This Time Tomorrow
Page 1
This Time Tomorrow
A Novel of the First World War
Rupert Colley
Copyright © 2013 Rupert Colley
Rupertcolley.com
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
This Time Tomorrow (The Searight Saga, #1)
Part One | Chapter 1: Departure – June 1915
Chapter 2: The Toast – December 1915
Chapter 3: The Order – June 1916
Chapter 4: On Leave – September 1916
Chapter 5: The Party
Part Two | Chapter 6: Last Day of Innocence – 2 August 1917
Chapter 7: Potatoes – 14 September 1917
Chapter 8: At the end of a Bayonet – October 1917
Chapter 9: The Silence
Chapter 10: The Strand
Chapter 11: The Dream
Chapter 12: The Doctor – 1 November 1917
Chapter 13: Nurses
Chapter 14: The Ridge – 3 November 1917
Chapter 15: Stranger in the Midst
Chapter 16: Provisions – 4 November 1917
Chapter 17: Alarm
Chapter 18: The Forest
Chapter 19: The Piano – 5 November 1917
Chapter 20: Basket Cases
Chapter 21: Trial – 8 November 1917
Chapter 22: Days of Old
Chapter 23: The Ghost – 10 November 1917
Chapter 24: Scoop, October 1988
Chapter 25: Farewell – 14 November 1917
Chapter 26: A Cabinet of Curiosities – 14 November 1917
Chapter 27: The Ship – 17 November 1917
Part Three | Chapter 28: The Homecoming – mid-November 1917
Chapter 29: The Advice
Chapter 30: The Marriage – January 1918
Chapter 31: Goodbye / Hello
Part Four | Chapter 32: The Equilibrium – April 1926
Chapter 33: The Station – 20 September 1926
The Unforgiving Sea
Other works by Rupert Colley
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Table of Contents
Includes the opening chapters of The Unforgiving Sea, Part Two in the Searight Saga.
Chapter 1: Departure
Chapter 2: The Toast
Chapter 3: The Order
Chapter 4: On Leave
Chapter 5: The Party
Chapter 6: Last Day of Innocence
Chapter 7: Potatoes
Chapter 8: At the end of a Bayonet
Chapter 9: The Silence
Chapter10: The Strand
Chapter 11: The Dream
Chapter 12: The Doctor
Chapter 13: Nurses
Chapter 14: The Ridge
Chapter 15: Stranger in the Midst
Chapter 16: Provisions
Chapter 17: Alarm
Chapter 18: The Forest
Chapter 19: The Piano
Chapter 20: Basket Cases
Chapter 21: Trial
Chapter 22: Days of Old
Chapter 23: The Ghost
Chapter 24: Scoop
Chapter 25: Farewell
Chapter 26: A Cabinet of Curiosities
Chapter 27: The Ship
Chapter 28: The Homecoming
Chapter 29: The Advice
Chapter 30: The Marriage
Chapter 31: Goodbye / Hello
Chapter 32: The Equilibrium
Chapter 33: The Station
The Unforgiving Sea – extract
The Searight Saga, parts 2 and 3, and other works
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Part One
Chapter 1: Departure – June 1915
If there was ever a time to feel nervous, thought Guy, fiddling with the straps of his haversack, this was it. The horse-drawn taxi ride seemed to take an age reaching Charing Cross, while his mind spun constantly with excitement and anticipation. They’d all sat in silence; his father, sporting a black suit, chumping on his pipe, wore an expression of resolute self-restraint, his mother and Mary one of foreboding. Only Jack, his brother, seemed to be relishing Guy’s coming adventure.
And now, they stood together on the heaving concourse at Victoria Station, surrounded by a dense throng of khaki, as men, laden with packs and rifles, jostled for space. Mary gripped Guy’s hand. Jack had taken his rifle.
‘You’d better not get too used to holding one of those,’ said his mother. ‘One son at war is enough.’
‘One day, Mother, one day,’ said Jack.
