The Secret Message

by John Townsend

  NO MAN’S LAND

  The night was thick with smoke and clinging fog. As they clambered from the dugout through oozing clay and twisted wire, the heavy blanket of mist engulfed them. Stumbling with heads down through soupy, putrid puddles, they couldn’t see a thing – not even each other. Freddy looked up to see if any lights on the horizon might give a sense of direction – as a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the mud.

  ‘Keep your head down, you imbecile,’ the sergeant hissed. ‘Don’t move a muscle. That’s an order. This blasted fog is thicker than they warned and these binoculars are useless. I reckon it’s that way.’ He pointed to the left.

  ‘But if I’m not mistaken, sir …’ Giles interrupted, ‘the German lines were due north and we now seem to be heading west into the minefield.’

  The sergeant swore and swung round with eyes raging. ‘Who the hell told you to speak? You’re a private, so what do you know? Just because you’re posh, you know better, eh? Then let me tell you, sunshine – we’re in the middle of ruddy no-man’s land, that’s where we are.’

  A sudden blast threw a spray of mud and a plume of acrid smoke over their sprawling bodies. Gordon whimpered and the sergeant snapped, ‘Shut your whinging, lad. Get up and follow me.’

  Freddy couldn’t stop himself. ‘I think my brother was right, sir. Shouldn’t we get our bearings first?’

  The sergeant spat back. ‘You’re an idiot, Ovel. I give the orders round here. When I say we go, we go in the direction I command. Got it? I’ve already decided the Hun’s position. Here’s the proof. Ovel, raise your rifle above your head.’

  Freddy stared in dismay. ‘Sir?’

  ‘I said hold up your rifle. If Fritz doesn’t fire, we know it’s safe to make a run for it.’

  ‘And if they do fire, sir?’

  ‘I reassess. Don’t worry, lad – they won’t hit from this distance. Not in this fog.’

  Freddy knew the risk of answering back, but he couldn’t stop himself. ‘What distance? We don’t know where we are, sir.’

  ‘Raise your rifle, Ovel. That’s an order. Hold your rifle above your head for five seconds.’

  Giles couldn’t bear to watch. ‘Freddy, I don’t think you should …’

  The obscenity flew louder than a gunshot. ‘Are you questioning my order? That’s a court martial offence. I’ll have you done for cowardice if you dare speak again.’

  Scrambling to his knees, Freddy gabbled desperately, ‘All right, sir. I’ll do it. Here goes …’

  He gingerly lifted his rifle above his head, as the sergeant counted slowly.

  ‘You see, lad – what’s all the fuss? Fritz can’t see a thing either.’

  A sudden shot ripped past them. Freddy fell back into a crater, tangled in razor wire.

  Giles slithered through the mud to reach him, as the sergeant barked, ‘He’s not hit, you fool. My plan worked. Now we know where they are, we make a dash for it in the opposite direction – to the right.’ He paused before he sputtered, ‘I can smell gas – get out of here. On your feet, damn you.’

  Giles was holding Freddy’s grazed head out of the mud. ‘What about Freddy? I’ve got to cut him free.’

  ‘Leave him. It’s too risky. I’ll send a rescue later when it’s safe. He’ll have to take his chance. Leave him there. That’s an order. Follow me.’

  The other soldiers scuttled after him through the smoke, as Giles called, ‘I’m not leaving him, sir. If mustard gas gets him, he’s done for. He’ll need help with his gasmask.’

  The sergeant spun back and grabbed him by the throat. ‘Are you disobeying an order, boy? You’ll get mown down by machine guns and grenades.’

  ‘I’m just telling you, sergeant. He’s my brother. He cracked his head and he’s unconscious. I must stay with him. Never mind about me, sir. Go back without me. I’ll carry him back when it’s safe. Sir.’

  The hand at his throat tightened. ‘I don’t care if he’s the Queen of bloody Sheba, you’ll do as I command without question, you half-wit. Get up. You’re coming with me.’

