Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  Strategy in warfare has always been learned the hard way. Warring between individuals and nations had been going on for thousands of years, but even with the technology available in the early twentieth century, big mistakes were still being made, and large numbers of troops were lost. Intelligence and planning ability were always inadequate resources, and the people in charge thought of their troops as numbers, not as human beings.

  Because this war was gradually turning into a mechanical one, especially with the invention of the armoured tank, all mechanical losses were put down to experimentation. Large and tragic losses of men were put down to experience, and never associated with defeat. However, the higher-ups classed men as ten-a-penny, but machines cost money, so they were prioritised.

  Getting the latest news more quickly into the countryside, or indeed around the rest of the country outside London, still wasn’t a priority. The development of new small arms and medium-to-heavy armaments for the British troops also remained slow. The Committee of Imperial Defence now existed to coordinate the war effort, but unfortunately, it was always reined in by the lack of cash, or political intervention.

  The odd individual sometimes invented something decent that was quicker or lighter for warfare, but such innovations never washed with the ministers in charge. However, something drastic had to be done; British troops were being sent abroad to fight on Britain’s behalf, then were being killed and buried there on Britain’s behalf.

  Timothy fought his conscience and gradually returned into his role of Lieutenant. The Major was very pleased, and even more so when he eventually found out that one of the men shot for cowardice had been Timothy’s brother. The Major decided to keep quiet about it, especially when he read the latest reports from their superiors, and as they were good, once again, he re-applied for leave.

  Eventually, when the leave was approved, Timothy was very relieved, as indeed was the Major, knowing that his health was failing and he could soon be relieved of his duty anyway. Always in the back of Timothy’s mind was the death of his brother and his guilty participation, and he wondered how he was to inform his parents. He knew that they would eventually find out that he had been in charge of the execution, and he decided that he first had to personally inform them about the evidence in order to justify his action, before stating that it was he who gave the order to the firing squad.

  At Monday lunchtime at the farm, the Websters were taking care of Georgina, allowing George and Florence to have time together. Joseph brought up their present working situation with Mahala. ‘Good God, is the farm all you ever think about?’ she snapped as she washed the dishes.

  ‘No, it bloody well isn’t. All I want to do is make our son think he isn’t bloody useless. He has a mind as well as a body, and let’s be fair, I bet he used it last night. So let’s get him on his feet again, working around the farm.’

  ‘You are right, my love, and I’m sorry. I have thought the same. I was worried about Florence’s reaction, that’s all, but she has taken his disability well, and they seem to be doing well.’

  ‘I know what you mean, my love, and I bet if we don’t curtail their meetings quickly, Georgina will have a brother or sister soon,’ replied Joseph, and laughed heartily.

  Chapter 22

  Timothy and the Major’s leave of two weeks were granted, and three days later, they were sailing home. Sitting in better surroundings than in a rusty cargo hold, they took in fresh sea air. After a shower, they dressed for dinner. With the constant pressure of war behind them, conversation drifted towards everything else possible. Timothy didn’t know that women had also been provided for their entertainment, and when he did realise what they were there for, he looked very embarrassed and declined. ‘What’s the matter, my boy, lost your bottle?’ joked the Major, resting back in his chair.

  ‘Not at all, it’s just… that there is no-one like your Penelope,’ Timothy replied, and stared at his potential father-in-law meaningfully.

  ‘Oh shit,’ gasped the Major, realising he that he must set an example to his future son-in-law, and now looking rather embarrassed. ‘Well said, my son,’ he replied, privately thinking that he could still have one sent to his room later.

  Below the decks, the cargo hold was crammed full of badly wounded and limbless soldiers. Their screams of agony were covered by the noise from the engines. Very few knew about the extreme difference between the conditions below and above the deck, but no one really cared, as long as they were alive and going home.

