If You Were the Only Girl

When his three friends arrived the house became instantly more alive and vibrant, and the kitchen a far busier place. They all seemed to have voracious appetites, and after dinner on the first day they insisted on being introduced to the cook who had produced the delicious food they had just enjoyed. They almost burst into the kitchen, and though Lucy thought they all seemed so nice, friendly and smiling, she was suddenly overcome by shyness. She retreated to the scullery and watched from the door.

She saw that Clive was his usual amusing self, putting his arm around Cook as he introduced her.

‘This is the one responsible for all the culinary delights you have just enjoyed, and will, I promise you, continue to enjoy, for she is the best cook in the world and she answers to the name of Ada, Ada Murphy.’

A young man with a shock of black curls and dark eyes, whom Clive introduced as Colin Braithwaite, shook hands with Cook and said, ‘Mrs Murphy, I have to say every mouthful I have eaten so far has been exquisite.’

Cook’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. ‘Oh, sir,’ she cried, ‘you’re too … too …’

‘He’s not too anything,’ said another young man, who was slight of build and had sandy hair and eyes a sort of hazel colour. ‘Exquisite is exactly the right word.’ He also took Cook’s hand. ‘My name is Phillip Banister and I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Murphy, and I know my friend Mathew will agree. Likes his grub, does Mathew Mainwaring.’

Mathew was as broad as Phillip was skinny. His dark brown eyes twinkled as he said to Cook, ‘I’ll say so, Mrs Murphy. In fact, I can’t ever remember a time that I have eaten better.’

Cook recovered herself enough to say, ‘You’re so kind, young sirs.’

‘Not at all,’ Colin said. ‘Credit where credit’s due and all that.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Mathew put in. ‘Clive is always saying what a treasure you are.’

‘And was I right, or was I right?’ Clive laughed.

‘You were right,’ chorused his grinning friends.

‘And you know what they say?’ Clive continued, putting an arm around Ada’s ample waist. ‘Never trust a thin cook.’

‘Master Clive,’ Ada remonstrated, though Lucy knew that she wasn’t cross at all but really enjoying every minute of it. Cook introduced the young men to Clodagh, Jerry and Mr Carlisle. Clive’s eyes, meanwhile, were raking her kitchen and he suddenly walked quickly to the scullery. Lucy had dodged back when she realised Clive had caught sight of her and she was just about to plunge her hands into a sink full of hot water and pots when Clive drew her out into the kitchen by the hand. His attention sent a tingle up her arm and all through her body, bringing a tinge of crimson to her cheeks that, had she but known it, made her even more attractive.

‘This,’ Clive said, as he drew Lucy along behind him, ‘is the scullery maid, Lucy Cassidy. And in case you think my parents are involved in child labour, for all Lucy’s size, she assures us she is fourteen.’

Cook saw Lucy’s flushed face and said, ‘Shame on you, Master Clive. Lucy doesn’t like the constant reference to her size, which she can do little about, as much as I don’t like being referred to as fat.’

‘Sorry,’ Clive mumbled, though Lucy saw the spark of mischief was still there behind his eyes. ‘No offence intended. And, Ada, if you were any slimmer, who would I put my arms around when I came home?’

‘Master Clive,’ Cook said, and there was a steely tone to her voice, ‘I suggest you take your guests out of the kitchen before I feel the urge to wrap the rolling pin around your neck.’

‘I think a tactical withdrawal is best,’ Clive said, but he planted a kiss on Cook’s cheek before turning to his friends. ‘Let’s leave these good people to have a well-earned rest after all their hard work, and return to my father before he has drunk all the port.’

The kitchen seemed a duller place when they had gone, and Lucy couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy that Master Clive and his friends seemed to live in a different world from her.

The house was a much noisier place suddenly, with boots ringing on the stairs or sudden guffaws of laughter emanating from one or other of the young men. They never seemed to stay still a moment. As they all liked to ride, Lord Heatherington hired mounts for them. Lucy loved the regal stance of them as they led the horses down the drive, but to her there was no nicer sight than that of them all galloping over the hills.

