Mary Dear - Redux Page 5

  The black coffin stood on trestles, flanked by four candelabra, like soldiers standing guard over a fallen comrade. The West Harnham family church that had seen Joseph and both his children baptized now welcomed him and readied him for his final journey.

  The service inside was well attended by family and friends. The Reverend Matthew Clegg read the popular poem—Ecclesiastes 3:1–8. To everything there is a season.... The organist played ‘Jerusalem’, that most joyful of hymns, and the voices from the choir and the congregation sung, filling the church and touching the heart of all those present.

  Becky sobbed softly, the movement of her shoulders the only clue to what she was going through, and was comforted by her children. The door opened to admit a late arrival letting an unwelcome cold draft blow into the church making the congregation shiver, stirring the incense that filled the nave and making the candles flicker before settling down to their steady glow. The large man attracted a few curious glances from the mourners nearest the door. He looked awkward and self-conscious in his navy, single-breasted suit, as he found an empty seat at the back of the church. He rested his hat on his lap and read from the hymnbook he’d been given when he’d come into the church. The rain outside, stronger now and coming in waves, beat against the stained glass windows, sounding like the muffled drums of a funeral march.

  As Joseph was laid to rest in the family tomb next to his dear mother and father, the Reverend Clegg read from The Book of Common Prayer:

  Man that is born of a woman

  hath but a short time to live,

  and is full of misery.

  He cometh up, and is cut down like a flow’r;

  he flee’th as it were a shadow,

  and ne’er continueth in one stay.

  Becky and her children looked on and listened huddled under black umbrellas set against the drizzle and the cold wind. The service over, the Reverend Clegg, the family, and their closest friends were getting ready to go on to Becky’s house for refreshments.

  Edward stared at the dark wet gravel. The air, fresh from the rain carried the scent of flowers from the church garden. He lifted his eyes and looked over the gathering. Faces he’d not seen in years, some barely recognizable. A voice coming from behind made him turn; the American accent belonged to the large man speaking to Becky.

  ‘Mrs Keating,’ he began, ‘please forgive this intrusion but...’

  Becky turned to face the tall man who’d addressed her, trying to place his face. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t believe we’ve met. You are an American, aren’t you? Were you a friend of Joseph’s?’

  Edward looked at the powerful man. From Joseph’s description, in or out of uniform, there was no mistaking Major Frank S. Bright.

  ‘I was privileged to serve in his unit and we met often. I was very sorry to hear of his passing. Please accept my deepest condolences.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Of course please forgive me; I’m Frank Bright,’ he drawled, ‘I’m a Major in the U.S. military at present and my duties brought me to London on Army matters, I heard that your husband’s funeral was taking place today and that those who had known him were welcome to attend so I decided to pay my respects...’

  ‘Of course Major, you’re most welcome, any friend of Joseph’s,’ she said dubbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  Edward had been listening to this exchange when Becky turned to him for support and to divert the conversation away from her, ‘Edward, I wonder if you know the Major, you were not far from his barracks?’

  Hearing this, Major Bright turned to face him, ‘Captain Edward Hannah? Of course, Joseph mentioned you often. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under happier circumstances. Your friend was a great man, very much liked and appreciated by all who came into contact with him; a real English gentleman.’

  ‘Thank you Major, that’s kind of you.’ Edward was looking for any hint of insincerity, but he seemed genuinely sorry.

  Becky’s daughter turned to her mother, ‘Mummy it’s time to go, our car is waiting.’

  Becky smiled at her daughter and turned to the Major, ‘perhaps you would care to join us at the house?’

  ‘That’s most kind Ma’am but alas duty calls and I have to catch a plane back this evening. It has been a great pleasure to meet you and again, my sincere condolences to you and your family.’

  Becky went with her children to the waiting car leaving Major Bright with Edward.

  ‘Tragic, real tragic,’ he was watching her leave and now he turned to Edward, ‘it must be devastating for you. I understand that you were very close and that he had been to visit you and was on his way to our barracks when this terrible accident happened?’

  ‘You’re quite right. We had arranged to meet and have a celebration of the anniversary of the day I introduced him to his wife many years ago, he’d told me he was missing his family you see; Edward was a bit of a romantic,’ it was a lie but there was no way he would know.

  ‘I see, so he was not worried about anything?’

  ‘Good Lord no. Not at all, just a bit homesick you know. This wretched war’s been going on so long...’

  ‘Yes quite. We’re all sick of it. I’m glad that Joseph was not concerned about anything. He’d been involved in the interrogation of a German prisoner. He didn’t mention anything...?’

  ‘No. Not at all, we never discussed our work; just prattled on about our life back home and what we would do after the war you know?’

  Bright considered this, there wasn’t much more he could ask without arousing suspicion.

  ‘Well Captain, it’s been a real pleasure to meet you but you know the Army, I must get back to my unit and that plane won’t wait,’ he checked his watch and cast a glance towards his parked U.S. Army staff car and driver nearby.

