by Thomas Hodd
A doctor came and examined his shoulder. He was a kind-faced man and he hummed a little tune as he worked. “Feeling better?” he asked.
Green nodded.
There was no further conversation. The doctor appeared satisfied and he asked no questions. The nurse did not ask him anything about his past. No one came near to ask how much he remembered. He was much better when the nurse came and said, “Miss Green wants to see you.”
“Oh!” He looked away. Had she come to question him? Then he thought of Sarge. “Tell her to come in,” he said.
She came in quietly but he felt that a freshness like country air had entered the room. Her cheeks had their colour and she smiled with her eyes; they had lost their questions.
“I don’t want to bother you,” she said softly, “but I knew you wanted to know how Sarge was getting on. He’s appropriated a big chair in the kitchen and he’s resting that sore hip. He’s made friends with uncle, and he eats plenty, but he keeps watch over your haversack.”
She told him every little detail about Sarge going to her house. Then, as she was ready to leave, Green saw her look at him with a different manner. “Those two men were bandits,” she said. “The doctor said I could tell you. You’re to get the reward for their capture. It’s two thousand dollars.”
“Me!” The bed seemed to revolve and to sway. “I can’t take it. It was you got that gun from the floor and—”
“That was nothing. It was risking your life when you dived over the table.” Her cheeks flushed with emotion.
“But you made me. Don’t you see that if you hadn’t looked at me that way, wondering if I were really a soldier, I wouldn’t have thought of tackling him?”
“You’re excited.” She tried to check him but he saw her lip quiver. “I won’t ever wonder again. I didn’t know a man would be that brave, for no real need, I mean.”
His gaze met hers frankly. “I thought that to make you understand, was a need,” he said. Then her eyes filled.
“Would you mind,” she almost whispered, “if I called you Bill?”
“I’d be glad.” Her whisper thrilled him.
“And you call me Margery?” He nodded, and she was gone.
The next time she came Margery told him about the fruit trees on her uncle’s farm, and each day they discussed them further. She told him of every footpath in the fields, of a brook where there were trout, and of the work that needed doing. He enjoyed hearing her voice, and her descriptions, but at last he grew suspicious.
“I hope you’re not trying to make me believe I’m your uncle’s Bill,” he said. “It worries me to have people think wrong things. Will you tell him I’m not?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Everyone in Lappan thinks that you are. That waitress told the reporters all she knew and people have accepted it as fact. Uncle’s been so much better, too. He seems to have built so much on your coming to the house.”
“I’ll go,” he relented, “but I’ll tell him the truth as soon as I see him. Then there’s another thing. I hate all this stuff about me being a hero, and I told that nurse so. She doesn’t let anyone come to see me. I don’t want to meet flocks of people asking questions.” His bitterness was creeping into his voice.
“You won’t have to meet them,” she promised. “Everyone here in Lappan knows how you feel, and they’ll be kind. You’re taken for granted and they’re proud to have you here. You won’t have the war mentioned to you a dozen times.”
“But I’m not staying,” he broke in hastily. “As soon as I’m fit to travel I’ve got to be looking for a job. And listen. You’re taking half that reward.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t, Bill. There’s no use in your trying to make me. It’s all yours.”
***
“Is this Bill?”
Green heard the voice as he waited in the sitting room of the little house up the lane. He had had a great half hour with Sarge, a Sarge so pleased that he had indulged in a frenzy of ridiculous antics, and now he was facing the climax he had visualized so many times while at the hospital.
The shuffling steps were nearer and he heard Margery speaking. Her voice made him tingle. After Sarge had stopped his wild romping Margery had joined them and, before he had realized what was happening, he had her in his arms.
“Bill!” she had murmured.
“Margery,” he had choked on his words, “if I were different, knew who I was, I’d want you….”
Then her arms tightened about his neck. “I wouldn’t want you if you were different,” she had breathed, tears on her cheek.
Someone stood in the doorway. “Are you Bill?” An old man’s voice.
“My name is Green, Bill Green,” he answered.
The old man who came in and closed the door was shrunken and frail, with white hair and blue veins prominent on his temples.
“You don’t think that you’re my son?” His voice quavered but the old man made no demonstration. He came and sat beside Green.
“I know I’m not.” Green put all his decisions into his voice. “And I’ll tell you how I know. When I was hurt four years ago and was getting better we used to make up our beds because it was a military hospital. But instead of doing my covers in three folds I always did them in fours. They used to show me differently but every time I forgot I’d do them in four folds. So they investigated.”
“Yes—yes.” The old man was nodding all the time, a little dipping motion like a mechanical toy.
“They found that most of the western orphanages have their boys make up the beds that way. They said that only long practice, several years, could have made me to my bed that way without thinking.”
“Ah, I see. You must have been one of those boys.”
For a time they sat without speaking. The old man still nodded. Green looked away. He had been shown the room they had waiting for him. It was a nice room, freshly-aired. There were many pictures in it, pictures of a boy with a dog, a boy with a kite, a boy on sands near the sea, a boy with a gentle-faced lady—always a boy. He kept thinking of that boy, his expression in the pictures, his apparent enjoyment of life.
