Endings - Good-bye Mrs Hall

by Shaggyhorsetale

Mrs Hall and Mr Farnon cope with life, duty, and love during WW2.

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

"A-ha!" Siegfried Farnon roared. "Hurray! I'm in! Mrs Hall? Do you hear? I'm in!" He shouted from the front hall, then strode toward the kitchen shaking a letter over his head.

"Yes yes, Mr Farnon," Mrs Hall called back from the kitchen where she was washing the breakfast dishes. "I hear you. All of Darrowby hears you, I am sure. What are you in exactly?"

Siegfried charged into the kitchen, flung the letter away, grabbed Mrs Hall by her hands and spun her away from the sink, sending soap suds flying, and danced her in a wild waltz around the kitchen and into the den.

"Mr Farnon! Stop this instant!" Mrs Hall demanded, twisting away from him. "What has gotten into you?"

Siegfried's wide grin dissolved. "Oh! I do apologise, Mrs Hall. Forgive me. I've been waiting weeks for this confirmation. I didn't want to mention it." He glanced at her nervously. "Um ... you see... I put my name in for reinstatement in the military."

Mrs Hall's face froze. "Oh! Oh ..." She stammered. "Oh, my goodness. No wonder you are... um ... I had no idea. You've been accepted? I must congratulate you Mr Farnon. I'll just finish the washing up."

She turned away too quickly for him to be sure, but Siegfried thought she might be crying. "Is everything alright?" he asked, afraid to overstep the longstanding boundaries between employer and employee. This was Mrs Hall, however. He cared about her. He never wanted to upset her. Had he ever even seen her cry? Twice, he recalled - on Christmas Eve two years ago and earlier that same year over a box of cookies returned unopened from her ungrateful son, Edward. It broke his heart.

Suddenly, Siegfried realised he'd handled things very badly. "There's no need to worry about your position," he said gently. "With James and Tristan gone already, you might worry about your future here. Really, there is no need." He touched her shoulder. "This is your home. It will always be your home."

"Mrs Hall?... Audrey?"

She spun on him suddenly. "I was turned down, Siegfried." Her eyes flashed and tears streamed down her cheeks. "They don't want me. They'll take you and the boys, but they don't want me!"

Siegfried stared at her, "You would have left ..." He almost said, 'me', but hesitated. "You would leave here?"

She replied pointedly, "A moment ago, you danced a jig because you get to go. Why wouldn't I want to serve my country just as much as you do, Mr Farnon?"

"Of course," he said. "Stupid of me. Thoughtless. It's just that I cannot imagine Skeldale House without you in it." Then he fled.

Chapter 2.

Mrs Hall frowned while she finished washing the breakfast dishes. Then she dried her hands and went looking for her employer. She found him in the shed feeding cats.

"Do you know your assignment?" Mrs Hall asked as cheerfully as she could manage past the lump in her throat. Her voice came out far too high. Mr Farnon straightened from examining a white longhair cat with mange and gave her an odd, lingering look, before returning the cat to its cage.

"I'll join RASC," Siegfried said as he measured out food and placed it in a bowl for a second cat. He gave the grey tabby inside a distracted stroke along his back before closing the door.

"The Royal Army Service Corps," Mrs Hall scoffed, shaking her head. "There's military intelligence for you. Why put you in the Army Veterinary Service, since you are a practicing veterinarian?"

Siegfried reddened, coughed, and said, "I am afraid that was not really in the cards, Mrs Hall. I left the Service at the close of the Great War under a bit of a cloud, you see. As an officer candidate I get to choose my unit. I chose RASC. Really, truth be told, I wondered if they'd take me back at all. Damned relieved."

He turned away from her and began to fiddle with the cobwebbed tools hanging from dusty hooks on the shed wall. Mrs Hall had the impression it was so as not to look at her. 'So,' she thought, 'Life in Darrowby was not your first choice. Sharing that must have cost you dearly.'

"You were right to fight for those war horses," she said softly, then stepped close and touched Siegfried's shoulder.

He turned and found that Mrs Hall was staring at him. She looked directly into his eyes, but he dropped his gaze, breaking the connection, embarrassed by his admission of past failure and obviously flustered by both her sympathy and her proximity.

