Under the July Sun (16 page)

He became mesmerised studying the white foaming sea kaleidoscope into turquoise, navy blue and green waters. They churned and tumbled in magnificent enveloping folds behind the boat heading for England. He was glad to leave it all behind and felt somehow that the sea was cleansing his soul from the blood and gore of war.

Only two days ago, he had watched a firing squad, execute Ben, an eighteen-year-old soldier, for not following orders and feigning illness.

He knew that it was really a case of Ben being unable to cope with fatigue and shell shock, but his fate was sealed by the medical officer's confirmation that the lad was fit for duty.

He could not get the incident out of his mind. No matter how much he tried, the boy's face haunted him. It had been Louis who had tied the blindfold around Ben's head and seen the terror in his eyes, and Louis' eyes were the last Ben saw before being eclipsed from the world.

How many more of his men would go down this path? He felt guilty leaving them to go off and get married, but at the same time, there was enormous relief in being able to escape for a while and turn his attention to Cat, and the wedding.

The sun's blazing rays cooled by sea breezes beat down on his face; and he relished its warmth, breathing in his fleeting freedom.

The rolling vessel made him queasy but even that was welcome. Any suffering, no matter how large or small, was easy to endure - so long as it wasn't through war.

Further along the boat a man began to play a violin and Louis' mind was drawn back to his childhood. He recalled childhood more as a series of still snapshots, like pictures he had seen in photographers' shops. Each stage of his life appeared to him as a separate event, rather than a continuous journey from childhood to adulthood, each memory superimposed with the poignancy of loss.

Louis remembered as a little boy sitting on his father's knee singing nursery rhymes as his dad played piano. His dad would count him in saying, ‘One, two, three, and…' then would nod his head giving him the cue to begin singing. Over and over they would stop then re-start as often Louis giggled about something and lost his place.

Usually, he remembered, Lize was somewhere in the background practicing her dance steps coached by their mother.

Then at about eleven, or twelve he played the violin, accompanying his father on piano. He remembered the chin rest digging into his collarbone, and his dad taking out his handkerchief and tucking it beneath his shirt to soften the discomfort. Then his father's hand smoothing back his hair, kissing his forehead saying, ‘My son, I'm so proud of the way you play. I hope one day you will perform in a big orchestra and make music your life, maybe travel the world. Always allow the feelings in your heart to find an exit through your playing – and play as though each day was your last day on Earth.'

Memories were also there of his mother showing Lize how to perfect her arabesque. His mother! Some time ago a much happier woman. Once a wonderful dancer - she knew how to express her emotions through movement. In those days his parents were a wonderfully matched pair.

But something had gone horribly wrong in their lives. Louis never knew exactly the reason his mother had moved into another bedroom and the door firmly locked each night. He certainly never understood why his father sat downstairs each evening drinking himself to oblivion, the piano neglected.

Things were unclear in his mind too how much time had passed listening to his mother's caustic complaints about his father; the rows, and his father's drinking becoming intolerable to the family. Eventually his mother had thrown his father out onto the street.

After that point, nothing to do with music was allowed. No more dancing or singing. The piano was sold and Louis only played the violin when his mother was out of the house.

One day a policeman had appeared at their door and told his mother that his father had been found seriously ill lying in the street in Lewisham and had been taken to hospital. But Louis and Lize were not allowed to visit him before he died, and were prohibited from attending the funeral.

The common grave in which their father was laid to rest remained unmarked and they were admonished for showing any grief. His mother, in effect, wiped him from their memories and he was never mentioned again.

He remembered with bitterness that when he was fourteen his mother had put him in the army. He could not forgive her and vowed never to return to her home on leave.

Eventually when Lize married Charlie, it became normal for Louis to stay with them when on leave.

Throughout the years, Louis had never been able to discuss or speak about his father, who remained in his heart like a lost love.

Louis had often written poetry in an attempt to make sense of his feelings. In the poems he asked his father to forgive him for all the words that had gone unsaid. It filled him with grief that his father was unable to be with him on his wedding day. He thought perhaps they would have children, but they would always be the grandchildren his father would never know, and as the salt sprayed onto his face it became merged with his tears.

Throughout his journey from Dover to Charing Cross, over London to Paddington Station, the train bound for Fishguard, the ferry to Queenstown, and finally the train to Fethard, Louis found his mind a swirling mass of thoughts.

Images of war and scenes of destruction contrasted with the pastoral scenes he saw passing by. He watched cows lazily flicking their tails in the heat, horses galloping across pastures, farmers and labourers working the fields and all the time he tried to pacify his mind and concentrate on Cat and their life that would follow once the war ended.

They would walk in the park, have some children and they would play with them and take them out to tea with relatives. Yes, life was going to be better in the future.

In his tunic pocket he carried a little jeweller's box with Cat's wedding ring, plus a little gold wishbone brooch with an amethyst cradled in the apex. He had acquired them in exchange for cigarettes from a jeweller in Ypres who couldn't sell his stock. Every now and then, as though for comfort, his hand would move to the pocket checking they were still there. Then a few minutes later, he would re-check, in case he hadn't checked it properly the previous time.

The last leg of his journey on the train to Fethard seemed the slowest and Louis occupied himself reading for a while until, too tired to concentrate, he closed his eyes. Alone in the carriage he lay flat out on the seats, his tunic unbuttoned and his hat resting in the baggage net above where he had tossed it uncaringly. He'd never known such tiredness, such complete exhaustion and wanted to sleep on the train, until the end of time.

He slept fitfully, waking every now and then when the train slowed at the country stations. Then the realisation would be there, that tomorrow was his wedding day. Cat would be waiting for him at the end of the journey and the next day he would be a married man! He was rocked to sleep repeatedly by the train's motion and only woke properly when the train approached Fethard and he saw in the distance the town cradled in the lap of Mount Slievenamon.

