The Secret Message

by John Townsend

  ‘As children, Uncle John and I used to beg him to draw for us, as he’d once been a good artist. Even though he couldn’t see, he drew lovely pictures for us with coloured chalks on a board. Our favourite was a poppy on a bent stalk blowing in the wind. It was his special party piece.’

  ‘Wait there, Gran,’ I shouted. ‘I’ll go and get my picture of a poppy. It’s my party piece, too!’ I ran to my room, took the painting off my wall and dashed back to show her. ‘What do you think of this?’ I grinned.

  I saw Gran lean forward to look more closely at her screen. ‘Goodness, how did you get hold of that?’ she asked.

  ‘I drew it with charcoal then used a wash and watercolours,’ I told her.

  ‘That’s amazing. Hold it still, let me look again. Yes, the shape and everything – even down to the bent stem and twisted leaf. That’s exactly how Grandad drew it.’

  I felt a tingle run down my back and told Gran how awesome it was. But, deep down, I was a bit unsettled. What did it all mean?

  I found out just after our Skype session ended.

  The little Bible was still on the red silk inside the case from the loft. I worked out both references and found the verses inside. The one in the New Testament had a small piece of paper tucked between the pages. It had another typed message on it:

  4:1, 1:4, 1:16, 1:3, 2:9

  2:9, 1:3, 1:16

  2:2, 1:5, 1:16, 1:3, 3:3

  2:1, 2:2, 2:3

  2:14, 1:1, 1:1, 1:4

  It didn’t take me long to get the words but I didn’t know what they meant. I thought about what Gran had told me. I read the two verses again and I put the Bible back in the case. As soon as I saw the colour of the silk lining, the message clicked. Something was hidden underneath – Moon!

  I carefully pulled out the lining and saw a sheet of thick brown paper hidden under it – with all kinds of raised marks on it: *

  I couldn’t believe what I found clipped underneath that page of Moon. There were two faded but beautiful little paintings. One showed a skylark flying over a field with a tree behind, and the other was a poppy with a bowed head blowing in the wind. They were just like mine on the wall in my bedroom. But these, in my hands, were 100 years old. Written in pencil on the back was:

  Giles – Happy Christmas

  From Freddy – 1913

  There was one more piece of paper with the paintings. It was a final typed message. Before I began to read it, I thought again about the painter of those pictures and I unbuttoned my shirt. I pulled the collar down over my left shoulder and there it was – as always. I’d never thought of my funny little red squiggle of a birthmark as an upside-down f before. But now, as I stared at it in the mirror, I saw it’s a letter t. I now know what it means. I’m not only a twin, but a triplet.

  Unless it’s more than that. More than meets the eye.

  It’s a bit weird, but my birthday is directly linked to World War 1.

  Surprisingly, I’m not a Gemini (‘The Twin’)

  I wasn’t born on Freddy’s birthday, either.

  Mine is in August. You can probably guess the date.

  * Note: The key is here

  FREDERICK OVEL’S FINAL NOTE

  I suppose we all have our secrets. There are many things we keep to ourselves – things we don’t want to bother others about. I’ve always kept the past locked away and hidden – though seldom out of mind. My generation doesn’t talk about a lot of things.

  I’ve always boasted about being the same age as the century itself. But unlike the century, I don’t know how long I’ve got left. Not long now. That’s why I’ve written down my full story for the family. Of course, I don’t suppose my confession will make much difference to anyone … but it will to me. I need to set down what I’ve lived with all these years. It’s time to put the record straight. Even so, it will have to wait until after my death before anyone finds this part of the record. I still can’t admit to what I’ve done.

  I was sent back from the war with no more than a piece of paper stating ‘UNFIT FOR SERVICE – BLIND’. Because of ‘the swap’, I was assumed to be Private Freddy Ovel – who must have suffered delayed blinding after the gas attack. I didn’t tell anyone differently. As far as everyone thought (apart from Gordon), Giles Hoadley had been shot for cowardice – with all the disgrace that brought.

  I assumed that if I told the truth, I’d end up back in prison, or worse. The crime of being found guilty of cowardice was most shameful then. I was also full of guilt. After all, I was responsible for Freddy’s death and I should have stopped them shooting him. Yes, I was in no mental state to think straight, so I went along with the lie that I was Freddy Ovel. It was easy to speak just like him.

  They sent me to a country house in Suffolk, which had been turned into a military hospital. Most of us were blind or lame and learning how to cope. It was a struggle and many of us were in a bad way – but at least we’d come back alive.

  I still had Freddy’s last request to attend to, so I asked them to let Daisy know where I was. She came to see me shortly after giving birth to dear little baby Alice. We were both very emotional and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. She was convinced I was Freddy and was overjoyed to see me. You have to remember she hadn’t seen him for months and she’d been warned that, like all returning soldiers, he would be a different person. I still had facial injuries and wore dark glasses, but she even said I hadn’t changed as much as she’d feared. She wanted us to get married quickly and secretly.

