FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Uncle was quick, like all practised orators, to realise the effect of
his words not only upon a sister, but upon himself. He emerged from the
depths, as a swimmer after a dive, shaking his head and opening his
mouth to the ambient air. A happy thought occurred to him.
"Susan," he said, in a more cheerful voice, "I be mazed as you be, but
things bain't so dark as they seem, and I've Squire's own word for it
that figures lie to beat Satan hisself."
Mrs. Yellam looked at him interrogatively.
"I be allers, so to speak, a very calkilatin' man, rampaged by Fortin
into makin' sixpence do duty for a shillin'. Now, I asks you this, and I
means to put the question, fair and square, to Captain Davenant
to-morrer marning. 'Tis a common saying that one Englishman be so good
as ten Frenchies in a stand-up fight. That be a very comfortsome
thought, old girl."
"Which I don't hold wi', for one."
"Don't 'ee? I wager the half-crown Master Lionel gi' me that you be the
equal o' ten Frenchwomen, and, old as I be, I'd fair scorn to turn back
on any 'arf-dozen furriners. If so be as my calkilatin' ain't out o'
whack, our noble army o' two hundred thousand valiant souls be more'n
equal o' two million Frenchies. And, if that be so, the Germans be up
agen four millions in all. Leastways, if I bain't out in my figurin'."
Mrs. Yellam smiled faintly.
"Your figures, Habakkuk, be Satan's figures. I allows that one true
Englishman can down three Frenchies, not more. Men'll be wanted--and
soon."
Uncle remarked mournfully:
"Such talk takes away my appetite for cracklin'. I go my ways, dear,
leavin' this mossel o' comfort behind me: they won't be askin' for
widows' only sons. Good-night to 'ee."
After Uncle's departure Mrs. Yellam busied herself with her work,
pausing now and again to sigh deeply. If Sir Geoffrey Pomfret said that
England was coming in, why, England was in. A doubtful hypothesis became
certainty. And some widows' sons, if she knew her countrymen, would
fight for England, tooth and nail, even if they were not directly asked
to do so.
Presently Alfred appeared, sharp-set after a good day's business. He
repeated the gossip of the market-place. Russia was going to surprise
the world. England must come in. A greengrocer, on intimate terms with a
lady of quality, had told him as a secret that the Guards were already
embarking for Belgium. Alfred concluded cheerfully:
"In Salisbury, Mother, 'tis agreed that six weeks'll see the end on't."
"Captain Davenant be talkin' o' conscription, Alferd."
"Let him talk. He's a sour man. I put my faith in God Almighty, not in
the likes of him."
"Ah-h-h!"
"I say to myself, in all Christian humility, that God Almighty in His
wisdom is fair fed up with the Proosians. Such talk as they use, all
spitting and choking, is quite enough to sicken ordinary folks. 'Tis the
swelled head that this Kayser has. However, wiser men prophesy a rare
uplifting move in trade."
"Alferd--don't talk o' that. 'Tis more than I can bear to hear o' folks
makin' money out o' the miseries o' others."
He stared at her, noticing at last her drawn expression.
"You ain't got the headache, Mother?"
"No."
"Wouldn't own up to it, if you had. Something's gnawing at you."
Very gravely she told him about the young Squire. Alfred's face fell,
thinking of Joyce Pomfret, and then of Fancy. What would that pretty
dear be feeling, if her Alfred was on the march? The light faded from
his rubicund face. Till that moment the possibility of going had never
occurred to him. If England did take a hand in the mighty game, surely
her Army and Fleet would suffice for all eventualities. Suddenly, he
banged the table with his clenched fist, startling his mother.
"Alferd--!" she exclaimed irritably.
Alfred hastened to apologise. A confounding thought had begotten a
thoughtless action. He said earnestly:
"Fancy is a oner for telling fortunes with cards."
Mrs. Yellam frowned. Cards she held to be playthings of Satan, expressly
invented by him together with strong drink and bad women. Alfred
continued hastily:
"A lady in Salisbury, real quality, Mother, told Fancy's fortune."
"Did she? Better be using her needle, I says."
"No doubt. 'Tis a very odd thing, and food for sober thought, but the
lady did foretell as Fancy'd marry a soldier."
