George nodded to show that he was listening.
‘We both recognise that drink had a part to play in all this. Now, whether you feel that it clouded your initial judgement or not, I’d like you to swear to me that you won’t touch it again. No need to sign a pledge, just let your word be your bond.’
George, thinking of all the trouble drinking had led him into, though not of the type meant by his father, agreed readily enough.
‘The other thing is to keep to yourself the fact that you’re intending to go overseas, for as long as possible. There’s no point worrying your mother any earlier than necessary.’
George coloured up. This was, in fact, something that he had already thought about but he was embarrassed to have been found out in a deceit. He mumbled something about upsetting anyone being the last thing he wanted to do.
The train was already in and the last churns were being loaded on to the rear wagons. The sky had begun to lighten in the east and George noticed, with a strange, heightened clarity, how the light caught the metal in flashes of silver as the men rolled the churns up the wooden ramp, and heard each deep rumble and creak of the planks as the heavy weight passed over them. The gas lamps on the platform waned to a tawdry yellow as the day crept in, the low sun glinting on the polished rails that stretched away into the distance.
The last churn was loaded; the guard secured the bolts and blew a piercing blast on a silver whistle. George embraced his father awkwardly and then got into a carriage and opened the window.
‘Write soon and let your mother know that you’re eating properly and are well,’ Frederick said in a gruff voice. The train began to pull away and he walked alongside and called out over the noise of the engine, ‘We’ll be thinking of you. Take every care!’
As it got up steam and drew ahead, George leant out of the window and called out, ‘Goodbye,’ but his voice was lost in the rush of noise.
George watched his father walk to the end of the platform and stop. His last view was of him raising his hand, his shadow long in the low light, then figure and shadow diminishing, the station with its bright awning and flowerbeds shrinking to a blur of colour.
Frederick watched until the train rounded the bend. When its plume of steam was also out of sight, he stood on a little longer, listening as the engine noise died away and the call of birds seemed only to deepen the silence.
7
BLUE ENVELOPE
Violet timed her walk on Monday afternoon to be sure to catch George, intending to apologise for losing her composure when they last met. Although she counted George a dear friend, she felt she shouldn’t have let him know about Edmund’s letter or allowed her devastation to show. It had been a weakness; she should have remembered his youth and awkwardness. The poor boy had been completely out of his depth and had virtually run away. She planned to put a brave face on things, to tell him that she was quite in control now, and was sure she could trust him not to mention her engagement to anyone. George would understand; he knew a little about her situation and her mother’s illness.
As she reached the long walk down through the Scots pines and rhododendrons, she remembered that George had been going to show her something and wondered whether he would have brought it again today or whether he had lost his nerve. She thought that perhaps it was one of his paintings; she had been trying to encourage him in his artistic endeavours and had asked him many times to show her his work. He was such a shy boy, she was annoyed with herself for having scared him off; now she would need to persuade him and build up his confidence all over again.
In the distance, a figure riding a bicycle appeared. Violet quickened her step but slowed again as she saw that it couldn’t be George. This boy was much slighter and leant forward over the handlebars as if struggling to get both bike and bag along. He laboured towards her and as he approached, made a wobbly swerve to pass on the other side of the road.
‘Excuse me.’ Violet put her hand out to flag him down and the boy stopped abruptly, the bike, which was too big for him, falling to the side as he put his foot down on the ground.
‘Sorry, miss,’ he panted, straightening his cap, which had slipped to the back of his head.
‘You’re new, aren’t you? Can you tell me what has happened to the usual boy?’ Violet, anxious not to reveal her inappropriate friendship with George, adopted the haughty attitude that the boy would expect.
‘He’s joined up – gone off leaving us all in the lurch, miss. That’s why I’m all behind; I don’t usually deliver right out here. I’m sorry if I’m late, miss.’ He rubbed his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of bicycle oil above his eyebrow.
‘Joined up?’ Violet echoed. ‘Why?’
The boy shrugged. ‘Everyone’s doing it, miss. Arthur, that’s the postmaster’s son, he already went weeks ago, so we’re very short-handed.’
‘Do you know where George has gone?’ Violet asked, forgetting to feign a merely practical interest in the timeliness of her post.
‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, miss,’ the boy said, looking at her curiously. ‘Once you’re in the army they can send you anywhere they like.’
‘Yes, of course, they can … thank you,’ she said distractedly.
‘Is the Manor House straight on, miss?’ the boy asked. ‘Only if I’m late back I shall get in terrible hot water with Mr Ashwell.’
Violet pulled herself together. ‘Don’t trouble yourself to go right up to the house; I can take it.’
The boy took out a handful of letters but seemed reluctant to pass them across. ‘I’m supposed to give them in at the door …’
Violet thought quickly. ‘I’m the daughter of the house and I do prefer to walk down and pick up my post from you myself.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a penny. ‘It would save you time and perhaps you could let me know if there’s any news of … of your boys who’ve enlisted?’
The boy eyed the coin, nodded and gave the letters to Violet. With a quick ‘Thank you, miss’ he turned the bike around and rode away.
