by John Masters
‘Yes, sir.’
Quentin seemed to sink to lose some weight and size. In a smaller voice he said, ‘We can’t afford to go on losing educated men at this rate … This battle is the death of the volunteer army. Something will have to be done, at home.’
He breathed deeply, standing up. ‘I’m going round the companies, to see how the revetting is coming. You hold the fort here. And remember, don’t allow defeatist rumour mongering. We’re winning, and we’re going to go on winning, till final victory.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Along the trench the nearest platoon were singing another verse of the same song Boy had heard outside the Pioneer Store:
If you want to find the old battalion,
I know where they are, I know where they are,
If you want to find the old battalion,
I know where they are, I know where they are.
They’re hanging on the old barbed wire,
I’ve seen ’em, I’ve seen ’em,
Hanging on the old barbed wire.
I’ve seen them,
Hanging on the old barbed wire.
Half an hour later, reading an old copy of the Illustrated London News in the dugout, Boy heard the cry ‘Stretcher-bearers! Stretcher-bearers!’ He listened, putting down the magazine. German shells were falling intermittently, at long intervals, all over the rear areas. It was dark, and raining. He went out and asked a soldier passing by, ‘What’s happened?’
‘Don’t know, sir … Some bloke copped a packet from a Jack Johnson, most likely.’
Then the stretcher-bearers came down the trench, struggling and slipping in the mud and Boy pressed back against the side wall. ‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘The CO, sir … not too bad, sir.’
Boy’s Uncle Quentin forced himself half upright on the stretcher and gasped, ‘I’m all right, Boy … left arm and hand bit of a mess … back in … week or two. Tell …’
He fell back, fainting. Boy said, ‘Take him easy, you men.’
‘We will, sir. He’s had a dose of morphine, too.’
Boy went back into the dugout. Where was the second-in-command?
A. Extracts from a letter dated September 29, 1915, from Sir Douglas Haig to Lord Kitchener:
You will doubtless recollect how earnestly I pressed you to ensure an adequate Reserve being close in rear of my attacking divisions, and under my orders … No Reserve was placed under me … the Two Reserve Divisions (under C-in-C’s orders) were directed to join me as soon as the success of the First Army was known at GHQ. They came on as quick as they could, poor fellows, but only crossed our old trench line with their heads at 6 p.m. We had captured Loos 12 hours previously …
B. Excerpt from Sir Douglas Haig’s diary, October 2nd, 1915:
Sir John French returns to St Omer today. Robertson tackled him on the question of reserves. His reply was ‘the second day of the battle was the correct time to put them in, not the first.’ It seems impossible to discuss military problems with an unreasoning brain of this kind. At any rate, no good result is to be expected of it.
C. Excerpt from the diary of John Charteris, Haig’s Chief of Intelligence: October 9, 1915:
The really maddening thing about it all is that now that we are really getting the German side of the show disentangled by examination of prisoners and captured documents, it becomes clear, without any shadow of doubt, that we had in fact broken the German line clean as a whistle. For 4 hours there was a glaring gap: then it was gone.
Daily Telegraph, Tuesday, September 28, 1915
PERSECUTED ARMENIANS
An Urgent Call for Help
Famine, typhus, dysentery are decimating the 200,000 Armenian refugees who have succeeded in reaching the shelter of the Russian frontier. Help available on the spot is totally inadequate. The Armenian Red Cross and Refugee Fund, whose president is Viscountess Bryce, exists for the purpose of affording relief to these people … Some idea of the suffering of the Armenians can be gained from the following telegram which the hon. secretary of the fund has recently received from the Archbishop of Van and Aram, Governor of Van. ‘Besides Van, the provinces of Chatakh, Moks, Sparkert, Mamertank and Khizan are saved, the others are ruined and devastated. Men, women, and children have been massacred. 20,000 are homeless. Famine and infectious disease prevail. Many volunteers are sick and wounded.’