  Edward watched him stoop down to get his huge frame into the back of the car; moments later, his driver was speeding away carrying his passenger and headed for the small airport at Biggin Hill. He was puzzled and amazed by the Major’s tenacity. You had to hand it to him; it had seemed to Edward the most extraordinary fishing expedition. Did Jim know the Major was in England? It was impossible to know and Edward determined to call him at the earliest opportunity to hear how his investigations were progressing.

  Chapter Three

  Edward Hannah could not imagine what life would be like without Joseph, his best friend for as long as he remembered. He stood in a corner of the large living room feeling sad and utterly useless.

  The fireplace was lit in the large living room bringing much needed cheer to the gloomy gathering. The servants passed amongst the guests offering sandwiches and refreshments. There was a subdued hubbub as friends and relatives conversed sharing stories of happier times.

  Becky thanked the Reverend Matthew for his kind words, his support and his friendship. She excused herself and made her way over to where Edward was talking to his sister. She wore a smart black suit that she’d bought a year ago to attend a dear friend’s funeral. She never imagined she’d need it again so soon and never that her own dear Joe would be the reason. She greeted her friends with a pained smile, but the strain showed on her face. Becky was exhausted; her red eyes a testimony to the tears she had shed during many sleepless nights following Joseph’s death.

  ‘Can I borrow Edward for a moment?’ As Edwina smiled and said of course, Becky took him by the arm and led him into the conservatory leaving her alone cradling her cup of tea.

  Becky looked drawn. She kept herself under control but beneath the surface she was a mass of nerves and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  Edward started, ‘If there’s anything Edwina or I can do, Becky, you know you just have to...’

  ‘Dear Edward, that’s thoughtful of you...’ she seemed lost and suddenly added, ‘he loved you, you know. Since Julian’s death well...you know how close he was to his brother, he told me he was so glad of your friendship,
said he thought of you as family—another brother even.’

  ‘And I felt exactly the same, I hope Joe knew it too,’ he paused and gently asked her ‘what will you do now?’

  ‘I don’t know Edward...go on, I suppose, what else is there to do? I have to for the sake of the children, though they’ll soon be grown up and gone. I still see them as children and so did Joe, it’s what happens to all parent’s, isn’t it? If Julian were alive at least he’d know what to do.’

  ‘I never knew Julian all that well. He was such a private person and then he went off on that expedition of his and that was that.’

  ‘That wretched expedition, if only we knew what the future holds. He was so excited he was going to bring the treasure back, be rich. He had a childlike enthusiasm, which we all loved.’

  ‘So he found something then?’

  ‘Yes. He found something; just where the old family map said it would be. There’s a letter somewhere that he wrote to Joe before his second trip you know...the last one, where he drowned with all the others. I was expecting Colin, and Jane was just over a year old, and now... it all seems so long ago.’

  Becky’s mind had drifted for a second, re-living old times, but now she’d come back to the present and looked so lost. Edward asked her what she’d wanted to say to him, and she told him how alone she felt; that Joseph had always handled all their affairs and that she was a little out of her depth. She hoped she could count on him. Edward assured her she need not fear and that he would be there for her and the children whenever he was needed.

  He and Edwina stayed until the last person had gone, and only left when Becky mentioned she was tired and needed a rest. They made her promise to call if she needed anything. She thanked them and added that she had been so busy lately, what with the funeral and everything, and now she felt that she and the children needed to spend time alone together to grieve.

  When they finally left Becky’s house, Edward gave his sister a lift home in his car, an MG TC in British ‘Racing Green’ that he’d just bought, his pride and joy. The sky was cloudy but even though it had stopped raining, the wind continued to blow, buffeting the car and making Edward grip the wheel firmly. forcing him to concentrate on his driving. They drove in silence, each with their own thoughts. By the time they got to Pinner and Edwina’s two-bedroom bungalow it was dark. Edward saw his sister safely inside before driving back to his rented garage in Porchester Square Mews, where he left his car and walked the short distance to his flat in Porchester Terrace.

  It had been one hell of a day. He still could not get used to the idea that Joseph was dead and he would never see him or talk to him again; it was a hard pill to swallow.

  He came out of the kitchen and into the living room, set a strong cup of tea down on a small mahogany table and sat down in his worn, comfortable armchair. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a tin of Old Holborn, his favourite tobacco, the same battered tin he’d carried throughout the war. He rolled a cigarette and lit it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs savouring its calming effect, before letting it escape slowly through his mouth and nose. Edward watched the smoke drift to the ceiling helped by the gentle breeze coming in through the half-opened sash window of his third floor flat.

