Andrew Wareham: End to Illusion

“Yes, sir. My family is meeting with the Elkthorns, dinner and reception in the evening. It promises to be entertaining. Primrose tells me that her father has mobilised the whole clan to give him moral support. We have only the four – my two sisters and my parents, to stand against the masses.”

Saturday saw Richard waiting at the hotel for his family to arrive, surprised to see them only three strong.

“No Vicky, sir?”

“Damned fool girl has run away, Richard! Left a letter to say that she is of age and has gone off to join up to do her bit.”

“Good girl. She said she wanted to become a driver in the FANY.”

“The bloody what?”

Mr Baker had not heard of the Field Auxiliary Nursing Yeomanry, it would seem. It was an unfortunate set of initials.

“I may well see her in France, sir.

“Bloody disgraceful! Don’t know what she thinks she’s doing. Now we’ve got Alexandra saying she wants to become a Land Girl. She’ll stay at home and look after her mother! She can dig up the gardens for potatoes, if she wishes.”

“I presume you will teach her to drive, sir?”

Mr Baker was not enthralled at that prospect.

“No damned choice! No taxis and I can’t be available to do the driving in the day. Next thing you know, she’ll be running off too!”

It was less likely, they agreed in the end. Alexandra was not the adventurous sort.

“What about this farmer of hers, sir?”

“That bloody fool! He’s turned his farm over to an old uncle and has joined up. Taken a commission as a cornet of cavalry with the Northamptonshire Yeomanry, of all the stupid things to do at the age of thirty!”

“Do they still have cornets? Very old-fashioned!”

“Bloody Yeomanry for you! They are supposed to call them second lieutenants but stick to the old ways.”

“Where are they posted?”

“Egypt. The Suez Canal, they tell me. What they are going to do with horses in the bloody desert, I don’t know!”

“More than they can in France, for sure. They are useless there.”

The women had brought a maidservant with them, to assist with their evening dress. The result was slightly provincial, in the nature of things, and wholly acceptable. Mr Baker donned his evening dress without assistance and looked none the worse for it. Richard had Paisley with him, managed to achieve full dress uniform, with miniature medal, in the most formal style.

They met in the lobby to take a pair of taxis to the Elkthorns.

“Not seen you dressed up like that, my son. You look impressive.”

“Not bad yourself, sir – for a man of your age!”

They laughed and preened and pretended not to notice the stares of other guests, most of them approving of the obvious father and son. Richard picked up a whisper from the desk, the clerk answering a question.

“That is Colonel Baker, my lady.”

He did not hear the response, was not entirely displeased to be the centre of attention.

Arriving at Elkthorn House, he was disconcerted to be announced before his parents, the butler having no doubts about precedence.

To his relief, his mother was overawed and forgot to flutter helplessly, behaving like a sensible person for perhaps the first time he could remember. He wondered briefly whether it was her only protection against an overbearing husband. It was not his business to intervene in his parents’ private affairs and he ignored it.

Primrose, dressed as fine as ever, came to his side and remained there through the introductions, offering brief comments where necessary.

“My aunt, father’s side. Widowed and pleased to be. No children living. Worth fifty thousand when she cocks her toes up. Smile at her!”

Richard obeyed orders, hoping his love’s whispers were as hushed as she thought.

The family was there to a few second cousins, the younger generation predominantly female, including only two young men, one of whom took pains to display a limp.

“Took a toss with the local hunt five years back, Colonel! Leg ain’t as straight as it used to be!”

Primrose commented that it was not so bad as to prevent him dancing in the nightclubs he frequented.

The other was a rising political figure, secretary to Lord Elkthorn and necessary to the processes of government.

“Can’t be spared from Westminster, Colonel! Whenever I have raised the question, I have been ordered to remain!”

“We cannot all be where we wish to be, Mr Huntington.”

Richard would not mention his suspicion that Huntington was exactly where he intended to remain.

A dozen of older couples, aunts and uncles by birth and marriage, shook Richard’s hand and were pleased to meet him; all mentioned sons in France or still training and scowled at Huntington.

“Do you return to France this year, Colonel Baker?”

“On Thursday, sir. The division is assembling and will take over a section of the Trenches at the weekend, I am informed. I cannot say I am happy to go, having reason to stay in London! Even so, there is no other place for a man to be. You will not have met my father, Mr Baker of Kettering…”

The conversation was easy to maintain in this early part of the evening.

Dinner was long and formal, serving to present the Bakers for inspection by the mass of the family. They were observed to eat correctly and to behave properly – would not embarrass the Elkthorns in public.

The ladies withdrew, to subject the Baker females to a delicate grilling in the drawing room; the men clustered around the head of the table and drank port and talked indiscreetly of the war and government.

“What’s the chance of the war ending this year, Colonel Baker?”

“Very slight, sir. We lack numbers, guns and ammunition. I doubt it is possible to break through the trenches at present. The war might end if the campaign in Turkey is successful and the troops there are able to attack Austria-Hungary from the Black Sea. I have not seen the reports from Gallipoli.”

“Disaster, Colonel! Forget about victory there. The sole question being considered now is how to get out safely. The army has been put ashore there and it will not be easy to take it off again.”

“Then, sir, we have a war for at least another year. Kitchener’s New Army may do the job for us next summer, if it is used properly.”

“And what will that proper use be, Colonel?”

“Invasion, my lord. Land a hundred thousand men on the German coast north of Holland. Set up a front and push hard towards Kiel and Hamburg, forcing the Kaiser to pull troops from France and weaken his resistance there. It would lose half of the Grand Fleet, I do not doubt, to mines and submarines, and the Navy will not like that, but it would force the Kaiser to call an armistice and to pull his troops out of France and Belgium.”

“Risky, Colonel! A chancy expedition, and we cannot afford to send millions of pounds worth of dreadnoughts to the bottom. We must keep the fleet-in-being intact.”

It was not the place to argue. If the fleet was to be unused, it had as well never been built in Richard’s unvoiced opinion.

“What do you think of Sir John French. Colonel Baker?”

“A cavalryman, sir. He is used to allowing his horse to think for him on the field of battle. Regrettably, the horse cannot deputise for him as Commander-in-Chief. A womaniser and a gambler, one is told, and an inadequate senior officer. He would have had a brilliant career as a captain of cavalry in Wellington’s army, I do not doubt. He is hopeless as a general in this war.”

Richard listened to his own, true, words, and decided he had had a glass too many. The wise man did not utter the truth in front of the politically powerful; they must be told only what they wanted to hear.