"You mentioned it once," she continued releasing his shoulder. "How many did they shoot?"

Siegfried rubbed his eyes and said, "Thirty-five thousand horses and mules were slaughtered to feed people, Mrs Hall. They fed civilians, prisoners of war, troops. Belgium was starving at the end. France and Germany were hardly better. Horses that were worn out, broken down. That, I could almost understand, although I hated it. Others were good solid stock. Excellent beasts that had been through hell and deserved to come home to an easier life and a better end. We could have used them. France, Belgium, even Germany needed them. The damnable thing was they wanted them, but couldn't pay the asking price. Since they couldn't be sold... Those animals served their country bravely and then ..."

He slumped onto a bale of straw. "Then I was ordered to destroy them. Ordered. Well, of course I challenged it. I went too far. Lost my temper and I was brought up on charges of insubordination. My field record saved me, but my Cavalry career was over. I had always expected to stay in, you see? I loved the work. After that last slaughter of thousands of healthy, sound horses, well, I wasn't wanted and really, I could not have stayed in, even if they'd forgiven me."

"Then, why so eager to join up?" Mrs Hall asked. "You're desperately needed here Mr Farnon. You are an exempted class because of age and occupation. You don't have to go."

Siegfried hesitated before answering. He rubbed his jaw, a habit that only arose during times of deep consideration. "Mrs Hall, why did you reapply?" he finally asked.

"I am an experienced military nurse," she said. "I can help."

"Yes, " Siegfried replied. "I too think I might be of some use," he said. "Besides, with James in the Infantry and Tristan in Intelligence, both of them young men with young wives and growing children, how could I not at least try to serve? Do you see?"

When Mrs Hall did not immediately agree, he continued, somewhat nervously, "It's not for the adventure of it. I am a veteran. It will be mostly dull, frustrating, hard work, and generally uncomfortable. There may be the rare occasions of danger, but they will be few and far between for those of us who merely deliver supplies to distribution depots. I shall probably never get within ten miles of a German."

He glanced at her hopefully, checking to see whether his assessment eased the tension radiating from her. Mrs Hall tried to smile and nod. It was not entirely convincing. She stood by with her arms tightly wrapped across her chest and watched as Mr Farnon finished checking the small animals that were inmates under his care. With two of the three practitioners already whisked away by the war, he had his days packed with work.

Before he left, he would have to return every one of them to their owners, as well as deal with any urgent issues on the surrounding farms. With all the young men gone away, there were already fewer farm animals to look after, but every old farmer had at least one or two milk cows, an aging horse or a few goats or sheep, and a dog or two. Too soon, she would pack his bags and then he'd be gone.

After he fed the last of the small animals, an angora rabbit that had a broken foreleg from getting caught in its cage door, Siegfried turned from where he knelt in the straw and said, "Would you allow me to write to you, while I'm away, Mrs Hall?"

"Yes, of course," she replied. "And, I shall write to you, Mr Farnon. When do you go? Where will they send you." she continued, her voice an octave too high with tension.

Siegfried stood and brushed straw from his pants legs, frowning. "I report to Catterick in three days. New recruits take a 6-month course. Re-treads, men with military experience such as myself may enjoy a less extensive training. Hopefully. I am eager to get into the job. Besides, how much is there to learn about provisioning troops?"

Mrs Hall replied with a tight smile, "You might be surprised how much there is to learn about feeding people, Mr Farnon." They left the shed and walked together across the back yard, as she continued, "and then there's the record-keeping.

Siegfried groaned and said, "Oh dear Lord. Paperwork. I hadn't thought of that."

Mrs Hall led the way down the hallway to the kitchen, acutely aware that Mr Farnon had sensed something was wrong, that he had somehow upset her. If he saw her face, his suspicions would be confirmed. She'd managed to control her voice and she'd held back in the shed, but now tears kept trickling down her cheeks.

'He's going to war!' the phrase echoed and re-echoed with every heartbeat. 'He's going to get himself killed.'

Mrs Hall maneuvered to hide her face from him. Siegfried was right on her heels, so she stooped and invented a reason to lower her face to the floor.

"What on earth are you doing?" he demanded, standing and staring at her on all fours.