Guy looked at his mother, her eyes puffed up, clasping her handkerchief. ‘Mother, please...’
‘Oh, Guy, you’re not going to tell me not to cry, are you?’
‘I think he is, Mother,’ said Jack.
‘And am I the only one?’
‘Edith, keep your voice down,’ said Arthur, Guy’s father.
‘She’s right, though: everywhere you look, mothers in tears,’ said Jack.
‘And girlfriends,’ added Mary, squeezing his hand, ‘especially this one.’ How pale she looked, thought Guy, but still attractive with her long auburn hair.
‘Wait,’ said Jack. ‘Is this the time we leave you two alone?’
‘Yes,’ said Edith, ‘there’s a canteen here somewhere, rumoured to brew the strongest cup of tea in London. I could do with one.’
‘And I think I can see it,’ said Jack. ‘Do you two want one? No? Follow me then, dear parents.’
Guy and Mary watched them make their way through the crowds, Jack proudly bearing Guy’s rifle. ‘How does he do it?’ she asked.
‘What, the perpetual cheeriness? That’s Jack for you. And you,’ he said, bringing her into his embrace, ‘how will you remain cheery?’
She pushed up his cap and giggled. ‘By remembering last night; that might help, don’t you think?’
Guy guffawed. ‘It most certainly will.’ His hand, delicately around her waist, squeezed her buttock through the layers of her dress.
‘Guy Searight!’ She lent up and kissed him, ‘you take advantage of me.’
‘Not nearly enough.’
‘Oh, Guy, what am I going to do without you?’
‘Wait for me. Will you wait for me?’
‘You know I will.’ They embraced, oblivious to the noise around them, one couple among many, shedding their usual inhibitions, kissing in public, unwilling, unable to let one another go. ‘Look at all these girls,’ said Mary, ‘kissing their boys goodbye. You’d think we could form a club and give each other comfort. But we won’t; we’ll all go home alone to cry and count the days till you all come home again.’
‘At least you have your sister with you, and your job,’
‘As if life in a bakery is so exciting.’
‘And you’ll have your mother to look after. I hope... I wish her well.’
‘Ma? Oh, Guy, it’s going to be so difficult looking after her when all I’ll want to do is think of you.’
‘Please, Mary, don’t put your life on hold for me.’
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to do so for anyone else. Will you write to me?’
‘I said I would; you know I will.’
She ran her finger down his lapel. ‘You look so handsome in your uniform. I shall miss you; God, how I’ll miss you.’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘You don’t know that. How can you say that?’
‘It can’t go on forever.’
‘It’s gone on long enough already. You won’t... when you’re out there, I mean, those French girls...’
‘They’re meant to be very pretty.’
She thumped him playfully in the chest. ‘Please, Guy, don’t joke at a time like this.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Anyway, here they come.’
/> ‘With their tea. Never thought I’d see the day – my mother with a mug of tea in public. How standards are slipping.’
He could hear his mother berating his father; ‘Black? I ask you, Arthur, what made you wear black, for goodness’ sake, hardly the appropriate.... Ah, here we are. Guy, Mary, what a picture you make.’
‘Love’s young dream,’ chirped Jack.
‘Did you say platform eight, Guy?’ asked his father. ‘They’re congregating.’
Guy glanced up at the station clock. ‘Blast, I’d better go.’
‘No,’ gasped Mary, ‘not yet.’
‘I can’t be late.’
‘Your sergeant will have your guts for garters,’ said Jack, offering back Guy his rifle.
‘Exactly.’ He swooped up his pack and pulled down his cap. ‘Well, this is it. You might as well follow me to the barrier at least.’
Holding his rifle in one hand, and Mary’s hand in the other, Guy led the way through the mass and noise of men and families, the scene of so many emotional farewells, towards platform eight.
The train waiting there, many carriages long, let rip a puff of steam as men Guy recognised from training climbed aboard. Silently, he hugged his mother, kissing her on her cheek, now wet with her tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you?’
