Echoes of the War | Page 6

he's
raized,' she thinks.) He strides towards her, and seizes the letters
roughly, 'Let's see them.'
There is a string round the package, and he unties it, and examines the
letters at his leisure with much curiosity. The envelopes are in order, all
addressed in pencil to Mrs. Dowey, with the proud words 'Opened by
Censor' on them. But the letter paper inside contains not a word of

writing.
'Nothing but blank paper! Is this your writing in pencil on the
envelope?' She nods, and he gives the matter further consideration.
'The covey told me you were a charwoman; so I suppose you picked
the envelopes out of waste-paper baskets, or such like, and then
changed the addresses?' She nods again; still she dare not look up, but
she is admiring his legs. When, however, he would cast the letters into
the fire, she flames up with sudden spirit. She clutches them.
'Don't you burn them letters, mister.'
'They're not real letters.'
'They're all I have.'
He returns to irony. 'I thought you had a son?'
'I never had a man nor a son nor anything. I just call myself Missis to
give me a standing.'
'Well, it's past my seeing through.'
He turns to look for some explanation from the walls. She gets a peep
at him at last. Oh, what a grandly set-up man! Oh, the stride of him. Oh,
the noble rage of him. Oh, Samson, had been like this before that
woman took him in hand.
He whirls round on her. 'What made you do it?'
'It was everybody's war, mister, except mine.' She beats her arms. 'I
wanted it to be my war too.'
'You'll need to be plainer. And yet I'm d----d if I care to hear you, you
lying old trickster.'
The words are merely what were to be expected, and so are endurable;
but he has moved towards the door.
'You're not going already, mister?'
'Yes, I just came to give you an ugly piece of my mind.'
She holds out her arms longingly. 'You haven't gave it to me yet.'
'You have a cheek!'
She gives further proof of it. 'You wouldn't drink some tea?'
'Me! I tell you I came here for the one purpose of blazing away at you.'
It is such a roaring negative that it blows her into a chair. But she is up
again in a moment, is this spirited old lady. 'You could drink the tea
while you was blazing away. There's winkles.'
'Is there?' He turns interestedly towards the table, but his proud Scots
character checks him, which is just as well, for what she should have

said was that there had been winkles. 'Not me. You're just a common
rogue.' He seats himself far from the table. 'Now, then, out with it. Sit
down!' She sits meekly; there is nothing she would not do for him. 'As
you char, I suppose you are on your feet all day.'
'I'm more on my knees.'
'That's where you should be to me.'
'Oh, mister, I'm willing.'
'Stop it. Go on, you accomplished liar.'
'It's true that my name is Dowey.'
'It's enough to make me change mine.'
'I've been charring and charring and charring as far back as I mind. I've
been in London this twenty years.'
'We'll skip your early days. I have an appointment.'
'And then when I was old the war broke out.'
'How could it affect you?'
'Oh, mister, that's the thing. It didn't affect me. It affected everybody
but me. The neighbours looked down on me. Even the posters, on the
walls, of the woman saying, "Go, my boy," leered at me. I sometimes
cried by myself in the dark. You won't have a cup of tea?'
'No.'
'Sudden like the idea came to me to pretend I had a son.'
'You depraved old limmer! But what in the name of Old Nick made
you choose me out of the whole British Army?'
Mrs. Dowey giggles. There is little doubt that in her youth she was an
accomplished flirt. 'Maybe, mister, it was because I liked you best.'
'Now, now, woman.'
'I read one day in the papers, "In which, he was assisted by Private K.
Dowey, 5th Battalion, Black Watch."'
Private K. Dowey is flattered, 'Did you, now! Well, I expect that's the
only time I was ever in the papers.'
Mrs. Dowey tries it on again, 'I didn't choose you for that alone. I read a
history of the Black Watch first, to make sure it was the best regiment
in the world.'
'Anybody could have told you that,' He is moving about now in better
humour, and, meeting the loaf in his stride, he cuts a slice from it. He is
hardly aware of this, but Mrs. Dowey knows.