"I dropped a thimble. I thought I saw it under the stove," she lied still averting her tear-streaked face.

To her shock, he dropped to his knees beside her.

"No. I don't see it," he said. "Are you certain you lost it here, Mrs Hall?" He crawled around for another moment, peering under the table, the ice box, and out into the hallway, calling, "Maybe it rolled."

As he disappeared, Mrs Hall dried her eyes on her apron and called out, "Found it!" feeling such a complete fool.

Chapter 3.

Siegfried collapsed onto his hard wooden desk chair. His first day at Catterick Officers Training had been a shock. Had he forgotten what he'd endured as a lad in 1907 upon joining British Cavalry? Apparently. Or perhaps he'd just gotten old. Either way, being hustled along by training sergeants from one mindless task to another was mentally and physically exhausting. He'd thought he was in good physical condition, but the Army did not agree and was hellbent on proving it.

Finally, he was able to stop. He sat at his empty desk and thought of Skeldale House. Mrs Hall would have baked today. She always baked on Mondays. Dinner would be over by now. If he were home, she'd finish the washing up and join him for a quiet evening. They might have a fire if the night was cold. They might put a platter on the Victrola or tune in music or a program on the radio.

Suddenly as homesick as any child away from home for the first time, Siegfried stood and began to search his luggage. Mrs Hall had packed his things. Her particular scent, the smell of fresh soap and something irreducibly feminine, wafted over him as he opened his bags. Loneliness rose another notch, but eased as he investigated her work. In his left dress boot, he discovered a one-pound packet of loose tea and even a tea-ball for steeping. The right held a bottle of his best whiskey. Wise woman that she was, Mrs Hall had cushioned the precious bottle by wrapping sheets of writing paper around it. His favourite pen was tucked among the items in his shaving kit and she had slipped envelopes inside his book on ancient British history.

When all had been assembled, Siegfried sat at his pitiful excuse for a desk, poured a finger of whisky into his water glass, and began to write.

'Dear Mrs Hall,

I thoroughly enjoyed our drive up from Darrowby. You were right, of course. Parting at the town square in Darrowby would have been misery and why should I ride a bus to Scarborough only to reverse course up to Catterick?

I do wish I'd agreed to you driving the roadster home. I hope the trip by train and then bus wasn't too tiresome. Did you meet up with your friend - what was her name? - in Scarborough?

Unfortunately, here the roadster has caught the envious eye of every senior officer, as well as the hungry gaze of every young fellow. The youngsters are tripping over each other to ingratiate themselves to me, so they can borrow the damned thing. The senior officers are plotting tactics and strategy. I can feel it. It will be nice, if I get leave, to have it so I can drive home, saving travel time. I wonder when that might be. Foolish of me to yearn to be home, so soon. Ridiculous, I know. But true.

Training has been a misery and I've only been here less than 24 hours. I've had my hair cut, beard and moustache shaved clean off. You won't know me. I hardly know myself when I look in the mirror.

I'm the old man of the group. All the lads are extremely courteous. It makes me feel old how they dote on me. It is well intended. They're a good bunch. They've taken to calling me Sangfroid, an awkward play on my name. In French it means cold-blooded. I can't imagine where they got that impression. Perhaps it is akin to calling an exceptionally tall man 'Shorty.'

What do you think? Am I cold-blooded? I do wonder.

Please write to tell me about your trip back home. I would be glad to know how that angora rabbit made out and whether the white cat's mange persists. If so, advise Mrs Peterson to apply the powder I gave her more frequently and more liberally. It never fails.

Give my love to Helen and Maggie and their children and know I am most sincerely yours,

Siegfried.'

Chapter 4.

It was quiet in the big house. Skeldale House had not been the same since the boys married and moved into their own homes. Jess provided another beating heart, but with Mr Farnon gone Mrs. Hall found herself desperately wishing for noise, chaos, and items dropped here and there as if they had no proper place.

When the quiet became too much to bear, she visited Maggie or Helen. Both young wives had more on their hands than they could easily handle. Mrs. Hall was welcomed and she found their babies and toddlers happy distractions from the war news and her growing dread of the daily post.

