Title

 

Living a Lie

 

A novella

 

BookRix GmbH & Co KG

81675 Munich

 

John Catling

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foreword

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances

And one man in his time plays many parts...

 

(William Shakespeare, As You Like It)

 

Once again I would like to thank Karin, Jennifer and Rüdi for their very kind help in putting life into this story of two people and their life together.

 

All characters and events in this text, other than those clearly in the public or historical domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is entirely coincidental.

London, 1917

Harry Wimpole, thirty-six years old, blue eyes, blond hair, average height, dressed in his Royal Naval Air Service uniform, walks up to the little terrace house in Worthington Street and rings the bell at the door of number twenty-three, where his wife lives.

"Hallo Harry! Why, that's a surprise, I haven't heard from you in weeks – or is it months? I won't try to kiss you, but come inside anyway, Joan and Margaret are still at school, they'll be pleased to see their father, they often talk about you and ask when you'll be coming home after this war is finished. Come on in, I'll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what's happening." Jill hasn't seen Harry for almost a year now, but she pretends to herself that the separation has been much shorter than in reality, tries to show a sign of friendship, and Harry notices that she's still wearing her wedding ring. And Harry? Men don't often wear wedding rings in the England of nineteen seventeen, you can't deduce from rings alone the present relationship between Harry and Jill, once thought to be a happy couple – and now?

Harry feels rather uncomfortable as he sits down at the kitchen table, Jill fusses around to find the tea and milk, can't seem to find a clean cup, goes out into the scullery, washes up two cups and saucers, brings them back, takes the kettle from the stove and pours boiling water into the teapot. Does she also feel uncomfortable in the presence of this man who once promised to love her for better and for worse? Has this Great War with all its death and separation released them from their promises in some way? Harry prefers not to think too much about it, he looks at his wife and sees the same blond hair he once loved, the colour matching his own blond curls, they used to call him "Blondie" back at the shop in Hampstead where he grew up.

"You knew that I had to let the first floor of this house in order to keep paying the rent, didn't you? There was no other way, my job at the baker's doesn't pay much and you haven't been very regular in paying what you promised two years ago. And because I work full-time now, I have to have someone to look after our daughters, that costs money too."

"Look, Jill, I'm really sorry about that, but you know that the RNAS only pays me a few shillings a week, hardly enough to keep me in smokes. I'm very grateful that your father has a bit of cash and can help to support his grandchildren. It could have been a lot worse. If I hadn't tried for the Volunteer Reserve and then got myself transferred to the RNAS two years ago they would have had me in the army by now, remember how a year ago we were fighting on the Somme and the poor bastards were dying like flies. With me dead, you would be even worse off than you are."

Harry looks at Jill again. She's still quite attractive at thirty-one, that blond hair, she must meet up with men who find her pretty – and more. Of course Joan and Margaret live with her, looking after children hampers your style if you're looking for someone – and is she looking? Has she found someone? The war has changed so much in how people see the world – how they live and how they love. All those men ferried off to die in France last year, they didn't dare to think about long-term relationships, or make plans, nurture hopes, buy engagement rings and think of marriage. The men that Jill has met since Harry left home to join the RNAS are only interested in one thing – a quickie before they have to return to barracks and board the ship for Calais or Boulogne. Is that what she does on Saturday nights?

The RNAS – The Royal Naval Air Service – a soft number for a careful man like Harry, Jill thinks. Back in nineteen fifteen there was no conscription, the politicians said the war would all be over in six months so why not rely on volunteers? And then they needed more and more volunteers, and there were fewer and fewer men ready to give their lives for their country, so the RNAS was formed – sailors in name, but soldiers in fact. And good old Harry, already in the Volunteer Reserve, changes to this lot, everyone says what a brave man he is, and he gets posted to a gunsite in Richmond Park, firing shells at Zeppelins. Well, I suppose I can't blame him, with a posting like that his chances of dying in a trench in France are few enough now.

"Another cup of tea, Harry? The girls will be here before long, I expect they'll be glad to see you. It was thoughtful of you to send something for their birthdays, though I can't remember now what it was. And tell me, when this war is over – it must be over sometime – will you return to your work with an estate agent or a valuer, auction sales of furniture and property, valuations for insurance?"

"Look, Jill, I just don't know. I had that little business not far from here when the war started, it didn't prosper though and I had to close it down when I joined the RNAS. To run a business – even a small one – you need capital, and that's one thing I don't have. I'll have to find a job as an employee, working for someone who can use my skills as an auctioneer and valuer, I got some good client recommendations for my previous work so I'll be able to pay my way somehow. That's really what I came to talk about today. The future."

"Well, I'd be ready to talk about a reconciliation with you, Harry. We had some difficult times in our marriage, but we have two daughters and we both have a responsibility towards them. They're still young now, though in a few years' time they'll be in that difficult age when it might help them to have a father around, not just an address that sends money from time to time to support them. What do you think?"