‘Those young men seem to enjoy everything,’ Mr Carlisle said one day, bringing back empty plates. ‘Though their manners are impeccable and they are respectful, there is more fun and laughter around the table at luncheon or dinner than I have ever seen. They are a tonic to have in the house.’

Lucy and the rest of the kitchen staff saw a lot of Clive and his friends, for, despite the sumptuous and very satisfying meals that were offered to them three times a day, they were forever on the scrounge between times. Cook said she had never cooked so many cakes and biscuits and scones in her life before, and Clara added hefty slabs of fruit bread to her tasty tea-time pastries. Cook was convinced that the lads either had worms or hollow legs, but despite the extra work, everyone in the household appeared happier. The young men were always very appreciative as well as being full of fun and ready for a good laugh, often at themselves. With the kitchen staff, they took their lead from Clive and, as he singled out Lucy and Cook, they did the same. Though Lucy often blushed to the roots of her hair and sometimes protested, secretly she enjoyed the extra attention.

The time when the boys would leave for their European tour drew closer. They were so excited it was hard not to get caught up in it, though everyone knew that when they left they would be missed. In the relatively short time they had been at Windthorpe Lodge, they had made an impression on everyone.

‘Even the Mistress liked them,’ Norah said. ‘Said to me that it was gratifying to see that Master Clive has such nice friends and it has eased her mind about him going abroad with them.’

Lord and Lady Heatherington were going with them as far as the port in Belfast. The morning they left in two taxis, all the staff came to wave them off. As they returned to the kitchen, Mr Carlisle declared, ‘Well, that’s that, and for many weeks. Now our lives can get back on an even keel.’

Lucy stared at him but didn’t dare say a word. In bed that night, she said to Clodagh and Evie, ‘Don’t know about you but I think an even keel is a very dull and dreary place to be.’ With heartfelt sighs the other two girls agreed.

They all looked forward to the postcards, which began to arrive not long after the boys reached France on 10 July. The first was a view of the French countryside with a message scrawled across it: ‘Parts of Northern France are very flat. Can see now why a lot of the Great War was fought in trenches.’

‘He doesn’t say much,’ Clodagh said, ‘but then I suppose he writes to his parents as well.’

‘What we need is some sort of board to fasten them to,’ Rory said. ‘I’ll have a look round and see if I can find anything that will do.’

He was as good as his word. By the time Clive’s next card arrived, the board was in place and Mr Carlisle bought a map of Europe, which he pinned up beside the cards. The second card carried a picture of Lyons and Clive wrote that they had intended to travel to Spain next but were advised not to as there was trouble brewing there.

‘I wonder what the trouble is in Spain?’ Cook said, with a worried frown.

‘I shouldn’t let it bother you,’ Mr Carlisle said. ‘These Latin countries are very hot-headed and trouble is never that far away. Spain has had periods of unrest for years.’

The next postcard was from Lombardy, on the borders of Switzerland, and featured beautiful, snow-covered mountains that Mr Carlisle told them were called Alps. Lucy felt she would give her eyeteeth just to get a glimpse of those mountains.

However, by the time Clive and his friends sent the postcard from Prague, the trouble in Spain had erupted into civil war. He didn’t mention it, but Mr Carlisle said English newspapers might be difficult to find.

The news about Spain got worse. Cook said some war in far-off Spain was nothing to do with them and they had to let the Spanish get over it in their own time and in their own way. She was just glad that Master Clive and his friends, now ensconced in Berlin, were miles away, according to Mr Carlisle’s map. As they waited for the Olympic Games to start, they went out and about in the city and so the first postcards showed the Berlin Cathedral, a spectacular edifice, the elegant and embellished bridges over the River Spree, the wide thoroughfares, colonnaded and castellated buildings. When the Games began, however, although they still received postcards of the stadium itself and others of the tiered amphitheatre beside it, the messages had changed. Instead of explaining what the things were in this city that Clive originally thought so wonderful, they were cryptic sentences: ‘Things aren’t always what they seem’ or, ‘I have never seen so many soldiers, and all with serious faces. I think we are entering worrying times.’

No one knew what to make of what he seemed to be trying to say. The Games drew to a close and the postcards ceased.

It was a surprise to everyone when, a few days later, Clive arrived back home. Gone was the carefree youth that had travelled out with such enthusiasm.

