My Brother's War

by Hill, David

  He stopped, so suddenly that the soldiers beside him marched on for two steps before they realised, and the man behind thudded into him. ‘Stop that, please,’ Edmund said. ‘I don’t believe you were ordered to humiliate me.’

  The man’s face flushed and he began to mumble something. ‘Don’t be a fool, Walsh,’ snapped the corporal. ‘Just do your job.’ They started off again, and Edmund could feel eyes drilling into his back.

  The wharves were crowded with men, horses, railway engines. Two ships were moored at the wharf along which Edmund was marched, steel sides towering up until they blocked out the early morning sun. Troops were filing up the gangway of one, moving slowly under the weight of their gear. Edmund’s escort led him in that direction. Maybe William is here, he thought. What if he sees me?

  Primrose Bay read the name on the ship’s stern. The corporal left Edmund and the other three soldiers, and strode up a gangway also. ‘Now you’ll see what real men do,’ sneered the man who’d tried to trip him. ‘Bet you’re shivering in your boots, eh?’

  Wharf workers passed by, carrying ropes or pushing trolleys. One of them, an older man, paused. ‘Conscientious objector?’ he asked quietly. Edmund nodded. ‘Well done, son,’ the wharf worker said. ‘My own boy feels the same way. Stay strong.’

  Edmund glanced sideways. His escort were leaning on their rifles, gazing up at the ship, talking and laughing. He pulled the letter he’d written out from his jacket. ‘Can you post this?’ he whispered. ‘For my mother. Her address is on it.’

  The wharf worker slipped the paper into his shirt pocket. He nodded to Edmund and moved on.

  The corporal returned with a bald-headed sergeant. ‘All right, young Hayes. No funny business,’ grunted the sergeant. ‘Up here.’ He pointed to the nearest gangway. Next minute, Edmund was climbing up it. He was no longer on New Zealand soil.

  Soldiers crowding the decks watched as he was led to a flight of stairs. Down inside the ship Edmund and the sergeant went, then still further down, then along a narrow steel corridor smelling of warm oil, paint and sea-water.

  They stopped outside a steel door with a grille across its small window. A cell. Edmund could recognise them now. ‘Stand back from the door!’ the sergeant called to someone inside. He slid back a bolt, and jerked his head for Edmund to enter.

  A figure sat on the bottom bunk. As Edmund entered, the man rose and stared. ‘Well, who have we here?’ grinned Archie.

  They sailed a few hours later. They heard the Primrose Bay’s engines begin to throb, distant orders shouted, the rattle of gangways being drawn up. A deep horn blared, the floor of their cabin trembled, and they felt the ship ease forward. They couldn’t see anything. There was just one tiny porthole window in their cabin, high up and sealed shut. Water slapped and chopped against it. We’re right down at the waterline, Edmund realised.

  ‘Sounds like I ended up in the same army office as you,’ said Archie. ‘They told me to put on a uniform, too. When I refused, the officer demanded “What sort of an example do you think you’re setting to younger men, Hooper?”’

  Archie grinned. ‘I told him: “A good one, I hope. The example of not killing people.” And they threw me in a cell. So here we are, Edmund, my lad. Off to see the world.’

  For the next few days, however, Archie didn’t see much at all. As they reached the open sea, the ship began to roll and dip. They staggered when they stood, held onto the walls of the cramped cell as they moved around. After a couple of hours, Archie was lying down. After another hour, he was throwing up.

  The older man was sick for three days. Edmund strode backwards and forwards across the cell for exercise, wrote letters in his head the way Archie had told him, ate all his meals and half his friend’s – Archie moaned when he was offered food, and threw up again. It was the opposite of Mt Eden; now Edmund was doing the looking-after.

  By the fourth day, his cellmate was able to sit up and nibble a little bread. ‘Oh, goodness,’ Archie sighed. ‘A firing squad would have been better than that.’

  Early that afternoon, boots marched down the corridor. ‘Stand back from the door!’ a voice barked. Three soldiers with rifles stood outside. ‘All right,’ snapped one. ‘Up on deck with you.’

  Edmund had to help Archie up the steps, since he was still weak from sea-sickness. As they came out into the open, they squinted at the bright sunlight, took deep breaths of the fresh salty air.

