Christmas Truce

"She was a whore!" he shouted.

"I agree. She WAS. She isn't now. She's going to marry me."

"And you aren't even a man!"

"I'm man enough to face you, Simon. Like to try?"

He rushed at me, fists flailing. I stepped aside and he stumbled as he tried to stop himself. I turned to face him again. He came in again. I grabbed his right arm and threw him over my shoulder. Was it my fault that the duck pond was just behind me?

The drinkers roared with laughter as Simon emerged dripping. At least I had some sympathisers, if only as a game old 'un facing a strong young 'un.

"I'll get you for that!" he roared.

"I don't think so. Why don't you accept that you're going to lose?"

He rushed again. I swivelled and threw him back in the pond. This time the laughter was even louder. As Simon emerged again his father Jonas came forward and put a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Give up, son," he said in a kindly voice. "The Major has thrown better men than you into that pond. He could keep doing it all night."

"How?" Simon grunted.

Several of the drinkers laughed.

"Because in the army he was a chief instructor of unarmed combat, you fool!" Jonas said. "He could have thrown every man of our regiment into that pond."

The father turned to me.

"Major, you have upset many of us with your choice of bride. You know why. But nothing we do or say would change your mind, would it?"

"No. She's my choice. I'm hers."

"Then we'll have to let the best man have her, and that includes you, Simon. I'm sure the Major has no hard feelings and will shake hands with you. Just watch he doesn't throw you back with the ducks."

Grudgingly Simon offered his muddy hand. I shook it. I raised my voice so that everyone could hear.

"Tomorrow, the banns for our wedding will be read in church. If any one of you raises an objection, you can do so from the duck pond. Understood?"

That was greeted with laughter, but someone asked:

"What if a woman objects?"

"Then I couldn't throw her in, but Mrs Hughes might."

We all went back into the pub. I was surprised to be bought a couple of pints and actually be given best wishes for my wedding by some.

At the end of the evening, when it was quiet, the landlord shook his head.

"Major Jones, you might have won some over tonight but you and your wife will have a lot to live down. It won't be easy, nor quick."

"I know. But she's worth fighting for."

"She's a good woman," the landlord's wife surprised me by saying, "despite what she's been."

"Thank you for that. I know she is."

"And some of the village treat me nearly as badly as her because I serve the men."

"I'm sorry -- for them. Neither of you deserve that."

"I've appreciated that you have always spoken to me as if I'm a lady, Major Jones."

"Why not?" I replied. "You are."

"She is," the landlord agreed. "My lady, and my wife."

I left them holding hands and smiling at each other. At least I had some allies.

We were in church Sunday morning for Communion and the first reading of the Banns. There were audible intakes of breath as our names were announced but no one spoke against us.

That afternoon it started to rain, and it rained on and off all week. The ground was soaked and unable to absorb what was falling. But it was late in the year, approaching Christmas. Bad weather wasn't unusual.

After the second Sunday, Mary and I had begun to think about how we would live after our marriage. It would make sense for me to move into her cottage and sell or rent out mine. Her former workroom could be a small studio, or we could convert one of the outbuildings to make a larger one. But it might be easier and cheaper to rent Jonas Smith's barn.

On Monday it was still raining. Just as I was leaving for Mary's cottage the postman handed me a letter from my London dealer. I didn't open it until I was sitting at Mary's kitchen table drinking a cup of tea. As I read it, my hand started shaking.

"What is it, Alexander?" Mary asked. "Bad news?"

"No," I said slowly. "Far from it. I don't believe it. You read it. There must be some mistake."

I gave her the letter. She read it. Her face paled as she reached the part that had startled me.

"He's sold ALL your paintings to an American dealer? And the American wants more? And your bank has been credited with that much? That's more than..."

"My army pension for ten years. If he sells the rest..."

"You'll be rich, Alexander."

"Not rich - except by the standards of the village. But I need to get my other paintings on the way to London. I'll go to the railway station this afternoon. They can send a van for them."

"You'll get wet, Alexander," Mary protested.

"I think I'll get wetter if I delay, Mary, the barometer's falling. I don't like the feel of the weather. I want those pictures gone and the village ought to think about a possible flood."

"A flood? Surely not."

