A Death in Winter

by Jim McGrath

  ‘Because it was a fuck-up from start to finish and a lot of good men got killed for nothing.’

  The force of Clark’s response surprised Collins. It was the first time that Clark had allowed his feelings to show since they had met. There was real anger in his voice and eyes – an anger he’d not seen when they had found Simone’s body or when Shepard had stepped out of the shadows with knife in hand. Collins decided to say nothing and waited.

  ‘Wi was dropped behind Gerry lines the night before D-Day with instructions to capture and hold a small bridge. It were chaos, and me and four mates ended up about 5 miles off target and separated from the rest of the unit. During the night, we hooked up with some American Paratroopers. They were even further away from their drop zone then wi was. They were heading towards the coast where they was going to meet up with the troops coming ashore.

  ‘At about 07.00hrs, we was about 2 miles from the beachhead. By then, you’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to know that the invasion had started and every Gerry were on full alert. Anyhow, as wi approached this crossroads, a machine gun opened up. Gerry were dug-in at the top of this hill covering a crossroads. We all dived in the roadside ditch where we were comparatively safe, provided we dain’t stick our head out. Unfortunately, the Yank Lieutenant had seen too many war films for our good. He’d missed his main target and he dain’t want to report back without at least getting involved in a fight.’

  ‘He wanted to go after the guns?’

  ‘Yoe got it. Now, wi had nothing but hand grenades, one Bren, and a couple of Browning Automatic Rifles. We were no match for three dug-in heavy machine guns. Me and the lads tried to reason with him. This was his first time in action and he dain’t know what he was taking on. The clever thing to do were wait for a tank or a platoon with grenade launchers or mortars and we could’ve take ‘em out. There were no reasoning with the guy. We could have refused. Should have refused, but yoe can’t back down when a bunch of Yanks are looking at yoe. So we joined them. Fortunately, he let us choose our positions and we picked the left flank as there were a few hillocks on that side which we could use for cover.’

  Clark stopped talking. Once again he was seeing the road, the steep 60-yard hill that lay beyond it, the neigh-on impregnable heavy machine guns and, worst of all, the bodies of his dead friends. Gathering himself as he must have done on that day, he continued, ‘On his shout, we moved out of the ditch. Two or three Yanks got it even before they cleared the road and I was about 20 yards up the hill before I noticed that there were no sign of the Lieutenant. Well, I reckoned the prat had bought it and kept going.

  ‘The Yanks on the right and in the middle got the worst of it. I don’t reckon any of them got more than 30 yards up the hill. Once they were down, Gerry turned on us. They dain’t have the best angle on us, but even so two of me mates copped it and the other two were wounded.

  ‘Funny things happen to you in battle. I were the only one not wounded or killed and I was angry. I wasn’t scared. I were just pissed off. Pissed at the Lieutenant for being a stupid pillock, at the Gerries for what they had done to me mates and with meself for not doing more to stop the stupid bloody charge.’

  ‘But what could you have done?’

  ‘I could have shot the stupid bastard. That way I’d have saved fourteen lives.’

  ‘And probably lost your own.’

  ‘Maybe. Anyways, I still don’t know how I covered the remaining 30 yards to the first nest without getting hit. A couple of bullets went through me trouser legs, but nothing touched me. I kept firing from the hip and suddenly the first machine gun went quiet and I dived into the nest. One of the Gerries was wounded, the rest dead. I finished him off with me knife.

  ‘Then, a couple of potato mashers landed by me feet. If they’d landed a few yards away, I wouldn’t have had the time to throw them back. The first exploded in mid-air and I caught some shrapnel in the shoulder, but the other wiped out nest two.

  Nest three were now paying me full attention. While they were moving their gun to get a better angle, I made it to nest two. As soon as I got there, I lobbed a couple of grenades at Gerry. When they exploded, I charged. By the time I reached them, they were all dead.’

  ‘My God, Clarkee, how can you not be proud of that?’