  That night, lying in his cabin, Timothy began to scribble a note to his parents. He had decided that it would be best to practice what he was going to say beforehand., He knew that it wouldn’t be easy; he couldn’t grasp the right words and, in the end, he gave up. He reached up and dimmed the light, then lay back and closed his eyes, not yet quite realising that the Henry’s face, foaming at the mouth as he died, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Early in the next morning, Timothy stood by the side of the Major, watching the ship dock. Timothy eyed the quay-side, taking in the aroma of the different commodities stacked on the dock and observing hundreds of workers going about their business. The men of importance always disembarked first, followed by their luggage, and this pattern continued down the ranks; the wounded or the now dead were left for last.

  Their cases were loaded into a carriage, and the Major climbed in, shouting, ‘Railway station!’ Timothy quietly followed, sitting by his side. There was a lurch when they set off, and then the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled bridleway.

  ‘Well, Timothy, my boy, we should be home in five hours.’

  ‘Oh yes, and I am very much looking forward to a break. It will be marvellous to get this stinking uniform off, and have a long hot soak in the tub—that’s what I want to do first!’

  ‘I must agree with you there, son, but you forgot to mention having a woman with you at the time,’ said the Major, and laughed heartily.

  ‘Well now,’ thought Timothy privately, smiling, ‘that would be very nice. I wonder if Penelope would be free.’ Sensing the Major’s gaze on him, he stuttered, ‘I… I… I wouldn’t know…err… you know, about such pleasures.’

  ‘Well, I bloody do. As soon as we get home, I’ll get Penelope to arrange you a bath, while I go down to my club. I think I’ll have an early dinner there as well,’ said the major pensively.

  That evening, over dinner at the farm, Joseph questioned George about how he lost his leg. However, he soon dropped the subject when scolded by Mahala for mentioning it while they were eating. George smiled, then replied that all he could remember was shouting out, then waking up on the beach.

  Pensively, Florence asked, ‘Were there many more injured?’

  ‘Hundreds, if not thousands, we were being used like fodder. When one man dropped, they sent another in, and if he had to walk over the dead to proceed forward, he did.’

  Hearing Florence gasp, Joseph asked, in an effort to change the subject, ‘What’s the latest with Henry and Timothy?’

  Feeling his mum staring at him, George glanced at her before turning to his dad, saying, ‘I don’t really know. Henry was in my platoon, so I presume he’s still there. All I know about Timothy is that he’s a Lieutenant and working near the front, but doing what, I don’t know.’

  Florence remained quiet, and Mahala sensed that she didn’t want to know anything about the war. She asked Florence, ‘Isn’t your mum bringing Georgina here tomorrow?’

  George snapped, ‘Mum, you know very well she is. Dad, the orderly that looked after me on the boat said that when the end of my leg has fully healed, I should take a piece of yew or elm, shaped and trimmed, then padded to make a peg-leg. With some straps nailed to it, it can be tied around my thigh to hold it on. He said should be running around the house in no time.’

  ‘Well, son, I don’t see why not. I’ll have a walk down to the wood tomorrow and see if we have anything suitable.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand w
ith the washing up,’ said Florence, and quickly stood up.

  George eyed her as she followed Mahala into the kitchen, and sensing a mood he wasn’t used to, he turned to his dad, asking, ‘What’s up with them?’

  ‘They are giving us that “it’s time to put you in your place” thing. Son, even the best of women do it now and again. When you go to bed tonight, she’ll have her back to you, and when you slip your arm around her, she’ll moan and tell you to go away.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. Well, yes, I’m minus a leg, and oh yes, I haven’t had my pay yet,’ said George, pondering.

  ‘There is one thing you could consider to get Florence out of her mood tonight, son, so listen to me. This is also an order from me and your mum—organise your wedding to be as soon as possible, because if you don’t, we will.’

  Slowly, George bent his gaze down to the table, saying, ‘I’d been thinking Florence wouldn’t want anything to do with me now. It’s going to be very difficult to lead a normal life. I’ll be no good on the farm, for a start, so how would we live?’

