The Roots of the Tree Page 18

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Suzie agreed. ‘But it does make it less likely that it was because he didn’t want to come back to them. That means a lot – certainly to Mum it does.’

  ‘So, let’s hope that Sylvia de Lacey is as good as her word, then, and writes to Amy and that she responds by getting in touch.’

  17

  The End of the Trail

  Three weeks later

  Annie was running late for work. Her alarm clock had failed to go off and there was no one else in the house to wake her, except Marmaduke, who was fast asleep on Annie’s bed and therefore of no use at all.

  She was juggling a piece of toast and a half-full cup of tea while pulling on her boots and coat when the postman pushed a small bundle of letters, held together with an elastic band, through the letterbox. ‘Mostly bills no doubt,’ she muttered, as she grabbed the bundle on her way out to the car.

  It was lunchtime before Annie had the opportunity to look at the post. A hand-written, cream coloured envelope immediately drew her attention. The postmark was Edinburgh. She put her half-drunk cup of tea down and took a deep breath before slowly easing open the envelope and withdrawing the single sheet of paper inside.

  Suzie was also on her lunch break and was at the checkout in the supermarket when her mobile telephone rang. Seeing Annie’s number come up, she smiled apologetically at the checkout assistant as she handed over a twenty pound note and answered the call.

  ‘I’ve had a letter from Amy,’ Annie said in an excited voice, before Suzie had even managed to say hello. ‘She thinks we ought to meet and is suggesting next week. Can you take Wednesday off and come up to Edinburgh with me? Marie’s coming too.’

  Suzie, Marie and Annie boarded the train at Barminster on Tuesday evening to travel to Edinburgh. Jack had offered to go with them, but none of them felt it was necessary. ‘We will be fine,’ Suzie had replied. ‘We might even have time for some retail therapy and you know how bored you would be.’

  Suzie had found a small hotel close to the centre and the castle, which wasn’t too expensive and they had decided to stay overnight and meet Amy the next day.

  They were all preoccupied with their own thoughts on the journey. Suzie gazed out of the window, not really seeing how the landscape changed from the flatness of her native Barminster to the rolling hills and dales of the north before becoming increasingly built-up as the train broached the outskirts of Edinburgh. She realised that they didn’t know exactly what Sylvia de Lacey had told Amy and they had no idea how she would feel about them when she knew the full story. The letter to Annie had been polite but hadn’t provided any clues about the feelings of the writer. Marie flicked through bridal magazines, marking pages where something of interest caught her eye. It was now only weeks before her own wedding. Occasionally she looked up and gave her mother a reassuring smile. Annie leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed. She was nervous and apprehensive. After everything that she had been through in the months since Frank died, she was taking this latest revelation in her stride. She still felt emotionally bruised by the fact that her father was not her father, but a man who was a stranger to her was, the fact that her whole life was built on a carefully constructed fabric of lies and the challenge to her own identity. Now she had to come to terms with the existence of a sister that she had not known about and not only that – a sister young enough to be her daughter and who may not be too pleased herself to discover she has another family. And then of course there was the possibility that she may be about to meet her real father for the first time. She wondered how she would greet him. She could hardly give him a hug and say, ‘Hello, Dad. Where have you been all my life?’

  Amy had suggested they meet at 11.00 a.m. at a coffee shop on the Royal Mile, which turned out to be charming and traditional. Delicious-looking cakes were on display in a glass cabinet and the tables were set with pressed table cloths and a small vase of fresh flowers. The smell of freshly ground coffee pervaded the room and the daily specials, including carrot and coriander soup, were chalked up on a blackboard behind the counter. The staff wore long black aprons over purple shirts and black trousers.

  Suzie, Marie and Annie were early. They took a table in a corner, ordered coffee and sat watching the door, waiting for Amy to arrive. At just a few minutes after 11.00 a.m., an attractive, but dishevelled-looking woman in her early thirties pushed open the door. Annie knew instantly that this was Amy. She had dark hair, cut short, she wore no makeup and her face had the healthy glow of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors, but her dark eyes were apprehensive and she looked as if she hadn’t slept well.

  Amy spotted them and headed over to their table. ‘You must be Annie,’ she said, staring at Annie. ‘I’m Amy.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Annie and these are my daughters, Suzie and Marie,’ Annie replied.