‘For everything.’
‘You have nothing...’ Unable to continue, she reached for her handkerchief.
He turned to Jack. ‘Look after them all, won’t you,’ he said, embracing him.
‘Of course I will. And you, brother, look after yourself. Come back soon, as soon as you can.’
His father shook his hand firmly, desperately trying to suppress the emotion in his Edwardian heart. ‘We’re all very proud of you, son.’ Guy smelt the familiar pipe tobacco on his breath. The same height as Guy, he had a dark beard, flecked with grey, his thinning hair was greased back and he wore a small rounded pair of glasses.
Finally, he took Mary in his arms and hugged her. ‘I love you,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I love you too.’
Beyond the barrier, he knew they were watching him as he made his way towards the train, gradually disappearing into the sea of khaki. The platoon’s sergeant was shouting, urging the stragglers to board. Around him, the sound of boots running along the platform, doors slamming shut. Finally, with all men and packs on board and the train doors shut, the conductor blew his whistle and waved his flag. The men fought for space along the platform side of the carriages, pulling down windows to lean out of, to catch a last glimpse of their loved ones as the train, emitting billows of steam, slowly pulled out of the station. Sandwiched between two others, Guy craned out the window. He saw them briefly – Mary skipping up and down, waving frantically, Jack and his parents beside her. He waved back until he lost sight of them.
In a state of numbness, he took a seat. Everywhere men, like himself, in uniform. As the train picked up speed, they settled down in their seats and sat in silence – no one was ready to talk yet. He had re-joined the company of men, an environment he’d experienced in training, and one which, for all their individual merits, he deeply disliked.
*
As the train sped through Kent and towards Dover, Guy closed his eyes and thought of his parents and the home that awaited their return from Victoria, as cold and empty as their hearts. He thought of Mary having to cope with an ailing mother and a sullen sister. But most of all his thoughts turned to Jack. He was alarmed by Jack’s determination to join up. He may not yet have experienced life at the front, but Guy feared for his brother’s temperament. They were different in personality. Guy was, in every way, the older brother – strong and forthright, a boy imbued with a determined sense of responsibility from the moment Jack was born. While Guy was thoughtful, conventional and studious, Jack had always been extrovert, rebellious and given to horseplay and jokes, but he was also small, and it made for a dangerous combination. Teased as a weakling at school, Jack kicked back at his tormentors with his sharp wit, but sometimes his tongue took him too far, and often Guy had had to come to his younger brother’s rescue. How would Jack fare in the trenches? Guy shuddered at the thought.
He just hoped that the war, already almost a year old, would be over soon enough to spare his brother the ordeal of finding out.
Chapter 2: The Toast – December 1915
Jack had to hold onto the street railings as he retched. Bent double he spat out a mouthful of bile. ‘God, never again,’ he muttered to himself, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Groaning, he left the darkened street and wandered into a park. He was close to home but thought better of greeting his parents in such a state. Better, he thought, to try to sober up. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he found a bench and plonked himself down. It’d been a cold day and now, almost eleven, it had turned freezing, the grass stiff with ice. He heard a group of men passing on the street, the other side of the bushes behind him, laughing and talking gibberish. More revellers from the pub.
He’d gone to the pub with a couple of older friends to celebrate their joining the army. Apart from the occasional beer offered by his father, Jack was unaccustomed to drinking, certainly in this quantity. In the shadow of the pub’s Christmas tree, he’d played the piano and sung some old music hall favourites and a couple of carols, to the amusement of all. He could play well but his singing, by his own admission, left much to be desired. He may have been the youngest there but Jack could never pass up the opportunity to entertain – especially when a piano was available.
