The Girl in Ramsgate

This is slightly different from the other accounts of my memories because it begins with what a friend remembers of Jamie, before I go on to relate my/Jamies possible memory of her. In fact, had she not reminded me, I would not have realised I knew her in a previous life, despite the fact Ive known her almost fourteen years. She has kindly given me permission to include this part of her story. I will use only her initial when referring to her present life self. This contains very slight sexual reference.

D recalls Jamie as being taller than I am now, between 5 foot 4 and 6 quite tall for a rank soldier in those days but not as tall as my brothers were slimly built but sturdy with short fairly anyhow brown hair, including what evidently hoped to become a parting one day in the middle. She says I looked younger than I actually was ( I estimate is was 18 or just coming up for 18) but I probably lied about my age to her as well possibly because, if she was the woman I remember, I think she was slightly older than myself. Apparently I was sweet or cute, quite cheeky but as gentleman as far as basic manners were concerned. She thinks there was the remains of what might have been a Scots accent to my voice and I was fairly quietly spoken although good for a laugh. She hints that, a bit like big brother Andrew, I was One for the Ladies and not as innocent as my face suggested. I think at this stage that was probably more my wishful thinking, or in intention than in actual practice, unfortunately! Perhaps always on the look out would be nearer the mark!

D also recalls that as, she thinks, Elizabeth, she was Jamies girlfriend and they met whilst he was on leave during the war, not for long, in 1915. We feel this would be in mid August or September. The weather was still warm when we walked along the prom at the sea front she in a light blue shiny materialed dress with a white panel at the front and holding a parasol; me in my uniform. Whenever it was, whatever the weather happened to be, the result of our relationship was apparently born in early March the next year just as I would have been marching up through Amiens and Albert to take up my preliminary position for our move forward to the Somme. I knew nothing of the existence of the baby, either before or after it was born. My friend, as Elizabeth, seems to have wanted the child, and says she knew perfectly well what she was doing Personally I feel I would have been horrified at the idea of being a father that young if not absolutely terrified!

Elizabeth seems to have been in a ship wreck, not far from the coast, in the 1920s about 1925 and we assume the child suffered the same fate. Though I never knew of him, I sense it was a boy with George as one of his names Arthur or Albert George perhaps?

For my part, there is only one woman I remember who might have been Elizabeth. This woman, however, lived in Ramsgate, I am certain, and D has no recall of the town as yet. Even so, her description of herself, and my description of the woman I remember correspond. I shall therefore call the woman Elizabeth for simplicitys sake.

This woman was a few years older than I (22/23?) tall (by my standards!) slim but not really thin with chestnut brown hair wore high on her head with a bun on top. The bun was held in place by a blue and white ruffle. Whoever she is living with here are quite well off, but I dont know if its her family or employers: she was perhaps, an elderly ladys maid and companion. Its a grand home, anyway, and she has her own rooms. So she is evidently well thought of here. The house is in a terrace but fairly spacious; immaculately decorated with thick carpets and fine furniture. Theres lots of white and brass/ gold colour around while the carpet is wine colour upstairs on the landing where we are. On the floor below are white and black tiles: each four large white ones have a black diamond one placed at their centre. It looks very clean after months in the trenches. Im feeling impatient but smiling politely as if I dont mind hanging round.

The landing is more of a short balcony there is a window behind me, a wall beside me and behind Elizabeth who is at my right, there is the door to her rooms. The stairs stretch down to the bottom floor from in front of her and the front door stands open, about two or three yards in front of the bottom step. There lies, or should I say stands the reason were hanging round a man (her brother?) is leaving to go out for the afternoon and he is speaking to us and waving. I feel he knows me but not as well as he knows Eliz. its almost as if he is an officer of mine he is of officer class but I dont think so I think he knows me via my being with Eliz, or maybe he introduced us. We get on well, I feel, this man and I-- friends I suppose if we can be over the class divide but Im much more interested in his sister! He is certainly not snobby as many of his status are.

