Read Online Remembrance Day by Leah Fleming - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leah Fleming
Tags: Fiction
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stolen a son.
Angus and Guy stood in Otley Street outside the Drill Hall in Skipton sizing up the queue, the bustle of lads coming in and out, the giggling girls hanging around the gates waiting for their chaps to come out smiling, waving papers.
‘Come on, don’t hang about,’ Guy said. ‘Let’s get it over with, we’ve not got long.’
‘Not so fast,’ Angus grinned. ‘We can have some fun here. I’ll go in first and you wait outside…’
‘What for?’
‘You’ll see.’ Angus disappeared through the arched door while Guy looked to see if there was anyone he recognised. Mother would rant and rave when she found out what they were doing but if they waited any longer the war would be over. Angus reappeared, grinning. ‘Your turn, give your initials and wait and see.’
Guy stepped inside and joined the queue. He felt conspicuous in his striped school blazer. He stepped up to the table where the Sergeant Major looked up at him with surprise.
‘What’ve you forgotten, lad…changed yer mind? Let’s be havin’ you! Next.’ He ignored Guy and looked to the boy behind.
‘Sir, I’ve come to enlist,’ Guy offered.
‘Oh, aye? You can’t do it twice, laddie. I’ve got you on the list already. Next!’
‘That’s not me,’ Guy said.
‘I’m not deaf dumb and blind…stop wasting my time. See this joker out!’ A soldier made to manhandle him out of the door. So that was Angus’s little game.
‘Thanks a bundle! They wouldn’t take me…’
‘Don’t you think it’s better if only one of us goes? Poor Mama will have a fit,’ Angus offered.
‘Don’t be so stupid! You’re the one who ought to stay at home, not me.’ Guy dragged his brother back into the hall. This time there would be no monkey business. The Sergeant looked up as they both saluted and roared, ‘Well, I’ll bedamned! A right pair of jokers, we have here! We’ll soon wipe the smile off your faces…’
Selma was busy supervising the junior knitting bee when the noon bell tolled. The children rose, put their hands together and offered a silent prayer. Soon the dinner break would start and she must make sure the knitting was well away from spills and sticky fingers. They were attempting mittens for soldiers. Some of the girls were experts already with knitting needles fixed to their belts, but her boys were all fingers and thumbs even though everyone was taking it as seriously as any eight-year-old could.
The autumn sun beamed down through the high arched school window, dust and chalk motes sparkling in the light, no sound but the clacking of needles and squirming clogs on wooden boards. Barbara Finch had just been sick again and sent home though the smell of vomit and sawdust was still in the air, as was the stink of someone’s dirty socks, but for once her thoughts rose above her own knit one, purl one to those afternoon walks with Guy…
How many Sundays had they met in secret now? How she longed for that precious moment when she stepped onto the secret path, through the iron gate up onto the scar to avoid the usual Sunday strollers and Sharland scholars, her heart beating fast, anticipating the moment when Guy would step out onto the path ahead of her as if by magic and she could drink him all in, those long striding legs, the sway of his hips, the moment when she caught him up and he looked down at her, inclining his head as if he was appraising her for the first time, smiling with those bluest of eyes, holding out his hand, his long fingers grasping her hand with such warmth and tenderness as they held eachother in such a gaze that made Selma feel dizzy. It was as if the whole world stopped for those precious hours when they could lose themselves in each other, holding hands like any courting couple but always with one eye on the horizon in case they were discovered, hands separating as they drew close to the village to go their different paths. Sometimes Guy left Jemima tethered close by and they took turns to
Angus and Guy stood in Otley Street outside the Drill Hall in Skipton sizing up the queue, the bustle of lads coming in and out, the giggling girls hanging around the gates waiting for their chaps to come out smiling, waving papers.
‘Come on, don’t hang about,’ Guy said. ‘Let’s get it over with, we’ve not got long.’
‘Not so fast,’ Angus grinned. ‘We can have some fun here. I’ll go in first and you wait outside…’
‘What for?’
‘You’ll see.’ Angus disappeared through the arched door while Guy looked to see if there was anyone he recognised. Mother would rant and rave when she found out what they were doing but if they waited any longer the war would be over. Angus reappeared, grinning. ‘Your turn, give your initials and wait and see.’
Guy stepped inside and joined the queue. He felt conspicuous in his striped school blazer. He stepped up to the table where the Sergeant Major looked up at him with surprise.
‘What’ve you forgotten, lad…changed yer mind? Let’s be havin’ you! Next.’ He ignored Guy and looked to the boy behind.
‘Sir, I’ve come to enlist,’ Guy offered.
‘Oh, aye? You can’t do it twice, laddie. I’ve got you on the list already. Next!’
‘That’s not me,’ Guy said.
‘I’m not deaf dumb and blind…stop wasting my time. See this joker out!’ A soldier made to manhandle him out of the door. So that was Angus’s little game.
‘Thanks a bundle! They wouldn’t take me…’
‘Don’t you think it’s better if only one of us goes? Poor Mama will have a fit,’ Angus offered.
‘Don’t be so stupid! You’re the one who ought to stay at home, not me.’ Guy dragged his brother back into the hall. This time there would be no monkey business. The Sergeant looked up as they both saluted and roared, ‘Well, I’ll bedamned! A right pair of jokers, we have here! We’ll soon wipe the smile off your faces…’
Selma was busy supervising the junior knitting bee when the noon bell tolled. The children rose, put their hands together and offered a silent prayer. Soon the dinner break would start and she must make sure the knitting was well away from spills and sticky fingers. They were attempting mittens for soldiers. Some of the girls were experts already with knitting needles fixed to their belts, but her boys were all fingers and thumbs even though everyone was taking it as seriously as any eight-year-old could.
The autumn sun beamed down through the high arched school window, dust and chalk motes sparkling in the light, no sound but the clacking of needles and squirming clogs on wooden boards. Barbara Finch had just been sick again and sent home though the smell of vomit and sawdust was still in the air, as was the stink of someone’s dirty socks, but for once her thoughts rose above her own knit one, purl one to those afternoon walks with Guy…
How many Sundays had they met in secret now? How she longed for that precious moment when she stepped onto the secret path, through the iron gate up onto the scar to avoid the usual Sunday strollers and Sharland scholars, her heart beating fast, anticipating the moment when Guy would step out onto the path ahead of her as if by magic and she could drink him all in, those long striding legs, the sway of his hips, the moment when she caught him up and he looked down at her, inclining his head as if he was appraising her for the first time, smiling with those bluest of eyes, holding out his hand, his long fingers grasping her hand with such warmth and tenderness as they held eachother in such a gaze that made Selma feel dizzy. It was as if the whole world stopped for those precious hours when they could lose themselves in each other, holding hands like any courting couple but always with one eye on the horizon in case they were discovered, hands separating as they drew close to the village to go their different paths. Sometimes Guy left Jemima tethered close by and they took turns to
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