‘The Turks are seizing the opportunity of the war to exterminate their Armenians,’ Cate said.
‘And there’s nothing we can do about it,’ Johnny Merritt said, ‘until the war is over, and by then it will be too late. But there is one person who could help … the Kaiser.’
Cate looked up, nodding. Johnny was maturing rapidly under his responsibilities at the Jupiter Motor Company. Stella, sitting across the table in a light-weight tweed skirt and jacket, was looking at him with more respect than she used to. He said, ‘I believe the Kaiser has in fact protested the actions of his ally. After all, the Kaiser pretends to be the Protector of all Christians in the east.’
‘I don’t think the Turks will take any notice,’ Johnny said. ‘Not unless the Kaiser threatens to remove his military advisers and stop all financial help … It’s been a lovely weekend, sir, and stealing that extra day was well worth it. But I’d better be getting back to Hedlington, or Overfeld will be telling Dad I’ve become a Limey toff, too lazy to work.’ He laughed, putting down his empty cup and getting up from the table.
Cate said, ‘One moment, Johnny … Living down here, I’m rather out of touch with some things. Can you tell me anything about the position of Rowland’s, that I ought to know? My father-in-law does not talk about his business, but I have been hearing disquieting rumours.’
Johnny remained standing, his lips pursed. At length he said, ‘We’re not privy to all Rowland’s affairs, of course, sir … but in our opinion – Mr Richard’s, Overfeld’s, and mine – they’ll have to get new capital by the end of the year … or go under. And we don’t think that any bank will put up the capital needed unless there are changes in management and policy … perhaps not even then. That’s private, sir, between us.’
‘Of course. I suspected as much. Thank you for telling me.’
Johnny turned to Stella. ‘Goodbye for the present. See you in Hedlington on Thursday, for the dance at the Officers’ Mess, eh?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and see you off.’
‘Goodbye, sir,’ Johnny said, ‘and thank you again for having me.’
The two went out, Johnny holding the door open for Stella. A handsome couple, Cate thought; he noticed Garrod in the passage, her hands folded, her head a little on one side, a similar approving expression on her face as the young people passed.
30 Hedlington: Saturday, November 6, 1915
Richard Rowland stood under the painted metal canopy of the bandstand in the park, wearing a dark woollen scarf round his neck, but no overcoat. It was a raw day, the watery sun bearing no heat even at noon, but few working men could afford overcoats, and it was them Richard was trying to reach. He did not wear a cloth cap, as they did – they would recognize that as affectation: he was bareheaded, though Susan had whispered to him, ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’ His audience numbered barely fifty, white faces upturned, eyes unwinking. Brown leaves were packed in soggy drifts along the railings that guarded the flower beds, and round the boles of the trees. In the front rank of the spectators stood a young man in a soldier’s blue hospital uniform. He carried a white cane in one hand and wore black spectacles. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
‘I wanted to speak in High Street,’ Richard said, ‘but the police …’
‘Speak up, mister!’ a woman shouted. ‘You ain’t in your drawing-room now.’
Richard cleared his throat and tried again. He was not in the least shy of public speaking; and the speech making that had taken up much of his time since the by-election was called would have cured him if he had been; but he had not yet learned the
techniques of it. He could not project his voice the way his father somehow did naturally … so he had to shout louder, and grow hoarser.
‘I applied for permission to speak in High Street,’ he bellowed against the slow west wind, ‘but the police refused me, because they said I would obstruct the traffic. Presumably the traffic flows right through my opponent without hindrance.’
That was a mistake; no one laughed; he must learn to eschew sarcasm or irony. Just speak plainly and to the point, and repeat the point three times – that’s what Hutton had drilled into him when the rumours from France had convinced him that he must do what he could to put control of the country’s war effort into other hands. The blind soldier stood still as a statue.