  ‘He’s my BROTHER!’ Giles pushed the man off him with a forceful shove, sending him sprawling in the mud, then turned back to Freddy, who lay face-down with his eyes still shut. ‘It’s all right; I won’t leave you, Freddy. Wake up, you’re going to be all right. I promise.’

  The sergeant staggered to his feet and growled, ‘It’ll be far better for you to get gassed than face the music for striking an officer.’ He swore again and disappeared into the fog.

  Frantically trying to wake Freddy, while struggling to pull on both their gasmasks, Giles was already choking from the burning in his throat and churning fear in the pit of his stomach. He lay beside Freddy in cold silence as yellow sulphurous smoke rolled towards them. After what seemed an eternity, he raised his head to peer into the night … when a blinding flash burst just in front of him and tore away his mask. He fell back screaming, as if white-hot splinters were burning into his eyes. ‘I can’t see. Freddy, I can’t see!’

  They held each other in the darkness as the choking stench slowly seeped away and the deadly cloud drifted over. They continued clinging to one another through the night, gasping, groaning, whispering and praying in their sodden, stinking hell.

  At long last, as the sky began to lighten in the east, a silver mist hung above their heads in the deathly stillness. Freddy stirred. ‘I think I heard a skylark. Over there. The larks are in the fields behind our trenches. It’s the way back.’

  Numb with cold, they slowly wriggled free from the wire and stagnant mud sucking them down, to emerge from their boggy crater. Giles could only murmur deliriously as they propped each other up and limped back through the reeking quagmire. Freddy steadily steered him past gruesome shapes in the mud – the twisted limbs of corpses. Giles saw nothing. He could no longer see anything … and never would again.

  THE WAIT

  They sat in the medical tent, wrapped in blankets and sipping strong, sweet tea. Freddy’s torn arm was put in a sling and he was led back to camp with a curt, ‘Nothing much wrong with you, Ovel.’

  A medical officer wound a bandage around Giles’s head, completely covering his eyes. ‘You’ll have to keep this on for a week. If your eyes are affected by exposure to mustard gas, your sight should return soon. If you need further treatment, I don’t think there’s much point bothering under the circumstances. I’ve been instructed to read you this letter then escort you to the cells.’ He took a document from an envelope and slowly read aloud:

  ‘Private 2634 Giles George Hoadley, the charge against you is that on the 19th October 1917, you did wilfully disobey orders from a superior officer and strike him, with the express intention of deserting your duty and subjecting both officer and fellow soldiers to increased danger. Such a wanton display of insubordination and cowardice carries the maximum penalty. The evidence will be examined and the sentence announced within twenty-eight days – delivered to your prison cell.’

  For the endless days that followed, Giles was kept in total isolation in a small room with only a straw mattress and a bucket. Whether the cell had a window, he had no idea for he could see nothing. Apart from calling to the guard outside the door, he had no way of knowing the time of day or night. Then, without warning, he was led to a nearby room for questioning, but he had no idea how many men were there or who they were. It turned out to be the briefest of trials.

  After long weeks of nothingness, waiting in fear and dread, the final verdict arrived. The guard was instructed to read it to the prisoner slowly.

  ‘Having considered the evidence against you most thoroughly and having interviewed the respected officer whom you so wantonly disobeyed and struck in cowardice in front of fellow servicemen, Field Marshall Sir Charles Quinn has no alternative than to impose the maximum sentence. As an example to others that defiance on the field of battle can never be tolerated, Private 2634 Giles George Hoadley shall be executed by firing squad at 0700 hours on 11th November 1917.�
��

  The guard paused before adding, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Giles didn’t move. ‘Not as much as I am. But I’m not surprised. I was born unlucky.’

  After a long silence he spoke again. ‘Are you still there? How long have I got?’

  ‘Till tomorrow. You’re allowed a visit if you wish.’

  He gave a sigh. ‘It’s too late for a priest now.’

  ‘I meant your brother. He’s been waiting outside … with a friend.’

  Giles sat up on his bed. ‘Really? I’d like to talk to them.’

  The guard deliberated. ‘I’ll have to get permission for both. You’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I’m used to it. Will you show them that verdict? I may not be able to tell them myself.’