Violet was nonplussed. There was no way that she could contact George; she didn’t know where his family lived and she could hardly go and ask the postmaster for news of one of his boys. She would have to wait for him to write to her himself and let her know where he was and that he was all right. It struck her that what he had intended to show her might have been his army papers; he might have felt proud of joining up and wanted her to see that he was being a man. She felt awful that she hadn’t given him the chance to talk to her about such a serious decision, nor to give him the blessing he might have been looking for, nor to express her affection with even so much as a ‘bon voyage’ … As she walked on towards Dodd Fell, worrying about both Edmund and George, she was aware of the mournful silence. She carried on into the wood with only the sound of her own footsteps for company.
Life at the training camp in the Midlands was a slog: digging trenches, bayonet practice and marching, marching, marching. On an unseasonably hot day in September, George and the others were on a route march. The muscles in his shoulders were burning hotter than his head under its thick cap as the heavy weight of kit pulled them backwards, stretching the tender ligaments around his collarbones as he forced himself forward. Fifty-six pounds! Carrying his kit was like giving Ted a piggyback but instead of a quick run and dumping the weight thankfully on the grass, you had to slog on for hours with it battened on to you like some kind of parasite.
At last it was time for the first rest break and the order came to fall out. The sergeant opened the gate into an empty pasture and the men poured through, slung off their kitbags and threw themselves down upon the grass. Burrows, who was one of the twelve who shared their tent, came over and flopped down beside George and the others, saying, ‘Bloody hell, why does it have to be so hot? It’s worse than August.’ He, and two or three of the others whom they shared with, had already been in the camp a few weeks when they had arrived. They had passed on all kinds of useful information: how to rub soap on y
our feet to help against blisters, how deep to ‘stick’ a sandbag so that you could still get your bayonet out afterwards, and how to get out of camp and down to the village without anyone noticing. Burrows lounged back on one elbow, fanning himself with his hat.
There was the sound of a motor stopping in the lane and shortly afterwards three officers turned up: Captain Hunton with two younger officers whom George didn’t recognise. Captain Hunton was an old campaigner; his face and hands had the dark, weathered look of a man who has lived a great deal out of doors. He held himself very stiffly, some said as the result of an old shoulder wound from his time in the African war. It was rumoured that it caused him constant pain and that this was the reason for the harshness of the discipline he imposed, and that he marched the men long and hard as if he had something to prove. George speculated that the two younger officers with him were probably also completing their training before going overseas. As they all went over to Sergeant Grice, George noticed how they walked a pace behind Hunton on either side, but otherwise didn’t pay much mind to them.
He opened his water bottle, which was tied to his pack with string. He took a long pull, not caring that the water tasted of tin.
Over by the gate, Captain Hunton and the two lieutenants were looking at a map.
Haycock said to Burrows, ‘D’you think it means anything, those two turning up?’
‘It could mean a move’s in the offing,’ Burrows said. ‘Maybe they’re here to take a look at us and see what we’re made of.’
‘You think we could be off before too long?’ Rooke, who had been drooping with his head between his knees, perked up.
Burrows looked at him sceptically. ‘Well, when they ask, you can say you want to go …’ he said, as though unconvinced. Rooke had come in for some heavy ribbing about his youth when one of the men had discovered that he was trying to grow a moustache and that his efforts were proving unsuccessful.
As if to prove Burrows right, the two lieutenants began to walk around the field, stopping here and there to say a word to the groups of men. George watched with interest, wondering whether they would fall under the command of one of the new boys. It struck him that they were very different in their approach. The stockier of the two seemed awkward with the men; he waited with a deadpan expression for them to scramble to their feet and salute him at attention before asking them questions. The other, who was tall, with fine features, put out his hand as he approached to let the men know to stay at ease and smiled as he made some comment to open the conversation. George noticed that although Captain Hunton was still standing talking to the sergeant, he was watching the young officers all the time. When they rejoined him, he said something to the taller one and George saw that his face fell as if he had been rebuked. The three took their leave of the sergeant and returned to the waiting motor and the sergeant gave the order to move.
They formed up in the lane once more and set off again, arms swinging.
George recognised one of the men behind him as belonging to the group to whom the stocky lieutenant had spoken. ‘What did you think of the new officer?’ he asked, to draw the man into conversation.
‘He seemed all right,’ he replied. ‘Said his name was Lieutenant Carey. Asked us how long we’d been training. Said he and the other chap, Lyne, would be taking a draft overseas soon to replace wastage in the Second Battalion.’ He paused to get his breath back.
George was so muddled by fatigue and heat that it took a moment for him to digest what he had been told. ‘Lyne?’ he said. ‘Not Edmund Lyne?’
The man looked at him as if he were stupid. ‘We didn’t exactly exchange first names!’ he said.
George fell silent. Of course, he thought, it must be! Why had it never occurred to him before? He knew that Violet had met Lyne when staying with the family near Carlisle; of course he would have joined up locally too, taken up with the same regiment. He tried to remember everything he could about the man. His height, his clean-cut looks, his easiness with the men were all a cause of anguish to him now as he compared his own youth and awkwardness. It made him feel even worse that in the moment when Captain Hunton had reprimanded Lyne, George had felt a kind of fellow feeling for him. Having thought that he seemed a likeable chap and, without recognising it consciously, even made the decision that he would rather be under him than Carey, it now felt very disturbing to find out that he and the imagined rival whom George hated were the same man. One thing he did know was that he wanted to find out more. He wanted to know everything about the man who had so impressed Violet; he wanted to know if he was worthy of her, but couldn’t decide whether to hope that he was or that he wasn’t.