  He sat smoking for a while. Finally he stubbed his cigarette out and sunk into the armchair, closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

  When he awoke he realized he’d been dreaming of the last time he saw his friend and how worried about him he had been; sadly, his fears had been well founded. He could not help going over the war, a war he had tried to forget. It played in his mind like a film. He remembered the day it had started as if it had been yesterday; 3rd September 1939, they had all been seated in Joseph’s front room waiting for the Prime Minister to speak. He could still see the Mullard wireless on the small rosewood table next to the fireplace, its dial glowing faintly and everyone staring at it as if hypnotized, waiting for the broadcast to begin. Edward remembered a sombre BBC broadcaster announce: ‘The Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain’. There had been the brief crackling sound of static and then they had heard the prime minister address his fellow countrymen and women in a firm and resolute voice:

  I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning, the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

  The Prime Minister had continued speaking but they had stopped listening. Everyone chattering at once until Joseph hushed them down so that they could hear the rest of the broadcast and they caught the end as the Prime Minister was saying:

  Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against—brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution—and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.

  They had decided to join up at once of course. A week later he’d gone with Joe to the recruiting office for the 3rd British Commando Unit.

  Edward remembered the village hall in West Harnham that had been taken over by the army. The long bench manned by four recruiting sergeants; the crowded hall filled with eager young men ready to sign-up to defend and, if necessary, die for their country.

  The queue went out the door and spilled into the street. There had been the veterans from the last war; young office workers in their tweed jackets and leather patched elbows, schoolboys and boys just out of school; the firm, the infirm and all shades in between.

  The country had been in war fever mood and men laughed and joked about how they would soon have the Bosh on the run. Edward wondered how many young men who’d worried that the war would end before they got to see any action had survived to tell the tale.

  For some reason he hadn’t considered the possibility that he might die. For his sister Edwina and all the other women it had been different. They had been so proud of their men but desperately afraid for their safety. Mums, wives, girlfriends and grandparents had hoped against hope that it would soon be over and their men would not need to fight. The oldest amongst them remembered the horrors of the Great War and could not bear to think that it was happening all over again. The look on his sister’s face as he boarded the train with Joseph by his side still haunted him.

  Edward remembered the evening of 18 August 1942, as the naval forces of Operation Jubilee got under way from several ports on the south coast of England.

  Everything had gone pretty much to plan it seemed; the different groups accomplished a trouble-free sea crossing. He and Joseph were in the left wing flotilla, the 3rd British Commando unit, when, at 3.45am, several miles off the coast, they ran into a small German convoy sailing from Boulogne to Dieppe. The ensuing battle completely upset the planned attack on Berneval, and alerted part of the enemy defence.

  That action had resulted in his friend being awarded the Victoria Cross. Edward recalled the commendation that stated how a small group of commandos under Captain Joseph Keating had managed to neutralize the battery for an hour and a half and how, during the battle, Captain Keating had distinguished himself by his heroic action ‘leading his men in the face of heavy fire from a vastly superior enemy force’.

  Edward had been so proud of his friend, and on the first leave they got they had they celebrated in style.

  In 1944 the U.S. forces were engaged in the daunting task of identifying the vast works of art that the Nazis had looted and Joseph was a natural choice for the job. Edward remembered not being at all surprised when Joseph told him that he had been ordered by his CO to put his civilian degree in fine art to work, ‘helping our American friends’. They’d travelled to Austria together; at least they would not be far apart as he was going to be billeted nearby.

  How sad, he now thought, that this
last assignment, the safest by far that he had had to discharge, would prove to be the deadliest and cost him his life.

  Edward’s thoughts turned to Becky and about how alone she must feel now. What she’d told him was true. If Julian were still alive he would have been someone else for her to lean on but Julian had been an adventurer; the family’s treasure map had been impossible to resist.

  Ever since Edward had known Joe, he had known about the map and the family story that accompanied it; it had often been the subject of after dinner conversation in the Keating household. As far as Edward understood it, the map had come into the possession of Charles Keating, one of their ancestors who got it from a Captain Thompson, a pirate down on his luck and in need of funding to return to Cocos Island to retrieve the treasure he had buried there twenty years earlier.

  The family story recounted how Thompson had tried hard to convince men of means to back his venture by promising them untold riches but, unfortunately, tales of buried treasure abounded and he had been unsuccessful until he’d met Charles and a friendship had been struck. Keating was a wealthy businessman, having made his money in tobacco, and agreed to provide the necessary funds. They set about putting together an expedition but, before they could leave, Thompson was overcome by a fever and died. The map became Charles’s property and five months later he set sail in search of the treasure. During the voyage the crew got wind of what he was after; on arrival they mutinied and threatened him with death unless he revealed the treasure’s location. He managed to elude them and hid in the dense forest for days, until they tired of searching and left the island. Weeks later he was rescued by a whaler that had come from Terranova. Eventually he returned to his native St. John and though he tried several times to return to the island, he never did. He died in 1873, and the map was left to his nephew. From then on, it and the story of the treasure had been passed on from father to son, and they both ended up in England with Julian Keating. A superstitious person might have thought the map and the treasure were cursed, but not Julian—and now he too was dead.