Christmas Truce

"They're all new, never used. They're better quality than I have at home."

"Then take some for yourself, Jonas," I said. "There's more than enough for every villager and to spare."

"I couldn't." he said.

"Yes you can," Mary said as I nodded in agreement.

"If you say so, Major."

"Do you want me to make it an order, sergeant?"

"No. That won't be necessary. I'll take some."

"What about the rations?" I asked.

"They're edible. Palatable? They aren't and never were, as you and I remember. But there's enough for two hundred men for six weeks. We won't starve be we might go back to hating ration packs."

"Will this be finished by next Saturday?"

"Earlier I hope. Do you want it finished early? The men want to drag it out. They need the money. Some of them were desperate when I approached them."

"I'm worried that the flood might not wait for us. What would this place be like if the flood happened tonight? Could we cope?"

"Yes, Major. It would be a bit chaotic. We could hang dustsheets to make the toilets private. The whitewashing would stop. But we could have beds made up within a couple of hours. We could give people a hot drink within half an hour, and hot food in an hour. If we had refugees from the flood we'd get them involved too."

"What about evacuation from the areas at risk?"

"That could blow your cover wide open. There are a dozen handcarts ready for use to move people's belongings. There are many more around the village. If we did need to bring furniture and other effects, they could go behind this screen when the beds, tables, chairs and equipment are in use. Most people don't have much. I think we could get all of it in easily. I've chalked out spaces for individual families, leaving a corridor for access."

"For how many families, Jonas?"

"A maximum of forty. If we had more than forty we would have to split men and women into dormitories. I can't see it being as many as forty, can you?"

"Twenty is probably the worst -- unless a flood is much higher than 1897. Then what, another five or six houses? Certainly less than thirty."

"I agree, Major."

"What about the children?" Mary asked suddenly. "Come over here, Mag, sorry, Mary," Jonas asked. Next to what would be the women's toilets was a space with a couple of tables and half a dozen chairs. There was a pile of paper and a box of pencils.

"This is the best we could do without letting the men know this isn't for your wedding. This is apparently where you will open your wedding presents and make notes on who sent what. But it is a schoolroom or nursery or just a place for children."

"Wedding presents!" Mary snorted. "I congratulate you on your imagination, Jonas, but we won't need room for wedding presents. There won't be any."

"I know," Jonas said heavily, "but if we are to preserve the fiction that all this is for your wedding, it does make nonsense sometimes."

"Thank you for trying," I said. "Do you think any of them have guessed that this ISN'T for our wedding?"

"Yes, Major. Almost all of them have. They are all ex-soldiers and can tell that this is a preparation to house people. But they can tell their wives, who haven't been in here, that it IS for your wedding. Any woman who walked in here would know at once that this is a sham."

"But none have?" Mary asked.

"Except my wife, and she knows what is really happening."

"Thank you, Jonas," I said, "for all you have done and are doing. I hope we have some more time, but my barometer is still dropping. I haven't seen it that low for years. If a flood comes now -- we can cope. If it comes next Saturday, we'll have done the best we can do. If it doesn't come..."

"We'll have a large empty space for us to walk around in after our wedding, and you'll have a studio the week afterwards, Alexander."

"I don't want a flood. I hope this is a waste of effort, that gave some people some work when they needed it."

"If that is all it did, Major, the villagers ought to be grateful."

"But they won't be, will they Jonas?" Mary said.

"No. They won't. You know that. I know that. They are more likely to forget it, or to resent you two even more. I'm sorry. That's how it is."

"We're sorry too," Mary said. "But thank you Jonas."

"Is that all, Major?"

"Yes, Jonas. Unless the flood comes tonight."

We walked back to Mary's cottage. I was pleased with the work done, the preparations made, but sad that the village still resented us. Mary's shoulder supported me as I sagged. The amount of walking I had done in the rain was taking its toll on my weak leg. I stumbled as I crossed the threshold. Mary stopped me from falling.

"That does it!" She exclaimed. "Sit down!"

She guided me over to the settee in front of the living room fire. She took my coat and hung it in the hall.