  ‘Three reasons. One, there were no need to launch the attack. Two, fourteen men died. Two of ‘em were me mates and six others were wounded. Three, the Lieutenant hadn’t bought it. He’d not even been wounded. Seems he sprained his ankle getting out of the ditch and fell back into it. That were the official version. My guess is that as soon as he stood up and Gerry opened up, he dived for cover.

  ‘When I got back to me unit, I wrote a full report signed by me and me two mates criticising the actions of the Lieutenant. But he wrote a different report in which his brave decision to protect advancing troops had been magnificently carried out by me under covering fire from his courageous troops and himself. He ended by recommending me for the VC.

  ‘His was a better story and did a hell of a lot more for troop morale and British American relationships then mine, so his account became the official version. He received a commendation and a bloody Purple Heart – for a sprained ankle. And me, I got a VC for my part in one almighty fuck-up. Now do you understand why I don’t talk about it? Fourteen men died needlessly so that I could get a bloody medal.’

  Collins remained silent for several seconds. He understood Clark’s feelings but still marvelled at the courage of any man who was willing to charge three machine guns alone. Finally, he said, ‘There’s an old saying among reporters: “When the facts conflict with a good story, print the story”. It’s not your fault that the wrong story got told. But you did show “conspicuous bravery in the presence of the enemy.’

  ‘Yoe been reading up on the subject?’

  ‘A little. The point is that whatever the circumstances, you showed incredible bravery and you deserve your medal.’

  ‘Tell that to the fourteen mothers who received a telegram.’

  Tuesday 26th February 1963.

  Handsworth, 12.00hrs.

  Tuesday started quietly for Collins with a late breakfast and a walk across Hill Top with Sheba, before he put on his uniform and headed for Mr Hopkin’s house. When he arrived, he found the curtains drawn. It was the traditional sign of a death in the family, but something was wrong. Collins could feel it. He could hear it in the sound of an empty house. A bottle of milk on the step, had frozen solid, expanded and pushed the foil top off, and the morning paper was sticking out of the letterbox.

  Collins rang the bell. No response. He tried again. Still nothing. He tried knocking on the door with his fist, but the house remained stubbornly silent. As he turned away, a neighbour opened her front door. ‘I’d keep trying if I were you. He’s in there. I’ve been cleaning the front room all morning and not seen him go out. Is it about his wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gone, has she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. A lovely woman, but we all knew it would be quick once the cancer got her.’

  Collins returned to his task. Nothing. Now worried, he found the side entry that allowed access to the back of the houses and walked around. The curtains in the back bedroom were also drawn, but the window was open. An open window on a freezing day like this didn’t add up.

  Collins found an old pair of step ladders in the garden shed and, using them, was just about able to push the window up enough to pull himself up and slither head-first into the bedroom. Mr Hopkins lay on the bed, dead. His hands were placed across his chest as if he had been posed by an undertaker. There was an empty bottle of pills at his side and an envelope in his hands.

  To whom it may concern,

  I’m sorry for the fuss and extra work that this will cause you all. But you’ll find my will on the sideboard downst
airs and all my affairs have been tied up best as I can.

  I know it’s wrong but I’ve taken all my pills. It’s for the best. It means that at last Edith, Jimmy and me can be together again. I know the Church won’t forgive me for what I’ve done but I’m sure God will.

  Signed: John Alfred Hopkins 25th February 1963

  PS. Please thank Constables Clark and Collins who called last night. We had a lovely chat.

  Collins read the note with a lump in his throat. He knew that he should call the station, but he was thinking about the picture of the Sacred Heart over the fireplace and Hopkins’ note. Instead, he picked up the empty bottle of pills and read the name of the chemist who had issued the prescription. Taking the bottle, he found the house keys hanging on a hook in the kitchen and left.

