A little bit on the side, p.5
A Little Bit on the Side, page 5
Jimmy, in return for the chores that he performed, which were neither onerous nor frequent, was rewarded with home-brew, cakes, pies from the best pastry cook in the village, and his pick of the choicest items from the veg plot, which the sons still gardened, but principally for their own benefit.
And as Jim came to know Ada better he increasingly popped in from time to time to see how she was, and gradually came to realise that in some small way she was filling the gap in his life that should have been occupied by his mother.
It was during one of these visits, as Jimmy sat enjoying tea and one of Ada’s buttered scones, that she raised with him the matter of his immediate neighbours.
‘Jimmy. I’ve been thinking over what the vicar had to say in church a few weeks ago. You know a bit about that Mr and Mrs Manning don’t you?’
Jim confirmed that he knew them well, and added that he had found them to be a very pleasant and friendly couple.
‘And do you think they would mind calling in to see an old woman like me some time?’
‘I’m sure they’d love to Ada, especially as I’ve told them a little about you and Tom, and the way things were in the old days. They’re Jack and Kate, by the way.’
‘Well you ask Jack and Kate if they could call in with yourself and Celia next Sunday afternoon for a bit of cake and tea. About half-three would be lovely.’
The invitation proffered and accepted, the four of them set off the following Sunday to stroll the half-mile or so to Ada’s house which stood apart from the village at the end of Goosey Lane, a roughly surfaced track off the Barlow Road.
Despite the attractions of a fine Sunday mid-afternoon in early May, few were to be seen as they passed through the village. One or two men, engaged in some leisurely hoeing on their veg plots, took a few moments off for a word of greeting with Jimmy and a nod to Jack (in conformity with Barton hill convention the ladies were ignored) before returning to their undemanding labours. In the centre of the village all the shops were tightly closed, as was the Shagger, the Sunday lunchtime regulars having returned home for their dinner (nobody ‘lunched’ on the hill) before turning, some to the News of the World, others to international football or county cricket on the box, but the majority to sleeping their way through to a late tea, and then a return to the Shagger to forget for an hour or two the coming Monday and the following week of hard graft.
Putting the vicar’s precepts into practice with a zeal that would have delighted him, Ada had been waiting impatiently for her visitors, and was out of the house to greet them before the garden gate had clicked shut. Intimate already with Jim and Celia from many earlier meetings, she spared them a quick smile, but making straight for Kate surprised her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before a word had been spoken.
‘Hello my dear. Lovely to meet you both after all this while, though I’ve seen you about quite a bit. Should have asked you up to see me earlier.’
Jack clasped Ada’s outstretched hand warmly, but ignorant of the Barton conventions in such matters, hesitated in the matter of a kiss on first meeting. His uncertainty was resolved when Ada quite clearly offered up her cheek.
Despite being occupied with the warmth of Ada’s welcome, none of them had been unaware of the two shadowy figures shuffling about awkwardly in the gloom of the passage who were now called out by Ada to meet her visitors.
‘This is Ted, my eldest, and this Charlie, my baby. When I told them you was coming up to tea they both said they just had to pop round to say hello while you were here.’
Her ‘baby’, all six-foot-three of him, still not inured to his mother’s loving mockery, grimaced as he shook their hands and muttered an embarrassed welcome. Ted went through the formalities with no more than a silent nod of his head. Neither showed any sign of the impatience to meet the Mannings that Ada’s introduction had suggested.
Indeed, if their mother had summoned them out and instructed them to ‘Say hello nicely,’ it couldn’t have been more obvious to the visitors that here were a couple of pressed men conscripted to the vicar’s cause by their mother’s missionary fervour.
Scrubbed, washed, shaved, and dressed in a ‘Sunday best’ that normally saw the light of day every couple of years, their polished weather-beaten faces struggled hard to express a welcome, but it was clear that their hearts were not in it, and when Ada led them all through to her living room they stood in the background for five minutes or so, silent unless spoken to. When a decent interval had expired they mumbled the best excuses they could devise, and then hurried away to throw off their coats and ties, and make the most of what little was left to them of their Sunday afternoon.
