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A small crowd had gathered round them. The postmistress looked anxious and concerned but it was Ivy who unwittingly gave Emily a clue to what might be wrong when she joked, ‘It’s you speaking Welsh what did it, Brenda. I reckon the poor lad must have thought the Germans had invaded.’
Everyone laughed, and then someone pointed out that they were going to be late for church, and people started to move away.
Emily reached for Tommy’s hand and squeezed it, telling him softly, ‘It’s all right, Tommy. You and me will be all right, I promise you that.’
She could feel him starting to relax. She looked up at the man still holding him.
‘Thank you.’ She felt self-conscious and awkward, conscious of how she must look in his eyes, a plain fat woman who had nothing about her to appeal to any man, never mind such a well-set-up man as he.
‘You are welcome.’ His English was stilted, the words carefully spaced.
‘He is your boy, ja?’ he asked.
‘Yes, he is my boy,’ Emily agreed.
‘You are a good boy to your Mutter? You take care of her, ja?’ he asked Tommy, who had calmed down enough now to nod his head.
But Emily was still astonished when Tommy asked the POW politely, ‘What is your name?’
‘It is Wilhelm,’ the man told him promptly. ‘What is yours?’
‘Tommy.’ Emily and Tommy both spoke at the same time.
The soldier guarding the POWs gave a command and the column started to march into the church.
Emily drew Tommy to one side to let them pass. Wilhelm had ever such a lovely straight back, Emily noticed, as she hurried Tommy into the church ahead of the marching men.
Well, things could not have worked out better for him if he had planned them that way, Charlie decided smugly as he sang lustily along with the rest of the congregation at the parish church of his in-laws-to-be.
The Wrighton-Budes had their own pew right at the front of the small Norman church, with soft kneeling pads embroidered by Daphne’s mother and her late grandmother as a gift to the Church, whilst to the left of the pew the stained glass had been another family gift.
On the dark oak commemoration board on the opposite wall, the gilding of Daphne’s brother, Eustace’s, name was still bright and fresh. His was the last name to appear on the board, and the first so far from the current war.
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