“You’ve heard about my son?” The old man gripped the arms of his chair. He had stopped nodding.
“Yes, sir. They told me about him.”
“No one has told you that they doubted it?”
“Doubted it?” Green had a strange feeling. “Why, no. Why should they?”
“Because,” the old man said slowly, “not a word of it is true.”
There seemed to be no sound within or without the house as they gazed at each other.
“Our son was as fine a son as you could wish.” Green knew instinctively that the old man had been making ready for his confession. “His mother almost worshipped him. He was clever at school, very clever, and tall and good-looking. Then he went wrong. We never realized what was happening until he was arrested. There was a trial but I couldn’t help him. There’d been a killing by some of the gang, and he was sentenced to thirty years. I can hear the judge saying ‘thirty years’ every time I think of my boy.”
His voice did not break but the old man rested to gain strength, then went on.
“His mother nearly lost her reason. She had built her life around her boy. He was all she cared about. It seemed incredible to her, some ghastly mistake. Then he tried to escape, and they shot him.”
Again the old man paused. Green could see a tiny pulse hammering at his temples.
“His mother was in bed six months. She would not talk or see anyone. Then America declared war and something in the general excitement saved her. We moved east and it was while we were moving east that she had the idea of a ‘missing’ son. She did it so she could have all his pictures about the house, and the prizes he won at school. I didn’t mind. Anything that would hold her reason was a godsend. Then the idea grew in her min
d and at the last I think she really believed that Bill was missing overseas and that he might come back some day. The last thing she asked me was to keep his room ready.”
Green found it difficult to speak. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “It must have been hard on you.”
“It doesn’t matter about me.” The old man shook his head. “Don’t you see it’s her, his mother, I’m thinking of? I’d like to be able to tell her that Bill came, that he’s here.”
Then Green knew what he meant.
“You want me to stay as if I were him?”
The old man nodded. “You see you’re really a soldier, and you understand. I’ve never told anyone else. Margery doesn’t know.”
Green thought of her outside, waiting. He seemed to feel her in his arms. There’d be no more question of sharing the reward. He thought of the people of Lappan, the questions they might ask. Then he sat erect and put out his hand.
“Very well, Sir,” he said, and he felt as if he were enlisting again. “You can tell her Bill came home.”
The old man couldn’t speak but happiness shone on his face as if sudden sunlight had reached it. He leaned back in his chair and his thoughts seemed far away. Green rose quietly, without disturbing him, and went to find Margery.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, my profound thanks to Betty Murray, daughter of Will R. Bird, and to Steve and Heather Murray, for their permission to reprint Bird’s stories, as well as their enthusiasm for this project.
Thanks also to Professor David Williams for his encouragement and help in connecting me with Bird’s family. For help with tracking down copies of Will Bird’s stories: Dianne Landry and the archivists at Dalhousie University; James Calhoun; Raymond Gallant at uMoncton; and Lara Andrews at the Canadian War Museum. For fruitful discussions about Bird and Canadian war literature, Zac Abrams and Jon Weier. For helpful suggestions on early drafts of the introduction, my colleague Laurie Cooper at uMoncton.
Thanks also to the team at Nimbus Publishing, especially editors Emily MacKinnon, Whitney Moran, and Elaine McCluskey, and production manager and designer Heather Bryan.
And to my family: thank you for all your patience and support.
Glossary
Art Currie: General Sir Arthur Currie, the first Canadian commander of the Canadian Corps during the First World War
bally: usually a euphemism for the British term bloody
balmoral: a kind of cap or men’s bonnet usually worn by Scottish regiments
bandolier: a cartridge belt for ammunition
batman: an officer’s servant
bayonet periscope: a mirror that could be mounted onto rifles in order to scout enemy activity
be in Dutch: to be in trouble
bivouacked: to be posted to an open-air area without tents or cover
Blighty: Britain
Boche: German soldier
box barrage: artillery shells that are dropped on three sides of an area, the front as well as the flanks
breeches: a type of pant that only goes to just below the knee
bully and lumps of soggy plum duff: canned corn beef and plum pudding
CO: Commanding Officer
crown and anchor: a dice game
CT: Communications Trench
dickey: of inferior quality or poor condition
dowager: a wealthy, elderly widow
duck walk: a slatted wooden walk in soft ground
Elinor Glyn: a British romance novelist and short-story writer (1864–1943)
estaminet: from the French, meaning “drinking house” or saloon
fire step: a step built a few feet off the trench floor, which allowed soldiers to peer over the top at enemy trenches or to fire at the enemy
fishtails: a type of small bomb
four flusher: a person who makes empty boasts or tries to deceive others