They had reached a village where Sergeant Grice had arranged for them to be fed. As they turned into the football field beside the village hall, George caught the man he had been speaking with earlier by the sleeve.
‘Did he say anything else about him?’ he said. ‘Anything at all about Lyne?’
The man looked at him strangely. ‘What you on about? Had a touch of the sun?’ He pulled away and sat down on the grass. He pushed off his pack and began massaging his neck, turning his back on George in a pointed manner.
George walked away and sat down on his own. He decided that he would go along to the canteen tent later when they got back to camp; if he hung around perhaps he would see Lyne again. He would be bound to come in at some point to eat, as both men and officers used the same mess. He wanted to get a better look at him, close up. It occurred to him that if he could get near enough he might even hear something of Violet. He found it very difficult to have no news of her, there being no one at home he could ask. He remembered the way she had cried when she got Lyne’s letter. What on earth had he put in it that made a girl cry like that? He had seemed very chipper, talking to the men. George thought that if he had been in Lyne’s position and Violet was his girl he should be miserable as hell at having to leave her. For the first time he considered a new possibility: perhaps Lyne had told her that he wanted to finish it, as he had to go away. His heart lifted at the thought. He couldn’t recall everything from that day but he knew she’d said, ‘We were going to be engaged …’ He remembered that. He had assumed she was upset because their engagement would now be postponed, but what if he had broken it off? George clutched at the possibility. Yes! Surely that would have been the honourable thing to do, if there were a chance a chap wouldn’t be coming back: to release a girl from her promise.
As the others rejoined him, George said, ‘Burrows was right, looks like we’ll have the chance to get moving soon. I had it from a chap who spoke to one of those lieutenants.’
‘Humph,’ said Haycock. ‘I know Hunton’s a bastard but I hope he’s coming too. I don’t fancy our chances under two brand-new officers.’
Turland said glumly, ‘There’s not much hope we’ll see any action anyway; we’ll be “lines of communication”, won’t we? It’ll be all loading, unloading and lugging stuff about. More pass it up and down the line than front line, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Back in camp that evening, sure enough, the word came that the colonel was to speak to them en masse. They also learnt that their company, B Company, was to be commanded by Lieutenant Lyne. George, thrown into an even greater state of turmoil, didn’t know which piece of news to worry about most.
The colonel, campaign ribbons across his chest and wearing a sword in a polished scabbard, gave a stirring speech about the ferocity and ruthlessness of the enemy’s treatment of the Belgians and the need to protect their own homes and families. He reminded them that if they had no domestic ties and were over nineteen years of age they had every reason to relish the opportunity to be part of the show and should volunteer for service overseas.
George volunteered with the others, both he and Rooke keeping quiet about being under-age. They pinned their little silvery ‘Imperial Service’ badges on straight away. Afterwards there was a kind of euphoria in the camp; you could tell whether someone had volunteered without even
looking for a badge. Those who had not sat quietly by: not joining in with the speculation about when, where and how they were to travel. Back at their tent, much to George’s surprise, Burrows was one of the quiet ones. When Turland said that he didn’t know what they would all do without his advice, Burrows tapped the side of his nose and said, ‘I’ve got a girl, you see.’
Haycock, who also had a girl but didn’t appear to see it as an obstacle to going off on a big adventure, said, ‘You kept that quiet.’
‘She’s a peach,’ Burrows said. ‘You think I’d let you anywhere near her?’
‘I take exception to that,’ Haycock said, looking flattered.
George, realising that the short embarkation leave they’d been given wouldn’t allow him to get to Keswick and back, decided that he would go down to the YMCA marquee, where it was peaceful, and write a letter home. He had kept quiet in his letters about planning to go overseas, as his father had suggested, but now he would have to break it to his mother as gently as he could.
In the YMCA tent there were little folding tables with writing paper and pens. The tables rocked a bit on the uneven grass and the light was rather dim unless you sat near an open tent flap but it was quiet and private and many men were there taking the opportunity to let those at home know their news. George took a seat next to one of the massive tent poles, pulled a sheet of paper towards him and began to write in his usual vein:
Dear Father and Mother,
I hope this will find you in the same health that it leaves me at present. I am all right and getting on very well. I hope that the money I sent has reached you safely and will make up for some of what I lost. I cannot say how sorry I am about that.
Mother, you mustn’t worry but I am to go overseas in two days.
Here George stopped and sucked the top of the pen for a while. He didn’t like to imagine his mother opening this letter. He thought hard and then continued.
There is nothing whatsoever to worry about; I shall be quite safe as we will be well behind the lines, organising supplies: food, petrol, blankets and that sort of thing. It would be very nice if you could send me letters regularly and perhaps some of your fruitcake. Not socks, as I have plenty.
The Moon Field Page 11