"A very foolish, mischievous notion to put i' the maid's head."
Alfred nodded. Then he said portentously:
"It might come true, Mother, if the pessimists be right."
"Pessimists?"
"'Tis a new word to me, and means--crokers, as looks on the dark side of
the cloud."
"Well, what do they tell 'ee?"
"'Twas a solitary he. A shoemaker by trade, and a radical. The smell of
leather be enough to account for his politics and gloomy views. When I
take shoes to him, we always pass time o' day, and I come away thinking
'tis just before dawn on a cold, drizzling, November morning. He says to
me: 'My lad, these Proosians may be drinking ale in Salisbury before
this war's over.' I laughed at him. And he told me I'd laugh t'other
side of my face in six months."
Mrs. Yellam made no comment, a strange abstention. Her firm jaws set
beneath strongly-marked brows, her eyes glowered into the future. Mother
and son finished the meal in silence.
These things were talked over on Monday, the 2nd of August.
On the Wednesday all England knew that we were at war with Germany.
The first effect of this stupendous happening was comical. The banks
were closed; many people found themselves without money and unable to
borrow it. Fishpingle, the bailiff at the Home Farm, had to lend Lionel
Pomfret five pounds to take him to Winchester. Some pessimists predicted
a financial panic. The foreign stock exchanges transacted no business.
All this affected Nether-Applewhite but mildly; tongues wagged a little
faster than usual; very few believed that an Expeditionary Force would
be sent to France. Sir Geoffrey Pomfret walked down to the village and
talked with his people. His jolly face and hearty voice indicated
immense relief. He--and thousands like him--had been tormented by the
fear that a nation stigmatised as shopkeepers would place self-interest
before honour. He writhed when he recalled the cynical gibe of the
Russian to England's ambassador at a time when England did "keep out."
Old Captain Davenant and the Squire were types of men whom the more
Radical press derided as reactionary and fire-eaters. Let the verdict of
history speak for such after the war. Few, to-day, will deny that the
privileged classes with most at stake stood shoulder to shoulder in
their determination to scrap everything except scraps of paper bearing
England's sign-manual.
The villagers listened agape to Sir Geoffrey and Captain Davenant. Then
each went his way perfectly satisfied that others would dance to war's
pipings and alarums, whilst they "carried on" as before.
Old Gilbert Parish, a great-granfer, was convinced that war had been
declared with the hereditary foe. He asked Mr. Hamlin shrilly, holding
hand to ear:
"What I wants to know, Pa'son, be this--whatever shall we do wi' they
Frenchies when us have beat'h 'em?"
Mr. Hamlin answered gravely: "I suppose we shall have to eat them,
Master Gilbert."
The nonagenarian displayed toothless gums.
"Ah-h-h! That's what the Dook said at Waterloo. 'Up, Guards, and eat
'en,' he says. _And they did!_"
"Was you there, Granfer, on that notable day?" asked a bystander.
The old fellow cackled joyously.
"'Tis so far back along, I disremembers. To speak sober truth, my lad,
the Dook won that gert battle wi'out me. 'Tis a fact beyond gainsayin'
that I be here, and hale and hearty, because, maybe, I was not there."
His humour so tickled him that he hobbled forthwith to the _Sir John
Barleycorn_ to wet a still serviceable whistle. Many followed his
example; the two taverns sold much ale.
In a miraculously short time village life ambled on as before. The small
boys played at soldiers; some of the more prescient mothers laid in
stores. Lionel Pomfret returned from Winchester with the assurance, hot
from the mouth of the officer commanding the depot, that every regular
would be sent abroad. The Squire was absorbed in the details. Each
officer would be allowed thirty pounds of kit, such kit to be snugly
packed in a pale-green carry-all. It comprised one change, two blankets,
a few surgical dressings, a folding-lamp, a pair of wire-cutters, and
under-linen. The Territorials and Yeomanry would defend our shores.
According to experts, invasion might be deemed practicable, if unlikely.
Next day Lionel went to London, to the War Office. He came back with a
Captain's commission.