With the conversation proceeding easily amongst the others, Jack had allowed his attention to drift to the family photographs on the wall, and he scarcely looked at the thickly buttered slice of Ada’s teacake as he bit into it. But Jack was fond of his food, and he knew a good thing when he tasted it.
‘What gorgeous butter Ada,’ he said. ‘Where on earth do you buy it?’
‘There, that’s what you’ve been waiting for isn’t it Ada?’ said Jimmy, but gave her no time to reply.
‘There’s no “buy” about it Jack. She churns it all with her own fair hands, don’t you my love?’
‘Don’t you be cheeky, and not so much of the “my love.” But yes, that’s right. That’s how Tom told me he liked it when we got married, and I’ve made it that way ever since. I can’t bear that boughten tack. But with the screws in me hands it’s getting harder and harder, and I think this year might be the last.’
‘That’s Tom is it?’ asked Jack, nodding towards one of the photographs on the wall.
‘That’s right. Taken a couple of years after the war just before we got married.’
‘Childhood sweethearts was it Ada?’ asked Jimmy, who was now exploring new territory with Ada.
‘I spose it was for me, but not for Tom. He was almost ten years older than me, but I knew him when I was nothing but a little thing, and I think I must have been in love with him then. But there were older ones who had their eyes on Tom, and I’m sure he had his fling with a few of them before he noticed me. That would have been when I was about sixteen. But the lads didn’t marry young in them days, and I thought as I grew up that I might be in with a chance — but you don’t want to waste your time listening to all my tales.’
‘Oh but we do Ada,’ said Jimmy. ‘I can’t resist a rural romance, and I reckon we should sit and listen to the old folk talking a lot more than we do. What about you Jack?’
‘Absolutely. Wish I’d listened more when I was younger. Too late now for many of them.’
‘Well it was the time of the old Queen’s Jubilee. A crowd of us youngsters were being taken into Barlow the day before on farmer Watkins’ hay wagon, and Tom was sitting up front driving, along with Mr Addison from the school and Miss Bailey from the post. There was beef and mutton sandwiches and fizzy drink to keep us going in the back till we got there, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Tom. Oh he did look handsome in his fancy ganzie, top coat and hat, and every once in a while he’d give a flourish of the whip. Not that he’d dare to let it touch Mr Watkins’ two lovely Clydesdales.
For many of us youngsters from up on the hill that was our first trip to Barlow, and on that day it looked just like a fairy land. There was bunting, streamers, flags and coloured lights in all the streets, with flowers and pictures of the Queen in all the shop windows, and a big brass band playing under the market hall.
I looked around for Tom after we arrived, but didn’t see him again until we set off for home. I think he was more interested in the pubs, and the chance for a change from the Shepherd’s brew.
It wasn’t until we set off for home that Tom seemed to notice me for the first time. “Hello Ada,” he said, giving me a helping hand up into the back. “I didn’t notice you on the way out. You’re quite the lovely young lady now aren’t you?” And I spent all the way back to the village hoping it wasn’t just the beer talking.
Then when we got back home we all trooped off down the hill to Mr Watkins’ big wagon shed, where Mr Addison and some of the men had got up that old piece St George and the Dragon. I think it was when I saw Tom as St George that I really knew I was in love with him. His brother William played the Turkish knight. He was another lovely lad too, but he never came back from the war.
When it got dark and we saw the beacon fire lit up on Merton hill away in the distance, we lit ours up too, and then things got a bit larky with fun and games around the fire, and a bit of dancing. That was when Tom first got his arms around my waist, and then slipped us away into the shadows, and gave me a kiss. Bit of a cheek that, considering my age.’
‘When you talk about the war Ada, which one do you mean?’ asked Jack.