"Stay there!" she ordered. "I'll be back soon."

She opened the front door and left. I stayed. She was back within a few minutes with a bundle under her coat.

"I've brought your pyjamas, your wash kit, and some clean underwear. You are staying here tonight, and resting there for the remains of today."

"But..."

"But what? My reputation, Alexander? What reputation? I'm the retired village whore. If I keep my husband shortly-to-be overnight in my cottage or even in my bed, what difference will that make to what they think of me? None! Whatever you say, you're staying put."

"Yes, dear," I said, mock-meekly.

That made Mary laugh.

"I didn't mean to turn into a virago, but you have been wearing yourself out for a village that doesn't care about us. I care about you, and it's time you thought about yourself. You are going to rest that leg. Before we go to bed you are going in a hot bath. When you get out I'll be beside you. And you'll be beside me all night, even if I have to tie you to the bed."

"That won't be necessary, Mary," I said quietly. "I accept your invitation with pleasure."

Mary flushed. She knelt by the settee and stroked my face. She lifted her face and kissed me gently.

"Is it easier for your leg if you sit up, or stretch out?" she asked.

"Sitting up," I replied, "as long as it isn't in a draught."

"I'll get a blanket and wrap it round your legs. That do?"

"Yes, thank you, Mary."

She did, gently. I stayed there for the rest of the day, even eating my evening meal from a tray. There was a real difference by the time Mary helped me out of the hot bath. My leg was less painful and it was easier to walk on. Mary even helped me to climb into bed. She had just removed the stone hot water bottles. She snuggled against my back like a warmed blanket. She was still hugging me when we woke the next morning.

She wanted to help me to shave. Although I trust Mary, I don't trust a beginner with a cutthroat razor. She propped me up while I shaved.

The next few days followed the same pattern. Mary wanted me to rest, to allow my leg to recover. The constantly falling rain weakened any resolve I had to venture outside. She visited Jonas each evening for an update on the progress on the barn. By Thursday evening the message came that everything would be finished by the end of tomorrow, the day before our wedding.

Was Mary keeping me prisoner in her cottage? I don't think so. She was wrapping me in her love and she was really worried that I had overextended myself. She didn't object when I said I had to go back to my own place on Friday afternoon. It would be too much for the village to take if the groom had left for the wedding from the bride's bed.

My full dress uniform was still in perfect condition. I was entitled to wear it because I was still, in theory, in the Army reserve until the end of next March. The country would be in a dire strait indeed if it needed my services, but the uniform would look good on a bridegroom. There was another reason. Respect for the uniform, if not the man, might reduce any overt expressions of disapproval.

The next morning I shaved and dressed carefully. My leg felt much better but I missed Mary's arm supporting me as I shaved. Never mind. She could do that as my wife, tomorrow.

When I left my front door I was surprised that the village appeared deserted. The rain had temporarily stopped but the clouds were gathering for another onslaught. As I turned to see the church my heart lifted. Between the Lych gate and the church door was a double line of uniformed soldiers.

As I walked between them, they saluted smartly. I returned their salute. At the door stood two more soldiers, both sergeants. They saluted. I returned their salute. They walked beside me into the empty church.

"Major Jones," said Sergeant Jonas Smith, "We old soldiers decided that we couldn't let a Major be married unattended. I'm reporting to be your Best Man."

"And I," said the Landlord, "am going to act as the Bride's father. I have told her I would and she has accepted. The Bride's substitute mother is waiting at the front."

She was. The Landlady was sitting on the Bride's side in the front pew. She smiled at me as I approached.

"Thank you," I mouthed at her. Why? I could have shouted it out loud.

The landlord turned left to join his wife.

"I'll get a signal when to bring her in," he said, remaining standing.

"Have you got a ring?" my Best Man asked nervously.

"Yes," I said, patting the appropriate pocket.

"Shouldn't I be looking after it for you?"

"Of course." I handed it to him.

There was a knock on the inside of the church door and a soldier's head poked round.

"My cue," said the Landlord and nearly ran down the aisle.

"What now?" I asked my Best Man.

