And later, when the old century had gone and they could not hail a cab and no longer cared, they walked arm in arm through Kensington, across Redcliffe Gardens into Fulham Road, then slowly down through the labyrinthine streets of Chelsea, and sometime towards dawn reached home and went to bed.
That was three weeks ago, Patrick recalled, his mind full of how rapidly his life had changed. Joanna was far away in her harbourside penthouse, and there were days when it all seemed like a distant memory. She had been astonished he did not want to remain with her and share the luxurious living; there had been anger and tears before her recognition that their marriage was over. He would never be sure if she had been pregnant and aborted their child, or simply contrived to emotionally blackmail her father into purchasing the apartment. He did realise she would have allowed nothing to stand in the way of her first international movie, and childbirth in the middle of filming on location would’ve made it impossible. So perhaps Sally was right… but there was no point in speculating any more.
He was aware of the irony; if there had been a child it would have brought complications, perhaps jeopardising his return to Claire. Instead he was free, blissful in his liberation and a new life. Like Stephen, he thought, he had found love on the other side of the world. And like his grandfather he would remain here.
A diary that might never have been discovered had sent him on a search into the past and led to Georgina and to Claire. And all because two generations ago a young law student volunteered to go to war, believing he was helping to save his country, unaware his longing for a great adventure would ultimately bring him to this obscure grave in a foreign churchyard.
But at least the grave had now become a fitting memorial. After they had finished clearing the site, Patrick and Claire had turned their attention to the lack of lettering on the tombstone. It bore nothing but Stephen’s name and the date of his death. Patrick wanted something more personal. He wondered if he should seek permission from the church warden or the local council, but Claire dissuaded him. He knew what he wanted engraved, so all they required was a stonemason. Going cap-in-hand to authority would only lead to an officious bureaucratic nightmare. Hire the best craftsman, she suggested, pay his fee in cash, so as not to create extra work for the Inland Revenue, Britain’s tax office, and thus bypass two bureaucracies.
‘I’m a great believer,’ she told him, ‘in not getting tied up in red tape.’
‘That’s one of the reasons I love you,’ Patrick replied.
When the work was done he took photographs to post to Sally and his mother. Then they lingered at the grave for a time, their arms around each other as they read the new inscription:
IN MEMORY OF STEPHEN CONWAY
A GALLANT AUSTRALIAN SOLDIER
WHO SERVED HIS COUNTRY
IN GALLIPOLI AND FRANCE
BELOVED HUSBAND OF JANE
FATHER OF RICHARD
GRANDFATHER OF PATRICK AND SALLY
DEEPLY LOVED BY GEORGINA RICKSON
1895–1964
Below this, the stonemason had skilfully sculpted a single rose.
Acknowledgements
There have been several drafts of this novel since I went to France in 2001 to visit the towns on the Somme. I am particularly grateful to my son Perry Yeldham who suggested I might find a story there. He not only read the first draft but when I was stuck for a title, sent me an email one morning that asked, “How about Barbed Wire and Roses?”
My thanks also to my friends Vincent Ball, John and Janet Croyston and Robert Banks Stewart who all read the constantly changing manuscript. John wrote pages of notes on the characters, and yet more pages listing my typing errors. Robert, a British writer and television producer, helped me with reminders of the BBC and its vagaries. My late wife Marjorie was also fully involved, providing her special insight as always.
I am indebted to several published sources: John Laffin’s Guide to Australian Battlefields; historian Michael McKernan’s book The Australian People and the Great War with its expert background of the period, plus a reproduction of the Sunlight soap advertisement showing how the Anzacs were commercially exploited; and an article in The Independent by Philip Hoare on Queen Victoria’s hospital, entitled ‘The Netley Experiment’.
The Internet was invaluable with material from the Australian War Memorial and an article by Dr Peter Pedersen on the military death penalty, entitled ‘The Australian Experience’. Most significant was a web site called Shot at Dawn (www.shotatdawn.org.uk), an organisation that ran a campaign to secure pardons for executed British soldiers from the First World War. On this website over 1,500 military executions were listed. None were Australian.
Finally, my deep appreciation to Jennifer McDonald, John Cozzi and all at For Pity Sake for publishing this new edition of Barbed Wire and Roses, and several other of my previous works.
Peter Yeldham
2016
www.peteryeldham.com
About the Author
Peter Yeldham’s extensive writing career began with short stories and radio scripts. He spent 20 years in England becoming a leading screenwriter for films and television, also writing plays for the theatre including Birds on the Wing and Fringe Benefits, which ran for over two years in Paris.
Returning to Australia he won numerous awards for this mini-series among them 1915, Captain James Cook, The Alien Years, All the Rivers Run, The Timeless Land and Heroes. His adaptation of Bryce Courtenay’s Jessica won a Logie Award for best mini-series.
He is the author of several novels including Barbed Wire and Roses, A Bitter Harvest, Glory Girl, A Distant Shore and the recently released Above the Fold.
For more information please visit www.peteryeldham.com.
Also by Peter Yeldham
DRAGONS IN THE FOREST
December 7th, 1941
Today the war began! I’ve just heard the news on the radio. I was trying to finish my homework in English, and at the same time listen to a talk to improve my Japanese. I often use the radio for this purpose. The Marianist Brothers at St Joseph’s teach us in English and French, but speaking Japanese at school is forbidden. Which is a pretty stupid rule, since this is where I was born and where my family lives, and on leaving school I want to get a job here…
Born in Japan of a French father and White Russian mother, Alex Faure greeted news of war in the Pacific with schoolboy enthusiasm. That is until the hardships of being a gaijin and neutral foreigner in Japan during World War II became a stark reality for the Faure family.
December 22nd, 1944
Since Sunday night there has been a raid most days and every single night. The bombing has been relentless. It accounts for the sombre mood; no Christmas spirit in evidence anywhere in this city. Certainly none at the French bank…
Peter Yeldham masterfully tells Alex Faure’s own true story against the backdrop of real events in wartime Japan. Laced with excerpts from Alex’s diary, Dragons in the Forest is a riveting tale of life as a foreigner in a strange land at a very dangerous time.
“This book brings my youth alive, and what an incredible time it was!”
- Alex Faure
“Yeldham has a strong reputation as a historical novelist as well as a writer for film and television. Dragons in the Forest will no doubt make that reputation stronger still.”
- Dorothy Johnson, author of Through a Camel’s Eye
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