  Edmund gazed around and caught his breath. They stood on an area of deck with rows of troops all around them. William? Edmund thought again, then realised how unlikely it was. And how unlikely that his elder brother would even look at him.

  ‘Prisoners Hayes and Hooper!’ Another major stood in front of them. ‘Put on those uniforms.’ The officer nodded at two folded piles held by other soldiers.

  Archie shook his head. Edmund did the same. The major turned to a line of troops beside him. ‘Put the uniforms on them.’

  Hands seized them both, held them still. Someone behind Edmund began tugging off his jacket. He stood still for a second with shock, then heaved with all the strength he’d built up in the prison quarry. The man behind went flying. Edmund tore his arms free of those holding them.

  Instantly, four rifles were aimed at him. Everyone went still. The major’s mouth was open. The soldier Edmund had flung off lay sprawled on the deck.

  Then heads turned in amazement as Archie laughed. ‘Don’t shoot us, lads! We’re not your enemy. We fight against war.’ The major began to speak, but Edmund’s friend ignored him. ‘We’ll take our own clothes off.’ He nodded to Edmund. ‘More important struggles ahead, my boy.’

  When they stood there in their underwear, the army uniforms were put on them. ‘Sorry, chum,’ a voice breathed in Edmund’s ear, as a soldier pulled the khaki tunic down over his head. ‘Not my idea.’

  Then they were made to sit on wooden boxes, still with the rows of troops watching, and a man gave each of them a haircut, snipping and chopping until all that remained was a bristly stubble. He was rough, shoved their heads from side to side, nicked them with the scissors until blood trickled down their necks.

  The rows of troops had stood silently, but now voices began to call. ‘That’ll show you what blood is, conchie!’ ‘Going to faint, you cowards?’ The major barked ‘Silence!’

  Their haircuts finished, they were taken back towards the stairs. Edmund gazed at the bright green sea, took more breaths of air.

  Without warning, a soldier lunged forward from the ranks, seized him by the collar with one hand, snatched at his tunic with the other. ‘Showed you, didn’t it? Showed you!’

  ‘Step back!’ yapped the major. ‘Back to your place!’ The soldier moved away, eyes fixed on Edmund. The escort led them below.

  ‘You all right?’ Archie sighed, when they were back in their cell and he’d collapsed exhausted onto his bunk. ‘Don’t be upset by that bloke who grabbed you. They don’t always mean it.’

  ‘Oh, he meant it, all right.’ Edmund held something out to his friend. Something he’d just taken from his tunic pocket where a hand had thrust it three minutes before. A bar of chocolate.

  The days passed. One week … two … three. Their main problem now was boredom. They saw only the walls of their cell, heard only the distant noises of the ship and the boots of the men who brought their meals. They walked. Three strides between the walls, over and over until they’d counted to a thousand. But Edmund could feel his body losing its fitness, while Archie looked tired and pale.

  Their minds were becoming less fit, too. Three times they asked for something to read, but nothing happened. A couple of hours after their third request, the door of their cell swung open. A soldier slung a small pamphlet on the floor. ‘There. Great reading for a conchie.’

  Edmund picked it up. Army Training Manual No. 29. Instructions for Firing and Maintenance of the Lewis Light Machine-Gun. He was about to hand it back to the soldier when Archie took it from him.

  ‘Thanks.
We’ll enjoy this.’ The man gaped, muttered something, strode out. Edmund’s friend grinned at him. ‘Better than nothing. And we might as well know what we’re up against.’

  So they read to each other how to change the drum of ammunition on the Lewis Gun, how to clean the barrel, how to adjust the sight for different distances. They learned bits off by heart and quizzed each other. They made up their own training manuals. ‘Number 42: Instructions for Use of the Light Potato Peeler,’ said Archie. ‘Number 178: Instructions for Use of the Heavy Feather Duster,’ said Edmund.

  When the same soldier opened their cell door three days later, Edmund smiled and handed him the manual. ‘Any more, friend?’

  The man glared. ‘Don’t be cheeky!’ But that evening two old history books arrived in their cell. Nobody seemed to know from where.

