Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

On Friday the 8th of January, Rosie learned that Mrs Crow’s husband had been killed, and so she and her mother went round to take her some black things to wear. She had been too distraught to go and get some for herself. Rosie felt helpless in the face of such abject despair, but she decided to go back every day for a while, if Mrs Crow were agreeable.

On the 11th it rained cats and dogs again, and Rosie remembered how Ash used to joke that English rain was more like horses and donkeys sometimes. Then on the 14th there was news that Mrs Burman’s son Bill had been wounded and was in Lady Meynell’s Hospital. Mrs McCosh became very excited about this, and immediately wanted to go there just in case she ran into Lady Meynell. They did not see Lady Meynell, but Bill Burman was in good spirits. He had a shattered knee and would always walk stiffly because the surgeons simply fused all the bones together. He was mainly worried about how it might affect his golf. Clearly, he would have to give up tennis. On the 17th Vera Burman came to tea and she told Rosie that Bill found her visits very comforting, and looked forward to them a great deal. Rosie told her that she would quite like to work in a hospital, because it was so awful to feel useless at times like these.

On Saturday the 23rd there was snow and fog, and Rosie had to break the ice in her jug in the morning before she could wash. Mrs McCosh announced that it was as heavy as the great snowfall of 1881. Christabel, Ottilie, Sophie and Rosie made a huge snowman in the garden, but had to keep coming back in to warm up in between forays. What if it has been snowing on Ash like this? Ottilie said, ‘Don’t worry, there couldn’t possibly be any battles in weather like this.’

And then it thawed in the night and the lovely huge snowman melted away completely.

On the 25th Mrs McCosh went into Holders to ask about getting her violin valued and serviced. She only played it when everybody but the servants was out, and had long ago given up entertaining guests with it. She possessed genuine talent and a very romantic style, and the girls used to love it when they came home and were looking for their keys at the front door, and they would hear her in the morning room. She would prop the music up in front of the Bible on its lectern, and throw herself into pieces by Kreisler. Now that the war had got going, and she was particularly anxious about Ashbridge, she was playing more than ever, but only the servants had the profit of it. They knew every note of ‘Schön Rosmarin’.

On the 27th Sidney Pendennis came home on leave and he said that Albert and Ash were bearing up well. He brought letters from Ashbridge, and a strange souvenir, which was a German bullet exactly stuck through a British one so that it made a St Andrew’s cross. Everybody thought it a wonderful and strange thing, which indeed it was. Rosie put it in her jewellery box, next to the curtain ring that had been her original token of engagement from Ashbridge.

Another letter came from Ashbridge, in which he said that he had encountered Daniel Pitt, after how many years? He reported that Daniel was in the Royal Flying Corps now, but just a tyro, and had done a forced landing not far from Ash’s trench, in between the lines. Apparently Daniel had had to hide in a shell hole until darkness fell, and meanwhile the Germans had completely wrecked his aeroplane with shells. Rosie thought about Daniel for a while, remembering how he’d once wrapped himself in a sheet and pretended to be a ghost in broad daylight, which had not been the slightest bit frightening.

On the 28th Rosie and her mother went to meet a huge convoy of Belgian refugees at Victoria Station, to assist in the general mustering and sorting. They were poor souls, miserable and confused, but also overwhelmed with gratitude for their friendly reception. Upon their return, Mrs McCosh learned that her violin was worth £90. It seemed an astonishing piece of good news amid all the gloom spread by the casualty lists. Rosie went to supper with Mr and ‘Mamma’ Pendennis. Between them they managed, for a couple of hours, to erect a thin facade of cheerfulness and optimism. Before Ashbridge left he had arranged a code, and from his latest letter they were able to work out that he had been in a place called Sanvic, but was now in Kemmel.

A mysterious location not permitted to be revealed even to mothers, but you know my squadron number anyway, so do write back to that, somewhere near St Omer.

4 February 1915

Ma chère maman, elegante et magnifique!

You’ll never guess who I’ve run into! I came down in front of the lines — but worry not! It happens all the time and is only to be expected, and I was unharmed, unlike my poor machine, a pretty little Morane-Saulnier whose name was Florence, you may remember, and was immediately shelled to smithereens by Fritz — and I managed to get into one of our trenches, and guess who was in it! I’ll write and tell you tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Same address.

It was Ashbridge Pendennis, he of two doors down when I was little and you were even younger, the American boy with the two brothers who was always mooning around Rosie McCosh, and she around him. He and the aforementioned frères are with the HAC, and he was ‘mighty glad’ to see me after all these years. He tells me that he is engaged to Rosie. This information made me feel very forlorn, I have to tell you, because I rather fancied her for myself. What lovely grey eyes! Or were they blue? Such wondrous cascades of chestnut hair! Such touching freckles and an adorable little nose!

I will tell you of my most recent escapades tomorrow.

Gee, it’s tomorrow already.

I took a potshot at a Taube with my carbine and missed. Couldn’t get close enough to take a hack with my sabre.

We had the most enormous binge in the mess, which was of far greater danger to me than Fritz is ever likely to be. I woke up in a ditch with frost on my beard, if I had had one. We’d been playing Cardinal Puff which is most lethal. Apparently there was a terrific rag after I passed out, and now the mess looks as though a shell has landed in it. Please don’t tell my mother — she would be very shocked. Nay, tell her that I have spent part of my spare time on my knees in church, and the rest reading the work of lady poets!

But why did we binge and rag? Chère maman , it was because a Rumpler flew over the aerodrome yesterday, and dropped some eggs somewhat inaccurately, so yours truly ran outside with the aforementioned carbine, and took a potshot at him. By some miracle I got the pilot in the calf, and he had to land before he passed out. Ergo (and eheu!) one captured intact machine, and two disgruntled Fritz aviators! We packed the pilot off to the casualty clearing station in the tender, but the observer stayed for the binge and rag, and is now in the guardroom with all his regrets and the mother of all hangovers. So, chère maman , behold the hero of the hour!

Heroically yours, grandes bises, je t’embrasse ! Any news of Archie?

Ton fils dévoué,

Daniel P.

REST CAMP AT Sanvic. Have to lie down in ten inches of mud. Spend a lot of time unloading supplies in Rouen. Aching all over. Food was inedible. First fatigues moving hundreds of bales of hay. Second was loading tins of petrol. Empty tins end up as water vessels, so water in the front line always has the tang of petrol. My friend Hutch says he can tell from the flavour whether or not the can has been BP. Fun dropping matches into the cans to burn off the vapour.