‘South Africa. The one that was still going on when the old Queen died. Both Tom and William had been in the reserves for years, and were soon called in to the local barracks. Then they were on their way out there within a couple of months. Tom kept a few bits and pieces about the war which I’ve still got upstairs if you’d like to see them.’
‘Well if that’s alright with you Ada, I’d be very interested,’ said Jimmy.
‘They’re all in the back room at the top of the stairs, but my legs are so bad I don’t go up there now unless I really have to. Pop up yourself. You too Jack if you’d be interested. There’s still a few bits of his uniform in the old wardrobe, and some papers and other pieces on the table.’
Jimmy and Jack left the ladies to it and climbed the stairs to the top floor.
‘Must have been their room when they were first married,’ said Jimmy, walking across to the window which looked out over the garden to the south. ‘She’s still using the same old privy too, by the look of it. Probably end up slipping away there just like Tom. I think she’d probably like that.’
Jack, his attention caught by a group of photographs on the wall, was too absorbed to answer. It was the centrepiece that first caught his eye — a young Churchill as war correspondent wearing slouch hat and military jacket. An unusual choice from the many popular portraits that were available, thought Jack. Around it was a cluster of photographs, all of them of the King’s Shropshire Light Infantry: in barracks, marching for embarkation, or posed outside a tent in South Africa. There was also one of two fine-looking young men wearing what looked like dress uniform and probably taken in barracks: Tom and his brother William, Jack assumed.
On a table below the photographs, in a little glass -topped box, were a few mementos: a Queen’s South Africa medal with four clasps, a regimental badge, a glass-beaded heart pincushion with the regimental arms and a sentimental verse, a collection of newspaper cuttings, and a book which Jack took out to examine more closely.
‘There’s a book here by Churchill. Seems to be about the Boer War, Ian Hamilton’s March. Know anything about that Jimmy.’
‘Absolutely bugger all. Sounds like water under the bridge to me. Who’d be interested now?’
‘Some might be in the book. The cover’s a bit faded on the front, but otherwise it’s in good condition, and as it’s dated 1900 I reckon it must be a first edition.’
Jack could see that towards the back of the book a slip of paper had been inserted, and turning to the page he found that a paragraph had been underlined in pencil:
At dawn on May-day fighting recommenced, and soon after six-o’clock parties of the Gordons and Canadians succeeded in gaining possession of the two peaks of Thoba Mountain. Besides this, half a company of the Shropshires under Colour-Sergeant Sconse, managed to seize the nek between them, and though subjected to a severe cross-fire, which caused in this small party ten casualties out of forty, maintained themselves stubbornly for four hours. The points which dominate the flat top of the mountain were thus gained.
Alongside the paragraph was written, presumably by Tom, ‘This is where we lost poor William.’
Flipping back again to the front Jack saw that the front flyleaf carried a brief inscription, ‘To Thomas Sutton from Winston S Churchill’
‘Well I’ll be damned,’ said Jack. ‘Jimmy come and have a look at this, and tell me now if you think anyone might be interested.’
Jimmy clucked as he looked at Jack’s discovery. ‘Oh dear, it’s a sad reflection on this wicked world that that reactionary old bugger’s signature should be worth some money, but I imagine it is.’
They didn’t spend much time looking at any of the other bits and pieces, but went down to have a word with Ada.
‘Ada, did Tom ever talk to you at all about this and the Boer War,’ said Jack, handing the book to her.
‘Not a word. Never talked to me about the war at all. He’d been back almost four years before we got married, and he brought all that stuff with him. I saw it in the case of course, but never thought to look at it. Why, is it important?’
‘Did he never talk to you about William’s death?’
‘No. I’d heard all about that from his family long before he came back over. Tom never talked about it to me direct.’
‘Did he ever mention that he’d met Churchill out there?’
‘You mean the old Prime Minister?’
‘Yes, but this was year’s earlier: before the First World War.’