frowsy: having an untidy or neglected appearance
gink: an odd or unworldly person
Gott Mit Uns: from the German, “God is with us”
grenade cup: attachment that enables soldiers to launch grenades from a rifle
had a bead on you: take aim at something with a gun
Haig: Sir Douglas Haig (1861–1928), commanded the British Expeditionary Force from 1915 to 1919
Heinie: German soldier
HEs: high explosives
Hindenburg: Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934), a German field marshal during the First World War
hoodooed: bewitched
Hoyle: Edmond Hoyle (1672–1769), who wrote books about the rules of card games
Hun: German soldier
jake: anything you are very satisfied with
Kaiser: Wilhelm II (1859–1941), German Emperor and King of Prussia from 1888–1918
last post: bugle call that signals it is time to retire for the night
Lee Enfield: standard-issue infantry rifle for soldiers of the British Empire
Lewis gun: a type of machine gun
limber: the detachable fore part of a gun-carriage, consisting of two wheels and an axle, a pole for the horses, and a frame which holds one or two ammunition-chests
long-range crumps: German artillery
Looey: Lieutenant
lorry: a large motor vehicle for transporting goods
“Mademoiselle from Armentières”: a famous bawdy song from the First World War
maxims: a type of machine gun
minnie: a German trench mortar high-explosive shell
NCO: Non-commissioned officer, also known as “non-com”
parados: opposite the parapet, whose purpose is to stop the backward effect of shrapnel bursting behind the parados
parapet: the protective wall that runs along the top of a trench
Pershing: John Joseph Pershing (1860–1948), a US Army general
picture palace: a large, elaborately decorated movie theatre
pill-box: a round or square-shaped structure, made of iron and concrete, to protect soldiers from artillery and also used as a firing position
pontoon bridge: a temporary floating bridge
potato masher bomb: German hand grenade with a long stick handle
pound your ear: to lie down to sleep or rest
put their wind up: to annoy or provoke deliberately
puttee: a long strip of cloth or leather wound spirally around the leg from the ankle to the knee; worn by soldiers for protection and support in rough terrain
RAP: Regimental Aid Post
RSM: Regimental Sergeant Major
Ruby Ayres: a British romance novelist (1881–1955)
rum issue: soldiers were given a small amount of rum just before going into battle because it was believed to help with nerves; it was also used to treat shell shock
SAA box: Small Arms Ammunition
salient: a battlefield feature in which part of the forward line projects or bulges outward into enemy territory, meaning there is enemy on three sides
Sam Browne: a wide leather belt, that passes diagonally over the right shoulder, worn by officers
sap: a narrow trench that runs along at an angle from a main trench
scuttled: to run quickly, with hurried steps
shell shock: a disorder attributed to exposure to shellfire and characterized by severe anxiety and other psychological disturbances
skulker: someone who hides or acts in a sly or secret manner
square-head: German soldier
stand-to: at every sunset and dawn, front-line soldiers are ordered to stand alert, weapons ready, facing the enemy in anticipation of a possible attack
stiff-issue: a rum ration
togs: shorts
Very lights: signal flares, used to light up the battlefield. Named after their inve
ntor, Edward Very
vin blink: anglicized term for white wine, from the French “vin blanc”
wag: a troublemaker or joker
whizz bangs: German artillery shells
zero [hour]: the time set for an attack
Bibliography
For readers interested in Will Bird’s other war writings, it is recommended they consult Brian Douglas Tennyson’s bibliographical entries on Bird in The Canadian Experience of the Great War (2013) as well as Arthur Smith’s useful Will R. Bird Bibliography, housed on the Mount Allison University website: www.mta.ca/library/will_bird_bibliography/about.html.
“His Deputy.”1 The Legionary. Vol II, No 2 (July 1927): 11–14, 30.
“The Creeping Phantom.”2 The Legionary. Vol V, No 4 (September 1930): 5–7, 14–15, 20–21.
“Wire Overhead.” The Legionary. Vol IV, No 4 (September 1929): 16–17, 34.
“Ghost Bayonets.” War Stories. Vol 29, Issue 84 (August 1930): 128–138.
“The Three Dead Germans.” The Legionary. Vol IV, No 1 (June 1929): 12–14, 34.
“Priscilla’s Private.” The Busy East of Canada. Vol 21, Issue 2 (September 1930): 7–12, 22.
“Sunshine.” The Legionary. Vol III, No 3 (July, 1929): 18–24, 34.
“Sunrise for Peter.”3 Sunrise for Peter and Other Stories. Ryerson Press, 1946. 1–17.
“White Collars.” The Legionary. Vol VI, No 9 (February 1932): 12–15, Vol VI, No 10 (March 1932): 18–21.
“Eyes! Eyes! Eyes!” The Legionary. Vol V, No 1 (June 1930): 14–16, 34.
“The Laughing Jackass: a Tale of the RAF” The Legionary. Vol VI, No 6 (November 1931): 16–19.
“The Russian Coat” Maritime Advocate and Busy East, 34 (May 1944): 15–19.
“The Finer Instincts.” The Legionary. Vol VI, No 7 (December 1931): 6–11.
“If You Were Me.” The Legionary. Vol IV, No 5 (October 1929): 5–8, 32–33. Vol IV, No 6 (November 1929): 16–17, 33.
“A Soldier’s Place” Maritime Advocate and Busy East, 29 (October 1938): 15–20.
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