Three statues of Saint Nicholas stood, facing out from the wall, as a totem and a heartfelt blessing on her boys - Tristan, serving as a Lieutenant in the Middle East somewhere in Military Intelligence; James, a Second Lieutenant in the Infantry, such a waste of an educated man; and Siegfried, currently in training, but slated to serve as Lieutenant Colonel, of the Royal Army Service Corps. They would not face the wall again until they returned.

Siegfried had written from Catterick almost as soon as he'd arrived. Mrs Hall felt uncomfortably pleased by his closing, writing: 'I am most sincerely yours.' She knew it was just a phrase, but she'd never seen it before in any letter. It made her heart beat a little faster whenever she thought of him, far from home, alone, and writing those words to her - 'I am most sincerely yours.'

Of course, the fact remained that Mr Siegfried Farnon belonged not to her, but to His Royal Majesty's army. He would be gone for the duration, years perhaps. Mrs Hall set aside her ironing and went to the desk, where Siegfried kept his writing things, and sat down to reply to his letter.

'Dear Mr Farnon,

My trip back home was almost as lovely as the drive up to Catterick. Wasn't it a glorious day for a long drive? I see from your letter that you discovered the writing paper and envelopes. I will enclose additional supplies when I write, so you don't run out. No, I met no friends in Scarborough. Her name is Dorothy, as well you know. Don't you remember she went off to Malta?

The white cat is much improved. The angora rabbit has healed well. You are sorely missed, however, by the farmers. I get several calls a day demanding that you come out for some milk cow 'going on three cylinders', or another prolapse, a difficult calving, or an injured plough horse in need of care. Some of them get so upset at the news that I disconnect! Such language. I dread lambing season next Spring.

Helen and Maggie are fine and so are their children. Maggie's youngest daughter, Millie is starring in a school play this Friday. I must attend!

I do hope that you will be able to drive home soon. Jess wanders the place constantly, poor dog. I know she is looking for you, wondering where you have gone. I've given her your old coat and she sleeps on it now. It stops her pacing at night.

For now, know that I keep you in my heart,

Audrey.'

Chapter 5.

Siegfried jogged along with the gaggle of younger officer candidates. It was a muggy morning with patches of fog hanging close to the ground. He felt good.

At last his muscles had adjusted to calisthenics, his back to a thin military mattress stuffed with what felt like old rubble, and his appetite had soared as a result of daily ten-mile runs before breakfast, four hours of close-order drill before lunch, and an afternoon of mind-numbing study of the procedures and protocols by which RASC accounted for every 'bucket, bullet, and bean,' in reference to the delivery of petrol, oil and lubricants, ordnance, and rations.

As he pounded along across the Yorkshire fields, he suddenly stopped enjoying himself. Far, far behind him he heard a marching chant begin. A thin young voice called out:

'Mother dear, I'm writing you from somewhere in France,

Hoping this finds you well.

Sergeant says I'm doing fine, a soldier and a half,

Here's a song that we'll all sing, it'll make you laugh!'

Then the entire group, except Siegfried chanted:

'We're gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,

Have you any dirty washing, mother dear?

We're gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,

'Cause the washing day is here.'

Siegfried groaned and picked up the pace. If these children were gasping for air, maybe they'd have no breath left to sing. But it was hopeless, the sing-song went on and on.

'Whether the weather may be wet or fine,

We just rub along without a care!

We're gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,

If the Siegfried Line's still there!'

Everybody's mucking in and doing their job,

Wearing a great big smile.

Everybody's got to keep their spirit up today,

If you want to keep in swing,

Here's a song to sing;

We're going hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,

Have you any dirty washing, mother dear?

We're gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,

Why?

'Cause the washing day is here.

The lads had taken to whistling that damnable tune when they passed by him, always with a cheeky grin. He realized it was goodnatured hazing to break the boredom and not at all malicious. As the old man of the group he was a natural target for ribbing. So, he laughed and played along. In private, however, he cursed his father's inordinate love of Wagnerian opera that had pinned his first born with such a name.

The camp was in sight and the song went on and on, but suddenly it died out when the color sergeant popped up out of nowhere.

"What in bloody hell do you sound like?! A pack of bloody Yanks! Next thing, you'll be mewling about that bastard Jodi back home stealing your sweethearts."