The Government had taken over the railroads, and, at first, trains were
inconveniently belated. Liege was covering herself with imperishable
glory, holding up hordes of Germans. In the rural districts the
comforting impression prevailed that the All-Highest War Lord had gone
stark, staring mad, and that a peace-loving nation would kick him and
his out of the country. Hamlin, reading feverishly papers and reviews,
neglecting, for the first time in his life, parochial duties, rejoiced
in the premature conclusion that there burned no hate in English hearts
against the German people to whom civilisation owed so much. He
adumbrated peace before Christmas, and believed that a world-war would
end war. For a parish priest, he might be reckoned, intellectually, far
above the average. Men of keener and bigger brains shared his views. Sir
Geoffrey Pomfret, as might be expected, thought otherwise. There is no
pessimist like your optimist when he finds that the prognostications of
his less robust moments have come to pass. He said almost truculently to
his wife:
"It is some comfort to reflect, my dear Mary, that _we_ were right, and
all these axe-grinding demagogues wrong. I could hang Haldane with my
own hand. And I feel in my bones that this is going to be a long
business--a full year at least."
The Squire was sorely taken aback, when Lord Kitchener trebled this
estimate. He cursed politicians of his own party when Namur fell.
Indeed, he blamed politicians and publicists of every colour and creed,
pinning his faith to Army and Navy, sorely disgruntled with the Foreign
Office and the Diplomatic Service. No more unhappy man gazed across his
broad acres wondering miserably whether they would be his in three
years' time.
There ensued, as will be remembered, an amazing epidemic of national
apathy, which aroused trenchant criticism in neutral countries. People
bought maps and pins, and forgot to move the pins. Small things became
again of paramount importance. The King had demanded half a million more
regulars. But business went on as usual. A famous scribe has chronicled
the supreme event of this transition period. Carpentier defeated
Bombadier Wells! Possibly, the general indifference, an indifference
largely due to ignorance, was superficial. It is significant that
thousands of holiday-makers returned quietly to their own homes.
Lionel Pomfret and his wife moved to Winchester, where Lionel was kept
busy at the depot. For the moment, his own battalion of the Rifle
Brigade was in India. Another battalion had joined the Expeditionary
Force. Lionel might be called upon to join it at twenty-four hours'
notice. Joyce Pomfret, his wife, perceived that he wanted to do so.
An American, with the liveliest powers of observation, visiting
Nether-Applewhite, and talking, let us say, to Mrs. Yellam and Fancy,
would have gone away convinced that both these women, each the
antithesis of the other, were unconcerned with the war. Really the
thought of it obsessed them night and day. But they rarely spoke of it.
Mrs. Yellam deliberately put from her the possibility of losing her son,
partly because she had a positive assurance from the Parson that Alfred,
as a public carrier, would be exempted from military service if
conscription became necessary, and partly because the fact that she
tended four graves in the churchyard must surely be taken into account
by an All-wise and Merciful Providence. Like most of us, she had
constructed her own particular statute of limitations and liabilities.
She had endured more than her proper share of bludgeonings. Accordingly,
her mind dwelt upon the war as affecting others. She grieved for Lady
Pomfret and the Squire. If Master Lionel were taken--! The only son and
heir to such a fine property--!
Fancy, sister of a beloved brother serving in a battleship, fell a prey
to more intimate and poignant considerations. As the child of a delicate
mother who had died in giving her birth, pre-natal influence, perhaps,
had endowed her with sensibilities common to all women who are
physically weaker than they should be, with minds and imaginations more
active than their bodies. From her tenderest years Fancy had indulged in
meditations concerning angels. Her father habitually spoke of his wife
as an angel hovering close to one whom she had never held in her arms.
Fancy believed him absolutely. Darkness had no terrors for the child,
when she went to bed, because, in addition to her mother, the four
evangelists guarded her cot. She was quite positive that she had seen
her mother, clothed in shining tissues, with wings like a dove. Matthew,
Mark, Luke and John became personal friends with whom the mite affirmed
solemnly that she talked and played. Her father, a dreamer rather than a
doer, encouraged these fancies, which justified his selection of her
Christian name in obstinate defiance of the wishes of his family.
The first effect of the war upon Fancy, apart from her sisterly
anxieties, was a tightening of the bond between master and maid. Mr.