"You'll know when the Bride is coming," he replied.

I did. A bugle sounded followed by a dreadful attempt at a Bridal March on several bugles at once. They stopped after a shout and started again. I turned round to see my bride giggling as she entered the church. She was wearing a deep blue dress, carrying a branch of pine needles, with a silver scarf on her head but NO veil. She was marched up the aisle as if she was late on parade.

"He's nervous," she said to me, indicating her adopted Bride's Father.

"Never done this before," he admitted. "Only had sons."

"You're doing fine," I said as the Vicar emerged from the Vestry.

I heard a clatter of Army boots behind me as our escort took up position in the pews.

"Brothers and Sisters..." the Vicar started to say.

"Not many sisters," the Bride's Mother said aloud, startling the Vicar.

"Have you looked in the gallery?" he whispered to her and us, "I think you will be surprised."

She turned. We couldn't.

"Brothers and Sisters," the vicar started again.

The Bride's mother hissed at us. "Almost every woman who's not in the Mothers' Union, and most of the rest of the men. The Chief Mother will be annoyed."

The Vicar continued with the service. When we sung the first hymn the first sound from the gallery was a shock to the assembled soldiers. They stumbled in the first verse but recovered for the chorus.

By the second hymn the congregation of soldiers was well aware they weren't alone. The rendition from above and below was loud. The service proceeded without a hitch until the Vicar got to "Do you Alexander...?"

He started to say "take Magda".

The Groom, the Bride's Father and Mother and the Best Man all hissed at him "Mary!"

He recovered. "Take Mary," and I did. She accepted me.

When we all went into the vestry to sign the Register I asked my Best Man if we had enough food and drink for the reception.

"You're going to be surprised, Major. I'm astonished that you slept through last night. The tide rose, the flood started to come, and we evacuated everyone. They and their belongings moved into the barn last night. The children are there and the Mothers' Union are preparing to feed the whole village."

"The Mothers' Union!"

"Yes, husband. The Mothers' Union. Jonas came to me last night when we knew the tide was rising. I went to see the Chief Mother, that Lady, and gave her the rough edge of my tongue. I told her what you had done, what was happening, and said that if she didn't shift her backside and get organised, the Mothers' Union would be a useless bunch of overrated bitches."

"Ouch!"

"She responded with a few choice epithets for me before we agreed to a temporary truce for the sake of the village. That truce won't last more than a few days, but now everyone knows what you've done, they decided to make our wedding memorable. Our reception is for the whole village, friends and enemies. The chief bitch is even baking a Wedding Cake. It might be poisoned, but it should look good."

"The next tide is due in half an hour, Major," my Best Man said. "That will be the real test. The flood will come. It will be as bad as 1897."

"And everyone and everything is out of danger?"

"Yes. Thanks to you two. We've saved everything except their houses. They should clean up when the flood's gone."

"Are you ready to rejoin the congregation?" the Vicar asked.

"Yes. Lead on..."

Back in the church the gallery had moved down to the nave. Bride and Groom walked out through a packed church, except for the gap caused by our soldier guard of honour lining the path. The bells rang out as we left the door. They sounded as we walked the short distance to the barn, stopped, and the tenor bell started tolling repeatedly.

"The flood is here," my Best Man announced as if we didn't know.

Inside the barn the Chief of the Mothers' Union came forward to greet us.

"Congratulations, Major and Mrs Jones," she said, "Alexander and Magd..."

"You can call me Magdalene if you want," my bride said in a carrying voice, "but every time you do, I'll call you..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "Hippolyta".

"You wouldn't?" she whispered back.

"You know I would..."

"Alexander and MARY, and thank you for providing this place of refuge from the flood."

Of course the truce didn't last. Mary and the Mothers' Union would never see eye to eye. It lasted a week, long enough to give time for the flood to recede and the mopping up to start.

I painted Mary nude many times but never sold any. A pair of life size versions hang in our bedroom. One is of her idealised and subtly improved. I prefer the other. That is exactly as my eyes see Mary known as Magdalene, the woman I love for who she is.