"This cottage is safe. So is mine. So is the church and Jonas' barn. But some of the village? If the barometer falls much further the tide will rise higher than normal."

"Will we have a wet wedding?"

"I think so, Mary. Umbrellas will be needed."

"And what about the reception? Will we have one? If so, where?"

"If you'd like a reception, we'll have one. Who will come? We don't know. As for where? That is a problem, isn't it?"

"We certainly couldn't have it in the church hall, Alexander. The Mothers' Union would have a fit. The only other place large enough is the public house, but women can't go there."

"I know. Even you have never dared go inside the pub."

"What about the blacksmith's stable?" Mary suggested. "He hasn't used it for years. It's weatherproof."

"The blacksmith's stable? Of course. I have discussed renting it from him but I wasn't sure I could afford it. Now? The suggested rent is small change. And..."

My brain was whirring fast. The stable was large, dry and had equipment for a large number of soldiers. Yes, it could be used for our reception. It could be my studio and store room for completed paintings. Both would use a small proportion of that vast space. But if a flood was on the way?

"And?" Mary prompted.

"Mary, this is a hard time of year for the village isn't it?"

"Yes. My trade used to dwindle in the weeks before Christmas. No man had any spare money. With this continual rain many of the agricultural labourers will be sitting around with nothing to do and no income. Why?"

"If I am going to use the Smith's barn it needs cleaning and tidying up. I could employ some men, give them some cash in their hands when they're short, and have the place ready for our reception, and as a studio for me, and as a place of refuge if the floods come."

"There's one problem with that, Alexander," Mary said cautiously.

"There is?" I had expected enthusiastic support.

"Yes. The problem is us. We are the most unpopular people in the village at present. Do you think the Mothers' Union will let their husbands and sons work for you?"

"Oh. That IS a problem. I'm sure there's a way. But I'll talk to Jonas Smith on the way back from the railway station. I need that barn. The walk might give me ideas."

By the time I reached the station I was wet through. I warmed and dried myself by the solid fuel heater in the Goods Office. The arrangements to send my paintings to London were arranged easily. They would send a horse-drawn van tomorrow morning, crate and pack the paintings and they would be with my dealer by the evening. They had done it before, but not in such a quantity. I paid by cheque on my now bloated bank account.

I was soaked again on the way to the forge. Simon was working at the bellows while his father hammered at a new hinge. I waited until the hinge was finished.

Simon wiped his brow with his sleeve.

"Sorry for being stupid the other evening, Major Jones," he said.

"You were set up by your mates," I replied. "They knew you didn't have a chance but egged you on, didn't they?"

"I suppose so. They had a good laugh out of me."

"Then we can forget it, can't we?" I held out my hand. He took it.

"What can we do for you, Major Jones?" Jonas asked.

"Your barn," I replied. "We discussed it before. I want to rent it please."

"You're sure? You didn't think you could afford it then."

"I've sold some of my paintings. I can -- now. And something else. Would you sell me the stuff the Army left?"

"If you want it, you can have it all for what I paid for it. Four pounds."

"OK, Jonas. It's a deal. Can I write you a cheque for that and a year's rent?"

"A year? In advance? Certainly. That will be a great help. Once we've finished this job the forge will be out for weeks. No one wants any work done."

"Can we go to the barn, Jonas? There are some things I want done there and I think you can help."

"OK. Simon -- close the fire down and go and tell your mother I'll be a little while."

We walked the short distance from the forge to the barn. The rain was still pouring down but inside the barn it was completely dry.

"Why did you want to come here, Alexander? You know what it looks like."

"I didn't want Simon to hear. I'm unpopular with him, and not just for throwing him in the pond."

"I'm sorry to say that you're the most unpopular man around, Alexander. Simon was a fool to say what many men were thinking."

"When I said I'd sold my paintings, it was true, Jonas. But I've sold ALL of them and I'm sending all of them that I had in stored my cottage to my dealer. I have suddenly become my bank manager's best friend."

"That won't help your popularity, Alexander. Not only have you deprived the village lads and their fathers of their entertainment, you're in funds when most of us are not."

"How many men are out of work, do you think? Or underemployed?"

