by M J Lee
The train ground to a halt.
'We're here,' announced the old man.
'So we are,' said Jayne.
Chapter Seventy-Six
The Imperial War Museum, London. April 4, 2016.
They had been shown to the research room on the second floor of the East Wing as soon as they arrived. The archivist was friendly and informative, going off to access the requested material as soon as Jayne had shown him her driving licence.
The assistant archivist was apologetic. ’I'm sorry, we can only allow two people in the research room today. We're short of space.'
The old man decided he was hungry and wanted to see the Great War exhibition.
Jayne and Mark sat down, waiting for the documents to arrive. She explained what they were waiting for. ’Remember the man who testified seeing David Russell in a German casualty clearing station on July 3rd?’
'From the trial? Lieutenant Crawford, wasn't it?'
'I checked up on him. He left all his documents, including a diary written during the war, to the Imperial War Museum.'
'We're going to look at his diary?'
Jayne nodded. 'It might be useful or it might not. But it's our last chance to find out what happened to your great grandfather.'
'A Hail Mary, as the Americans say.'
Just then, the archivist returned carrying a box file.
'As these are original documents, I must ask that you both wear gloves when handling them. The sweat on your fingers contains acids which are damaging to the paper.'
Both Jayne and Mark put on the gloves.
'I see you're booked in until five this evening. If you need anything else, just ask, I'll be over there.' The young man smiled and pointed to his desk.
'Thank you.' Jayne stared at the box. 'I guess we should start.'
Neither moved.
Finally, Jayne undid the clasp and lifted the lid. On top was an inventory of the contents. She removed this and saw some old documents that gave off a faint odour of must and damp.
Beneath these sat a small brown diary, the sort a woman would keep in her handbag. On the cover, the date 1916 was stamped in gold leaf.
She lifted it out of the box file and opened the cover. In a simple, almost childish script was written 'Diary of a Soldier, 1916 by Lt. John Crawford, 4th Battalion, Derbyshire Fusiliers.'
Mark leant in closer. She could feel his breath on her neck as he leant over her shoulder to read the diary with her.
She opened the first page. On it appeared a short entry for the first of January, written in faded pencil. The paper was spotted with rust and water marks as if it had been dunked in a bath full of iron.
‘Well, the year begins with a bang, literally. At 6 a.m. this morning, the Germans shelled our trench. Only two men wounded fortunately, but it was a wake-up call we didn’t need this morning. I had to arrange their evacuation by the medics despite suffering from a sore head from the night before. Looks like Corporal Henshaw has a Blighty wound. Lucky bugger! What I wouldn’t give to be at home right now with Mother and Father in Shrewsbury rather than here.
Last night, I dreamed of my office and Mr Spencer, the chief accountant of the bank. Strange dream. He was standing at the front of all the clerks wearing no trousers and reciting the poems of Longfellow. Note to self. Do not drink any more of Sergeant Flaherty’s whisky. I don’t know where he gets the stuff but it can’t be good for anybody.’
Here, the first entry ended. Jayne turned the page. This one was dated January 3rd.
‘Relieved at last by the Manchesters. Thank God for that. One more day in the bloody trenches and I think I would have killed somebody. And it probably wouldn’t have been a German. We’ve been taken out of the line and sent back to Maumet for rest and recuperation which, for the men, means spending as much time as possible in the village’s brothels. I’ll stay away this time. After the last little illness, the doctor says I should give myself a rest. For once, I’m going to take his advice. Rumour is we’re going to be pulled even further back for training. With a bit of luck, I might be able to wangle a pass for Paris. I’ll have to get into the CO’s good books. When it’s needed I can brown nose with the best of them.’
They continued reading Lieutenant Crawford's diary. It soon became obvious he was a chatty, indiscreet soul, trying to survive as best he could. He wrote of the daily tribulations of the men, his relations with his fellow officers and his ongoing battle to do as little as possible, as safely as possible.
It wasn't until June 10th that they first read about David Russell.
‘The new Captain for B Company arrived today. He’s a regular officer, formerly with the first battalion and has been in France since the early days of the war. It’ll be good to have someone with experience leading the men and leading me. I’ve never been in battle and I’m not sure how I’ll behave. Will I run away at the first shell or stick with it to the end? I hope it’s the latter. I would hate to explain to Father why I’m being accused of cowardice.
Anyway, the new company commander, Captain Russell, seems a good enough sort. Tall and handsome in a rugged way, he’s quite diffident, simply telling his subalterns he’s been sent to help the battalion in any way possible.
I haven’t had time to talk with him yet. I’ll try to get him alone for a chat. Don’t know if I’ll tell him how I feel. You can never tell with the regular army chaps. Some of them can be sticklers for form and duty.’
'It's your great grandfather, Mark, I'm sure of it. The right time and the right regiment.'
'But nothing about him or Rose.'
'Not so far, let's read on.'
They carried on reading. There were a few other mentions of David in passing, until they read the entry for June 26th.
