddy nodded and swung back into his seat, turning the sulky amid his mother and sister’s calls of farewell.
Inside, Edie prepared for bed, going back over that aggravating conversation with Teddy and the awful things Sam Watson had said about a soldier’s life. She scowled at Teddy’s remark that she wouldn’t consider marrying into the lower class, then her eye fell on Bill’s latest letter and postcard on her writing desk, as yet unanswered. Her head crowded with images: a soldier, deep in trench mud, subsisting on tinned beef and hardtack. Waving his hat to salute the King, who dined on the finest of fares while countless men howled and writhed in the mud, dying like livestock in an abattoir. A man beating glowing iron at a smithy in Albany. Herself, in the drab dress of a blacksmith’s wife, a squawking baby on her hip.
Edie’s heart beat fast and high in her chest, leaving her feeling sick. She tried to lie down and go to sleep but that just made the food rise in her gorge. She’d eaten too much, danced too much – and Bill was probably crouched in a trench, damp and filthy, with a belly so empty it ached.
The only thing that relieved it was sitting at her writing desk and pulling out a piece of paper.
York
15th June 1917
Dear Mr Bogle,
Thank you very much for your kind letter and postcard. I’m glad to hear you are in good health and had some time off. I hope that you are by now having splendid summer weather in France. I like to think the sun is baking the mud and your boots are warm and dry.
I have been tricked by Florence into joining the Snapshots from Home League. I am visiting the homes of soldiers who hail from York, and taking snaps for them. Have you heard of the scheme? If you haven’t already, you ought to put in a request for pictures of your sisters and mother. Perhaps they have a civilian photographer in Albany to take them for you.
I didn’t say this before, but I was glad to hear your story about Aubrey playing his part so well in the trenches. I’m not at all surprised to hear that he was good at catching the enemy shells. He was in the Headmaster’s XI at school and loved nothing more than to get up a game of cricket with his chums, no matter if they had enough players or not. I’m always pleased to hear any stories about Aubrey so do not hesitate to send me anything you think of. It causes me pain to speak or hear of him, but it is a pain I prefer over hearing nothing about him at all. My father doesn’t even like to have his name mentioned.
The dish you described having at the farmhouse is, I believe, crepes – and it is a coincidence indeed, for I tried crepes for the first time myself recently, at the home of one of my pupils. How strange that on two different halves of the world, we were both tasting crepes!
Edie hesitated, wondering how to continue. There was no easy or natural way to express what she was feeling. She refreshed her pen, took a breath and plunged in.
I’ve lately had the benefit of a frank conversation with a man who saw active service and it’s given me a clearer view of what you face each day. I wish I’d said this to Aubrey and I must make sure you hear it, Mr Bogle. I want you to know how much I honour you for your bravery – and I don’t say the word lightly. There’s a lot of talk about bravery; a man decorated for disregarding danger to rescue a fellow soldier, or a chap ignoring his wounds to keep fighting. But the most powerful bravery I see is in the way you can still joke about eating beef ice cream or tell me a story about hunting for tadpoles as a boy, even when you’re continually facing the very worst of violence, grief and hardship. I do very much hope you can hold fast to your good humour, sense and kindness in amongst this dreadful suffering.
I shan’t labour the point any more, so let me just say your story about the Viking blacksmiths was wonderful, and I am determined to tell it to my pupils. Do keep yourself as safe and warm as you can, send my regards to your family when you get a chance, and I will keep you in my prayers for a safe return.
With respect and good wishes,
Edith Stark
12
Another Aubrey
Edie spent the morning colourising the two sets of Lombard portraits. It took her a while to choose the best photo, but she eventually settled on the one where all the adults were looking at the camera, even if one of the children was leaning towards her brother with a cheeky grin and one of the twins was either yawning or wailing. She soothed herself with the thought that it captured the personalities of the subjects. She dabbed red onto the neckerchief of the grandfather and made the sky a pretty pale blue. Hours passed while she touched colour into the trees, the grapevines, the girls’ skirts and boys’ suspenders.
At last Edie put down her brush, stretched and sat back. She imagined Max and Sophie Lombard receiving the snapshots and pride in her work suddenly burgeoned up through her, warming her belly and chest, giving her a confusing sensation of wanting to cry. She scolded herself for her vanity. It was just a bit of colour on a photograph – a child could do it. Another favourite saying of her father’s – one he’d learned by heart – was by Longfellow: Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person’s mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit. He used it whenever Edie or Aubrey showed any sort of pleasure in their own achievements.
A voice in her head said she was being too hard on herself, but her father’s voice was there too. Self-conceit, it insisted. Laid out in a row on the desk, she noticed there was a series of photos showing the family at different moments: one with the boys jostling for space and a girl smoothing one of the twins’ gowns – then another with Giovanna smiling at her husband over the top of her parents’ heads – then the final one that she’d painted. How heartening for Sophie and Max Lombard to see their family in these intimate, everyday moments. Edie thrust away her self-doubt and packed the three photos into each of the two envelopes.