"I haven't thought about it. A dozen, maybe twenty. But those men are the support for their families. There could be fifty or sixty people facing a very lean Christmas, particularly if this rain keeps on."

"Mary told me that if I offered to employ some men, their wives and mothers would object. Do you think that is true, Jonas?"

Jonas rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Magda, sorry, Mary could be right. Women can be awkward. Particularly as some of them are beginning to realise that their husbands used to visit her on the quiet. The men are sulking. The women are feeling their anger, sometimes their fists. If you then offered them work? It might make things worse. I don't know."

"But if YOU employed them? There would be no problem, surely?"

"And how could I afford that? I'm short of work myself. As a smith I can keep busy making tools and metalwork that I could sell later, but I've been doing that for weeks. I can't live on no income for ever."

"I think we could concoct a cover plan. What I want done is mainly in here, under cover. If the rain holds off for a while I want those windows cleaned, and glass replaced where they're boarded over. Who could do that?"

"I know a couple who could. The thatcher, for one. He only works as a thatcher when it's dry. What else?"

"I'd like the whole place cleaned and whitewashed up to the window level. Any man could do whitewashing. I'd like all the Army equipment got out, cleaned, greased if it needs greasing, and made to work if it isn't now. Enough of our men are former soldiers and are familiar with it. I want tables and chairs in the centre, the chemical toilets set up behind screens there and there, and at least one Field kitchen with its flue up a chimney -- that one?"

"Are you expecting an invasion of troops, Major?"

"No, Sergeant-Farrier Smith, I'm not. What I'm afraid of is another flood like 1897. Keep quiet about that. I don't want to alarm people if it isn't going to happen, but IF it does, this barn could be a shelter for those who are flooded out."

"A flood? I think you could be right. I hope you're not. I hope you waste your money unnecessarily, but if it does come, yes, this barn could be a life-saver."

"I want to use the barn for our wedding reception."

"Your wedding reception? Surely you could hold that in a small room? Who would come? You have no relations still living. Neither does she. And the villagers won't come. Yet this place could house hundreds."

"You could tell those who doing the work that you have rented the barn to me at a price that includes the work, but you'll get the long term benefit of my spending. Would that wash as a story?"

"It might be enough. The men want work. They need money. As long as they think I'm paying them they won't balk at a fiction. If they were actually working for you? That would be a problem."

"OK. I want this place prepared to house all those who might be affected by a flood that we hope won't happen. I want those water carts cleaned, flushed, and filled with sweet well water. Where's the nearest well?"

Jonas laughed.

"That is the sad part about 1897. The village was short of water with all the wells polluted with sea water. But there was one well which wasn't. They didn't know it existed. Neither did I. But there it is."

He pointed to a square of wooden planks in the centre of the barn's wall directly opposite the main doors.

"It's good water?"

"The best. It never runs dry. It's deep because we are so high but the water can be pumped up."

"Have we got a pump?"

"Yes. There are at least three in that pile of Army stuff. If they don't work I've got one in stock. But they should work."

"Then that's another task. Set the pump up. Dig a drain to take the surplus outside. We'll need a sump for emptying the chemical toilets. But why am I going on? You're a sergeant. You've helped set up as many camps as I have. Get it done, as soon as possible, and I'll pay what it costs."

"Yes, Sir!" Jonas saluted.

"What about the fireplaces and chimneys? Are they sound?"

"As I said before, they need sweeping. I'll get Simon to do them."

"Stoves?"

"Army stock."

"Coal?"

"No. We'd need some to keep this space warm, to run the field kitchen and later to dry out the flooded houses -- if there is a flood. You're spending a lot if the flood doesn't happen."

"I think it will, Jonas. I think it will."

I wrote him a cheque for the annual rent, the army equipment and fifty pounds to pay the men to work on and in the barn.

I set off back to the railway station to order some coal to be delivered to the barn. I was soaked again by the time I got there. I ordered and paid for twenty tons. That would be delivered tomorrow afternoon. I squelched back to the forge to arrange with Jonas where the coal should go.

When I reached Mary's cottage I was shivering. She took one look at me and ordered me to have a hot bath. While I was enjoying the unaccustomed luxury she went to my cottage to get a complete change of clothing for me.

