by Griff Hosker
“Over there,” I gestured with my good hand towards what I assumed was the front line, “you grow up fast or you don’t grow up at all.”
“Well you get some sleep. You will be out of it all for a while at least.”
George was there as soon as I woke up. “I had to say goodbye son. I am not sure I will be seeing you again but when you do get home then come to the barracks and look me up. We are leaving next week so I should be there before you.”
“I think I will see you again George but on the off chance I don’t then it has been an honour to serve with you. I know Doddy and the other lads thought so too. Without you we wouldn’t have lasted a week.” I saluted and he stood to attention.
“Be seeing you, Bill.” I could hear the emotion as he spoke and I noticed that he seemed older somehow, more bent over. He only had a flesh wound but the war had hurt him more deeply than that.
Nurse Simpson insisted on helping me to dress. She laughed when I complained, “You silly goose! Who do you think undressed you? You men!”
To my chagrin they would not let me walk. The doctor and the bossy Nurse Simpson were adamant that my leg needed rest. The doctor shook his head. “It might be weeks before you walk again.”
I gave him a grim stare. “I’ll be walking in a week and then it’s home for me.”
“Rest as much as you can Sergeant Harsker, this war will last a long time even a girl like me can see that.”
Perhaps Nurse Simpson was right; the war was not over by Christmas as the papers had predicted.
The hospital ship was far cleaner than the tent I had spent the last couple of days in but I missed Nurse Simpson and I missed George. I found myself withdrawn and I just wrote. I wrote letters to my mother and to Mrs Brown. I had no idea when I would send them but it gave me something to do and helped me to get some sort of perspective.
Dear Mrs Brown,
I am Sergeant William Harsker and I had the honour of commanding your two boys.
They both died bravely and they did their duty. Your son Doddy has been recommended for a medal. I know that I owe my life to him. Both boys were very popular with the rest of the troop and I cannot speak highly enough of them.
I am heading back home to convalesce and I will call in to see you.
Hoping this finds you well,
Sergeant William Harsker
As soon as we landed I gave the letters to an orderly and asked him to post them. We then spent a day in Grange Hospital at Deal before we were all sent to hospitals closer to home. There were twenty of us from the regiment who were carted, like so much sick livestock, aboard the train north to Lord Derby’s War Hospital at Winwick. I was not looking forward to the journey until I found that Robbie McGlashan was on board the train too. He had had to have his left arm amputated. As he said, “I am right handed. I’ll learn to cope. Poor Doddy and Tiny would give their right arms to be where we are now.” He shook his head. “I never thought so many would buy it.”
It gave me pause for thought. He was right and I knew I had to stop moping around. The journey passed quickly as I told him of the race to the sea and told him how the others had died. Like George he was dismissive of the lieutenant. “I agree with you sarge, he will get a cushy little number somewhere safe.”
The hospital in Winwick was huge. There were over three thousand beds but, in those early days of the war, there were less than two hundred of us occupying them. As time went on the beds filled up but for that first week it was, virtually, just our regiment. The staff knew their business and Robbie showed great progress. The doctor told him he could have a false hand. Of course Robbie couldn’t resist the jokes, “I’ve got to hand it to you doc… that’ll come in handy.”
The doctor smiled when I groaned; I was in the next bed. “It’s very healthy, sergeant. Better to look on the glass half full rather than half empty.” He was right. You needed a positive attitude or you would want to end it all.
My arm healed really quickly but my leg would not bear my weight at first. One of the male orderlies, who was a huge man himself, had a suggestion. “Let’s try to exercise the muscle. He rigged up a weight and a pulley. I was able to use my injured leg to pull up the weight. As the leg did not have to bear my weight the muscle was able to work better. “You keep working at that sarge and we’ll have you up and about in a couple of days.”
My life suddenly got better as I was able to do something constructive for myself. I worked as much as I could. The pain from the exercise also helped, in a strange way. I lifted the weights until I could lift no more. Life began to get back to normal. The final joy came when we received our back mail then it was even better.
I had a letter from mum which was the first I had received since the war had started.
2nd September 1914
Dear Son,
I hope you are safe. We read that there were many young men killed and wounded in August. I hope the war is over soon.
Your sister is getting married next month. She and her young man have decided that they cannot wait until after the war. It’s a shame you’ll miss it but it will just be a quiet affair. Lord Burscough has said we can use the chapel at the big house. The estate is almost deserted. Most of the young lads are in the army. Young Lord Burscough has joined the Royal Flying Corps! Can you imagine it? You wouldn’t get me up in one of those contraptions. He was kind enough to call round to see us last time he was home on leave.
Bert loves driving Lord Burscough around but he misses you. All he wants is to become a soldier just like you. I hope to get a letter from you soon. I know it might be hard to get to a post box but do try.
Your loving mother
xxx
I felt better knowing that my sister was getting married and they were safe. It had been kind of Lord Burscough to visit them. I had always liked the young Lord Burscough. I wondered if things would have been different if he had not left the regiment.