  ‘In other words, if you don’t marry, you can stay here and be looked after by us. That is out of the question—so you had better grow up quick, lad. Anyway, do you think your mum and me would leave you all destitute? We’ve already discussed building you a cottage down near the wood, and when Harold calls, we normally take a cart of stone down. It’s all ready for dressing.’

  George smirked, saying, ‘You’ve everything planned ready then, dad.’

  ‘Oh yes, but don’t think for one moment that you are getting out of any work, because you are doing most of it.’

  Normally, wives or parents of soldiers executed for desertion of duty were eventually notified by the authorities. However, Timothy had ordered the next of kin of the two executed with Henry to be notified straight away, but risked his career by withholding his brother’s documents and keeping them in his case. If asked about them, he would state that Henry was his brother, and he was going to notify his parents personally—which he had every intention of doing.

  They reached the Major’s house at three in the afternoon. Timothy was taken aback when Penelope hugged him and, clutching his arm, dragged him inside the house.

  ‘Right, I’m off to my club. Inform Dorothy I’ll be home for dinner at seven,’ said the major, and smiling craftily, closed the door behind him.

  In the doorway to the dining room, Penelope leaned towards Timothy, but before she could kiss him, he placed his hands on her shoulders to stop her, and looking very embarrassed. ‘Sorry, but I stink like a cart-horse,’ he said.

  Penelope turned and swiftly walked off, saying, ‘Right, sit down, and I’ll get you a drink, and then you can bathe.’ Five minutes later she returned, just when Timothy began to wonder what was taking so long, and smilingly handed him a glass of whiskey.

  ‘Five more minutes, so drink up,’ she said.

  Because of Timothy’s scruffy condition, Penelope tried to question him about where they were billeted. Not really wanting to chat about it, he gave non-committal and brief answers, and had just finished his drink when the maid entered, saying, ‘It’s all ready, Miss,’ before she spun around and quickly walked out.

  Penelope had a wry smile on her face. ‘Right, come on Timothy,’ she said, and nearly dragged him out of his seat. They went through an open door opposite the kitchen, and then Timothy stopped short and stared at a large steaming wooden tub. He thought that it must be bigger than four hogs-head barrels.

  ‘You can shave later, just get in,’ ordered Penelope. As he knew what was going to happen, Timothy began to undress, and when he was naked, he climbed up to the edge of the tub and slipped into the warm water. He saw a bench through the suds, and settled down on it, and then glared and glowed with embarrassment when a naked Penelope slipped into place by his side. She leaned towards him and slipped her arms around his neck; he gasped when he felt her nakedness. Penelope smiled.

  One hour later, Timothy’s inhibitions had been thoroughly lowered. Penelope sat across his legs and used a cut-throat razor to carefully shave his cheek. Timothy started when he heard a noise coming from the kitchen, and asked when her mother would be home.

  ‘She won’t. She’s left him. In fact, if dad has gone to his club and not his fancy woman, he’ll know all about it by now.’

  ‘Will he be angry if outsiders inform him of the news first? He could be fuming, and anyway, he said he might be home for dinner.’

  ‘Maybe, or he could be back just after midnight. But one thing you can depend on with my dad is that you’ll hear him first.’

  She carefully folded the razor and left it on the side of the tub, and then cheekily splashed his face. Timothy grasped both her wrists, and pulled her towards him, kissing her gently. He stared into her green eyes, and with emotions rising, time never entered the equation. Only the cooling water, which made them shiver, brought them back down to earth, and then they were both startled by a loud knock on the door.

  Sounding rather cheeky, the maid shouted, ‘Dinner is nearly ready, Miss!’

  ‘Very well,’ shouted Penelope, and slowly stood up. Timothy admired her body, and as if knowing it, she began to cheekily smile as she strode over him onto the step. Timothy followed, and then both quickly dried off before slipping on dressing gowns.

  They remained in their dressing gowns as they entered the dining room and sat down on either side of the table. The maid entered and didn’t bat an eyelid as she served them. Timothy didn’t realise the passage of time, but half an hour later, when they had finished eating, he heard the Major talking to the maid and panicked, not knowing what to do. The Major entered the room and glanced around, seeming to be very drunk.