"I have to be frank with you, Jill. I would like a divorce. I wasn't very happy at times when we lived together, I didn't like the way you flirted with other men either. And now we've been separated for nearly two years since I joined the RNAS, you didn't want me here when I got leave at weekends, so why not divorce if we can?"

"Divorce? You must be crazy. It would cost a fortune in legal fees, and where would the cash come from? And what does your mother say about divorce? She's such a pious old cat with her chapel twice on Sunday and prayer meetings every other weekday. She'll never agree to you getting a divorce. Have you spoken to her about it? You take far too much notice of what she says anyway."

"I haven't spoken about it to her, and it's not her business anyway. And I respect her feelings about her religion, even though I don't accept them."

"Let me now be frank with you Harry – any moment Joan and Margaret will be here. If you want to talk about divorce, you'd better go now. I'll think about it and get some advice, that's all I can say. Please go before your daughters arrive, it's hurtful enough to have you here with all the memories of better times. If there had been no war, perhaps we should still be together."

Jill gets up, picks up the cups and takes them out into the scullery. Harry picks up his RNAS cap, puts it on, straightens his jacket, turns from her. "I'll let myself out then, goodbye now."

So he wants a divorce, does he? Jill thinks. I bet I know why – he's found some other girl – maybe she's rich, will set him up in a business when the war ends. I'll need to find out a bit more about that, and also where I stand in relation to a divorce. Divorce! I thought it was only for the rich, something that you read about in the papers.

Harry thinks: I bet she's still got something going somewhere – a man – perhaps an army officer – waiting for a posting to France. And I'll tell my Mum what's happening, she may be able to help if there are legal fees. Though I'll have to be careful with Mum, she has rather old-fashioned ideas about what happens between men and women these days.

Harry takes the tram back to his camp at Richmond Park, reflecting on the situation of a married man with two young children, now talking with his wife about divorce. Is there another girl in his life? Was there somebody else, even before he joined the RNAS, a short-term affair which satisfied some of his innermost desires, an affair which collapsed because the other party was unwilling or unable to offer the same commitment as he was? If so, she would have been considerably younger than Jill's thirty-one years. Better in bed than his wife, now a woman with two children? So the trap has been set, but Harry does not realize it – yet.

Information

The following day Jill walks down the High Street, beyond the baker's shop where she works, and comes to a small office building bearing the brass plate Gordon Chamberlin, General Enquiry Agent. Confidential. Debts, Divorces, Separations our Speciality. Entering the building, she walks into a small office, the sun shines through the window onto the dusty shelves, but the room itself is partly obscured from the street by a painted dado. Chamberlin, a balding man in his fifties, stands up, straightens his grease-stained tie, points to a chair and Jill sits down.

"Mrs Wimpole? Yes, you telephoned. Now please tell me how we can help you."

"It's quite simple really. My husband Harry Wimpole and I married in June nineteen one and we separated in July nineteen fifteen, though there's nothing formal yet. I suspect he's carrying on with some girl he's met, I'd like more information, I' d like to know if he has got a girlfriend and who she is.”

“Well, perhaps I can help you. I'll need more details – your husband's date of birth, name, last address if you have one. Please fill in this form with the details. And maybe you have a photograph of him – most people have photos now and of course it's a big help to identification."

"Yes, I can let you have this photo, it was taken by a professional photographer about five years ago. He's easily recognizable with his curly blond hair."

"And where does he live now?"

"He's in the Royal Naval Air Service, he's stationed in Richmond Park. But when he's wearing his uniform cap you can't see his curly hair."

"Quite. And do you have any evidence that would be useful in divorce proceedings, or is it just curiosity on your part? You are aware, are you not, that we expect to be paid for our services, for this consultation and for all other information we provide? A down payment of two pounds for this discussion and we'll present further bills if we can find anything of help to you."

"That's OK."

"Mrs Wimpole, I do not wish to pry unduly into your life, but can you tell me if in the period before he left to join the RNAS was he, as far as you are aware, unfaithful to you? Did he sometimes not return home in the evening, or make excuses for his absences which you did not believe? You see, a young man who has been unfaithful to his wife while living with her will probably find himself someone after he has left his wife. That's a basic rule of life, I've found."

Jill was uncertain. There had been moments when it seemed that he was losing interest in her, when she regularly checked his shirts to look for any traces of lipstick or perfume, but there was never any sign of these. Was there then, as Chamberlin said, a "rule of life?" Could experienced men switch their sexuality on and off at will, or when they had become accustomed to regular sex and it was then removed, would they then seek to find an alternative source as soon as possible?

"One further thing, Mrs Wimpole. If your husband is in the armed forces, he would have been entitled to home leave from time to time. In the period from July nineteen fifteen has he spent any leave at your address or with you at any other address?"

"No. He never came home to Worthington Street. He may have spent his leave with his mother and father, they live in Hampstead, north London. I'll give you the address. He sometimes told me he was spending the weekend there, which seemed reasonable enough to me and did not cause any suspicion on my part."

