"God gave us grace to love you
Men whom our hearts hold dear;
We too have faced the battle
Striving to hide our fear.
"God gave us strength to send you,
Courage to let you go;
All that it meant to lose you
Only our sad hearts know.
"Yet by your very manhood
Hold we your honour fast.
God shall give joy to England
When you come home at last."
Not till she felt Mabel's soft warm lips on her cheek and knew herself
held in the other's arms, did Joan wake to the fact that the marriage
was finished and that she was Dick's wife. All the morning she had moved
and answered questions and smiled, when other people smiled, in a sort
of trance, out of which she was afraid to waken. The only fact that
stood out very clear was that Dick was going away in the afternoon;
every time she saw a clock it showed that the afternoon was so many
minutes nearer.
"You have got to help me to be brave," she had said to Dick the night
before. "Other women let their men go, and make no outward fuss. I don't
want to be different to them."
"And you won't be," he had answered, kissing her. "If you feel like
crying, just look at me, and as your lord and master, I'll frown at you
to show that I don't approve."
He himself was in the wildest, most hilarious of spirits. As he had said
to Joan, the thought of death had only touched upon his mind for a
second; now the mere idea of it seemed ridiculous. He was going out to
help in a great fight, and he was going to marry Joan. She would be
waiting for him when he came back; what could a man want more?
The Rutherfords came up on Friday to spend the night before the wedding
in town, and in the evening Joan and Dick went to a theatre. It was,
needless to say, his idea, but he did it with a notion that it would
cheer Joan up. If you want to know real misery, sit through a musical
comedy with someone you love more than the whole world next to you, and
with the knowledge that he is going to the War the next day in your
heart. Joan thought of it every moment. When the curtain was up and the
audience in darkness, Dick would slip his hand into hers and hold it,
but his eyes followed the events on the stage, and he could laugh quite
cheerfully at the funny man's antics. Joan never even looked at them;
she sat with her eyes on Dick, just watching him all the time. When they
had driven back to the hotel at which the Rutherfords were staying, and
in the taxi Dick had taken her into his arms and rather fiercely made
her swear that she loved him, that she was glad to be marrying him, some
shadow from her anguish had touched on him, it seemed he could not let
her go. "Damn to-morrow!" he said hoarsely, and held her so close that
the pressure hurt, yet she was glad of the pain as it came from him.
She could not ask him into the hotel, for they had no private
sitting-room, so they said good-night to each other on the steps, with
the taxi driver and the hotel porter watching them.
"To-morrow, then, at twelve," Dick had whispered. "But I am going to
bring Mabel round before then; she gets up at about eleven, I think."
"To-morrow," Joan answered; her eyes would not let him go.
They stood staring at each other for a minute or two while the taxi-cab
driver busied himself with the engine of his car, and the hall porter
walked discreetly out of sight. Then Dick lifted his hand quickly to the
salute and turned away.
"Drive like hell!" he said to the man. "Anywhere you please, but end me
up at the Junior Conservative Club."
"Couldn't even kiss her," communed the man to himself. "That's the worst
of being a toff. Can't kiss your girl if anyone else happens to be
about."
Mabel had been very nice to Joan the next morning. She had buried all
thoughts of jealousy and dismay, and when she looked into the other
girl's eyes she forgave her everything and was only intensely sorry for
her. Mrs. Grant had, very fortunately, as Dick said, stuck to her
opinion and refused to have anything to do with the wedding. She had
said good-bye to Dick on Friday morning with a wild outburst of tears,
but he could not really feel that it meant very much to her.
"Mother will have forgotten in a week that she disapproved," Mabel told
Joan. "You must very often come and spend the day with us."
Then they had driven down to the registry office, all four of them, and
in a dark, rather dingy little room, a man with a curiously irritating
voice had read aloud something to them from a book. Now they stood
outside in the sunshine again, Mabel had kissed Joan, and Uncle John was
blinking at her out of old eyes that showed a suspicion of tears in
them. A big clock opposite told her the time was a quarter to one; in an
hour and three-quarters Dick would be gone.
They had lunch in a little private room at a restaurant close to
Victoria Station. Joan tried to eat, and tried to laugh and talk with
the others, because Mabel had whispered to her on the way in: "You've
got to help Dick through the next hour, it isn't going to be easy for
him." And that had made Joan look at him with new eyes, and she could
see that his face was very white, and that he seemed almost afraid to
look at her.
After lunch Mabel and Colonel Rutherford went on ahead and left the two
young people to say their good-bye alone. When they had gone Dick pushed
the things in front of him on the table aside, and laid his head down on
his hands. "My God!" she heard him say, "I wish I had not got to go."
He had been so pleased before, so excited over his different
preparations, so wildly keen to be really on the move at last. Joan ran
to him quickly; kneeling on the floor by his side, throwing her arms
around him. Her own fears were forgotten in her desire to make him brave
again.
"It won't be for long, Dick," she whispered. "I know something right
inside my heart tells me that you will come back. It is only like
putting aside our happiness for a little. Dear, you would be wretched if
you could not go. Just having me would not make up to you for that."
He turned and caught her to him quickly. "If I had had you," he said
harshly, "it would be different. It would make going so much easier."
"You will come back," she answered softly. Her eyes held his, their
hearts beat close and fast against each other.
"It seems," he said a minute or two later, "that it is you who are
helping me not to make a fuss, and not the other way about as we
arranged." He stood up, slowly lifting her with him. "It is time we were
off, Joan," he said. "And upon my soul, I need some courage, little
girl. What can you do for me?"