  More days. Another week. Another fortnight. They finished the history books. They recited any poetry they could remember to each other. (‘I wandered lonely as a cloud,’ went Archie. ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,’ went Edmund.) They talked about their lives.

  ‘My older brother has enlisted,’ Edmund said. ‘He told me that what I’m doing is stupid and cowardly. We haven’t—’ he heard his voice start to shake ‘—we haven’t spoken to each other for over a year.’

  Archie nodded. ‘My sister is the same. When I said I wouldn’t serve in the Army, she swore she’d never speak to me again. Her daughters – my nieces – they’re five and seven years old. Their mother told them I’m evil, and they must never come near me.’ He shook his head.

  They were taken up on deck again. No haircut this time. They stood in their unwanted uniforms while troops did bayonet practice, thrusting the long blades into bundles of cloth, with wild yells. Edmund imagined the steel stabbing into live bodies and shuddered.

  No sign of William. Why should he be on this ship, anyway? Edmund thought. He may already be in France. Or he may not have left New Zealand. Around them, the sea was a choppy dark blue. The air was colder. They must be getting near England, surely.

  That night, as they sat and talked in their cell, bells rang far below. Voices shouted, feet hurried up metal ladders. The Primrose Bay turned, sharply enough to make them clutch the sides of their bunks, and the engines picked up speed.

  The cell door flew open. Two soldiers stared at them. ‘There’s been a submarine alert. If anything happens, follow us up on deck. Don’t try and escape, or we’ll shoot.’

  Edmund couldn’t help smiling. ‘Escape? We’re not fish.’

  An hour later, the engines reduced speed again. The cell door was locked and the soldiers left. Archie nodded to Edmund. ‘They still don’t know what to do with us.’

  Another five days. More boots, more door-opening, and the major who’d ordered their haircuts stepped into the cell. Archie smiled, said ‘Good morning’, and stretched out a hand. The major automatically took it to shake, then snatched his away.

  ‘This is your last chance to show some honour and loyalty. When we land, I have no control over what is done to you. Are you willing to do your duty and serve your King and Country?’

  Archie smiled again. ‘No, thank you.’ Edmund swallowed, then shook his head. The officer glared at them. ‘Then you have only yourselves to blame for what happens next. I wash my hands of you.’

  He stamped out. Archie smiled a third time – at Edmund. ‘A Roman governor also washed his hands when he gave Christ over to be crucified. Bear up, my lad. We’ll be strong.’

  Edmund hadn’t been able to prevent a shiver of fear at the officer’s words. But now he relaxed again. With Archie beside him, he could face anything.

  Two days later, they landed in England and were separated.

  DEAR Mother,

  I AM well.

  I HAVE BEEN training.

  I WILL WRITE again soon.

  I HAVE BEEN on the ship to England.

  I WOULD LIKE a letter, at any time.

  My dear Mother, we’re only allowed to fill in an army message card. I don’t know if they’ll cross out this bit, but I’ll write it anyway. We have arrived in England, and now I can really begin to play my part. Don’t worry about me. My love to you and Jessie.

  Your Loving Son

  William

  William

  William sailed from the same wharf where Edmund had been taken. But it was a different ship and a very different departure.

  They marched through the streets with their commanding officer riding on a horse in front of them. There were banners reading

  WE’RE PROUD OF YOU

  and

  SONS OF THE EMPIRE.

  Bands played. Crowds of people cheered and waved, although William glimpsed a few women weeping or watching silently. Small boys ran along beside them. Girls tossed flowers and blew kisses. A couple of them called ‘Good luck, Ginger!’ to Jerry, whose face blushed as red as his hair.

  They waited beside the loading sheds, staring up at the tall steel sides of the Empire Star. ‘She used to be a passenger liner,’ someone in William’s No. 3 Platoon said. ‘Reckon we’ll get breakfast in bed?’

  Another voice went, ‘There’s a bunch of conchies being shipped over to the trenches. Let’s tip them into the sea first.’

  A third soldier, further along the line, said, ‘No, they were on the other boat, the one that sailed a few days back.’