Hamlin held strong democratic opinions, a source of friction between
himself and Sir Geoffrey Pomfret. He desired ardently a more equable
distribution, not merely of wealth, but of health and intelligence. He
believed absolutely in the equality of souls before God, and he
recognised with ever-increasing satisfaction the potentialities of
bodies and minds, if taken in hand early in life. His disabilities as a
teacher shewed themselves in a too direct manner of speech, an
abruptness caused by an excess rather than a lack of sympathy and
perception. As Man and Priest, he shunned those easy by-paths beloved by
many of us when we have disagreeable duties to perform. He marched
straight to his objectives, regardless of objections.
At first sight, Mr. Hamlin recognised in his parlourmaid qualities of
which she herself was delightfully unconscious. As parson of a country
parish which outwardly and inwardly had changed but little since the
eighteenth century, he had fought desperately against the mental and
spiritual apathy of his flock, seizing any weapon that lay to his hand.
He worked with people for people, using Peter to convert Paul,
constantly disappointed but rarely discouraged. He had been offered
preferment; his sermons challenged interest outside Nether-Applewhite
but he had no personal ambition beyond the consuming desire to help
those whom he knew and loved to help themselves. Sir Geoffrey Pomfret
supported him in this, but Parson and Squire worked upon diametrically
opposing lines. All the instincts of the lord of the manor were
protective. To that end he had made and was prepared to go on making
personal sacrifices of leisure, pleasure and money. According to Hamlin,
this encouraged helplessness and ignorance. Poverty held out eager hands
for doles, displaying that comical form of gratitude which has been
defined as a lively sense of favours to come.
Hamlin, in common with most sincere reformers, divided the world into
two classes--the helpers and hinderers. Between these lay, of course, a
No Man's Land, where each class wandered aimlessly; the helpers, like
the Squire, became hinderers and hinderers, like Uncle, might become,
unexpectedly, helpers. Fancy, he acclaimed as a helper in or out of the
debateable territory. Insensibly, her refinement and modesty would raise
the tone in his kitchen, and radiate purer beams from a house hospitably
accessible to all his congregation. From time to time, when he was alone
at meals, he would ask the maid odd questions, and listen attentively to
her replies. Such questions were disconcerting to Fancy, but, as was
intended, they provoked intelligence to answer them. Ever since
ordination, Hamlin had realised the almost insuperable barriers
interposed by tradition, by training, by a thousand and one conditions
and consequences, between the privileged and unprivileged classes. From
the first he had set himself the task of breaking down such barriers. He
candidly admitted that most of his parishioners were liars and
hypocrites when it came to dealing with them frankly as between man and
man, and still more so as between man and woman. They said,
respectfully, what each felt that the Parson wished them to say,
repeating the old shibboleths and sesames which opened, possibly, purses
but not hearts.
After the fall of Namur, he said to Fancy:
"Do you feel patriotic?"
The question of patriotism had been raised (and not laid) by a publicist
in one of the current reviews, but the writer had presented a point of
view coloured and discoloured by intimate knowledge of industrial
England. He had not touched upon his theme as it affected the rural
districts.
"I hope so, sir," replied Fancy.
"How far, I wonder, would your patriotism carry you?"
He knew that Fancy was engaged to Alfred Yellam, and had congratulated
her sincerely. He knew, also, that she had no intention of getting
married for some time to come.
Fancy stood at attention, much perplexed, but flattered. She had wit
enough to realise that her master put the question in certain faith that
she would endeavour to answer it truthfully.
"I can't tell," she faltered. "Sounds silly, don't it, sir?"
"Not at all. I am wondering how far my patriotism would carry me. What
is patriotism, Fancy?"
"Love of country, sir."
"Why do we feel it?"
His keen eyes rested quietly on hers.
Fancy grappled with this, struggling to rise adequately to the occasion.
"I suppose 'tis gratitude, sir."
"Good. But gratitude is imponderable." For an instant he had forgotten
that he was talking to his parlourmaid. Beholding a wrinkle, he said
quickly: "I mean, that gratitude is not easy to weigh or measure. It is
immense," he smiled at her, "when it marches hand in hand with
self-interest. It shrinks horribly when self-interest marches or runs in
the opposite direction. Do you follow me?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me," he said, with a touch of irritation. He continued
quietly: "We must all try to weigh our patriotism, because every one of
us will be asked to exercise it. Leaving out the men able to bear arms,
I am thinking for the moment of the women, young and old. An immense
burden is about to be imposed on them. That is why I am speaking to you.