  So yes, I married Daisy. I felt the Ovel family had suffered enough with Harry’s death, so if I filled Freddy’s shoes, not only would I save everyone’s pain but I could become the twin I’d always wanted to be. Maybe you think I was deceitful and dishonest. I guess I was – but you have to remember the absolute shame of being told her beloved had been executed. People could be very cruel to such families. So I did as Freddy asked and I looked after Daisy and little Alice, loving them as my own. Eventually we had a baby ourselves when Peter was born, and we lived happily for many years. We ran a successful business together – a sweet shop and tobacconist next to a cinema (till the next war came).

  Only Gordon knew the truth and, even if the flu epidemic hadn’t so cruelly claimed him after his return, he would have said nothing, I’m sure. His was such a gentle innocence – and yet he was one of the lions … lions led by donkeys.

  My sister Maud would probably have discovered the truth if she hadn’t had enough worries of her own. During the war she was struck down with polio and was too ill to notice any marked change in her younger brother. She spent the rest of her life in much pain and needing crutches to walk.

  I never met the Squire or his wife again. They apparently referred to Giles Hoadley as ‘that terrible cowardly wretch who ran away to the war and got his just deserts.’ They were even heard to say that it was most inconvenient as they had to rewrite their will.

  I could live with that.

  As for Ma, dear Ma … I think she knew the truth all along. In her final illness, I sat by her bed and spoke softly into her ear, uncertain if she could hear me. She opened her eyes, squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘A mother knows her sons.’

  There is no mention of either Frederick Ovel or Giles Hoadley on any memorial or plaque. It’s as if anyone executed (Freddy was far from alone) never existed. The awful truth is, had I joined up as ‘son of the Squire’, I would have been enlisted as an officer and Freddy would still be alive. That is my everlasting guilt and why I’ve lived as a fraud to this day. You have to realise that, in my lifetime, revealing these secrets would still cause a scandal and be too much to bear for my family. But, most of all, bearing the name of my heroic brother has given me strength to go on. You see, mine had been such a sterile childhood, while Freddy’s was rooted in the fertile earth of family love – the richest soil of all. And that’s where I’ve always wanted to belong, too.

  Freddy was a remarkable person. He had little education, yet he was wiser, kind
er and more gifted than I shall ever be. Had he lived, who knows what he would have achieved?

  Today I was taken to the cottage again where we were born. From there I walked along the brook to what used to be the hay meadow where Freddy and I once played. I stood very quietly on the hill, a breeze sighing among the poppies, and I listened to the distant song of a skylark as I spoke to Freddy again – all about another world … far beyond the fields.

  APPENDIX 1: THE MOON ALPHABET

  APPENDIX 2: HIDDEN TRUTHS AND LIES

  In World War 1 (1914 – 1918) over 300 British and Commonwealth soldiers were accused of cowardice, desertion or even falling asleep at their posts – and were executed by their own firing squads. Some were only in their teens.

  In 2006, the British Parliament finally granted pardons to WW1 executed soldiers.

  ‘I hope that pardoning these men will finally remove the stigma with which their families have lived for years.’ (Des Browne, the UK Defence Secretary in 2006.)

  Many of their names did not appear on official war memorials.

  The Shot at Dawn campaign claimed that executed soldiers were blameless because severe trauma and shock, not cowardice, had affected them so badly. Rushed court martial trials often used doubtful evidence and gave no representation for the distressed accused.

  Opposite: The Shot at Dawn memorial to executed soldiers at the National Memorial Arboretum, Lichfield in the UK.

  The memorial is based on 17-year-old Private Herbert Burden, who lied about his age to enlist and was shot by firing squad at Ypres in 1915.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  As a child, I stood with my grandad and other World War One veterans on a cold November morning at the cenotaph for the Festival of Remembrance. He remained very still throughout and, as I looked up into his unseeing eyes, I could tell they hid such powerful memories and emotions. Maybe he was also thinking of his baby sister killed by a cricket ball or of Maud, his older sister cruelly disabled by polio … as a brass band played

  ‘O God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home.’

  This book is dedicated to Sam, Tom, Ben & Esther – whose great great grandfather (my grandad) served as a young soldier in World War One. Many years later, with trusty guide dog at his side, he was an active fundraiser for Guide Dogs … and a dab hand with his typewriter.

  A FINAL THOUGHT

  Scientists now understand a lot about how the characteristics of parents (such as having blond hair or being tall) can be inherited by their children. This happens as a result of genes being passed on from one generation to the next. Genes are found in the bodies of nearly all living things.

  Genes, and genetics, can probably explain how Sam and Freddy look very similar – to the point of looking like twins (or, in this case, Sam, Freddy and Giles looking like triplets across time). It can also probably explain how Sam was such a good artist (like Freddy).