"Good. I'll be in touch with you as soon as possible by letter. My letter of course will not mention any names, it will refer to your husband as "number twenty-three" and if you have any further information please call here. Thank you and good day."

The following letter arrived at the house in Worthington Street six weeks later.

 

Gordon Chamberlin

Private Enquiry Agent

232 Walsingham Street

Chiswick

 

Dear Mrs Wimpole,

 

Over the last six weeks my agent had the opportunity to make several visits to the camp where number twenty-three is stationed. The men were originally housed in tents, but now they are housed in wooden huts. The area in the park is closed off by a high timber and wire fence, so that the men inside can only exit the camp via a temporary guardhouse at one end. Here the men, in their uniform, have their exits recorded by the military police and they must be back by 2300hrs. A 36-hour pass is granted them every second weekend though this may be cancelled at short notice if enemy action is reported and the guns must be manned. On Wednesday afternoons, subject to the same conditions, leave is also granted between 1500hrs and 2300hrs, and many men go out of the camp then to chat to the girls who come there to flirt with them or who bring them food or drinks to supplement their diet. The men may also apply for a seven day pass every six months, though approval depends on current Zeppelin activity over London.

During the weeks in question number twenty-three exited the camp on one 36-hour pass and four times on Wednesday afternoons. My agent was able to exchange one hundred cigarettes and a bottle of gin for the information that number twenty-three took leave for one weekend to travel to Hampstead, and on the Wednesdays he left the camp with a group of the men and they spent the afternoon talking with some girls who brought picnic food to share with them. As it got dark (and there are very few gas lamps in the park) the girls and the men paired up and lay down together on the grass and under the trees. My agent was not able to see whether twenty-three was among their number, nor how far the intimacy between him and his girl or girls then went.

My agent did however comment that although most of these men were in their twenties, number twenty-three looked out of place as he, as we know, is aged thirty-six. Indeed, a passer-by was heard to make a remark to the effect that the blond man with the curly hair should be at home looking after his own children instead of trying to prepare the way for creating some more.

My bill is enclosed and I will send further reports in due course.

Yours faithfully

Gordon Chamberlin

A visit to a solicitor

Two weeks later Jill goes home early from the baker's shop where she works and walks down the road to an office which bears the name "P.B.Dean, M.A., Solicitor." She rings the bell and waits while a girl comes to the door, asks Jill to accompany her and brings her along a rather dark corridor where a door is open and Mr Dean, a tall, dark man in his fifties, stands to welcome her.

"Mrs Wimpole? Please come in, sit down, and tell me what can I do for you."

"It's about my husband. He's a Chief Petty Officer serving in the RNAS here in London but we are more or less separated and I want to enquire about the legal situation."

"More or less? Either he has left you or he hasn't, it's a question of fact, Mrs Wimpole. Does he return to the matrimonial home when he gets leave, does he enjoy the pleasures of matrimony when he comes home? Is he living somewhere else when he gets leave? And supposing he has in fact left you, what can I do for you? I cannot command or persuade him to return."

"No, but I would like some advice on divorce. He tells me he wants a divorce, but most of the time he lives at the camp, when he gets leave he sometimes returns to his parents. I believe he sometimes meets up with girls in Richmond Park." Jill's voice falters for a moment and she takes out a handkerchief and wipes her eyes. "It's just that we have two little girls and I can't afford to keep them on my wages from my job. My husband sends money from time to time, it's never enough. And I used to think that we were such a happy couple, our two little girls are so charming and pretty, I can't think whatever made him change so much."

"Mrs Wimpole, I appreciate that for you this is not a pleasant matter, but dry your eyes and let us keep to the facts. To your knowledge does he associate with other women, sleep with them, or has he found a lady who has become his mistress?”

"I don't really know. Mr Chamberlin, the private detective whose office is in Walsingham Street, tells me that he sometimes joins the other men who go out in the evenings to talk to the girls in Richmond Park, but who can say what happens after dark? I used to trust him but now I know better. When the war is over I doubt if he will come back to me."

"Permit me to explain to you the position regarding a divorce. Firstly, there are legal costs, and the costs are such that it would be difficult for someone like yourself to meet them, unless you have access to money from your parents or some other source. Secondly, there has to be some kind of matrimonial delict – a fault by one of the parties, what we call misconduct – which permits the opening of the procedure. The most common fault is of course being unfaithful – intimacy with someone else, if you understand what I mean." Mr Dean coughs, looks a little embarrassed, he is a man with very little experience of the opposite sex. “Do you have any firm proof of your husband's infidelity, for instance?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"Yet one thing is very clear, Mrs Wimpole. If your husband has left you permanently or is carrying on in some form with another lady, he cannot commence the proceedings. He is the guilty party, according to the law as it stands, but to provide the evidence to justify divorce on grounds of infidelity it is necessary to set up a scene at a hotel where your husband and a lady are caught by a butler or maidservant in flagrante delicto, as it were, in the act of sexual intercourse. He may choose to provide this evidence to justify the divorce, then you can start the legal proceedings. However, in your position I would reflect

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.11.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-3942-7

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