Remembrance Day. Leah Fleming

Head of a night that put so many families short of food and clothes. He liked to support the chapel reading room and took a men’s Bible class.

      Selma was the clever-clogs of her brood. Mr Pierce, the headmaster, was suggesting she become a pupil teacher when she was fourteen. Essie was so proud that her daughter might get the chance she never had. Not for her the grind of the mill or going into service but a proper training on the job

      Selma was first to the side door of Waterloo, her brothers dawdling along as if they had all day. It was still warm for September and they were red-faced in their Sunday best, playing football with fallen conkers, scuffing their polished boots.

      ‘Hurry up, or we’ll be late,’ she yelled.

      ‘So what? Let ’em wait. I’ve not heard the church clock chime the hour.’

      ‘But I want to see inside…oh, do shift yourself,’ Selma cried. Why did her brothers spoil everything? She was so excited to see where Guy lived.

      Only last week he’d called in person at the forge with a horse, admiring the other beasts waiting in the paddock behind the cottage. Newt had shown him round and she’d hung on the gate, hoping for a chance to show off her own riding skills. He’d waved and then Mother had called her in and when she’d run back, he’d gone. She hoped against hope he’d be waiting behind the high stone wall with the copper beech hedge that divided the Cantrells from the village. This was her chance of a glimpse into another world and she promised Mam to notice every little detail so she could enjoy it too.

      The side door was unlocked, a dog barked at their entrance and they crossed the cobbles of the yard, hearing horses neighing in the stable. The back door was opened by a stern woman in a black dress, whom Selma knew as Mrs Arkholme. She looked after the house while the Cantrells were away from Yorkshire.

      ‘Wipe your boots on the mat,’ she ordered, looking them up and down. ‘Follow me and don’t touch anything.’ Her long black skirt swished in front of them, swaying from a gathering of material over her ample bottom.

      Selma swallowed, awestruck, her eyes adjusting to the dark passageway. Would Guy and Angus be at the other side of the door? She hoped so. How she wanted Guy to see her looking her very best.

      On and on they marched until they came through a green door into a wide hall and staircase that spiralled up into the sunlight, which beamed down through rays of coloured glass like a kaleidoscope.

      ‘Take your caps off, boys,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Wait here until you’re called. I’ll tell her ladyship you’ve arrived.’

      Even Newt and Frank were silenced by the echoes of their boots on the marble floor, the grandeur of the carved furniture, the foot of a real elephant full of walking sticks, vases the size of great copper boilers, and the face of the tiger sprawling at their feet. There was a smell of rose petals and polish. It felt a bit like the inside of the parish church, Selma thought. They seemed to wait for hours until the double doors to another vast room opened and a maid in a stiff white apron ushered them inside.

      A lady sat before them, her back as straight as a chapel pew. She wore a lavender dress with ruffles round her bosom, a choke of milk-white pearls, her face was pale and her white hair coiled high above her head like a helmet. She didn’t rise but gestured like a queen receiving courtiers in one of Selma’s old picture books.

      ‘So here you are…the Bartley brood.’ She examined each of them in turn. ‘Sturdy workhorses, by the look of you…Your names?’

      Selma bobbed a curtsy, suddenly struck dumb by the grandeur of the room, the marble fire surround, fine brass irons and a fire shield. Her dad would like the metalwork on display. There were silken rugs and cushions, silver candelabra and ornaments, draped curtains of heavy rust velvet, framed photographs gathered in a cluster. There was the scent of wood smoke and tobacco, and on the sideboard crystal bottles full of Satan’s brew. Such luxuries she’d never seen before.

      ‘Speak, girl,’ said Lady Hester impatiently.

      ‘This is Newton, the oldest, and my brother Frankland and I am Selima Bartley,’ she offered, seeing her brothers standing tongue-tied.

      ‘What peculiar names for Christian children,’ the lady replied. ‘You look more like Tom, Dick and Nellie to me. You will be pleased to know that Master Angus has made a full recovery, and is back at school with his brother. They wish me to thank you all for your part in the unfortunate accident. They wish you to know that they appreciate all the effort you made on their behalf. The Colonel and I of course endorse such sentiments. We agree therefore that you should all be given a token of our gratitude. Arkholme, fetch the tray.’

      Selma thought they were in for a bun feast but a silver tray with curlicue edges was placed on the table with a lace cloth. There were three gold coins, three half sovereigns, glinting in the sunlight.

      ‘Please take one each,’ said Lady Hester. ‘Tell your parents we are pleased that our tenants have brought up their children to be of such service to the community.’

      Selma grabbed the first coin and bobbed her curtsy, not knowing what to do next. Frank and Newt did the same and bowed. There was a silence and then Lady Hester rang a bell and the parlour maid ushered them to the door.

      ‘Just this once, let them go out the front entrance and down the steps. I expect they will want to admire the view to the river. Thank you and good day.’

      The audience was over. No handshake, no cup of tea and cake, no conversation. But most of all, no Guy or Angus in attendance.

      Disappointment rose like bile in Selma’s throat. All that dressing up for five minutes in a beautiful drawing room.

      How pokey, cold, plain and homespun their front room, with its rag rug and chenille tablecloth, would appear when she got home. How ordinary everything was. A splinter of discontent pierced her heart and she felt shame and pain.

      This was another world, a world of luxury and comfort the likes of which the Bartleys would never know. ‘We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord.’ Mam’s words rang in her head like a tolling bell. Why at this moment were they sounding so hollow?

      It was quite evident that they were not equal, or why did her ladyship not even stand or shake their hands? The gold coins meant nothing to the Cantrells. She had paid them for their services. Selma wanted to throw hers away in disgust. How dare they think so ill of them?

      What would Dad make of it all? Half a guinea to spend or save? The boys weren’t bothered either way, glad to be out in the fresh air, wanting to tear off their Sunday clothes.

      Selma felt a strange sadness when she opened the back door to their cottage.

      ‘Well? How did it go? That didn’t take long.’ Mam was anxious to hear every detail of the visit, stirring soup on the range.

      ‘It were all right…She give us one of these each.’ Selma plonked the coin on the table as if it was burning her fingers.

      ‘That’ll come in handy for your schooling,’ Essie smiled, and then she saw her face. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Nothing. It were all so quick, in and out in five minutes as if we were the delivery boys.’

      ‘You didn’t get a look round, then?’ Essie registered surprise. ‘I thought the young masters would want to show you the horses.’

      ‘They’re back at school. It was a right thunder of nothing. I felt like a fool,’ Newt added. ‘She’s a right proud madam, is that one. Had us through the door in a flash in case we might steal owt, I reckon.’

      ‘Surely not.’ Essie sighed and shook her head. ‘I suppose we must expect that they do things different. Gentry folk don’t mix, never have except when they want the rent. She’s a bit stiff but I hear she’s very fond of her boys. They say she never had a nursemaid to them. Anyhow, I’m sure she was grateful.’

      ‘She didn’t look it. She looked at us as if we were the scrapings off her boot,’ muttered