  Hours later, a key rattled in the door and it clanged open. Giles heard footsteps and the guard whispering; ‘Only five minutes. Orders. I have to be present.’

  Freddy put his hands on Giles’s shoulders. ‘I’ve heard the news. I don’t know what to say. You saved my life, Giles. Some of the men didn’t make it back.’

  Gordon was sobbing. ‘We’re really sorry.’

  Giles reached out to him. ‘I don’t want tears. These minutes will be tough enough without tears. Who’d have thought it would come to this? It wasn’t a proper trial. They’d already decided to make an example of me. I admitted to them what I did. We all knew it was a stupid order. They wouldn’t let me have either of you for a witness as they said you’re unreliable. They said Gordon was …’

  ‘Simple?’ Gordon croaked, ‘But not too simple to be shot at.’

  Giles continued, ‘I asked for you, Freddy but they wouldn’t let you because you’re my brother. A brother with a different surname was considered an unreliable witness. I’ve always wanted a brother and then, in my hour of need, they wouldn’t let you near me.’

  Freddy fought back the tears. ‘Giles, listen to me – and keep this in your heart till the end: You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. The finest person I’ve ever known – with the greatest respect to you, Gordon. But Giles, I really mean it.’

  Giles winced as tears stung his eyes. ‘I know. But I’ll tell you something, too. Freddy, I’ve always wanted to be you. Just remember that. When all this is over and when you’re back home in the hay meadows, never forget that I’ll be there somewhere … up there with the larks.’

  They held each other, unable to speak. When Freddy squeezed Gordon’s arm there followed a rasping of coughs and splutters. Freddy turned to the guard. ‘Do you mind getting him some water? Please.’

  The guard hesitated. ‘Er … But then your time will be up.’ He left the room and locked the door as Freddy quickly pulled off his coat. ‘Listen to me, Giles. I just want to give you a final gift. No arguments – I’ve given it careful thought. Make the most of it. I’m only sorry it might hurt at first.’ He stood directly in front of him and raised his hand. ‘I’m just glad you can’t see what I’ve got to do. Goodbye, Giles and thanks for everything. Until we meet again …’ The fist struck Giles full on the jaw and he fell back across the bed.

  Freddy swiftly pulled the bandage off Giles’s head and pushed it over his own.

  ‘Hurry, Gordon. Give him the handkerchief and put my coat round his shoulders. Get him on his feet.’

  Giles groaned as a key rattled in the lock. Gordon whimpered, ‘Quick, he’s coming.’

  The guard entered with a cup of water to see Gordon still coughing and holding up the other visitor. It was the prisoner on the bed who spoke first. ‘Thank you. My brother is too upset to say any more. I’d like them to go now. Goodbye, Gordon. Look after him for me. Have a good life, Freddy. Make the most of it. Oh Gordon … give him back this watch. Tell him … tell him our few years together were the best of my life.’

  Holding the handkerchief to his eyes and still stunned, Giles was helped from the room. Gordon supported him all the way back to their quarters, and then put him to bed.

  With handkerchief tied over his eyes, Giles lay in a confused daze until morning. At seven o’clock he shuddered at a sudden rally of rifle shots somewhere in the distance. A chilling echo ripped through the freezing silence and he shrieked uncontrollably, as if a blade of ice had pierced his heart.

  ‘Freddy left a note in your coat pocket,’ Gordon said. ‘I know you can’t see it, so I’ll try to read it to you. I’m really sorry, but it doesn’t make sense. It’s just a lot of numbers. I can’t really do numbers.’

  Giles asked him to read them aloud very slowly, each number at a time. It was a struggle, but at last Gordon managed to deliver Freddy’s final message:

  3:12, 1:1, 1:1, 1:22

  2:15, 4:3, 2:1, 1:3, 2:9

  1:16, 2:15, 1:5, 3:3, 4:16

  2:15, 1:4, 1:16

  1:1, 4:1, 2:9

  2:4, 2:15, 2:4, 4:16

  As well as being a good artist, Freddy wrote a few poems. Gordon found the last one in Freddy’s kit bag. It was written the day before they killed him.