‘Captain Russell seemed unsettled today, bothered by some news from home I think. After we had been round to check on the men, we walked back to our billet in the farmhouse. On our left a howitzer battery were sending over their steel presents wishing Fritz a long, hot summer. I asked him if he was okay. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘My wife’s pregnant.’ Congratulations was my reply but he seemed worried. Everything is going fine, isn’t it? I asked him. ‘She’s a nurse, working too hard, but everything should be good with the baby,’ he replied. And then he blurted out, ‘It’s just I don’t know what will happen to her if anything happens to me.’ Of course, I pretended he shouldn’t be silly, nothing was going to happen to him. But actually I was thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t married. I’d hate to worry about a wife too.’
Mark spoke first. ’The man has just confirmed the marriage and the baby. It must be Rose.'
'True, Mark, but unfortunately this document isn't valid in the eyes of the Bona Vacantia authorities. We need something more concrete. Let's read on.'
They turned the next few pages. Lieutenant Crawford was preoccupied with the organisation of supplies for the attack on July 1st — ladders to order, hot food for the men, entrenching tools, spools of barbed wire, gallons of rum, sandbags full of chalk, Brodie helmets, clean puttees, new bayonets, ammo for the Lee-Enfields — the list seemed endless. It wasn't until the day before the attack that he mentioned David again.
‘I’m lying here on my bunk in the dugout and it’s about as comfortable as a wet Wednesday in Llandudno. Captain Russell is sitting opposite me, writing letters about who knows what to God knows whom. He’s been quiet the last few days. I think the thought of the big push tomorrow is getting to him. Not that he’s scared, he just seems preoccupied as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders rather than the fate of 100 or so men of the New Army. At one point, he asked me to take care of his marriage certificate. Then, I pointed out I was just as likely to be killed as he was. Probably more likely as at least he had some experience of war and I was a virgin in battle if not in life. He laughed when I told him this. I like it when he laughs. Just for a moment, I could see the real person behind the mask of office. A nice person, a good person, somebody I could be f
riends with back in England. Not here though. To him, I’m just the commander of No.5 platoon and he must ensure I do my job to the best of my ability. And I think that’s what I will do tomorrow. Whatever happens, I mustn’t let myself or the men down.’
'David mentions his wife. It must be Rose. But why didn't he tell the army he was married, Jayne?'
'He probably did. You have to understand all their resources were concentrating on the Battle of the Somme. It would have been easy for something like this to slip through the bureaucratic cracks.'
Jayne turned the page. It was empty. Quickly, she flicked through the rest of the diary, her gloves slipping across the pages. There were no more entries.
'That's it. He obviously survived the war if he testified at the trial.'
'Why didn't he tell them about David's worries?'
'Nobody asked him. Or if they did, it wasn't reported in the papers. It would have been hearsay evidence anyway. He never met Rose.'
Mark shook his head. 'She didn't have a cat in hell's chance, did she?'
Jayne didn't answer. One more sheet of paper lay at the bottom of the box file, its blue ink faded to the colour of a summer's day. She picked it up and began to read. The language was formal and efficient, so different from the chatty voice of the diary.
TO: Lt. Col. Anthony Flumbsborne, O/C 4th Derbyshire Fusiliers.
Report of Lt John Crawford, 4th Battalion, Derbyshire Fusiliers, into the events of July 1-2, 1916.
At exactly 07.35 hours on the morning of July 1st, Captain Russell blew his whistle for the second wave attack to begin. The men assembled calmly in front of the line. The attack walked forward as instructed, keeping a steady pace of four miles an hour. Captain Russell led the way and I was with my platoon on the left. As we neared the first German line, we were targeted in enfilading fire by enemy machine guns on the ridge. The wire was uncut in front of us and the men funnelled into a gap. The machine guns proceeded to decimate the attack. I saw Captain Russell rush forward with Sergeant Flaherty and three other men. I followed them with the two remaining men of my platoon. We took cover in a shell hole. There was a flash of light and I was knocked off my feet. When I came to, a German soldier was standing over me, gesturing for me to go towards his lines. He prodded me with his bayonet so I had no choice but to accede to his demands.
When we reached a junction between two trenches, I saw Captain Russell and two other men from my platoon lying on the ground. One was already dead, Pte Longworth. The other, Pte O'Malley, had a badly smashed leg. Captain Russell was bleeding profusely from the head and the hip region.
The German officer ordered me to place both of the wounded men on an ammunition cart and wheel them to the German casualty clearing station in the rear. This I proceeded to do, reaching the field hospital at 11.45 in the morning of July 1st.
The wounded men were placed in the area in front of the clearing station and I was told to sit with the other prisoners.
We stayed there for the rest of the day and into the next without food or water. The Germans seemed not to know what to do with us. Occasionally our own batteries shelled our position and we were forced to seek shelter even closer to the hospital.
On the morning of July 3rd, I saw both Pte O'Malley and Captain Russell being taken inside the hut that served as a holding area for the clearing station. Both were still alive at that time.