He asked to speak with both his parents immediately, and barely had they reached the sitting room before Charles said, ‘What went wrong, son? You were supposed to stay in Europe until the university term was due to begin.’

‘I know that, Father,’ Clive answered, ‘but things happened in Germany that have changed everything for me and my friends.’

‘Well, I will say the tone of the last letters you wrote was quite worrying,’ Amelia said. What do you mean when you say that things have changed for you?’

‘Well, for a start I don’t want go to university just now.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘I feel there is something more important that I can and must do.’ Clive looked from one to the other of his parents, but it was his father he addressed. ‘Berlin is a beautiful city, the home to many wonderful buildings and sculptures, and some of their churches are magnificent. The German people are always considered cultured and erudite. Isn’t that so?’

‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘That’s what many believe.’

‘Well, we all saw a different Germany,’ Clive went on. ‘There is a definite air of menace in the streets, and soldiers, many of them dressed like storm troopers, are everywhere.’

‘Wasn’t that just to keep order?’ Amelia asked. ‘You know, with so many people coming in to see the Games?’

‘No, Mother,’ Clive said. ‘It wasn’t just for that. It is for something much more sinister, which is to intimidate certain groups of people, mainly Jews. A lot of Jews have recently come to England from Germany and the tales they carried about what was happening to many of their countrymen were so incredible we could scarcely believe them. We got hold of British papers on board the boat going out and read a lot of this kind of stuff, and I am ashamed to say I thought it couldn’t be true or at best, a gross exaggeration. I think this is because we have a view of Germany, as I said before, as a nation of courteous and civilised people, lovers of fine art and music and opera, and fiercely proud of their country. But I know now these tales of what Hitler’s troops are doing to the Jews are true and it appears that it’s not only Jews he is targeting.’

‘What do you mean?’

Clive didn’t answer his mother straight away and when he did it was to speak of the Games. ‘We were there for the opening ceremony and we tried to ignore the sense of unease we felt. It was as if the Germans were saying, “Look what we can do. See how efficient we are.” Colin, who studied German, said the papers were full of the Master Race, those with blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin who will one day dominate the world.’

‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘It always struck me as odd that the man spouting all this rubbish that the German people seemed to fall for hook, line and sinker was himself a black-haired, brown-eyed Austrian. And not a big man, either.’

‘That’s what makes it all the more ridiculous,’ Clive agreed. ‘Anyway, when the bell began to toll to signify the start of the Games the crowd erupted in cheers. It was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere of being there at the Olympic Games. Forty-nine countries were taking part and the unease returned a little at the raising of each country’s flag. There was Germany’s black swastika on a red background, fluttering in the breeze, looking so menacing. Then there was the parade of the athletes. Germany’s team was led by this chap called Lutz Lang, who is the epitome of this ‘Master Race’, with his blond hair, blue eyes, height and build.’

‘I read about him,’ Charles said. ‘Wasn’t he beaten by an American in the long jump?’

Clive nodded. ‘By a black American, that’s the point. He was an African-American. Altogether they had ten in the Olympic team and this one, Jesse Owens, broke eleven Olympic records. The long jump was close, really close, and it seemed like everyone in the whole stadium was holding their breath. From where we were sitting we could see the podium where Hitler was and he went puce with temper when it was obvious that Owens had won, though I have to say that Lutz Lang was the first to congratulate him. And then Hitler refused to put the medal around his neck.’

‘Can he do that?’ Amelia asked, intrigued.

Clive shrugged. ‘I don’t know whether he can or not, Mother. To my knowledge it has never been done before, but Hitler is a law unto himself. In his twisted mind he thought Owens racially inferior and he even refused to shake hands with him. Afterwards he said that America should be ashamed to let Negroes win their medals for them, and that he would not be photographed shaking hands with one of them.’

‘Goodness …’

‘That is the type of man he is and it is what I meant when I said that Jews are not the only ones he has no time for. But many of them too are suffering. A couple of days after the Games began we met this Jewish man. When he first saw us he quickly moved away, but the following day he sought us out in the street and asked in really good English if we were from Britain. When we said we were, he drew us into the partial shelter of an alleyway where he said things were happening in Germany that had to be brought to the eyes of the world and yet he knew that he was risking his life even talking to us.