He continued: ‘I am standing for this constituency as an Independent, because there is a truce between the two main parties. The retiring member is a Liberal, so the Conservatives will not put up an official candidate against the Liberal candidate, who is therefore my only opponent … I am a Conservative at heart, and asked for the support of the party – but they refused it … so it is as an Independent that I canvas your votes next Thursday. You ask what do I stand for? I answer you: I say that the whole leadership of this country must be changed, and the conduct of the war put into other hands … or the war must be abandoned.’
A scattering of boos from the audience was almost drowned by the sturdy clapping of the four people sitting on park chairs well back behind him in the bandstand – his wife Susan, Lord Cantley, Christopher Cate, and one of the town councillors.
‘The Loos dispatch has now been published and the worst that was being whispered, has been confirmed. Our leaders here and in France promised a great victory … and what do we have? Nearly sixty thousand men killed and wounded, and no advance. It was the same at Neuve Chapelle … at Arras … at Ypres …’
‘We’re not going to let the Jerries ’ave it their way,’ a man called up (scattered cheers).
‘Of course not!’ Richard shouted, ‘but we cannot afford to go on like this! The Germans are masters of the air over France, with their aircraft where the pilot can fire through the propeller. Their aces Boelcke and Immelmann and Von Rackow destroy our machines at will … There is open warfare between our generals and our political leaders … the Brass Hats and Frocks, they call each other, in contempt … Gallipoli is failing not because it was an unsound idea but because it was not pursued with vigour. “Wait and see” is a policy which may suit the Prime Minister’s temperament, but it does not suit the pace of this war … What we need is a government that will conduct the war as efficiently as a businessman must conduct his business. We want a strong government, devoted to this one aim – not this weak-kneed “wait and see” coalition. We need efficiency from top to bottom in this country – on the field of battle, on the farms, in the factories … above all, in the government itself. That is my platform – greater efficiency, so that the people of England do not sacrifice their labour and their lives in vain … as they did at Loos. Field-Marshal French is clearly not equal to his responsibilities, and must be replaced. The same rigorous pruning process must go all the way down the armed forces … but the men who wield the axe must themselves be strong, efficient, and determined.’
The crowd seemed to be with him; there were a number of women among them, he had seen, and though women could not vote, they could influence their men.
He said, ‘I introduce to you Lord Cantley.’
Cantley was a shade over six feet. He was wearing a tweed suit and, like Richard, was bareheaded. He stepped forward as Richard stood aside, and spoke out loudly and slowly. ‘My brother was killed at Loos six weeks ago, together with thousands of others of all ranks from major-general to private soldier. Tomorrow I am joining the same regiment. I ask you to vote for Mr Richard Rowland – Mr Richard Rowland – so that I and others like me can feel that what we will be called upon to do at the front is not so much effort – and blood – wasted. Thank you.’
Richard stepped forward again. It was twelve-twenty, and he should be outside one of the factories in North Hedlington in ten minutes, to make his speech again. He said, ‘Are there any questions?’
Bert Gorse, from the front row, spoke up. Richard had been keeping an eye on him, waiting for an interruption, but Bert had bided his time. Bert said, ‘Are you for conscription?’
Richard said, ‘I am.’ A storm of boos and hisses greeted the answer; but they came from a small number of men, mostly standing close to Bert Gorse. Richard continued, ‘Everyone had hoped that all fit young men would see their duty plain – as Lord Cantley’s brother did – and join up …’ Loud but scattered clapping from a few people: Richard could not see who they were. He went on – ‘Many did, but many have not, and the war has grown greater than the voluntary system can cope with. Conscription is the only way to spread the sacrifices evenly and fairly, and put the right men in the right jobs, whether it’s at home or in France. It’s the only efficient way.’
‘Efficiency!’ Bert shouted. ‘That’s what you believe in, but what about the working man? What benefit is the bosses’ conscription going to be to him and his family?’
More disturbance in the crowd: Richard knew this colloquy – one could hardly call it a dialogue – by heart. The agitator shouted about the working man, meaning only the working man whose trade skill was not rare enough to protect him from being conscripted into the army, if conscription was introduced.
