Wear It With Pride

She hadn’t wanted him to go to war, but he said it was his duty . . .

ALONE at last, Meg bent and placed the single red rose amongst the poppies on the stone step. She studied the long list of names on the memorial, many familiar from her thirty-eight years of living in the same tiny Norfolk village. Gardeners, gamekeepers and household servants, making up the Sandringham Company of the Royal Norfolks. Private Wilfred Barrett.

Her eyes misted as they lingered on the name, and her mind slipped back to that day in 1915 when he had begged her to understand . . .

It had been a gloriously hot August Bank Holiday and they were enjoying a day at Hunstanton with their friends; indulging in their first real day off that summer.

Mixed bathing had just become fashionable and there was a good deal of laughter and horseplay among the lads.

But Wilf and Meg were happiest in each other’s company, walking along the promenade, content to observe the fun on the beach and join in the laughter from behind the pier’s rail.

Wilf’s fingers, entwined with hers, pressed her hand close to his side. She could smell the soapy cleanness of his face and feel the rough tweed of his Sunday best jacket pricking her bare arm. She remained motionless for fear of spoiling the moment.

“My, you do look lovely today, Meggie.” Wilf’s face reddened with embarrassment. “Not that you don’t always look nice, of course.” His lips formed a roguish grin as he pushed his cloth cap to the back of his head in a way that always made her smile.

“Hush, you, Wilf Barrett, you’ll have me blushing.”

Meg knew she was looking her best. She loved the way the cream voile skirt of her new dress moved gracefully around her ankles as she walked, and the matching straw hat, she knew, brought out the sheen of her chestnut curls.

She gave a twirl to show off her finery and lowered her eyelids to hide the depth of her feeling for the young gardener.

Wilf laughed and pulled her against him.

“You know, Meg, I’ve known you all my life but I swear you get prettier every day. Remember what fun we had crossing the marshes on the way home from school? And that day you fell into Smithy Pond trying to catch a frog to kiss and turn into a prince?”

He recognised the familiar fire about to spit from the violet eyes and quickly laid a finger on her lips.

“You looked a different picture then, I must say. But I think I’ve loved you ever since.”

Meg looked up, willing him to say more. She felt her cheeks glow with happiness at Wilf’s words. “I’ve loved you ever since.”

True, they had known each other for as long as each could remember, at times more like brother and sister with their teasing, but all that had changed with their first real kiss at the last Old Year’s Dance in the village hall. How that had startled them both.

“Might have guessed you two would be up here. Why aren’t you on the beach with the rest of us?”

Meg pulled away from Wilf’s arms as she recognised the voice of Charlie Atkins. Throwing an arm around each of their shoulders, he gave them both a playful hug.

“We’re all heading to the bandstand – there’s a concert starting. You coming?”

The moment was gone. “Yes, we’d like that, wouldn’t we, Meg?”

She nodded and tried to smile as, rejoining their friends, they settled themselves on the grassy knoll overlooking the promenade.

The sea was without a ripple as the tide moved silently inshore and the sun sinking to the horizon hid the Lincolnshire coastline behind a ball of fire. Meg thought she would never forget that sunset as, her hand clasped in Wilf’s, they stood for the National Anthem.

Could anything eclipse this day, Meg thought as, arms around each other, they walked in companionable silence to her home on the edge of the village. Bathed in the white light from a full harvest moon, the country lanes had never looked prettier.

At the gate of the carrstone cottage where she had lived all of her seventeen years, Wilf turned her to face him. The laughter and jokes were gone.

“I’ve something to tell you, Meggie. I think I’ll burst if I don’t tell someone soon.”

With eyes alight with excitement, his hands cupped her face.

“I’ve enlisted, Meg. I’ve joined the Royal Norfolks.”

The colour drained from her face. She felt a trembling around her heart, her body beginning to shake.

“What do you mean, Wilf? What have you done?” She gasped.

“It’s something I’ve always wanted, Meg. You know that. But it needn’t change anything. Marry me before I leave,” he pleaded.

She knocked his hands aside as he tried to hold her.

“Marry you, Wilf Barrett? I’ll never marry you now.” She brushed angrily at the tears she couldn’t stop. “You’ve chosen your bed partner – the precious Norfolks, just like your father and mine.”

Knocking the gate back on its rusty hinges she stumbled through the cottage garden and up to her room overlooking the little church where she had always planned to marry.