  William felt relieved. If he came face to face with his younger brother, he didn’t know what he’d say. Anyway, that wasn’t likely to happen. A few conchies might be taken to Europe, but Edmund was probably in a work camp or a cell, somewhere in New Zealand.

  It took over three hours for them all to get on board. The officers were in the First Class cabins; the other ranks were crammed into Second and Third Class, some in cabins, some on the floor of the ballroom, the library or the games room. Moving along a corridor meant squeezing past blokes sitting on their kitbags, waiting for a place to call their own.

  They sailed that evening. It was a sight William knew he would never forget. Hundreds – no, thousands – of troops, standing at the rails, crowding the outside steps up to the next deck, even clinging to the ladders on the sides of funnels. All of them waving their hats and cheering. The crowd filling the wharf below, a mass of upturned faces, waving back, cheering also or crying. Bands on board and on shore, playing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and ‘Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye’.

  The thin strip of water between ship and wharf churned into foam as the engines began to turn, and grew wider until the streamers held by hands on deck and on shore tightened and snapped. The wharves and buildings shrank behind, and the troops fell silent, until the only sounds were the throb of engines and the cries of seabirds wheeling overhead.

  By next morning, there was no sign of land. The ship began to dip and rise as it met the waves of the open sea. Some men became quiet, turned green and rushed for the rails as their stomachs also dipped and rose.

  William met a pale-faced Herbert coming shakily back down the stairs to their cabin. His face looked different. ‘Losht my falsh teef,’ he mumbled. ‘They fell into the shea while I wash being shick. I—’ Herbert paused, gulped, then turned and fled up the stairs and out onto the deck again.

  William meanwhile had never felt so well in his life. He stood at the stern, watching the white tumble of wake spread behind them and the distant flat line of the horizon on all sides. This was an adventure, all right. Now things had really begun.

  After four days, when most of the seasick men were recovering, they began training again. Physical drill, kit inspection, bayonet training, signalling with flags. Every part of every deck was packed with lines of men and shouting NCOs. They even had rifle practice, shooting at a big wooden box towed a hundred yards behind the ship.

  In the late afternoons and evenings, there were tug-of-war contests on deck between different platoons, quizzes and singalongs, lectures from officers about Great Britain or France. William learned to say ‘Bonjour … Hel
lo. Merci … Thank you’, and felt pleased. Jerry learned to say ‘Bonjour, jolie fille … Hello, pretty girl’, and looked very pleased.

  ‘Some ships have their own cinema!’ one soldier claimed. ‘You can watch films on board.’

  The others laughed and went ‘Never!’ But the first soldier insisted. ‘And the Americans are inventing a way of people talking on films.’ This time everyone laughed and went ‘Absolutely never!’

  Three weeks slid by. The Empire Star ploughed steadily through the water. It was hard for William to believe there was a war on. Hard until he saw the lookouts during the daytime, standing on the highest decks, watching in all directions with binoculars in case any strange ships appeared on the horizon. Until he noticed how at night, every outside light was turned off so the ship sailed on in total darkness.

  One morning at the end of the third week, land lay ahead, low and shimmering in the sun. South Africa. They steamed into port, pushing slowly through swarms of small boats, on which dark-skinned men held up fruit, wooden carvings, even live monkeys, shouting to the soldiers to throw down money.

  They spent just one day in the port of Cape Town, taking on oil and food. They were allowed five hours’ shore leave, and William walked into town with his friends, blinking in the hot sun. People stared at them as they went past. ‘People must think we’re really handsome,’ Jack grinned. Then William heard a voice sneer ‘Who’s your black pal?’, and began to understand.

  They went into a restaurant and tried to order a meal. But the Indian manager said ‘No. No, sorry’. He pointed at Jack Kahui. ‘People make trouble if I serve him. Please go. So sorry.’

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Jack, as they stood outside. Then they saw the group of young white men glaring at them and especially at Jack. William called out, ‘What are you blokes looking so unhappy about? Is it the end of the world if we’re friends with someone who’s a different colour?’

  ‘My elder cousin fought against this lot in the Boer War, just fifteen years ago,’ grunted Herbert, as they walked on. ‘Now we’re supposed to be on their side, but it looks like some of them are ready to fight us again.’