Open Writing

On May 29th, 1915, Granddad Thomson died from the effect of his third stroke. The curtains in our house were immediately drawn and remained so until after the funeral, denoting there was a death in the family, for such was the dreary custom. Granddad's actual death made little impression upon me for I had seen him only rarely in the latter years, but his funeral I shall never forget.

I think it was a mistake that I should have been there at all; children are better away from these events. It was all new to me so I may have asked to go; I do not know. On the morning in question my hair was held back by black ribbons and I wore my white Sunday dress, also slotted with a black ribbon, which gave me a certain feeling of solemnity.

Mummy was dressed in deepest black and she and I passed many carriages standing in a line outside the gate of "Mount Royd". As we entered the hall I observed a large pile of men's black gloves arranged on the hall-stand. Immediately I was curious to know who would wear all these gloves and Mummy said, her voice very low, "Hush! they are for the coachmen. At a funeral they are always provided with new kid gloves."

"But Mummy," I protested, "they go to so many funerals, whatever can they do with all the gloves presented to them?"

Mummy had no time to reply for now we entered the large dining-room and became one with the mourners, all standing in front of the window, facing the distant open coffin over which a pale light burned. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers, the room dim and mysterious, the faint sunlight glancing through the slats of the Venetian blinds drowning in the depth of the black clothes it lighted upon.

The Minister, standing near, began the prayer, and at a given moment Daddy took my hand to lead me from the room. Instead of taking me straight out he drew me to the coffin, lifted me in his arms and held me over, saying very softly, "Kiss Granddad good-bye."

I was absolutely horrified! I could not remember kissing Granddad when he was warm and alive, and now he lay stiff, his face noble and calm, the same, and yet a stranger infinitely remote. "No, no," I hissed in a sibilant whisper, wriggling to escape.

"Go along,"said Daddy, "kiss him." I glanced round the room for help, and something about the large half-moon circle of mourners, some tall, some short, their pale round faces turned steadfastly towards me, each standing motionless, became grotesque and macabre; and yet, in a sense, funny.

Suddenly the nervous tension rising within me exploded in a quick giggle, followed by a horrified gasp. In a flash I was dropped on to the floor, hustled to the door, pushed outside and sternly ordered to go home at once.

I walked disconsolately, my thoughts occupied with the enormity of my behaviour. What dreadful thing had I done to giggle before Granddad in his coffin, and all the relations gathered together? I was overcome, they would never forget and forgive I was sure, and what, oh what, above all else
would Jesus think of me, looking down from Heaven?

Then I cheered up as my mind pondered upon all those pairs of black gloves, and I pictured each coachman tucking them away in odd corners of his home until they mounted and mounted!

Uncle Raymond had been unable to obtain leave to attend his father's funeral. From the first he and his regiment, the 5th Yorks., had been fighting in France, enduring the terrible experiences of the Great War: the mud of the trenches and the rats; the stench of death; the bloody battles and the heart-breaking retreats. He was wounded four times and on his last leave he and his wife both had a premonition that he would not return.

And so it was, for he was posted as missing for six long, anxious months until news came that he was killed at Craonne, in France, on May 27th, 1918, so nearly at the end of the war. He was then Lieutenant-Colonel, D.S.O., Croix de Guerre (Gold Star).

Great-Uncle Robert gave an unusual and beautiful East Window to St. Leonard's Church, Malton. It was unusual in that the figure of Christ was not present, the theme being carried out by the story of Joshua, David and Jonathan, and angels, each pointing with meaning to the unseen glory of the Christ.

The idea was entirely Great-Uncle Robert's and difficulty was encountered in obtaining permission for the window, because of the absence of Christ's image. It was also unusual in that the actual face and form of Uncle Raymond were depicted on the right side of the stained glass, and the symbolic figure of a sailor on the left.

The window was unveiled with the words, "In neverdying honour of the Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and Men of the 5th Batt. Yorkshire Regiment" followed by the name of James Albert Raymond Thomson, and seventeen others who had made the Great Sacrifice.

All through the War Daddy had written long, affectionate letters to Uncle; he had a warm regard and hero-worship for him, and Uncle won this feeling from his men and was a splendid leader. Years after he had been killed in action, soldiers of his regiment would call upon his widow, who took pride and comfort from the trust, respect, and admiration they spoke of so feelingly.

I always remember the day of November 11th, 1918, as I had been to a studio to be photographed, and as I came out into the street maroons were proclaiming VICTORY. I danced along beside Mummy, holding her arm, exclaiming with joy, but received a douche as there was no responding happiness in her face. She only murmured, "We should have marched into Berlin, this is not complete victory."