She dried me with a warm towel and dressed me in clothes that had been warmed in front of her kitchen range. That was bliss. While we sat in the warm kitchen listening to the rain still pouring outside I told her about everything I had arranged.

"I don't like to suggest going out again now, Alexander, but we need to see the Vicar soon. We haven't discussed the details of our wedding with him, not even the exact date. The banns will be read for the third time on Sunday. We can marry any day after that."

"When do you want it to be, Mary? You're the bride, the most important part of the wedding."

"The Saturday just before Christmas? "

"That sounds good."

"Do we want the choir?"

"Do YOU want the choir?"

"No. It might cause offence. They would have to come and they might resent that. But I'd like the bell ringers. They would be in the ringing chamber with their free beer..."

"Bell ringers? Beer?"

Those words made me think hard.

"Bell ringers get free beer," Mary thought she was answering my questions.

"Of course they do. But workers like free beer too, don't they?"

"Yes..."

"And we'd need beer for the reception..."

"For whom? There will be you, and me, and..."

"I know. No one else. But if the flood came?"

"Then the pub would still be well above the water, Alexander."

"But the village might be cut off, isolated, until the flood receded. The pub could run out. I'll have to talk to the Landlord, AFTER we've seen the Vicar, arranged the date and the bell ringers."

"Witnesses!"

"Witnesses?"

"We need witnesses to the wedding. At least two. Who?"

"The Landlord and his wife? They don't like the way the village is treating us."

"Then perhaps you should ask them before we talk to the Vicar."

"OK. I'll go there as soon as they open, when they have no customers, and we'll go to the Vicar tomorrow. Bell ringers..."

"What about bell ringers?"

"They give the flood alarm, don't they?"

"They do? I've never heard a flood alarm. I suppose I must have done in 1897, but I don't remember."

That evening I dashed across to the public house. The Landlord and his wife were delighted to be asked to be our official witnesses. I asked them if they knew how the flood alarm was given. They didn't know. But they would order several extra barrels of beer, at my expense, and set them up in the barn. Tomorrow lunchtime one would be tapped for the workers.

The next day Mary and I took advantage of a short break in the rain to visit the Vicar. We arranged the date and time of the wedding, 12 noon on the Saturday before Christmas, that we would have no choir but wanted a peal of bells when we left the church. I paid him the appropriate fees, and for the bell ringers activities, and beer.

I asked him about the flood alarm. He knew that it was a continuous sounding of the tenor bell, at shorter intervals than for a death. I told him about my fears for a repeat of 1897. He shared those worries and suggested that he include a reminder about the flood alarm in the services on Sunday. I asked that he should tell people at risk to move as much as they could upstairs, if they had an upstairs, and to go to the smith's barn if the flood warning sounded.

"I thought I detected an officer's hand in the work on that barn, Major Jones," he said. "You're getting prepared for a flood, aren't you?"

"Yes. I hope we don't have one, but if we do, the village will be better prepared than in 1897."

"Yet you two are the most unpopular people in the village at present. That is a really Christian attitude. I'll pray for both of you and for myself for being uncharitable..."

"Thank you," Mary and I said together.

We were still unpopular at church next Sunday. The work on the barn was progressing and the impact of the extra money on the village's happiness was beginning -- if only the rain would stop.

After the service Mary and I walked the short distance to the barn. We could have walked most of the way under cover along the remains of the monks' cloister if the side door from the church had been open.

Jonas met us inside the barn. Being Sunday, work had stopped. The light, now the windows had been cleaned and replaced, was good even in the rain. In bright sunlight the interior would be very well lit.

Much of the work was still in progress. The well had been uncovered, a pump fitted, and the cover replaced. Jonas demonstrated that the pump worked effectively. The toilets were in place even if the screens were still just skeletons of joinery.

The field kitchen gleamed, its flue disappearing into a chimney. The other fireplaces had a variety of large closed stoves, some of which could also be used for cooking. The water carts were clean, white and full. Half of the walls had been whitewashed and there was staging in place to do the rest.

"Come and look at this," Jonas said. He seemed enthusiastic. Behind the grey partition there was a pile of cleaned bed frames. Beside them, under a dustsheet that he lifted, were dozens of mattresses, pillows, sheets, blankets. There were many similar piles.