  Wrights Chemists gave him the name and number of Mr Hopkin’s doctor and Collins called him. Thirty minutes later, they were both standing beside the body. Collins handed him the note and the empty bottle of pills. The doctor read the note and said, ‘I’m sure you know that since the Suicide Act of 1961, suicide is no longer a crime, but it is still has to be reported to the coroner.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So why did you call me and not the police surgeon or station?’

  ‘It’s the last sentence in the note, sir. He’s a Catholic. Most people don’t know it, but the Church does bury the majority of suicides in consecrated ground on the basis that those who kill themselves are usually suffering from a mental illness. But it’s clear from his note that Mr Hopkins was entirely sane, so the Church won’t bury him in consecrated ground. That means he won’t be buried with his wife.’

  ‘I see. And what would you like me to do about that?’

  ‘Well, last night, sir, he took the news very badly. Lots of tears. Very upset, he was. He looked really unwell when I left. That’s why I came back this morning. I think that delayed shock might have killed him.’

  The doctor looked at Collins over his glasses and pursed his lips. ‘I think you missed your calling, Constable. That’s precisely my diagnosis. Indeed, only last week I told Mr Hopkins that he should avoid any stress and shocks if at all possible.’

  With that he handed both the suicide note and pill bottle back to Collins for disposal and took out his pad of death certificates.

  Clark and Collins left the station at just after 2. Collins explained what he’d found when he’d returned to see Mr Hopkins. Clark was in full agreement with what he’d done and said, ‘If there is a God, then I reckon he’d be on yoer side with that one.’

  ‘You don’t believe in God?’

  ‘I don’t know. I saw some things that don’t sit right with the idea that there’s a God.’

  ‘In the war?’

  ‘Yeah. But also in the service.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘There were a woman whose hubby was killed just before war ended. She had a couple of babies. With him gone, they got in the way of her having a good time so she locked them in the coal shed. Neighbours could hear ‘em crying for a day or two but did nowt. Doc reckoned they took about three days to die of thirst. The eldest was four, the other just two. It was me an me mate that found them. Where were God for them?’

  ‘There’s always been evil and always will be. Two thousand years ago, some Romans enjoyed watching Christian virgins being raped by donkeys and horses before they were killed. You see, the Romans considered it bad luck to kill a virgin.’

  ‘So, me question remains. Where were God 2,000 years ago and where were he for those babbies?’

  ‘I like to think he was there at the end.’

  ‘He weren’t there for Jesus at the end. Why else did he call out: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”’

  Not wanting to get involved in a debate about why an all-powerful God allowed evil in the world, Collins decided to shift tack and asked, ‘What happened to the mother. Did she hang or get away with pleading insanity?’

  ‘Neither. She was on remand. Kept in solitary for her own protection and not allowed to mix with any other prisoners. She was even kept on suicide watch – although the bitch didn’t seem at all sorry. No one knows how they got into the bathroom, where she was, without being seen. They reckon there were at least three of them…’

  ‘They drowned her?’

  ‘No. They filled the bath three quarters with boiling water and threw her in. Held her under with mops. It took her three days to die. Much like her babbies.’

  Collins had no reply and the men walked on in silence. At the Palladium Cinema, at the bottom of Hockley Hill, Clark called the station from the police pillar and reported in.

  Handsworth, 22.50hrs.

  Glad to be home at last, Clark brushed the snow from his coat and boots and opened his front door. There was a large brown paper envelope waiting for him on the mat. Picking it up, he shouted, ‘I’m home love. Yoe gone to bed?’

  Ruth appeared at the top of the stairs with a toothbrush in her hand. ‘Almost. What’s that you’ve got?’

  ‘Don’t know. It were on the mat.’

  ‘I’ll make you a cuppa. There’s some soup and fresh bread if you want it.’

  ‘That would be good.’ He struggled out of his top coat and slipped his boots off, before padding into the lounge in his socks. Dropping into the settee, he ripped the envelope open. A handful of photos and a typed note landed in his lap. Picking up the photos, he went through them slowly. Four of them featured Ruth. One showed her at the bus stop, one leaving work and two had been taken of her standing in the lounge. The other two showed his parents outside their house. He felt anger start to form in his stomach. The sort of anger he’d not felt since the war. It was the same cold, mind clearing anger that had helped him survive when others had died.