  ‘I’ve heard the good news, Penelope, and celebrated it,’ the Major slurred. ‘I’ve eaten, my dear, so I’m off to bed—I’ll see you two in the morning.’

  Smiling at his condition, Penelope replied, ‘Goodnight, father.’ When the door had closed behind him, she turned to Timothy, and wearing a crafty smile, she nodded upstairs.

  ‘Don’t be so silly, Penelope, we can’t go to bed together. If he catches us, he’ll kill us both,’ he snapped, and made himself look away.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? This is what dad wants to happen. He wanted mum to leave him, then he can cut her out of his will. He’ll change it in favour of me, but it would be far better if I married before they divorced, just to save technicalities.’

  ‘So he catches me in bed with his daughter, then he’ll cut off a part of me as well. He’s been like a father to me, so I cannot risk losing his confidence now.’

  ‘You’re being silly now—he just wants us together so that he can retire. Anyway, if you don’t come to bed with me soon, I’ll inform him that we bathed together.’

  ‘You will not,’ gasped Timothy, and seeing a seductive smile on Penelope’s face, he suddenly moaned, ‘Oh bloody hell, come on then.’

  That weekend at the farm, George was sitting around the table with his dad and Harold. Plans were being drawn for constructing a cottage. Although this was a first for all of them, Joseph admired the knowledge George and Harold seemed to possess. The ladies chatted away, and George smiled occasionally when he heard the word wedding.

  Taking his father’s advice, George had proposed to Florence, and seeing her beaming face, he knew it had been the right thing to do. Now using a crutch made by his dad to get about, George had inspected a shorter version to fit on the end of his leg, and knew that he would look better as his trousers would cover most of it.

  Two weeks after returning home and settling in, George managed the light duties allocated to him, but received a shock one Monday lunchtime when the doctor called to see him. After the doctor introduced himself, George gasped, ‘Who the hell invited you here?’

  ‘Your mum, on Friday, so don’t mess me about, lad. I can see that dressing wants changing for a start, so get sat down.’ When George had sat down with his leg resting on a stool
, the doctor sat on a chair opposite and carefully began to remove the old bandaging.

  Mahala watched, leaning on the kitchen door, and suddenly grimaced when she saw George flinch, then moan and groan. She pulled herself upright when she saw him jump, then yell out with pain. Eventually, she approached, asking, ‘Is it badly infected?’

  ‘Not at all, really. The surgeon that did this is an expert. Mind you, he would be if he’s doing this every day for a living. It looks very much like he has purposely left some muscle around the bone, and tied it back with his skin stitched over it to keep it in place, and that’s very good.’

  ‘Whoa, all I want to know is whether the bleeding has stopped,’ said George, before taking a deep breath.

  ‘Just about, and that’s a good sign. I’ll leave you a fresh dressing, but when you next change it, give it some fresh air for a few hours before re-covering; it wants to harden off now. And don’t even think about using that peg-leg just yet—it will only make it start to bleed again.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor, and Joseph is waiting outside, he’ll pay you,’ said Mahala, smiling.

  At every opportunity, George proudly nursed Georgina, and would make her giggle out loud. Florence watched and smiled, knowing that he was making a good father. She couldn’t wait for the next day, when they were having a picnic down at the wood to give George and Joseph chance to choose the correct trees. They would fell them for their house, trim the logs and let them season, but at every spare minute they would dress some stone.

  Finances at the farm had never been as sound. Every two months, a government buyer would call, negotiate with Joseph for the price of any commodity from corn to livestock that was surplus to their requirements, and pay him with cash. On the following Monday, three horse-drawn carts would call to pick up whatever was bought and transport it away.

  In all his working life, Joseph had never had it so good, apart from feeling uneasy while travelling to the bank to deposit the money, very conscious of the banknotes in his inside pocket. While in the city, he would browse certain stores that seemed to grow bigger with every visit; the commodities he inspected were always meant for improving the standard of cleanliness in the home.