I was approached by one of the surgeons at noon and given 37 army paybooks and 14 officer notebooks. The surgeon, Hauptmann Redel, explained these men had been captured and were being treated by him. I'm sorry to say he told me which men had survived and which had died, but I was in such a state, I forgot who they were. He then released me and ordered me to return to the British lines. I was escorted to the front line that evening and directed where to find my comrades.
I deposited the paybooks and notebooks with the adjutant of the regiment who immediately ordered my arrest.
Sir, this is a true and fair account of the events of July 1-2, 1916. I hope they will be accepted as such by yourself and the other officers attending my court martial.
I remain, sir, your faithful and obedient servant.
Signed,
John Crawford (Lt)
'What was the charge?' asked Mark.
Jayne rubbed her eyes. 'I don't know. I suppose it will be in the records somewhere. Perhaps they found him not guilty. There certainly seemed no stigma attached to him after the war.'
She looked in the box file.
Nothing.
On the clock facing her, the time was 12.45. 'Let's take a break for a coffee and find your father.'
'What do we do now, Jayne?'
'Honestly, Mark, I don't know.'
Mark raised his voice. 'But we only have four more hours before the Bona Vacantia office closes. If we don't find it by then…'
Another researcher stared at them and hissed loudly.
Jayne pulled him to her. 'Let's have a coffee and work it out,' she whispered.
'What's to work out? We're finished. There's nothing left for us.'
Again, the researcher hissed at them. The young archivist came from behind his desk. 'I'm afraid you have to be quiet, there are people working here.'
'I am sorry, we just need a break.' Jayne stood up and pulled Mark out of the research room. 'Come on, let's find your father.'
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The Imperial War Museum, London. April 4, 2016.
The atmosphere in the cafe was quiet and restrained. Mark was hunched over his coffee, head resting in his hands. Jayne was reading through her notes, desperately looking for a clue, any clue, what to do next. Even Richard Russell was silent, staring into the murky depths of his cup of tea.
Finally, he spoke. 'At least we definitely know he was married to Rose, from what you told me, it all adds up.'
'But we have no proof, Dad. Nothing that will stand up in court.'
The old man reached out and placed his hand on his son's arm. 'Look, it doesn't matter. Remember, we wanted to investigate to find out if my grandmother was telling the truth about her marriage. Well, she was and that's enough for me.' He thought for a moment before adding, 'The money would be nice, but…'
Mark sat up straight in his chair. 'You're right, Dad. Rose Clarke married David Russell on the 25th April, 1916. End of story.'
'Not quite,' said Jayne, 'she had a child, your grandfather. Even though David Russell's name was on the birth certificate, without proof of a marriage, he was illegitimate in the eyes of the law. My bet is the marriage certificate was lost by the army during the war.'
Again, silence descended on the three people sat at the table. Elsewhere in the cafe, people chatted, children played, crockery rattled and steam hissed from a coffee machine.
'Well, I had a lovely morning. Had my full English. Nothing beats eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, black pudding and beans in the morning. Never eat the tomato though, don't know why they even put it there. I mean, who eats the tomato?'
'I do,' said Jayne.
'That explains everything.'
'What did you do after your morning exploring the culinary boundaries of breakfast, Dad?'
'I visited the museum, never been here before. They're showing an amazing exhibition from the Somme. You know, they produced a movie about it all taken by a cameraman who was actually there. He may even have filmed my grandfather.'
'I guess we'll never know, Dad.'
'And there are some wonderful exhibits. Shells and bullets, bits of kit from the time. I spent a long time reading an officer's notebook. It had all the details of what they were supposed to do and when. Problem is some of them never even reached the German front line…'
'That's it!' Jayne suddenly shouted.
'What? What's happening?' Richard Russell asked.
Jayne stared into mid-air, her eyes betraying the rapidity of her thoughts. 'It's a long shot, but we have nothing else,' she said to herself.
'What? What's going on?'
She began to run toward the door. Mark left the table and ran after her. Only Richard Russell was left in the cafe. He flicked back his quiff with his right hand. 'What's going on?' he asked.
Nobody answered.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The Imperial War Museum, London. April 4, 2016.
As they were running up the stairs to the second floor, Mark caught up with Jayne. 'What are we looking for?'
'The paybooks and officer notebooks. Remember Crawford said he was given them by the German doctor before he was sent back through the lines?'
Jayne strode into the research room. 'Well, it's a long shot but David Russell was in the hospital. Perhaps his notebook was one of those given to Crawford.'
'But what if it was? It's just his army stuff.'
Jayne stopped and faced Mark. 'But it's where they kept everything; instructions, notes, personal effects…'
'He might have kept the marriage certificate there?'
'It's a long shot, but we have nothing else.'
They saw the archivist behind his desk.
'In the diary of Lieutenant Crawford…'
'The one you were researching this morning?'
'That's correct. In it he says he was captured on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, but released by a German doctor.'
The archivist smiled. 'It's quite a celebrated case. He was court-martialled by his General, Rawlinson, but found not guilty. Killed his career in the army though. We still have the paybooks and notebooks he brought back that day. One of them is on display in the exhibition.'