  The note was short: You’ve had one warning. This is your second. There won’t be a third. Back off now or your pretty wife and parents are not going to live long enough to regret your actions. It wasn’t signed.

  He slipped the photos in his pocket and neatly folded the note and placed it in his tunic’s top pocket. Walking into the kitchen, he said, ‘Leave that, love. I need yoe to pack a few things. Yoe, Mom and Dad need to go away for a few days to Auntie Dianne’s.’

  Ruth turned and saw that he was serious. He’d had the same look on his face when he shot the German outside her hut. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing, love, and nothing will, but I have a few things to do and it’s best that I don’t have to worry about yoe or Mam. So be a good girl and get cracking while I ring Dad.’

  Mr Clark answered the phone on about the twelfth ring. ‘Yes?’ he barked.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, Dad, it’s me.’

  ‘What the hell are yoe ringing so late for?’

  ‘I need you and Mam to pack a few things. Enough for a wiek. Then come round here and pick up Ruth.’

  ‘And where are wi going?’

  ‘Somewhere safe. I were thinking Auntie Di’s.’

  ‘I take it I won’t be going to work for a while?’

  ‘Yoe ain’t wrong there.’

  ‘Alright, son. We’ll be around in about forty minutes. Yoe can tell me the details when yoe’ve sorted it out.’

  Clark was grateful for his father’s lack of inquisitiveness. Just as he had never asked Clark about what he had done in the war, he was willing to accept his son’s judgement that he and the women needed to get away quickly.

  Clark’s next call was to Collins. Agnes answered the phone. She listened briefly, then said, ‘I’ll get him.’

  Collins barely had time to say, ‘What’s up?’ before Clark cut him short and explained what had happened.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Ask Agnes if yoe can borrow her car. Wem going to pay Mr Bishop a visit.’

 
His last call was to Sergeant Richards, who was happy to supply Bishop’s address and a description of his house without asking any questions.

  While waiting for Collins and his parents to arrive, Clark told Ruth what the envelope had contained. She didn’t question his reasoning. If he thought it was a serious threat, that was enough for her. She put her arms around him and, holding him close, whispered, ‘You do what you think is right, but please be careful.’

  Clark kissed her and said, ‘Ain’t I always?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t worry, love. Mickey and me will sort it out. Yoe’ll see.’

  Half an hour later, the civilians had been packed off to Coventry and Collins and Clark were talking in the kitchen.

  ‘You’re sure it was Bishop?’

  ‘Oh yeah. It were him alright. He may have discussed it with the Major, but it were him.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘Pay Mr Bishop a visit.’

  ‘At this time of night. That’s really going to piss him off. I can’t wait to see his face.’

  ‘Sorry, Mickey. He ain’t even going to know that I’ve been until I’ve gone.’ With a wink, he left Collins standing in the lounge and paid a quick visit to the garage. When he returned, he was carrying a black rucksack and a black boiler suit. ‘I’ll get this on, then we’re off.’

  ‘Don’t I get one?’

  ‘Naw. What I’m doing, I do alone. I just need yoe to sit in the car.’

  Wednesday 27th February 1963.

  Sutton Coldfield, 01.20hrs.

  Bishop lived in a private estate opposite Sutton Park. Richards had said that the house, a flat-roofed Art Deco mansion was surrounded by a large wrought iron fence, that backed onto Roman Way. Clark didn’t think it would be hard to find. Only once, on a whim to see how the other half lived, had he driven round the private estate in his father’s old Ford Poplar. He’d quickly been stopped by an officious gardener who thought he looked suspicious. Without pause, Clark had produced his warrant card and said that he was investigating a spate of recent burglaries on the estate by bogus gardeners, and asked to see the man’s identity.