  What genetics can’t explain is how Sam’s drawings looked exactly like Freddy’s, even though they were drawn a hundred years apart. Genes can make you good at drawing – but they won’t make you draw exactly the same pictures as your grandad.

  Around 1800 a French scientist called Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck (‘Lamarck’ for short!) suggested that children inherited characteristics that their parents acquired during their (the parents’) lifetime. So if your father worked out in the gym a lot and developed big muscles, you would ‘inherit’ big muscles too.

  At the time that Lamarck was writing, nobody knew about genes, so this sounded as if it might be true. Now most scientists think that it isn’t the case.

  Is there anything else in science that might explain the fact that Sam drew exactly the same pictures as Freddy?

  How and what we inherit from our ancestors (including their experiences and memories) is a fascinating area that scientists continue to explore. The subject of epigenetics is likely to lead biologists to many more discoveries about what parents pass on to their children and grandchildren.

  Some scientists talk about memes. These are like genes – they are passed on from one generation to the next. But in fact memes are nothing more than ideas, or bits of ideas, that live in our minds – like a part of a nursery rhyme or a popular tune, or our memory of the smell of burnt toast. Babies are born and people die – but these memes seem to carry on forever, jumping from one person’s mind to another.

  Perhaps one meme that carries on with many of us is our collective memory of the horrors of the first world war.

  The past is part of us all.

  SECRETS OF THE MOON

  Reading and writing secret messages was once impossible for blind people. In the early 1800s, Louis Braille of France invented a system for reading raised dots on a page by using the fingertips. Reading and writing using Braille has been used ever since by people unable to see a printed page.

  Blinded soldiers returning from war were often unable to learn or use Braille, particularly if their hands were damaged. Reading Braille needs very sensitive fingers.

  Other ways of reading using touch were tried. Ordinary letters of the alphabet raised on the page need to be very large to be felt properly, which causes slow reading speeds and very bulky books.

  In the 1840s, a blind Englishman called Dr William Moon invented another system of raised shapes. The letters are made up of lines and curves, similar to the printed alphabet. These shapes are rotated or reflected to create the 26 letters of the alphabet, with dots added for punctuation marks and numbers. The system is now just called Moon, after its inventor.

  As the characters are fairly large and many resemble the normal printed alphabet, Moon has been particularly suitable for those who lose their sight later in life, or for people who may have a less keen sense of touch.

  The UK-based charity RNIB (Royal National Institute of Blind People) has produced many materials written in Moon.

  In case you struggled to decipher the message written in Moon font in the story, or if you want to check whether you worked it all out, the letter to Freddy said this:

  Dear Freddy

  I know you’ll never read this and I don’t suppose anyone ever will. I just need to confess three more things.

  1. I loved your daughter as my own. Dear Alice died yesterday, aged 63. I always meant to tell her all about you but I never did. Forgive me. Her lovely nature was just like yours. She was my last link to you and I feel devastated. She never knew about her real father. I’m sorry.

  As for your beloved Daisy, I could never tell her either. I nursed her in her final years but it seemed best to save her from the truth. I hope you understand.

  2. It all seems silly now but I felt bad about it for years. Do you remember the pocket watch I gave you? I’m ashamed to say I stole it. It belonged to the Squire and he sacked one of the servants for taking it. You thought I’d spent a fortune on you. I’m sorry.

  3. I didn’t tell you the whole truth. Unlike you, I had a terrible temper. Now I know I am dying, I can admit I did far more than push the sergeant into the mud that night. I thumped him hard in the face. I shouldn’t have done it. I was wrong. You paid the price for my stupidity. What a price. I am so sorry.

  Your ever loving brother,

  Giles

  Greater love hath no man than this; that he lay down his life for his brother.

  John 15:13

  Copyright

  The Secret Message

  by John Townsend

  Published by Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Radley House, 8 St. Cross Road, Winchester, Hampshire SO23 9HX, UK

  www.ransom.co.uk

  ISBN 978 178127 277 0

  First published in 2013

  Copyright © 2013 Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Text copyright © 2013 John Townsend

  Cover photographs copyright © mikedabell (poppies), duncan1890 (soldier), mettus (old shells), wingmar (back cover); text phot
ographs copyright © mikedabell, wingmar, tankbmb, John Townsend. Illustration page 115 by John Townsend.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  The right of John Townsend to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  A play ‘Beyond The Fields’ is based on this book. Anyone interested in performing this should contact the author via www.johntownsend.co.uk.

  Never Odd or Even

  by John Townsend

  ‘I’m at that special age: 12. It’s one of my favourite numbers. 12 isn’t just the sum of 10 (the base of our whole amazing number system) and 2 (the only even prime number in the universe) but it’s the first number with 1, 2, 3 and 4 as factors. I reckon that’s so cool.’