He is speaking to her, calling up the stairs and says something joking, and makes to turn and exit, raising his hand in a wave. He says bye to me as well steps back from the door and gets in the passenger door of the shiny black car behind him. He evidently doesnt think that Eliz needs a chaperone with a lad like myself around, so I take it he and her family / employers like and trust me. The poor things They probably think Im a sweet innocent boy, because I look so young.

Eliz speaks to me but Im too deep in thought to hear what she says. She notices this and laughs at me, shaking her head with some affection and asks if Im ready. I feel nervous as she turns and opens the door behind us on the landing the door to her quarters and grip my Glengarry tightly as if its a lucky charm. Im wearing my Highland outfit, today, not my army uniform: a kilt, dark with read and white lines, a black jacket with all the embroidery and trimmings, the white shirt, long socks and dirk. I must be trying to impress her or someone. She reaches out for my hand when I look reluctant and draws me into the room beyond, then shuts the door. The interior is immaculate. Im very wary that my shoes arent too clean and might mess up the pale beigey pile carpet. She goes and sits down near a table but Im too dumbstruck to follow: it looks as if her room cost more to furnish than my entire home! I just stare round amazed Gold and brownish striped wall paper up to waist height, white paper with thin gold patterning above. The ceiling is ornamented. The doors and window sills are white, but the panels on the doors are outlined in gold colour. The curtains: some to my left hanging beside a door leading from the side wall; others at the window are shiny gold too I become more astonished, the more I take in. Eliz might act a little more genteelly?-than myself, but she doesnt act as if she belongs to the sort of family that can afford all this! By now, she has become amused by my amazement and is watching me. Im still transfixed by my surroundings. In the centre of the room, id a roundish patterned rug with dark strands put into it. It is about two yards across. Under the window on my right is a low dressing table in a fairly dark wood, but with no mirror; that suits her lack of vanity and I feel a little pleased with myself to have got something right about her. Beside that, down adjacent to the wall Im standing near, is a foreboding dark wardrobe. Its not very tall, but I feel as if its watching me, making sure I behave properly.  At my left, at the back of the room is a FOUR POSTER BED!!  I really cant believe my eyes this time. It is high and has, not a surprise, gold colour shiny drapes, and a gold colour bed spread.  She insists its brass colour and doesnt want me to think shes posh.  She is sitting at a delicate looking table just in front of that.  It is surrounded by four equally delicate, almost translucent-looking chairs. She gestures to me to come and sit down. I recover my composure and, feeling a bit of a fool, do so. Our reason for my visit today is some serious talking is needed about what is to happen with our relationship as I have to go back out very soon.  I want her to be my sweetheart and keep in touch with me, but it seems that may be opposed by her father who doesnt understand I get the hint that this means he doesnt think Im good enough for her..We strictly decided this meeting was for talking over our options: not for romance, cuddling or anything else

Which is just the thing we end up doing? Half an hour later, we are on the sumptuous four poster bed, making love very passionately. This is not my first time; we have made love before but its somehow very special. We know we really love each other, and today I can really feel that. I want it to go on for ever and she begs me to stay so we can do it again before the household returns. I want to dearly, but I have to leave to go back to camp. She is in my mind the whole way, and right the way over to France, and I longed to get back to her and make love againI never got the chance.

Eliz., I believe lived in a terrace of tall white houses at the opposite end of Ramsgate, Kent, to the entrance to the port that troop ships sailed from. It was quite a respected area, through the main town, curving towards the cliff, only obscured by a factory warehouse and chimney some idiot had stolen the lovely view of the seascape with. I think there were gardens or a green opposite. I am also certain that this was the same street that the sisters, Ethel and Katharine, of William Rivers (the First World War Psychologist who pioneered a more humane treatment for shellshock) lived.  I recall looking out of a high window (at Eliz. Home, I suppose) and seeing a man very like him, with his famous rapid stride heading down the street.  He wore a checked suit, was quite smart looking a bit formal: his face, broad jawed and intelligent betrayed hidden humour and possibly mischief. What most impressed me, however, was his wonderfully impressive moustache. He did not look as old as one may imagine, at this point, and his hair was still quite dark and thick. One must remember though that this was 1915 before most of his hard, tiring work during the war had begun. I wished Id known who he was at the time: I would give a lot to have talked with him