  NOT HERE

  Don’t weep long after I have gone

  But laugh and know that love lives on.

  Don’t trudge through sodden fields in driving rain

  In some vain hope to meet again.

  I won’t be there.

  Don’t loiter in the cloistered must

  In holy light through stained-glass dust,

  To mourn on cold and silent pew

  Reliving all the times we knew.

  I won’t be there.

  Don’t linger in each fingered sheet

  Of scribbled words left incomplete,

  Nor flick through faded photographs

  Rekindling long-forgotten laughs.

  I won’t be there.

  Don’t wallow in the hollow void

  Of empty dreams with hope destroyed,

  Nor cling to trinkets left behind,

  Or rotting wreaths round crumbling shrine.

  I won’t be there.

  Don’t think that on the brink of death

  I didn’t breathe my final breath

  Without the strength and hope you gave …

  To be my shroud inside the grave.

  But I’m not there.

  For aren’t I more than relics trapped,

  Or memories tied, all neatly wrapped?

  Like clasping hands round melting snow,

  Or songbirds caged … just let me go.

  For I’m not here.

  Like soaring larks, I’m flying free;

  I’m part of you, as you of me.

  And one day, when our pain is healed,

  The sun will warm the poppy field …

  And maybe in a hundred years

  A new beginning reappears …

  And I am there.

  I shall be there.

  Frederick Ovel (10th November, 1917)

  Footnote

  There is still an untold part to the story, but even now it is too difficult to tell here.

  If someone wants to find the final piece of the jigsaw when I’ve gone and I’m safely out of this world – it is here:

  N5, Y8, N5, H9, Y3

  H3, Y3, Y7, Y5 29:29

  H9, Y7, H8, Y3 8:17.

  SAM’S DISCOVERY

  I put down the book and snuggled under my duvet. I think I must have stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then I stared at my three pictures on the wall. The story was so sad, and yet it didn’t all make sense.

  It wasn’t difficult to work out the first coded message. It used the same poem code as before. But I just couldn’t understand the other code in the footnote.

  I still had a big question and I was sure that footnote would answer it. Perhaps you’ve already guessed. I had to wait till morning before I could find out more.

  I only told Dad some of what I’d read, and asked him if he knew when his great grandad died. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he answered. ‘You’ll have to ask Gran. We can Skype her if you like.’

  Gran is my dad’s mum and she lives miles aw
ay. I couldn’t wait to talk to her.

  As soon as her face appeared on the screen I said, ‘Hi, Gran. Can I ask you about your grandad? Did you know him and when did he die?’

  ‘Woah – all your questions, Sam! Yes Grandad lived very near us. In fact I used to guide him around town when I was a girl, before he got his guide dog. I know exactly when he died. It was in 1980, on the day before Daddy was born.’

  I asked her if he ever spoke about the First World War to her.

  ‘Not that I remember. I don’t think he liked to, as it was when he lost his sight. It’s amazing how he later managed living on his own and doing so many things.’

  I held up his typewriter in front of the webcam. ‘Do you recognise this?’ I asked.

  ‘Wow, I haven’t seen that for years. I didn’t know you had it! Grandad used that typewriter all the time. I learned to touch-type on it. The marked keys made it easier to learn. The wax on the middle keys helped him work out where all the letters were. He just had to count along from Y, H & N – or as he remembered them, Your Home Number. He did a lot of typing that way.’

  ‘What about reading?’ I asked. ‘Did he use Braille?’

  ‘He used a Braille watch and playing cards, but he found Moon a bit easier. That’s another way of reading using touch. He read with his fingers from big books with raised shapes as letters. He sometimes borrowed a machine so he could type in Moon. It was very clever.’

  By now my mind was whirring and I was really excited. I looked at the typewriter keys and started to see the code. N5 must mean the fifth letter on the N row, which is ‘B’. Gran was going on about the alphabet games they used to play, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy doing some alphabet work of my own. Suddenly the word ‘Bible’ jumped out at me and I knew I was on to something. But then Gran said something that made me look up.