He gave Siegfried a particularly nasty glare. "Double time," he roared, "About face!" and he ran them until half the boys were puking and the rest were nearly in tears.

When they staggered into camp, long after nightfall, the color sergeant bellowed, "Halt! Dismissed," and the group began to stagger toward the showers, Siegfried included. But then the sergeant called, "Farnon!"

"Here, sergeant," Siegfried replied, his heart stopping.

"Commandant wants to see you. NOW!"

"Right, sergeant," Siegfried answered and trotted to the main office, sweaty, dirty, and wondering if good-natured horseplay was about to send him packing.

Siegfried rapped on the Commandant's door, waited to hear 'Come,' and presented himself. The old soldier behind the desk looked up from a file folder that lay open before him. He gave Siegfried a long, slow look, taking in his grimey uniform, sweat-stained face, and general reek.

"You were Cavalry in the Great War." It was a statement, not a question.

Siegfried barked, "Sir!"

"A veterinarian ," he continued as if he could not believe it. "What in hell are you doing in RASC. You do realize RASC does more than cater meals. RASC is part of the Infantry and is expected to fight!"

Still standing at attention, Siegfried barked, "Yes, Sir!"

The Commandant muttered, "Stand easy, Colonel Farnon. I see from your record you are ill-tempered, poorly disciplined, and a general misfit among professional soldiers. The lads call you Sangfroid. Cold-blooded, are you?"

Siegfried tensed, but held his tongue.

"I see you could shoot twenty years ago. How about now?"

"Rusty, Sir," Siegfried admitted.

"Ridden a horse lately?"

"Not since 1933," Siegfried said.

"Why the hell not? You destroyed you career over the creatures!" the Commandant growled. "It was a promising career, you fool. You lack fear of the consequences when you think you are in the right. Well, here is your punishment. I am going to harness that destructive trait. I need a cold-blooded bastard who can cope with anything thrown at him outside normal channels. I am sending you on a week's shooting instruction, a week of map reading and riding. You would make a miserable RASC adjutant, but you shall be the perfect ax-man to cut through every SNAFU and get the goods delivered. Questions?"

Siegfried hesitated and then said, "What exactly is it you want me to do, Sir?"

"I want you to take any form of transport, including a horse if you need one, and untangle every mess that prevents RASC deliveries from getting to the fighting men. How you do it is entirely up to you." He stood and thrust orders and a letter at Siegfried saying,

"This letter is from the very top. This letter is your ticket onto any boat, train, planes, or truck, and out of any other assignment if someone tries to Shanghai you into some other work. Your service record was a fine one. This is your second chance. Get cleaned up, get your gear together, and leave immediately for London."

Chapter 6.

Mrs Hall grabbed a cricket bat. There was rustling in the front hall. It was very, very late.

'Why isn't Jess barking?' she wondered as she descended the stairs. 'Has he killed her?'

Her anger flared. She could see a dark figure bending over in the shadows. She raised the bat as the strange figure stood and turned. She swung.

"Mrs Hall," Siegfried called out too late. Her bat connected with the side of his head toppling him like a felled tree. He sprawled across the hallway tiles.

Siegfried opened his eyes. Jess was licking his hand vigorously and Audrey Hall was patting his cheek and wiping blood from his ear. She looked lovely with tears brimming on her lashes, a bandanna around her head, and a robe over her night dress.

"Oh, thank the Lord," she said as she saw him blink. "I haven't killed you, then. Don't move. You might have a concussion. I hit you very hard."

"Why?" Siegfried groaned, laying perfectly still. His vision swam and he had no intention of moving, perhaps never again.

"I heard a noise," Mrs Hall stammered. "There have been some break-ins. People are nervous. I am alone in this house, you realize. What on earth are you doing creeping in here at this hour?

Siegfried lifted his head cautiously and asked, "This is Skeldale House?"

"Yes, of course it is," Mrs Hall declared, becoming concerned.

"And I lived here?"

"Good lord, I've really hurt you!" she cried, pressing him back down onto the couch cushions, until she felt his body trembling with silent laughter.

"Mr Farnon!" she protested, as she began to laugh in relief. "That was terribly cruel."

