Diana Finley - Beyond the Storm

His first posting was to Ireland. It was not the exotic setting he might have hoped for, but he liked the Irish, and recognised that history had dealt them a poor hand. His commanding officer warned him against this view.

‘Be careful, Lawrence. It’s a mistake to try to see both sides of the argument – or to consider the argument at all for that matter. Our job is to keep order, nothing more. Keep out of the politics.’

In Ireland Sam learned that great charm was not incompatible with extreme brutality. There was a spate of house burnings by the Black and Tans, after which the IRA considered what reprisals against the Protestants might be appropriate. IRA leaders of the local Brigade felt it would be unjust to burn the homes of people not involved directly in anti-Catholic acts. Instead they decided to target Leindown Castle, residence of Lord and Lady Tullycomb. Lord Tullycomb was a member of the British House of Lords and a determined opponent of Irish National aspirations. British officers sometimes stayed at the Castle, and officers from the local garrison – including Sam – were occasional visitors there.

The IRA also selected Leindown for its history of devout Unionism and its longstanding links with the British establishment. At the time of the attack, Lord Tullycomb was away in Scotland on a fishing trip. The only occupants of the Castle were Lady Tullycomb, her daughter Hester, and five servants. The Castle and most of its contents were burnt to the ground in the raid, but no one was harmed.

Sam participated in the subsequent military investigation. He was impressed by Lady Tullycomb’s steadfast refusal to identify the attackers, saying only that they had ‘behaved like gentlemen’. She informed the military that she and Hester had been allowed to identify some of their most treasured possessions, and then ten IRA men had been assigned to carry these objects out of the house. Two armchairs had also been taken outside for herself and Hester to sit in safety and comfort. Sam noted that these chairs were placed in the rose garden, where the women would be sheltered from the sight of their home being destroyed, and where the smell of burning might be masked by the fragrance of the blooms. He was ordered to remove these references from his report, his commanding officer being concerned that the true criminality of the act should not be disguised.

On another occasion, Sam was cycling back to his base following a match at the nearby tennis club, when he rounded a corner and stumbled upon an IRA ambush. A general – a highly decorated hero of the First World War – and his friend, a colonel, together with their wives, were driving in the other direction, in order to play tennis themselves. Seeing signs of an ambush ahead, and unable to turn the car around in time, the general accelerated the car in a desperate attempt to escape. The ambushers opened fire with revolvers, rifles and shotguns, killing the general and the colonel’s wife instantly. The car swerved sideways and crashed into a ditch.

Sam was nearly upon them. He witnessed the event, but was unable to intervene or escape the notice of the attackers. He had no option but to continue cycling. As he reached the rebel road block, unarmed and vulnerable in his white shorts and shirt, he waved his tennis racket in the air. The IRA men, respecting a sportsman, shook their heads and allowed him through unharmed, before making their escape without further bloodshed.

Sam was able to summon help for the injured survivors of the ambush. He was genuinely surprised when his advance through the site of the attack was later referred to as an act of heroism. He had been confident that the rebels had nothing to gain by targeting him too and, in any case, felt he had no alternative but to proceed. Sam’s gentle and courteous manner endeared him to all sides of the conflict. Over time he gained a reputation for being a fair and effective negotiator.

After two years, he made a brief visit home before leaving for India with his regiment. Freda was overjoyed to see her eldest brother. Humphrey had begun his medical studies in London, and Albert was still at school, prior to joining his brother at St. Thomas’s Hospital.

The family had been invited to an evening with the Fairbairn sisters. Dr Lawrence disliked social gatherings. He regarded them as a regrettable but necessary extension of his working role. Winifred felt shy and self-conscious, worrying about the earth that refused to be prised from under her fingernails, and about her outdated gown. Freda was thrilled at any opportunity to leave the house and meet people. She had heard that the Misses Fairbairns’ orphaned niece Charlotte was staying with them, and she hoped to befriend her. Sam regarded the evening as a bit of a bore, but he was quite happy to accompany his sister. Their parents joined the older guests in the drawing room, while Sam and Freda made their way to the sitting room, where younger people were gathered.

Though not vain or self-conscious, Sam was aware that he made quite an entrance; tall and slim in his lieutenant’s uniform. After two years away from home, his shoulders had broadened and he had acquired a confident and easy-going manner.

He and Freda were introduced to Charlotte. She had a pale complexion and fair hair arranged on top of her head. She was wearing an azure blue dress, pulled in becomingly to her narrow waist with a darker blue satin band. Sam supposed she was pretty, yet there was a hardness about her. Her smile was quizzical rather than warm, as if she was about to say, ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Sam’s attitude to women was one of gallantry rather than true connection, due perhaps to lack of exposure. He thought nothing critical of Charlotte; only he sensed that experience had made her suspicious of others. Perhaps it was an instinct to comfort and protect her, but he found himself strangely drawn to her.

‘Do you ride, Miss Fairbairn? The weather is so fine at present – I wonder if you would like to go for a ride with me? Not too far, of course.’

She frowned. ‘Distance is no object for Bunty, or for me.’

That prickly, challenging expression again.

‘Bunty is your horse? I’m afraid I was thinking of my bicycle.’

Charlotte snorted. ‘Never been on a bicycle in my life, and don’t intend to try.’

Sam was not an expert horseman, but he had achieved some proficiency in Ireland. Charlotte’s uncle lent him his horse, which was a little more frisky than he would have liked. Charlotte’s Bunty was a fine bay with a serene temperament. Over the coming week, they made several excursions together. Charlotte seemed to enjoy his company. She relaxed and started to laugh more, but there was little warmth in her manner. She remained distant and gave no signal that greater closeness would have been welcomed. Yet, by the time Sam was ready to leave for India, they had agreed to write to each other.

* * *

Sam was completely bewitched by India: the overwhelming heat, the noise, the colours, smells and tastes of it. He wrote to Charlotte of all he experienced. In particular, he told her of his trips to Kashmir: trekking on horseback through hills smelling of pine and rosemary, sleeping under canvas on a camp-bed made up by his batman Morris, and eating delicious fragrant food cooked over an open fire by Rahman Singh. He knew she would like to hear of his equestrian adventures, the sturdy little horses sure-footed on stony screes and steep mountain tracks.

Despite the detailed and vivid descriptions of his experiences, Sam thought little of Charlotte during the long voyage, and for the first weeks in Calcutta. At times he worried about not missing her, but he put it down to the distraction of adjusting to such an alien environment. His head was filled with one new impression after another – there was little room for anything else.