‘He had been a university professor before the Nazis came to power in Germany and threw him out of his post and out of his house. His son opposed the government and their agents shot him dead, and now he and his wife live on the streets of Berlin, for it is death to any who offer them shelter. They live as fugitives, trying to dodge Nazi soldiers, who, he said, would kill them if they were caught.

‘He claimed no Jew can hold any post of responsibility, work in any business or live in any house the Nazis deem unsuitable, and their children cannot attend school. They are thrown on to the streets and their houses given to Nazi supporters and their businesses are often destroyed. And there are a great many other things Jews cannot do and places Jews cannot go. We saw no signs to this effect, but our informant said Hitler ordered all the signs removed so those visitors from other countries would not know how bad it was.’

‘If all that is true,’ Amelia said, ‘then it is truly dreadful.’

‘It’s true, Mother,’ Clive said. ‘I would stake my life on it. And Franco in Spain is another fascist, isn’t he, Dad?’

Charles nodded. ‘He is, and the news from Spain is not good. The rebels appear to be making for Madrid.’

‘Yes, I read about that in one of the English papers on the boat we came back on,’ Clive said.

‘But what can we do?’ Amelia said plaintively. ‘Surely this is Spain’s problem?’

Clive didn’t answer his mother. Then he said, ‘The day after we had spoken to this Jewish man we went looking for him again.’

Clive was silent for so long that Charles eventually asked, ‘And did you find him?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Clive. ‘We found what was left of him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, Mother, they had beaten him to a pulp,’ Clive said, ‘and dumped him in the street as if he was a pile of rubbish. He was almost unrecognisable as a human being. He looked like a bundle of rags.’ Clive remembered the horror and revulsion he had felt when they had found the body, and, when it had dawned on the young men who it was and what had been done to him, they had all felt guilty. ‘I think he was so badly beaten because he had been seen talking to us,’ Clive said. ‘Of course, it also acted as a deterrent to anyone else tempted to do the same thing. The man’s death decided us, and we made arrangements to come home immediately.’

‘But why?’ Amelia cried.

Charles had heard the new steeliness in his son’s voice, and suddenly knew what he was going to say.

‘We could do nothing to save that wretched man, but we can listen to what he told us,’ Clive said. ‘Fascism is rising in Germany and will be in Spain, too, if Franco isn’t stopped. We met some English fellows on the way home and they told us about some International Brigade being formed to help the elected government stay in power in Spain. Ordinary people are joining up because the British government is not prepared to step in. Do you know anything about it, Father?’

‘A little,’ Charles said. ‘Apparently, there is a big contingent in Liverpool.’

‘Yes,’ Clive said. ‘And from what I understand, these chaps intend leaving for Spain in early September, so there is little time to waste. Colin, Phillip and Mathew went straight home to talk to their parents, as I am talking to you, because we all intend to be part of that brigade.’

There was a gasp of dismay from Amelia. ‘You cannot do this,’ she cried. ‘You will not. I will not risk another son. Charles, say something. You must stop him.’

Charles could see his wife’s acute distress etched on her face. He remembered how he had watched her die a little as each telegram announcing the death of one of her sons was delivered. It was having Clive, he believed, that had saved her sanity at the time. He knew it would be terribly hard for her to know that Clive, this precious and now only son, was prepared to risk his life, however good the cause. But he knew he could not deter his son from doing what he thought was right. It was what he would have done himself as a young man. He had wanted Clive to go into the army when he left school, for officer training, as he had done, but Clive had said from the first that the army life wasn’t for him and he intended to study law.

Charles had been just the tiniest bit disappointed, but Clive was showing now that he was fully prepared to stand up for what he believed in. So, though his words were gentle, in deference to his wife’s feelings, they were firm enough. ‘I can’t stop Clive doing this, my dear, if it’s something that he feels he must do.’

‘What has Spain to do with us?’ Amelia demanded of her son.