"Well, if I cry," suggested Joan, her head a little on one side--she
must be cheerful, she realized; it was funny, but in this she could be
stronger than he, and she must be for his sake--"I am sure you would get
so annoyed that the rest would be forgotten."
"If I see you cry," he threatened, "I shall get out even after the train
has started, and that will mean all sorts of slurs on my reputation."
They walked across to Victoria Station and came in at once to a scene of
indescribable noise and confusion. Besides Dick's unit there was a
regiment going. The men stood lined up in the big square yard of the
station. Some had women with them, wives and mothers and sweethearts;
children clung to the women's skirts, unnoticed and frightened into
quietness by the sight and sound of their mothers' grief. Railway
officials, looking very important and frightfully overworked, ran in and
out of the crowd. The train was standing at the platform, part of it
already full, nearly every window had its little group of anxious-faced
women, trying to say good-bye to their respective relatives in the
carriage.
Dick and Joan walked the length of the train, and found that Dick's man
had stowed away his things and reserved a place for his master in one of
the front carriages. Then Colonel Rutherford and Mabel joined them and
they all talked, trying to keep up an animated conversation as to the
weather; would the Channel crossing be very rough; what chance was there
of his going to Boulogne instead of to Havre; Joan stood close to Dick,
just touching him; there was something rather pathetic in the way she
did not attempt to close her hand upon the roughness of his coat, but
was content to feel it brushing against her. The regimental band had
struck up "Tipperary"; the men were being marshalled to take their
places in the train. Joan wondered if the band played so loud and so
persistently to drown the noise of the women's crying. One young wife
had hysterics, and had to be carried away screaming. They saw the
husband, he had fallen out of the ranks to try and hold the girl when
the crying first began, now he stood and stared after her as they
carried her away. Quite a boy, very white about the face, and with
misery in his eyes. Joan felt a wave of resentment against the woman;
she had no right, because she loved him, to make his going so much the
harder to bear.
A porter ran along the platform calling out, "Take your seats, please,
take your seats." Uncle John was shaking hands and saying good-bye to
Dick, "I'll look after her for you," Joan heard him say. Then Mabel
moved between them for a second, and pulling down Dick's head, kissed
him. After that, it seemed, she was left alone with Dick; Colonel
Rutherford and Mabel had gone away. How desperately her hand for the
second clutched on to the piece of his coat that was near to her! She
could not let him go, could not, could not. The engine whistle emitted a
long thin squeak, the soldiers at the back of the train had started
singing the refrain of "Tipperary." Just for a second his arms were
round her, his lips had brushed against hers. That was all it amounted
to, but she had looked up at him and she had seen the need in his eyes.
"Good-bye," she whispered. There was not a vestige of tears or fright in
her voice. "You will be back soon, Dick. It is never good-bye."
"No," he agreed. "Never good-bye."
Then he had gone; not a minute too soon, for the train had already
started. She could not even see his face at the window, a great
blackness had come over her eyes, but she stood very straight held,
waving and smiling.
A crowd of the soldiers' wives ran past her up the platform, trying to
catch on to the hands held out to them from the windows. The men cheered
and sang and sang again. It could only have been one or two seconds that
she stood there, then slowly the blackness lifted from her eyes. A word
had risen in her heart, she said it almost aloud; the sound of it pushed
aside her tears and brought her a strange comfort. "England." It was the
name that had floated at the back of her prayers always when she prayed
for Dick. She was glad that he had gone, even the misery in her heart
could not flood out that gladness: "Who dies, if England lives?"
Mabel was standing near her and slipped her hand into hers. "Come away,
dear," she heard Mabel say; "Colonel Rutherford has got a taxi for us."
Joan was grateful to Mabel. She realized suddenly that the other woman,
who had also loved Dick, had been content to stand aside at the last and
leave them alone. She turned to her like a child turns for comfort to
someone whom instinctively it knows it can trust.
"I have been good," she said, "haven't I? I haven't shed a tear. Dick
said I wasn't to, and, Mabel, you know, I am glad that he has gone.
There are some things that matter more than just loving a person, aren't
there?"
"Honour, and duty, and the soul of man," Mabel answered. She laughed, a
little strange sound that held tears within it. "Oh, yes, Joan, you are
right to be glad that he has gone. It will make the future so much more
worth having."
"Yes," Joan whispered. Her eyes looked out over the crowded station; the
little groups of weeping women; the sadder faces of those who did not
weep and yet were hopeless. Her own eyes were full of great faith and a
radiant promise. "He will come back, I know he will come back," she
said.
Outside the band played ceaselessly and untiringly to drown the sound of
the women's tears:
"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go;
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the dearest girl I know.
"Farewell, Piccadilly, farewell, Leicester Square,
It's a long, long way to Tipperary
But my heart's right there."
* * * * *
THE END
_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._
* * * * *
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without notice. The
following words were spelled in two different ways and were not changed:
arm-chair, armchair
ball-room, ballroom
over-worked, overworked
A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected and are listed
below.
Page 11: "older women were belating" changed to "older women were debating".
Page 22: "settled the had sat" changed to "settled she had sat".
Page 32: "at firs thought was love" changed to "at first thought was love".
Page 51: "must be ome explanation" changed to "must be some explanation".
Page 53: "ushered in M Jarr.vis" changed to "ushered in Mr. Jarvis".
Page 59: "talking to each other in whsipers" changed to "talking to each
other in whispers"
Page 81: "Half-olay out," changed to "Half-way out,".
Page 107: "the crowded steeets" changed to "the crowded streets".
Page 140: "ladies to go ground" changed to "ladies to go around".
Page 151: "found her downstars" changed to "found her downstairs".
Page 162: "s not to be believed" changed to "was not to be believed".