‘Not a word. Never talked about Churchill other than to say what a great man he was, and how he’d helped to win the war, but he didn’t mean the Boer War.’
Jack opened the book towards the back.
‘So you’ve never seen this,’ he said, pointing out Tom’s entry in the margin.
‘Never. Oh poor William. Tom never talked to me about it, but looking at this it makes me feel so sad that he never thought to show me.’
‘Or this,’ said Jack, turning to the front flyleaf.
Ada looked at the inscription in disbelief. ‘Is that really his signature: genuine I mean.’
‘Well it’s in a good firm hand. Looks good to me, but it would have to be checked out. You didn’t realise that it was worth some money then?’
Ada shook her head. ‘I don’t think Tom did either. I never saw the book out of the box, and he may well have completely forgotten that it was signed.’
There followed an hour or more of excited speculation, while the book was examined more closely page by page. But there were no further inscriptions to throw any light on the matter, or anything in the old newspaper cuttings to enlighten them. Jack and Jimmy meanwhile had been talking the matter over, and before they left Jimmy had a final word with Ada.
‘Ada, Jack and I think this needs to be done properly and with care. The book should be professionally valued, and it needs to be done by an expert, someone who knows what he’s about. That means London and not one of the local auctioneers. Jack said he’ll find out what he can about any specialists in this sort of thing, and then we’ll call again, and put together a letter for you to send telling them what you have. If they’re interested, and I’m sure they will be, wrap the book up carefully and get one of the boys to go up on the train and see them. If the boys aren’t keen to do that, then if it’s OK with you, I’ll pop up for you.’
Ada was quite happy with that, and the rest of their time together was spent, without all that much encouragement being needed from her visitors, in listening to Ada reminiscing about her childhood and early married life on the hill. And always it was the hill’s isolation in those early days that was the underlying theme. It forced on them a self-sufficiency and spirit of mutual support and cooperation that was being lost elsewhere, and in winter in particular it brought with it a fair share of emergencies and tragedies.
Ada, newly pregnant herself for the first time, had been called on to assist when heavy snowfalls had prevented either doctor or midwife getting to the village, and Albert, the current publican, was showing a distinct unwillingness to assume a personal existence independent of his mother’s womb.
‘But we got him out in the end,’ said Ada, ‘although he did look a sight. All blotched, scratched and ugly.’
‘Not much change there then,’ said Jimmy.
‘Maybe not, but he’s always kept an eye on me since Tom died.’
The tragedy was the loss of David, Ada’s young cousin, who cycling home late one night when winter ice lay thick across the hill, had skidded and fallen. His injury itself had not been severe, nothing more than a broken ankle, but none other was to pass that way during the night, and long before anyone was moving the following morning young David had frozen to death.
There were of course many happy times to be recalled, but as always it was the tragedies that left their mark on her visitors.
Unsurprisingly, as they had turned from tea to parsnip wine following the sensational discovery in the book, more than three hours had slipped away before they set off down the hill for home. Despite the excitement of the book’s discovery, the dying light of day and the thought of youth and life lost by war or accident had left them all in a reflective mood, Jack in particular.
‘Strange isn’t it how we can be so affected by the faraway deaths of those we have never even known. I felt like that when I read Tom’s few words about William’s death. Do you know that Hardy poem Drummer Hodge Jim?’
‘No Jack; can’t say that I do. Remember, you’re the man of letters. I’m just a pragmatic revolutionary and man of action.’
‘You’re a soulless bugger too, but I’m not deterred. Borrow my book some time and read it. Fine piece: only a few stanzas on poor young Hodge dead and buried on an African kopje to spend eternity under an alien sky. Can’t remember the exact lines, but there’s a bit about Hodge becoming part of that unknown plain and growing to become some Southern tree. A few years and a war later Brooke had much the same idea with his “foreign field” piece. Prefer the Hardy though — not so self-indulgent.’
‘Now you’ve got that out of your system, can we get home please, open a bottle and get stuck into a cold collation,’ said Kate.