One pint had turned into two; two into three and more. He knew he was drinking too much but it seemed churlish to deny his friends their celebration – they were both deeply excited by the prospect of leaving their mundane jobs behind, donning the uniform and finding adventure in a foreign place. And why not, thought Jack, he felt excited for them. The minute he turned eighteen, he’d be down there at the recruiting station, signing his name on the dotted line. He’d heard of boys lying about their age in order to join up early but he couldn’t do that – it’d break his mother’s heart. Besides, she wouldn’t let him.
It’d been six months now since Guy had gone over to France. There were days when he missed him and others when he never thought of him; but nonetheless he was envious, as envious as he was of his friends who would soon be joining him on the other side of the Channel.
‘Mary,’ he said aloud. No sooner had he said her name than he was on his feet, deciding to strike straightaway before he lost the nerve. Mary and her sister and mother lived not far from his parents, only a few streets away but in a location decidedly less salubrious than his own. It was their close proximity to each other that first brought Mary to his brother’s attention. Well, Guy had buggered off, Mary was struggling to cope with her poorly mother and he, Jack, could extend the hand of friendship... or more.
He could see her front door. Could he do this? No, it wasn’t right. Fuck it; Guy’s loss could be his gain. All’s fair in love and war, as they say, and while Guy was at war, Mary needed love. Taking a deep breath of cold air, he marched up to the door, his shadow in front of him. He noticed a light on in the front room. Not allowing himself to consider the rights or wrongs, he stepped up and rapped on the door. A face appeared at the window, the curtain pushed aside. It was Josephine, Mary’s sister. Moments later she was at the door.
‘Jack, what brings –’ A darker version of her sister, tall, elegant, subtle green eyes; there seemed to be little family resemblance.
‘I was passing. Is Mary in?’ He realised he was speaking quickly, perhaps aggressively.
‘Yes, but isn’t it a bit late?’ Her hair was darker and wavier, her skin positively pink in comparison to her younger sister’s paleness.
‘She’s gone to bed?’
‘No, but...’ She spoke with a more pronounced Irish accent than her sister.
‘Let the poor boy in, Jo,’ said Mary from inside.
‘Hello, Mary.’ He realised he hadn�
��t been inside their house before. The living room, although large, felt small with its drab brown wallpaper and cluttered with so much furniture.
‘Jack, what a surprise.’ She was standing in the living room next to a leather sofa, her back to the bay window as if she was expecting him. The fire in the grate was down to its last embers, a Christmas tree sparkled with small lighted candles. On the wall a painting of Dublin, and on the mantelpiece, he noticed, a bust of Queen Victoria and a small silver cup with ornate handles with an inscription. He tried to read the inscription but, his head floating, found it too difficult to make out.
‘What’s the cup for?’ he asked.
‘Swimming.’
‘Oh. Very nice. I’ve been to the pub.’
‘I think I worked that out. Jo,’ she said, turning to her sister, ‘I reckon Jack could do with a coffee.’
‘Yes, please. Make it strong.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ she said affecting a curtsy, ‘coming right up.’
He waited until she’d gone to the kitchen before announcing to Mary his decision to join up as soon as he turned eighteen.
‘That’s good, Jack, but it comes as no surprise. I think I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’
‘Would you, Mary?’ He approached her. ‘Be disappointed, I mean.’
‘Of course. It’s important...’
Jack lunged at her, his lips puckered. Mary sidestepped him, using the sofa as a shield. ‘Jack, please, what do you think...?’
‘Mary, don’t think bad of me but I think I – ’
‘No, don’t say it, whatever you’re about to say, I beg you – don’t.’
‘No, you have to listen to me – ’
‘And I think you forget yourself.’
‘Oh God.’ The absurdity of his gaucheness suddenly hit him. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, oh no. Forgive me.’
Regaining her composure, she forced a little laugh. ‘It’s OK. Just took me by surprise a little.’
‘No, it’s not OK. What an idiot, a bloody idiot. It’s just that... I’m so fond of you now but I shouldn’t have...’
‘It’s fine, Jack, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen, yes?’
‘Mary?’ Josephine was at the door, carrying a tray of cups and saucers. ‘Is everything OK?’