I held the mistaken view that this war would soon be over. But it is
plain that we are fighting an enemy overwhelmingly strong, who is
setting all laws, human and divine, at defiance. I want to measure our
patriotism, my own, yours, everybody's; but I do so in fear and
trembling."
Fancy, outwardly calm, presenting the impassive mask of the well-trained
servant, became conscious of tingling and throbbing pulses. A strong man
appeals most strenuously to the sympathy of a woman, when he permits her
to have a glimpse of his weakness. She spoke impulsively, quite
forgetting her "place," as she told herself afterwards.
"You be thinking of Mr. Edward."
It was a flash of intuition.
The Parson had four stout sons, but Teddy, the youngest, was his
Benjamin. Teddy and Joyce had inherited from Mrs. Hamlin joyous
temperaments. The other sons resembled their father. All of them were
"doing well" in a worldly sense. The eldest was a don at Cambridge,
Fellow and Tutor of his College. The others were in business, climbing
hand over hand the commercial ladder. Teddy, with not so good a start as
his brothers, had entered the Railway Service. Since Fancy's arrival at
the Vicarage he had spent a too short holiday at home. His jolly,
unaffected ways captivated Fancy instantly. Life, as the maids put it,
entered a dull house and filled it with sunshine. Teddy brought with him
to Nether-Applewhite wonderful news. He had been offered and had
accepted a billet worth four hundred a year--startling advancement for
so young a man. His unaffected joy in his own good fortune warmed all
sympathetic hearts.
The Parson looked up sharply.
"Yes," he answered curtly. He had finished breakfast, but still sat at
table. Fancy saw that he was nervously crumbling a small piece of bread.
"But Mr. Edward won't have to go, sir."
Hamlin hesitated. But, inviting confidence, he was not the man to
withhold it churlishly. He said slowly:
"Between ourselves, Fancy, Mr. Edward wishes to go. I have a letter from
him this morning, asking for my advice on the subject. It means, for him
and me, a great sacrifice."
Fancy gasped.
"Oh, dear! You'll never let him go--surely?"
Hamlin rose, a tall, gaunt figure.
"My patriotism," he said grimly, "is not quite so lively, Fancy, as it
was last night."
He went out of the room. Fancy began to clear away the breakfast things,
much troubled, sorely perplexed, alive to her finger-tips with the
dismal consciousness that life had become suddenly confoundingly
difficult. If Alfred took a notion to enlist, and if he consulted her
about it, as surely he would, to what sort of strain would her
patriotism be subjected? She, too, approached the question in fear and
trembling. At the moment "things," as she vaguely expressed it, were
going better and better for Alfred. War seemed to have oiled all
commercial wheels. On Sundays her happy swain soared into an empyrean of
prosperity and opulence where he sat enthroned high above her, talking
exuberantly of a future she dared not envisage. The good fellow assured
her that the Germans would soon be on the run, with English sabres
hewing them down, with English bayonets in their fat backs. Would such a
man, travelling at excess speed into Tom Tiddler's Ground, fingering
daily larger and ever larger pieces of silver and gold, stop suddenly
and abandon everything?
He might.
If patriotism seized him, as it had seized Mr. Edward, the strangling
grip would choke ambition, self-interest, and woman's love.
She told herself miserably that Mr. Edward would go. More, his father
would not raise a finger to stop him. As the Parson left the
dining-room, she guessed that his decision had been made already.
Within a week it became common knowledge in the village that Mr. Edward
Hamlin had enlisted in the Guards. He would appear amongst his father's
parishioners in a private's kit, and salute respectfully his old friend,
Captain Pomfret.
He was the first "gentleman" in those parts to relinquish fortune at the
call of duty. And his shining example, so his father perceived, had
moved mountains of too solid flesh. As yet the great recruiting campaign
had not begun.
Two days afterwards George Mucklow followed the parson's son into the
ranks.