The Moon Field
Page 35
Imagining George’s character was probably the biggest challenge of my writing life to date, as his experience is so far from my own: he’s male, young, from a different era and experiencing war. Nonetheless, what writers do is to delve deep into research to find out how the character might have felt. Although neither writer nor reader may have experienced army camaraderie or life under fire, we all know what friendship or fear feels like and we draw on that knowledge to create the character’s emotional landscape in our minds.
A big part of The Moon Field is about what it is to be young and how youth enables us to launch ourselves into the unknown, into love and into strife. What is it about this tender age that makes us, and the characters, so bold?
I think that innocence, in the sense of not having experienced harm or loss, makes you bold. Young men in particular sometimes take wild risks, thinking they’re invincible, and it interested me that the very risk-taking that can elicit disapproval from society in times of peace is relied upon and applauded in times of war. In the novel, we first meet Haycock and Rooke risking a vertiginous climb and George’s naïve first experience of liquor and sex soon leads him into trouble. The impulse to take a risk is part of how we learn but can also be poignant, as it makes the young so vulnerable.
The Moon Field chronicles the outbreak of the war and what the call to war looked and felt like for a young man. Why was it important to you to expose the glamour and lack of foresight that marks this period?
Today, with hindsight, we can see the horror and pity of the First World War in all its starkness and this makes it difficult for us to imagine the attitudes held at the very start of the war: vigorous patriotism, confidence in the supremacy of Empire engendered through Britain’s success in late nineteenth century wars, and the commendation of honour and glory as aspirational values. The young were exposed to a heady mixture of propaganda: boys papers had names like: ‘The Champion’ and ‘Pluck – The Patriotic Weekly’; boys joined the cadet battalions and rifle clubs of the Territorial Force and Empire Day was celebrated in schools and with public firework displays.
From a moral perspective it was important to me to be as historically accurate as possible; one shouldn’t superimpose our contemporary attitudes on the period: that would simply produce modern characters in period costume. What one wants to achieve is the most credible rendering of the time that one can muster from research.
From an aesthetic perspective, I intended to draw a dramatic contrast between the ‘glamorous’ depiction of going to war, typical of early recruitment posters - as adventurous, patriotic, manly and heroic - and the grim reality. The bleak truth didn’t take long to emerge, as demonstrated by an article in The Times, dated 24th November 1914:
‘All the spectacular side of war was gone, never to reappear … trenches and always trenches and nothing showing above the surface of the ground. Day after day of butchery of the unknown by the unseen …’
Through George and his friends I attempted to show the experience of living through this period, from the summer excitement and patriotic fervour that influenced them to enlist, to the bitter realization of the reality on the winter plains of Flanders.
The lakes and fells around Keswick are juxtaposed beautifully against the cratered moon field of no man’s land. Why was it important for you to show the stark contrast of nature in this book?
I tend to wax lyrical when writing about the natural world and I like to use imagery and symbolism so that there are layers of meaning. The beauty and tranquility of lakes and mountains seemed to me to be a visual metaphor for peace and an ideal contrast for the flat desolation of Flanders. The first landscape remains unchanging except for the natural round of the seasons and the farming year and is associated with pleasure and a holiday atmosphere, the second has been transformed into a wasteland of shattered trees, mud and wire and the flooding of the polders have spoiled it for farming for years to come. I wanted to represent war as a crime against nature and the natural order. All is spoilt and disordered; the birds roost in burnt out homes and men creep and burrow underground.
I also thought of the description of no man’s land as ‘the moon field’, not only in terms of its cratered appearance but also, between battles, its emptiness – both are uninhabited spaces. Part of the decision to use the phrase as a title was this sense of isolation, which chimed with George’s loneliness on returning from the war, and his sense that he no longer knows who he is or how he fits into his old life.
Friendship, whether as camaraderie in the trenches or as the foundation to romance, as with George and Kitty, is the tie that binds these characters together: what do you think is the importance of human connection in war?
In researching for the book, I read hundreds of letters from servicemen of all ranks: expressions of love, references to shared memories, stoic understatement about the experience of battle, concern for family left behind. Many men say how eagerly letters from home are anticipated and urge loved ones to write soon and often. Here lies the evidence that despite destruction all around, despite fear, illness, wounds and loss, human bonds remain indestructible.