At midday, she walked to the Macmillan house. Teddy and Kitty were outside, Kitty buzzing around cheerfully while her brother got the sulky ready. Mrs Macmillan came out to tell Teddy to watch the ditches in the road out to Gwambygine, which was known to be bad, and to remind Edie how pretty she’d looked the night before.
Once they’d rolled away from Mrs Macmillan, Kitty took over the talking duties. First she conjured up a bawdy ditty playing on the Longbottom name, which made them laugh and obliged Edie to belatedly remind her of her manners. Then she moved onto the elegance of Miss Anne Ellington, the musical talent of Amy Ellington and the annoying habit of Master Gus Ellington of sniffing then clearing his throat in a continual pattern.
‘I felt sorry for Mr Sam Watson,’ she added when these topics had been exhausted. ‘Miss Anne had to hold his arm up while they danced, did you notice? He couldn’t hold it up himself.’
‘Yes, it was injured in the war,’ said Edie. ‘But I don’t think it causes him pain, and he seems to manage it pretty well.’
‘Yes. And Miss Anne didn’t seem to mind holding his hand up for him.’
Edie privately agreed that this was the case.
‘Sam Watson was made an officer – lance corporal – before he got invalided out.’ Teddy glanced over Kitty’s head at Edie. ‘Promoted because of his wealth and position in society.’
‘Or because he was deemed competent and showed promise?’ Edie returned.
He shrugged. ‘It’s interesting that you don’t see as many wheelwrights, carpenters or blacksmiths recognised for their promise or competence, don’t you think?’
Edie, thinking of Private Bill Bogle, said nothing.
‘They get paid more, you know – anything above a private.’
‘Naturally,’ she said.
‘Better rations, too.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. It’s supposed to be the same rations for every soldier but Sam mentioned he got extra, which he could eat or share. Extra rum and tea, too, and first dibs on the smokes.’
‘I suppose they try to keep the higher-ranked officers strong and fit to lead the others.’
‘Hmm,’ said Teddy. ‘Although it’s a funny thing how the higher you stand in society, the better you’re treated – while the lower-ranked working-class diggers live and die like cattle.’
Edie took a calming breath and looked at Kitty squeezed onto the seat between them. ‘Kitty, I saw you dancing on your own as you watched last night. You dance very well. Did your mother teach you?’
‘Yes, she’s taught me many, many dances, including some that I’m not supposed to show anyone because they’ll say we’re of abandoned character.’
Edie wrestled the smile off her face. ‘Well, you’ll be highly sought after as a partner someday, with your grace and command of the steps.’
‘I thought you were a good dancer too, Miss Stark, although you missed some steps when you danced with Teddy – but he missed some too, so it didn’t matter so much. Miss June thought she was terribly good, but she was too fancy and fussy with her arms, I thought. Mr Donald Ellington is a good dancer, despite his bandy leg. I think he wanted to dance with you a bit more, Miss Stark. He kept looking at you.’
Edie sat in awkward silence.
‘Kitty showed me your hand colouring of her photos, Miss Stark,’ said Teddy, and this time she was grateful of the change in topic. ‘It’s excellent.’
‘Thank you, but it’s really not excellent.’
‘It’s quite a skill. You ought to pursue it as a career, if teaching ever becomes a bit dull.’
‘Teaching is never dull.’ Edie smiled down at Kitty.
‘Does it take you long?’ he asked. ‘To paint a snap?’
‘Far too long. I fret over every little inch of the picture and can’t seem to stop. The best thing about painting photos, though, is that if you mess it up, you can get another developed and start over.’
‘I imagine there are some rather thrilled blokes out there, getting these colourised snaps,’ he remarked. ‘Which gallery do you use in Guildford to get your photos developed?’
Edie hesitated. ‘I don’t usually take snaps when I’m home.’
‘Why’s that?’ Teddy looked at her.
‘I don’t seem to be able to find the time,’ she said, but he knew the truth – she saw it.
He thought for a moment. ‘If you do find time to take snaps while you’re next at home, you could always bring them back to York for developing.’
A small understanding passed between them. ‘Yes, I could do that. Good thought.’
Kitty pointed out frolicking lambs, a ‘porcupine’ trundling by (Edie corrected that to echidna), a dead fox hung on a fence by a farmer and a tree struck black by lightning. At one point, Edie saw a father emu standing still in a field, watching the sulky roll by. He had a number of chicks at his feet. She brought up her camera to snap a photo and Teddy, seeing what she was doing, stopped the sulky to give her a good shot.
She felt silly afterwards. ‘Thank you. I like to take nature photographs for my pupils.’
He merely nodded, but a few minutes later when they spotted a wedge-tailed eagle sitting up on a gate railing like it was king of all it surveyed, Teddy didn’t even need to be asked. He stopped his horse with a quiet, ‘Whoa, there, George,’ and waited while Edie took a photo.
