Richard took his three battalions across to France towards the end of May, part of Braithwaite’s division of the New Army. He had managed a week of leave in Norfolk prior to embarkation, had relaxed in Primrose’s company, escaping from London and its gaiety, almost unchanged from the days of peace.
“Must have the Season, my love! Where we would be without it? A little more short of young men even than normal, however.”
“The absence of men is compensated for by the presence of staff officers, Prim. Hundreds of them in their beautiful uniforms and all decorated so heavily! Have you heard that the War Office has had to forbid the issue of ribbons to those who have not seen frontline service?”
She had not, was inclined to be disgusted that there had been a need for such an order.
“Yes, they have to content themselves with foreign medals now. The Belgians and Portuguese and Russians are in the habit of sending a hundred or so of gongs at a time for distribution to the worthy. None of them get further than Army or Corps Headquarters! I presume they have a raffle each time they arrive. I believe the Italians and the Greeks are being tapped up for a supply as well. Can’t have a good war without the ribbons to show for it!”
She snorted her disgust, took the opportunity to raise a question she had been keeping for a proper moment. Sat in a first class compartment of a slowly moving train on the Norfolk coast gave her ample time.
“That does bring the question, husband, of your own breast. There does seem to have been an addition or two to the display…”
He had to admit that was so.
“Give a dog a good name, Prim… You know how it is, once they give one a medal, they find the need to offer more, to fill up the vacant space, one might say.”
“One might say ‘balls’, Richard! What were you doing to collect a bar to the DSO? And that looks like a French decoration as well.”
“Belgian, actually, as the last action took place on Belgian soil, not keeping rigorously to the borders these days. They seemed to think the battalion did better than many in the last battle.”
“With you at its head, no doubt!”
“No other place I could be, Prim. It will be different as a brigadier. Must be. No choice. I have to stay to the rear where I can see what is happening and give the orders.”
She was slightly mollified.
“There is the matter of no fewer than three Mentions as well, recorded in the Gazette, Richard.”
“Ah, yes… Well, I did happen to be up at the front when we indulged in a little trench raiding.”
“That is an activity for subalterns, sir!”
“Well, yes, to an extent, one might say, it is. It seemed sensible to discover what the new conditions were like, in fact. The only way of finding out is to get out there and do it. Add to that, Prim…”
He hesitated, trying to find the words.
She remained silent, waiting for him.
“I am in a trap, my love. I have no choice. I made myself into a hero – and I didn’t mean to – and I have to play the part now. I am the great Brigadier Baker, to private soldiers and generals alike, and I must do all that is necessary to keep up the show. I have no alternative, Prim! They look up to me, in their thousands, and I must not disappoint them. Even my father – as hardboiled a man as you could find, normally – offers me overt, and real, respect. You have seen it in London, have you not?”
She had, only too often having to step in to prevent some hero-worshipping debutante from falling at his feet, or into his bed as more than one had made clear was possible. She thought he might not have noticed the females, knowing him to be utterly faithful to her.
“Spotty youths cheering when they see you in the street, Richard. An embarrassment indeed! Impossible to enter a theatre unnoticed or leave often without applause from the stage!”
“Exactly! I am the cynosure of all eyes – I have that right, do I not?”
He was always aware that she was far better read than him.
“You have, Richard. At least, it will not be so bad at Wells.”
She was wrong. He was recognised at the station and was cheered into the car waiting for them. The staff were lined up outside the house to welcome the master and mistress, as was not unusual; they made a far greater fuss over him than her, which was.
A few days of idleness, happy in each other’s company and then their minds turned to the war, invisible almost in their backwater.
“How long will you be away, Richard?”
“Months, of a certainty. I will be surprised to see leave this year. I may be called back to London to meetings on occasion. If you are in Town, we may get a night together.”
She would not leave London if that was the case.
“No. You must live your life as well, my love. If you happen to be in residence here, well, that will be bad luck, that’s all. You cannot spend all of your days sat by the telephone hoping I shall appear.”
“There are things I want to do here, I will admit, Richard. I will spend half of my time here at Wells, making our house.”
“For the rest? If the coming battle returns us to a war of movement, which we must hope will be so, then all may be finished by the middle of ’17. If the battle fails…”
His voice tailed off. He sat silent.
“If it fails, Richard?”
“Then we both may be grey-haired before it ends. It should not come to disaster. We have the finest, best-trained army this nation has ever known. The men are young lions.”
“And the generals?”
“Old donkeys.”
Copyright
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.