"You hit me with a cricket bat, Mrs Hall," he laughed and groaned. "Serves you right. If I hadn't seen it coming, you could have really hurt me."

"I shall have to use your firearm next time there's a strange noise. You are forewarned, Siegfried."

She took his hand and helped him sit upright. He groaned again.

"I hardly recognize you," she said. "You've changed."

"Well, you are forgiven, since I'm so changed. Does a haircut and shave make such a difference, really?" he replied, gingerly touching the side of his head.

"It's not the hair," she answered, suddenly serious, "or shaving off your beard. What has happened, Siegfried?"

Siegfried rubbed his bloody head and said, "How well you know me, Audrey Hall. I'm being sent on special training. The assignment has changed. It's not a desk job anymore. I stopped in to ... um ... to make sure you know that I didn't mislead you. I never would intentionally lie to you. I honestly thought that I'd signed up to move supplies, nothing more, Mrs Hall ... my dear, dear Mrs Hall."

Chapter 7.

Audrey wandered through the house. Once again, so quiet, so empty, so devoid of life now Mr Farnon, Colonel Farnon, was gone. He had stayed just long enough for a long talk about his future and then breakfast. As suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Jess nuzzled her hand roughly, as if to say, 'I'm still here.'

"You miss him, girl?" she said, bending to pet the old dog. Then, as she pressed her face against the thick, hairy neck, she began to sob."He's going to war," hugging the dog. "He's going to get himself killed."

Jess squirmed loose, then licked Audrey's tear-streaked face.

Later that day, Mrs Hall visited the church for a talk with her Vicar.

"They are evacuating London," she said. "I have a big empty house. I can take at least ten children."

The Vicar blinked in surprise. " So many? Audrey, that is a huge responsibility."

"I've raised a child," she said firmly. "I help Helen and Maggie with their broods. I took care of three men for years. I can surely handle children. I know what I'm getting into, Vicar. I am willing and able. All I ask is that I receive four girls and six boys. That will let them share bedrooms. Even better, send me siblings."

The Vicar grinned and asked, "You've discussed this with Mr Farnon?"

"No," Mrs Hall replied, "but then he did not discuss leaving me alone in an empty barn of a house with nothing to do but wait and worry."

When the arrangements were firm, Mrs Hall wrote to her absentee employer.

'Dear Mr Farnon,

After our long talk, before you shipped out to god-knows-where, I gave my situation here a good deal of thought. My time waiting and worrying about you and the boys during this terrible, terrible war has been my own sort of hell. You can't imagine how helpless I feel here alone, doing nothing to help anyone, just gathering dust - like the tools in your shed. Left behind to rust.

You know I wanted to do something to help. Well, I've found a way. You once said that Skeldale House is my home and it would never change. I have taken your words to heart. I asked the Vicar to locate children evacuees from London. I am making Skeldale House a temporary home for ten children. They need me.

I wait for your letters. I wonder how you are, what you are doing, are you safe? I wonder and worry, Siegfried.

Please do not tell me these children must go elsewhere. This makes me feel useful.

Know I keep you in my heart, always.

Audrey'

Two weeks later, ten children were hustled off the Scarborough bus by a matron dressed in the grey and red of the Salvation Army. The Vicar had informed Mrs Hall of their schedule and she met the bus.

"I am Mrs Hall," she said as she approached the matron. "Are these the children from London?"

"They are indeed," the matron confirmed. "Would you like me to help you get them settled?"

"Let's step over to the house. I have tea and some sandwiches and milk for the children. You can introduce us to each other. You're welcome to stay the night."

"Food and tea sounds lovely, but I must catch that bus right back, so it will have to be quick, Mrs Hall. I'm Maisy Jones, by the way." The women shook hands and they all trooped after Mrs Hall to Skeldale House.

As the children entered the front hallway, Jess barked and cavorted with joy as the children surrounded her, laughing, hugging her, and making a fuss. Audrey and Maisy sat in the kitchen for a quick sandwich and a chat.

"These children have been through bombings since last year. All of them are city kids. They aren't going to be used to your home, your lifestyle, none of it. Some things will fascinate them. Others will be scary, or even terrifying. I can't prepare you for everything."