‘Well, it isn’t Spain so much as who will lead it,’ Clive said. ‘If the government is defeated, Franco and his fascist supporters will be in charge, and the greatest ally to the rebels in Spain is Hitler and the Nazi Party. If Spain falls, Europe will have another unstable country.’ He put his hand over Amelia’s. ‘I do understand, Mother, and I know you want to protect me, but if we fight now, we may avoid a worse conflict later on.’

‘And what do you know about fighting?’

Clive shrugged. ‘As much as the next man. And I suppose I will be trained.’

Tears spilt over Amelia’s lashes and trickled down her cheeks. Clive felt a stab of guilt, for never in his life had he made his mother cry. He looked helplessly to his father, who put his arm around his wife and led her from the room.

SEVEN

The news of Clive’s plans to fight in Spain filtered down to the kitchens. Lucy felt as if someone had squeezed her heart tight and she had a sick feeling in her stomach. Norah said the Mistress was nearly destroyed and Lucy knew exactly how she felt.

‘Seems to me he was far more considerate to some old Jew that he met in Berlin than he is to his own parents,’ Cook said grimly.

‘It was because the man died after talking to them,’ Norah said. ‘Beaten to death, he was. That’s what her ladyship said to me.’

‘Ugh,’ the three girls said together.

‘It should have come as no surprise,’ Mr Carlisle said. ‘Hitler is a racist. You all read what happened at the Olympic Games with that black athlete.’

‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with Master Clive fighting in Spain?’ Cook asked.

There was no answer to this.

Cook continued, ‘I still maintain that Master Clive never gave a thought to his parents, and especially his mother, and I shall tell him so at the first opportunity.’

Later that day, when Clive popped his head into the kitchen, Cook asked him straight out what he was playing at, proposing to fight in Spain. ‘This isn’t your war,’ she said bluntly, ‘so why are you sticking your neb in?’

‘To stop the rise of fascism,’ Clive said. ‘Hitler is helping the rebels and they will overthrow the government if we are not careful. It could be worse for us if Franco wins and joins with Hitler and the Nazi Party.’

‘You have thoroughly upset your mother.’

‘I know,’ Clive said. ‘I was sorry about that, but this is something that I have to do.’

Two angry spots of colour appeared on Cook’s face. ‘Master Clive,’ she snapped out, ‘you have no idea how it feels to give birth to children you love better than you love yourself and then lose them one by one. You will have no idea of your mother’s pain.’

Clive glared at Cook. ‘Yes, and let me remind you, Ada, that every man jack who joins the Brigade – and there are many many who feel as I do – will be someone’s son. What would you have me do, stand back and watch?’

Before Cook had time to say anything else, he turned on his heel and left.

Mr Carlisle said, ‘Mrs Murphy, I think it was beyond your authority to speak to young Master Clive like that.’

‘Oh, do you?’ said Cook. ‘Well, let me tell you, I have known and loved that boy from the day that he was born, and this is the very last thing that I thought he would do. What was I supposed to say, “Congratulations”?’

‘It may have been better to say nothing,’ Mr Carlisle said stiffly. ‘You abused your position and you got his answer, too, and though I am sorry for his parents, Master Clive has made a very brave decision. However, it’s not our place to comment on the doings of our employers and I might say that you’ve set a very bad example to the younger servants.’

‘Well, you stick to your view and I will stick to mine,’ Cook said. ‘I’ve said my piece, and I’m not sorry, for I think Master Clive is selfish to even consider this.’

The atmosphere remained tense all evening, and if Mr Carlisle and Cook spoke at all it was in icy tones.

The three girls discussed the argument when they went to bed that night.

‘D’you think him selfish or brave, Lucy?’ Clodagh asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lucy said. ‘Brave, I suppose, but I still wish he wasn’t going.’

‘And me,’ said Evie. ‘But it is awful what happened to that Jewish man that spoke to them.’

‘And then they felt guilty and they had to sort of avenge his death,’ Lucy said.

‘I think it’s the sort of thing men do that we will never understand,’ Clodagh said. ‘Mammy said that in the Great War men were falling over themselves to enlist. Couldn’t wait to get over there and get the Jerry on the run.’

‘Daft way to go on, if you ask me,’ Evie said.

‘Ah, well …’ Clodagh said, with a sigh. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of discussing this any further. I need my beauty sleep.’