At the Front too, men formed strong friendships, drawn close by shared responsibility for each other’s lives and perhaps because when we are in danger and far from family support we seek to recreate a kinship group. Some men, who suffered the loss of such friends too many times, withdrew, refusing to become close to fellow soldiers again because of the likelihood that they too would be lost. Precisely because human bonds are indestructible and survive in the memory, further loss had become unbearable to contemplate.
Indirectly, the epilogue of the book suggests the power of human connections. Mrs Burbidge reflects narrowly on ‘the little that’s left of a person after they’ve gone: a few objects in an old tin’, while Violet grieves for her lost lover, her mind full of memories and longing. Edmund’s legacy lies in the effect he has had on the lives of those who knew him, and each object in the box is imbued with meaning for Violet, Edmund and George by the bonds between them.
The women in The Moon Field are so brilliantly written, but in Kitty and Violet we have two very different female experiences; why was it important to address two differing takes on femininity and independence?
Kitty and Violet are from very different backgrounds but both are affected by the change in the air regarding women’s rights and position in society. Both wish for more independence: Violet wants to travel and to publish her photographs, Kitty wants to work outside of the sorting office and to have the recognition that she’s as good at her job, if not better, than the boys.
One might assume that Violet, with the extra advantage of wealth, would be best placed to branch out beyond the home as a result of the new opportunities for women opened up by the war, perhaps as a VAD nurse or a fundraiser. However, family situation, rather than wealth, determines what each woman can do in the new circumstances. Necessity forces Kitty’s bigoted father to allow her a wider role, whereas Violet is still bound by a woman’s traditional caring responsibility to look after her invalid mother. Temperament and upbringing also play their part, Kitty, who was bullied at school, has learnt in a ‘school of hard knocks’ and has spirit and faith in her own judgment, whereas Violet is vulnerable: damaged by her father’s neglect and prone to depression, she pins all her hopes on her romance with Edmund.
Although Kitty and Violet’s stories do explore the experience of women at a time of growing demands for equality; they weren’t written with a conscious agenda in mind; the characters’ temperaments and situations determined the outcomes. The result was a balance that felt right. One woman finds happiness but the other is left lonely and bereft. Against the background of a war that left a million ‘surplus’ women, this seemed fitting.
So much of the canon of World War I literature focuses on the middle and upper class experience, why was it important that the central protagonist, George, was working class and an example of the ordinary Tommy?
It s
eemed strange to me that although the First World War was the first war in which the rank and file had received sufficient education to write their experiences down, there were relatively few novels centered on their experience. I wanted to write a character with whom everyone could identify: an ordinary person caught up in an extraordinary situation, and then to follow all the ripples that flow from the decision to enlist – for family and friends at home and a larger cast of characters encompassing different social classes.
I think that I’m always attracted to the idea of giving a voice to those who are unheard: my first novel A Mile of River is about a girl trying to find her identity in a dysfunctional family and my second, The Poet’s Wife, is in the voice of the wife of John Clare whose story seemed hidden behind that of her famous husband.
All of the characters are on the cusp of adulthood, why was it important for you to explore innocence in the context of the War?
I created an innocent protagonist to highlight the bleakness of a wartime transition to experience and adulthood. I hoped that George’s youth, his ordinary background and his endearing qualities would draw readers close to him so that they empathise with his loves and losses. I wanted to show what a huge amount was asked of these young men, some barely more than boys, who experienced the horrors of Flanders – intending the reader to feel compassion for a brutal rite of passage into adulthood as well as recognition of the men’s courage and the enduring quality of friendships and love.
George is harmed in many ways on his road to experience but he also still has the resilience of youth and, ultimately, is able to save himself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Judith Allnatt is an acclaimed short story writer and novelist. Her first novel, A Mile of River, was a Radio Five Live Book of the Month and was shortlisted for the Portico Prize for Literature; her second novel, The Poet’s Wife, was shortlisted for the East Midlands Book Award. Her short stories have featured in the Bridport Prize Anthology, the Commonwealth Short Story Awards and on BBC Radio 4. She lives with her family in Northamptonshire.
www.judithallnatt.co.uk
ALSO BY JUDITH ALLNATT
A Mile of River
The Poet’s Wife
COPYRIGHT
The Borough Press
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © Judith Allnatt 2014
Maps © John Gilkes 2014
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Cover photographs © Colin Thomas (figures); Susan Fox/Trevillion Images (foreground); Shuttershock.com (background)
Judith Allnatt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007522972
Ebook Edition © January 2014 ISBN: 9780007522965
Version: 2014-05-08
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