"I am certain we shall manage, Maisy," she said as she wrapped sandwiches. She pressed them into the other woman's hands. "For the trip."

After introductions, Mrs Hall waved goodbye to Maisy Jones, then she turned to the children.

"I am so pleased you all are here with me. I know we shall be friends. Who is oldest?"

A short boy with blonde hair raised his hand, "Me." His voice was low, but threatened to change octaves. Mrs Hall estimated the boy's age at twelve.

"I would like your help, Sam," Mrs Hall said. "Will you take everyone upstairs to wash face and hands? That will let me put food on table."

"Okay." Sam said simply and he silently herded the gang of children up the stairs, as Mrs Hall called, "The facilities are to your right."

Ten minutes later. Sam led the rest of the children back to the front hallway. They didn't make a sound.

"In here," Mrs Hall called.

The group took their seats, eyeing the food suspiciously. Mrs Hall had made chicken casserole - one if her mother's recipes for stretching meat. She served out the casserole to the children, passing the plates out. Then she poured the milk, and took her seat at the table and said, "For what we are about to receive, oh lord, we are truly grateful."

She began to eat. The children watched her closely, as if wondering if her food might be poisoned. When she smiled and continued to enjoy her meal, one by one, they began tasting the chicken pieces, then the gravy, and finally the biscuit topping and vegetables.

By the end of the meal, everyone had clean plates. Several children had worked up courage to ask for seconds.

Chapter 8.

April 8, 1940

Lt. Col. Siegfried Farnon stood gazing toward the east on the deck of the HMS Glasgow as it steamed off the west coast of Norway. The cold wind cut at his bare face and he envied Navy sailors their regulation beards. He pulled his head deeper into his coat's turned up collar and gritted his teeth. Very soon, he would face his first action of this war. He would not be fighting for the lives of horses. Innocent, brave, and wonderful as they were, the life of a horse could not compare to that of a human. He had learned that harsh lesson when death suddenly claimed his young, beautiful wife, Evelyn. Beloved Evelyn.

Siegfried shuffled his feet. He was cold. The Catterick lads had dubbed him Sangfroid. He would have to be cold-blooded very soon. Whatever blocked RASC delivery of ammunition, fuel, or rations to the men at the salient had to be swept away. He was the broom. Lieutenant Siegfried Farnon had faced the Germans three decades ago. He had fought with his skill at saving horses. There had been three incidents when he had actually fought the Germans. Those events had saved him from military prison and, now, given him his second chance for winning respect from His Royal Majesty's Army.

A puff of smoke wafted past and Siegfried glanced down the deck. Another huddled figure stood gazing toward the coast; his hand covered his pipe bowl so as not to show a light. Siegfried knew the scent of the smoke from interminable planning meetings. He walked down the deck and stuck out a hand, saying, "Beautiful evening, Johnny!"

Capt. John Eddey would lead the landing party if plans unfolded as expected. He shook Siegfried's hand warmly and said, "Evening, Colonel Sangfroid. I had to get above decks. Too close below."

Siegfried yawned and said, "Too close below. Too cold above. I'm calling it a night, Johnny. I've got a letter to write. See you in the cabin." He made his way below decks, feeling rather smug that he could navigate the passageways without asking a sailor for directions. When he reached his shared cabin, he stowed his heavy coat and sat on his bunk. Most of his gear was back in London, but he had brought the essentials - whisky, writing paper and envelopes, and his shaving kit complete with his favourite pen. He assembled pen, paper, and whisky and wrote:

'Dearest Audrey,

I received your letter and applaud your decision with my whole heart. Brava, my dear Mrs Hall. Your friend - what's her name again? - warned me once that you open your heart too easily. She was afraid you would get yourself hurt. I am not. I trust you completely and I know you will do the right thing in all things. Children in Skeldale House will do you and Jess nothing but good. If the furniture suffers from muddy shoes or a plate is broken, so be it. I have come to realize nothing last forever. When I found and married Evelyn, I was tremendously naive. I thought we would have a life together. When she died, I was devastated and I felt cheated. But ... well. I do go on and on about other women when I intend to tell you how much I care about you, my dear. The point is that I have been a fool to hang back and not speak my heart to you.