  Suzie smiled. Seizing the initiative, she started to apologise to Amy for getting in touch the way they had, but Amy held up her hand.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, pulling out an empty chair and sitting down to face them across the table. ‘I know who you are. You don’t need to explain or apologise, but I haven’t got used to the idea yet of having relatives I knew nothing about. I guess you know how that feels, but I only found out a few days ago, after the letter from Miss de Lacey arrived.’

  Annie nodded. ‘Amy,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I do know how it feels. I’m sorry if we have caused you any distress and I guess you could accuse us of selfishness – we wanted to find out the truth so that I could rebuild my life, but we didn’t realise that others may also be involved.’

  ‘Did Miss de Lacey tell you everything?’ asked Suzie.

  ‘Oh no,’ replied Amy. ‘Miss de Lacey’s letter didn’t tell me anything, except that she had met three ladies who had been enquiring after my father and would I be so good as to contact them and let them know how he was, if he was still alive.’ Amy’s voice wobbled. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that he passed away four years ago. He was eighty-one. He died peacefully in his sleep.’

  Annie gripped Marie’s hand tightly. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I always knew it was unlikely he would still be alive, but that didn’t stop me hoping. There are so many questions that I will never find the answers to.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Amy. ‘I’ve not finished. When the solicitor read his will, which was mostly straightforward as I was the only heir and he didn’t have much anyway, there was an unusual clause. It said if ever an Elsie Williams or Barratt, or any of her descendants should try to contact me, I had to take the evidence immediately to the solicitor. Naturally, I was very curious, but I could do nothing. The solicitor had been instructed to tell me nothing more unless I could provide proof that Elsie had tried to reach me. I tried to forget about it, although obviously I couldn’t. When the letter from Miss de Lacey arrived, I immediately arranged a meeting with the solicitor. He read the letter and then took a key from his desk and said he needed to fetch something from the vault. He came back with a small box which he handed to me. The box contained two unopened letters – one addressed to me and one addressed to Elsie, Annie or their descendant – this old copy of The Time Machine by H. G. Wells and this bundle of old letters.’

  Amy passed the book and the bundle of letters to Annie. The book was clearly very well read. The edges of the paper were grey from years of being held and touched by human hands. The cover was faded. Annie untied the piece of string that was tied around the book and the letters. She lifted the first letter from the top of the pile and recognised her mother’s handwriting. The paper was very brittle. Ted had obviously had the letters with him all the time he was in captivity. Flicking through them, Annie could see where damage from damp and water had left patches where the ink was completely illegible. The paper itself was aged and appeared to be withered as if it had been left out in the sun for too long and its edges had curled and shrivelled like a delicate plant left without water.

  ‘I’ve already read my letter,’ Amy continued. ‘He
told me how he had been in love with your mother years before he met mine. How he had lost her, and you, and how he thought his life was over, simply not worth living any more. When he met my mother, Julia, many years later, he learned to live again, but he never forgot Elsie,’ Amy paused, choking back a sob. Annie had a lump in her throat and knew that tears were not far away for her either. Amy opened her bag and took out another envelope which she handed to Annie. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I hope it answers some of your questions.’

  Annie’s hand was shaking as she took the envelope that Amy held out to her. Carefully, she opened it. It contained several sheets of handwritten paper and a photograph of a blonde-haired baby, which was unmistakably her, aged around nine months – she had seen others similar to it among the old family photographs. She remembered reading one of the letters from Ted to Elsie where he had asked for a photograph to be sent – this must have been it. She unfolded the letter. The writing was the spidery scrawl of an old man, but it was recognisable as belonging to the same person who had written with such confidence of a bright future after the war decades before.

  Dearest Elsie and Annie,

  As you are reading this letter I must either be dead or too old and infirm to talk to you myself. But it does at least mean that you have found me, after all these years. But then again, it might not even be you reading – it might be your grandchildren or great grandchildren.

  First of all, Elsie, I want you to know that I understand why you did not wait for me. I understand that you had given me up for dead. I understand why you married Frank, although I will admit that it was a shock I found difficult to deal with and it has continued to torment me all my life.