Deep, powerful sobs were wrenched from her body as she threw herself down on the bed.

Catherine Evans hurried to her daughter’s side.

“Whatever’s the matter, Meggie?”

She pulled away from her mother’s arms, pounding the bed with her fists.

“Wilf’s joined the Norfolks, Mother. I’ll lose him, just like Daddy.”

Catherine felt her heart lurch as her daughter’s words forced her to relive the moment when the news had arrived six months earlier.

Meg had taken it badly, refusing to talk about it or of her father, lost somewhere in France.

Now Wilf was leaving, too.

“Wilf’s enlisting doesn’t mean you’ll never see him again, darling. Why don’t you do as he asks? Marry him before he leaves.”

“He’s spoilt everything. Can’t you see? I never want to see him again, Mother. Never.” Her fingers plucked angrily at the bedspread.

****

Whenever Wilf called at the house she stayed in her room refusing to see him.

“The Norfolks leave in three days’ time, Meg,” her mother announced one morning.

Meg appeared not to hear and walked from the room.

But she had heard, and she stood among the crowd as the men marched from Sandringham House – out through the Norwich Gates – on their way to a destination many had never even heard of. Gallipoli.

She watched as Wilf marched proudly among the men all newly recruited from the Sandringham staff. Only her pride kept her from calling out to him.

“Please be safe, Wilf,” she whispered, watching the last of the company of men out of sight.

“You’ll live to regret this day, young lady. You turned your back on my son when he needed your support. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

Struggling with her tears Meg heard the woman’s harsh words from behind her.

“Come, Mother, this is doing no good. Meg had her reasons, and who’s to say she’s not right?”

Meg smiled at the younger woman.

“Thank you, Alice. I know he is your brother and you may feel he’s doing the right thing, but I can’t forgive Wilf for putting the Norfolks before our marriage. He had no need to volunteer as he did.”

Eliza Barrett rounded on Meg in her son’s defence.

“Wilfred did only what any man who loved his country would do. He enlisted, as his father did.

“He is proud of his colours, as you should be, girl. If it’s marriage you want, go and wed that other soft lad you are so keen on. That pacifist!”

Meg recoiled at the verbal onslaught.

“You mean Charlie? But he is our friend – Wilf’s and mine. He’s lame and unfit for army duty. How can you be so cruel?”

“Cruel! Was not what you did to my son cruel, girl?”

Alice took her mother’s arm.

“Come, Mother, let’s go.”

Meg hardly noticed their leaving. Wilf was her first love, her only love, and she had sent him away not knowing how much she cared. Doubts muddled her thoughts as she began her lonely walk home.

“Should I have married Wilf before he left? For he won’t want me now.”

Today, that question returned to her, as it did every year on this day. The processions and prayers were long over and the afternoon sun was dipping behind the trees.

The greensward where she had watched Wilf disappear out of her life twenty years before was unchanged but for the huge stone cross erected in 1920, where she now stood. It was as if time had simply slipped by this quiet Norfolk village.

Meg shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Meg turned, raising a smile as she recognised the voice of her friend. Even Wilf’s death had not severed her strong friendship with Alice.

“Mother gave me something for you,” Alice said.

“Something for me? I don’t understand.”

Meg tore open the package, drew out a small flat box and clicked open the catch. Her hands began to tremble as she realised what she was holding.

“It’s Wilf’s V.C.” Alice nodded, fighting back her own tears.

“Mother wanted Louise to have this.”

“Louise? You mean she knew? All this time and she never said anything?”

“Yes, dear, she knew. From the day you turned Wilf down she knew you were carrying his baby.”

“But did she never want to meet her granddaughter?”

A wry smile crossed Alice’s face.

“Dear Meg, I suspect she saw Louise many times. Going to and fro to school and church. Mother found it hard to admit but she admired you for bringing her up alone all these years.” For Valour.

Meg gently traced the words with her finger.

“How proud Wilf would have been to have known his daughter all these years. To watch her grow up into the beautiful woman she is. To walk her down the aisle.”

“I know, my dear.” Alice hugged her friend. “Mother recognised that and wanted Wilf’s daughter to have his medal for her wedding next Saturday. ‘Something old,’ she said. I hope Louise will wear it with pride, Meg.”

Meg smiled.

“It’s the most precious gift she will ever have.” n

She had sent Wilf away not knowing how much she cared