I will be busy for a while. I can't say what I am doing, where, or why. Just remember what I told you when last we met. Just after you hit me very hard in the head with a cricket bat. Perhaps that's the trick to shake a ring rusted old veterinarian out of his rut so he can tell you he loves you. That he's been in love with you without fully realizing it for a very long time. I think perhaps from the moment I laid eyes on you, standing in the shadows of the kitchen wearing Evelyn's apron. That shook me to my core, I can tell you.

When I return, I should be eligible for leave. I have digs now in London. I realize having ten children in your care may make it impossible for you to join me there, but if you can find a way, I would be so very grateful. Push the Vicar to take them for a few days. Or split them up between Maggie and Helen - they will hardly mind a few extra under foot if it makes you happy. They care about you almost as much as I do. Almost.

I am baring my soul tonight. Don't let it worry you. It doesn't mean anything other than I am wide awake at last. I repeat. Do not read anything sinister into these admissions of mine. I think you have known longer than I have that I care deeply for you and not entirely in ways that befit an employer and a gentleman. I find you the most fascinating person that I have ever known. The things you say never stop surprising and delighting me, Audrey. Your ideas of wrong and right are my true North. I depend on you for the air I breathe and the joy in my life. I long to be with you again soon. However soon, it cannot be soon enough to suit me.

Yes, I am a bit drunk. The bottle is lasting well. I allow myself one finger when I write to you. Never at any other time. It is my treat to have a drink and think of you reading my words, almost as if you are here beside me.

I hope you are happy and well. Don't forget to lock up the medical supplies. Children are curious creatures. It would be a shame for them to get into mischief.

Much Love and Forever Yours,

Siegfried.'

Six hours later, on April 9, 1940, Siegfried was thrown from his bunk as the Glasgow shuddered and swayed, thrown over in the sea by concussions from bombs that exploded close to the ship's side.

"Johnny," he called over the screaming klaxons. "You alive?"

"Yes, Sig," Capt. Eddey called back. "Let's get above. I don't like it this closed in under fire."

Siegfried grabbed his boots and coat and scrambled after Eddey. The ship's company was racing about, wearing life vests and helmets. Siegfried cursed to himself. He had forgotten both his life vest and his helmet. If he ended up in the water off Bergen, he would not last long anyway. But his chances were marginally better with a life vest.

When they emerged onto the deck the dawn light showed men at the guns trying to discourage a flock of Junkers 88s and Heinkel 111 aircraft as they dropped bombs over the ship. One bomb burst on impact, tearing a hole in the side. Siegfried clapped his friend on the back and said, "I'll be in sick bay." It was clear the ship's surgeons would be busy. Perhaps he could lend a hand. As he turned to go back below, a second bomb hit forward. One of the guns was blown to bits and two men were flung to the deck.

Siegfried changed course and ran to the first man. He was torn apart. Not quite dead but beyond saving. He turned to the second and saw there was nothing where he had once had a face. Siegfried turned back to the other and gripped his shoulder. "Hang on," he shouted. The lad was bleeding from his mouth and nose. His chest was punched in and he'd lost both arms. Siegfried tore off his belt to use a tourniquet on the left arm, but suddenly sailors surrounded him.

"Leave off, Colonel," one of them shouted. "He's gone, too."

Siegfried sat back on his heels and watched them remove the bodies. Then he gathered himself and went to the sickbay. There were five wounded. 'It's a small miracle,' he thought, 'that more haven't been injured. Between the bombing and the hail of metal splinters, it could have been so much worse.' Then, he began to shake. One of the sailors mistook him for a walking wounded because of his blood-soaked uniform and deathly pale face. He was unceremoniously pushed onto a stretcher, had his shirt opened, and was examined efficiently. When the sailor found no obvious injuries, he handed Siegfried a cup of scalding tea, thick with sugar and ordered him to drink. He drank. It helped.

After about an hour, he pulled himself together and returned to his bunk. When he entered, Johnny muttered, "Any news?"

"Two dead, five wounded, and one very shaken veterinarian," Siegfried reported. "Six-foot hole in the side. Flooding. We are heading to Scapa Flow for repairs."

The Glasgow returned to sea 22 hours later.