  Those years of captivity haunted me for the rest of my life. The Japanese didn’t play by the rules. Their culture is so different to ours. The very fact that we had been captured meant we were beneath contempt as far as they were concerned, as Japanese honour does not allow for surrender. This really set the tone for their treatment of POWs. You don’t need to know the details and God knows I don’t want to go into them, but so many good men died out there in those filthy, stinking jungles, working like slaves and being treated like animals. And for what? There were so many times when I wished I was dead. Anything to take away the pain, the suffering, the hunger, even the boredom, but above all, the anger and frustration. But in the back of my mind there was always you, and Annie, and my need to get back to you.

  I did come back – obviously you know that by now – but I was a different man. Gone was that carefree young man, so much in love and so full of hope for the future, for our future. The man that came back was bitter and broken, tormented by nightmares, physically weak from years of near-starvation. I was old before my time.Although I desperately wanted to come back and for us to finally be a family, together, the three of us, when the time came I had to ask myself, ‘What could I offer you?’ The answer was nothing and the reality of that made me realise that I had lost everything but I could at least do the noble thing and not disturb your happiness.

  And Annie, my darling girl, I wish I had been granted the pleasure of getting to know you. It is one of the biggest regrets of my life that I didn’t choose to fight harder, but what would have been gained?

  I watched you, when you were little. You probably don’t remember me. Why would you? I would have been invisible to you, just sitting, quietly, on the river bank across from the park in Lower Chaddington. I never tried to talk to you or approach you. Frank was always with you and it was clear that you adored him and he you. You were always laughing and smiling and enjoying each other’s company. What could I have done? As far as you were concerned he was your father. I decided I had to walk away as the alternative would have been to break your young heart and would you ever have forgiven me? I don’t know. I’ve tortured and tormented myself over the years wondering if I did the right thing or not. But please believe me when I say I did what I did because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to be part of your life.

  I had to move away – I couldn’t face living near to you both and not being able to see you and acknowledge who you were and having made my decision, I couldn’t risk you, Elsie, just coming across me one day or hearing that I was back. I had left the de Lacey family on very good terms before the war and although they had closed the manor by the time I returned, I knew where they lived in London, so I turned up on their doorstep one day and asked for a job. They welcomed me back. In fact, I think they were delighted to see me. So many of their old staff hadn’t survived the war. I started driving for them again, doing odd jobs, gardening and so on. It was a simple life but it was mine. Eventually, I met someone and learned to love again. We were happy, although our time together was short. We had one daughter, Amy. It would make me very happy if I could hope that my two beautiful daughters would one day get to know each other properly, as sisters.

  Elsie, I never forgot you and I never stopped loving you. You were, quite simply, the love of my life. Annie, although we never met, you also have a very special place in my heart. I hope you’ll both forgive me.

  All my love

  Ted

  Annie gave up any attempt to control the tears halfway through this letter. She handed it to Suzie and turned to Amy, who was also crying. Her voice shaking, she said, ‘Please tell me about our father.’

  Acknowledgements

  Although The Roots of the Tree is based on a true story, as I was writing it, like Suzie, I realised how little I really knew about what happened during the Second World War. We all know the headline events, but what was it really like for normal men and women, either serving in the forces or trying to carry on with daily life? I wanted this story to have a ring of reality to it. I know to many people the idea that someone may be over 60 years old and suddenly discover the father they have loved, admired and respected all their life isn’t their father but has deliberately deceived them for 60 years may appear far-fetched, but I can assure you that this did happen to my mother. To get authenticity for the rest of the story I consulted the archives at the Imperial War Museum in London, where I found several chronicles of the Norfolk Regiment. These included The History of the Royal Norfolk Regiment 1919-1951, Volume III by Commander P.K. Kemp (R.N. Retired) and To Singapore and Beyond, A Brief History of the 4th, 5th and 6th Battalions Royal Norfolk Regiment from 1939 to 1945 by Neil Storey. They really did undertake all those defensive tasks, spend time training and growing vegetables before finally being sent into action in the Far East. And what a short-lived action it was. For knowledge of what it was really like to be a Japanese prisoner of war I trawled through many reference books and biographies in my local library, the most enlightening and humbling of which was The Will to Survive: Three and a Half Years as a Prisoner of the Japanese by Arthur Godman.