Quickly he inspected his appearance in the mirror above the seats, took out his comb and flicked it through his hair. As he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he was shocked. His face looked pallid and sweaty, then all-too-familiar trembling attacked him and he shook uncontrollably.

Since he'd been gassed in Ypres this had become the pattern. When he was anxious the attacks were worse, but he had learned to cope with it and wait until it passed.

Louis sat down and when the trembling had calmed, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Then buttoning his tunic, he went to the door and released the leather strap to the window mechanism.

He rested his hands on the open window frame and breathed deeply, focussing his eyes on the station ahead and the small crowd he could see gathered there.

Cat heard the train before it came into view from behind the mountain, and her insides somersaulted. It hadn't occurred to her until then that perhaps when they saw each other, they may find they were not in love at all. She had screwed up her handkerchief so tightly with anxiety that it suddenly tore in two as the train, now in view, came swaying along the track towards her, bringing her man into town.

Shuddering to a halt, the train stopped and as the carriage doors opened people began spilling onto the platform. Cat tried to spot Louis. Then she saw him stepping down from the train, swinging his kit bag over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his pallid face. She walked towards him and he let the kit bag slide to the ground. They stood facing each other.

‘Hello Cat'

‘Hello yerself.'

She stood before him, pulling on the shredded handkerchief, wishing he'd say something. Louis reached down and picked up his kit bag.

‘Shall we go?'

‘Sure.'

Cat didn't expect to be kissed in public but somehow felt a little show of affection would have been appropriate. Still she thought, he's probably tired.

‘Louis?' she began once they were outside the station and checked that nobody was within hearing range, ‘Ye do still want to get married don't ye?'

He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Yes, I do, or I would not have travelled half way across Europe to get here otherwise.'

They walked down the lane leading away from the station chatting politely about the weather. Once or twice Louis glanced across at Cat and she smiled at him, wondering what on earth to talk about. She realised she did not really know him. They reached the end of the lane and he turned to her.

‘I'll leave you here Cat, it's supposed to be bad luck to see your bride on the evening before the wedding, but I'll sleep tonight safe in the knowledge that this time tomorrow, you will be my wife. Mrs. Ross!'

Cat felt disappointed that their reunion was so brief and stilted, but managed to smile at the thought of becoming Mrs. Ross.

‘Well, if ye're sure, Louis. Can you remember where the hotel is?'

‘Yes, I remember.'

He stood looking at her and she wondered again whether they would get on together, as they hardly knew one another.

Louis broke the silence. ‘I'll see you at the altar.' Then he stepped forward to gently kiss her lips before turning to walk away.

Cat stood puzzled, watching him as he walked up Main Street, then turned and slowly made her way home to Monroe feeling strangely let down.

Ned guided Cat down the aisle and could feel her trembling. He patted her hand clinging tightly onto his arm.

‘Eist mo chuisle. 'Twill be fine. Just fine.'

Louis was waiting at the altar in his deep blue ceremonial dress; his spurs glinted, reflecting dozens of memorial candles flaming nearby. Practically the whole town had shoehorned themselves into the church and there were no spaces left for any latecomers. A hush descended as Cat was led up the aisle by her father.

Ned battled with his emotions. He was completely taken by surprise at the pain he felt and wondered if he was having a heart attack. The agony gripped his throat, choking him. He tried to concentrate his mind on something else but was aware that all eyes were upon them, so he nodded at folks as he passed by, but couldn't subdue the wretched feeling of bereavement he was experiencing.

He remembered that when his other children had clung to Maeve as toddlers, Cat had been different. She had forged a love with him the others had not been able to. She'd climbed on his knee while the others were out to play, and she'd kissed his hands when they were sore with basket making. Maeve had the other five, but he'd had Cat, and she was the star in his heaven.

When they reached Father O'Dowd at the altar, Ned nodded to Louis, and could see by the look in his eyes that he was as terrified as Cat. Father O'Dowd asked who was giving this woman away to this man, and Ned answered that he was. He took Cat's hand and gave it one final squeeze before placing it onto Louis' outstretched palm.

Ned then stepped back leaving Cat and Louis together and the wedding ceremony continued. He sat down next to Maeve deep in thought.

Ned realised that Cat would no longer be referred to by folk as
Ned's girl
, but rather as
Louis' wife
. He sat there smiling, pretending he was happy, mumbling to himself about taking a back seat in life now until his sister Nellie poked him in the back and told him to be quiet.

‘Eist now, Neddy,' she whispered.

Eist yerself
, Ned thought, that's my gel goin' out o' me life for a second time. He leaned back in the pew and heard little more of the service as he slipped into a quiet reverie, only vaguely hearing Father O'Dowd bless the bride and groom before beginning to say the Mass.

The congregation chanted in unison ‘Kyrie
eleison, Christie eleison
,
Kyrie eleison,'
beating their breasts in unison against the backcloth sounds of little tinkling bells and the clanking incense casket waving back and forth.

Ned's eyes wandered over the row to his other children, wondering who would be next. Tom probably he thought, as he'd been courting Norah seriously for a while and an announcement was likely soon. He thought he may temporarily give Tom the small cottage upstream from Monroe, known as
Granny's Cottage
. He only kept his basket making equipment in there, so he'd clear it out for him. It would make a nice home for him and his new wife. Tom would inherit the farm one day so he may as well start making the pathway easy for him. He felt he had to prepare to stand aside.

Also he supposed, Mary would be marrying her man Daniel, newly qualified as a doctor. His thoughts rambled on as the service unfolded over the next hour, with Ned seemingly watching everything, but in reality hearing very little.

Cat and Louis knelt at the altar and were blessed by the priest, then stood for the wedding ring to be placed on Cat's finger.