Bert pressed what he saw as his advantage and shouted, ‘You’re a murderer, just like the rest of the capitalists, Mr Richard … dragging the working man from his factory and home, shoving him into uniform, and shipping him to France to be killed … so you can put scabs and women in his place – and more money in your own pocket.’
Richard took off his glasses and shouted down, ‘Come up here and repeat that, you little swine!’ He could barely see the blurred mass of the crowd below, and the tall lines of the bare tree trunks behind, but put up his fists, not knowing where or when he would be hit. There was scuffling nearby and he put his glasses back on. Johnny Merritt was there, holding Gorse, Stella beside him, wide-eyed, and a bobby strolling up ponderously. ‘Now, now … you come along with me, you. Out of the park!’
‘What for? I got my rights.’
‘Out of the park, or you’ll be in the station for breach of the peace.’
Johnny Merritt let go and Gorse pushed out through the crowd, muttering, the bobby at his heels. Stella took Johnny’s arm and looked up proudly into his face.
A woman’s voice called, ‘What is your position on women – votes for women, employment of women?’
Richard said, ‘I do not see how we can refuse the suffrage to women, and would be in favour of granting it as soon as the details can be agreed on between the parties in Parliament. If there is much opposition, then a bill should be introduced the moment the war is ended … As for employment, I am in favour of an immensely greater use of women in industry … in every branch of our national life, and effort. It is obvious that women cannot fight at the front … but they can do everything or nearly everything else, so they, too, should be subject to conscription, with exemptions for mothers with children and so on, of course. Women should be trained in the largest possible numbers to release men for the front. It’s the only efficient way.’
‘Blacklegs!’ a voice called.
Richard said nothing; the Western Front was a devouring monster, and the people were becoming afraid of it. They pretended to be protecting their union work rules, and the jobs of their soldier comrades when they returned to industry after the war; really, they were afraid of facing Moloch, and being sacrificed.
He said, when the noise had subsided. ‘I am for a more efficient conduct of the war, until we win it – with the fewest possible casualties. After the war – I want more factories, more jobs, less drudgery as we make the factories more efficient – much higher pay. As you probably know, the Jupiter Motor Company is already paying wages half as high again as a
ny other employer in Hedlington. We want to make more goods of all kinds, which will then become cheaper … But first, win the war. Thank you.’
He stepped down, glancing at his watch. ‘Well done,’ Cantley said, ‘but you ought to take another cough drop.’
‘I’ve had half a dozen already today,’ Richard said. ‘My throat’s burning from them.’
He watched the crowd dispersing. The blind young soldier did not move until he was standing alone, no one near him; then he turned and, tapping the ground with his cane, walked slowly out of the park. Richard watched him until he disappeared, feeling chilled and ill at ease.
Johnny Merritt came up, grinning, with Stella. Stella said, ‘You spoke awfully well, Uncle. ’Specially that bit about all fit young men and their duty. I clapped like mad then, to drown out the shirkers who were booing you.’
Johnny looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said, ‘I thought you were going to punch Lord Cantley just now, Mr Rowland.’
‘You had your fists doubled under my nose,’ Cantley said, laughing. ‘You’d better hire Johnny here as a bodyguard.’
‘Wasn’t he marvellous,’ Stella cried, ‘the way he grabbed that awful man?’
‘Bert Gorse is the right size for me,’ Johnny said, ‘about five feet four. Can’t we fire him?’
Richard said, ‘I’d like to, believe me. But he’s a very good welding instructor … almost impossible to replace. And he’s as free to disagree with my politics as I am to disagree with his. The men wouldn’t like it if I sacked him because of that … whereas they’d think I had the right to do so if he works against me in the factory.’
Johnny said, ‘Which I think he does … Mind if we miss your next speech or two? I’m taking Stella to lunch before she goes to the hospital.’
‘Not a bit. No one should have to listen to that speech more than once.’