It spurred me on to get better. I spent every waking minute working on my leg. When the nurse made me stop I wrote a letter to mum and told her I had been wounded. I knew she would have had a telegram but she would imagine the worst, I knew that. The next morning Robbie came to say goodbye. His false hand would be ready in a month and he was going home until then.
“Tell mum I am not badly hurt will you?”
“Of course I will.”
“And one more thing, could you help me to my feet. I want to try walking.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see if the nurses were watching. “You’ll get me shot.”
I laughed, “Why what can they do? Stop your hand?”
He laughed. “All right but remember I only have one arm.”
I put my good leg on the floor and he held out his arm. I put my left arm on his and then used my right to push me up. I slowly lowered my left leg to the floor. It was a strange sensation as all the blood rushed to my foot. My leg felt as though it was on fire. When my bare foot touched the cold tiles I put my right arm on Robbie’s shoulder. As I put my weight on my left leg it felt as though someone was jabbing red hot needles into it. But it did not collapse.
“Let’s try walking. You go backwards.”
He did so and I picked up my left leg and it moved forwards. The hard part was when I put all my weight on to the injured limb. It hurt so much that I thought I would cry but then it held.
Before I could take a second step the nurse had raced over. “Sergeant Harsker! You could injure Trooper McGlashan. I will help you when you are ready.”
Although there was anger in her voice there was none in her face and she smiled. “Now off you go, Trooper McGlashan, and we’ll see you here in a month and you, Sergeant Harsker, back in bed. You’ll need something on your feet and a stick before you can attempt to walk.”
They were good nurses at the hospital but it still took me over three weeks to master walking again. Every time I thought I could do it unaided I would trip or burst my wound. My prediction of a week was off by some measure. By the 18th of Oct
ober, when I left, the hospital was filling up. It would fill up even more a few days later in the aftermath of the Battle of Ypres. I only read about that horror but I could imagine it all too vividly.
Chapter 10
I went home.
The ambulance took me to Warrington station. The commanding officer had given me a railway warrant and a pass to travel home. The railway warrant was for 2nd Class; the army treated me better than his lordship had. The colonel had addressed me more like a father than a soldier as he had handed them to me. “Your regiment no longer exists and you are free to continue your life if you wish, Sergeant Harsker. However I have to say that your comrades who are here speak very highly of you. This country needs warriors such as you. I know that you have suffered but we must all make sacrifices if this country and her Empire are to survive.”
I had thanked him and his words filled my head all the way to Burscough Station. I could not ride a horse into battle again; I had nightmares still of Caesar’s dying eyes. What was the alternative? Could I face the Germans as an infantryman? I had been considered a good shot but the reason I had joined the Yeomanry was because of the speed of the horse and the swiftness of battle. I had seen the infantry, well nicknamed, the foot sloggers as they trudged to war. I had watched them walk across a field into the machine guns which harvested them like wheat. I shuddered as I walked across the platform at Lime Street Station where I had to change to catch my last train. I could not do that. I lacked that kind of courage. A woman looked over and gave me a sympathetic look. She must have thought it was a war wound which made me shudder; it was a memory and they were slow to heal. The pass in my knapsack was freedom. I did not need to be a soldier.
On the train to Burscough I found myself in a carriage with a husband and wife returning from a Saturday shopping trip to the busy city. He looked prosperous and his hands showed that he did not do manual labour. His neatly trimmed and waxed moustache spoke of many hours in front of a mirror and his clothes were tailored. A professional man I guessed or perhaps someone with an income. I estimated them to be in their late twenties.
“On leave, sergeant?”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“Were you in France?”
“I was, sir.”
“Well when you return you must urge your fellows to show true British spirit. It’s all very well for the French to retreat but we are British! We do not want another debacle like Mons.”
I clenched and unclenched my fists. My friends had all died and this man thought it was not enough.
His wife put her hand on his, “I am sure they did their best, my dear, besides there weren’t that many of them according to the paper.”
He nodded, “You may be right. Well there are thousands volunteering now and it won’t be long before the Hun are driven back. We’ll show them who rules Europe!”
I closed my eyes. I just wanted to get out of the train. It would do no good to punch this idiot. His wife asked, “Are you in pain, sergeant? Were you wounded?”
I opened my eyes and saw real concern in the woman’s eyes. “I was wounded but there is no pain.” I looked at the man. “The men I left in Flanders feel no pain either; for they are all dead. They died for this country.”
I think the man realised then that I disliked his words and he brought up the newspaper to hide behind. His wife flashed him an angry look. “Did you lose many of your friends?”
I nodded, “There were just two who survived. All the rest gave their life for the King. I just hope the people at home recognise the sacrifice.”
She nodded. “They will, believe me, they will.”
As I limped from the station at Burscough I realised that I was being harsh on the man. I had read the newspapers whilst in hospital and they were full of disappointment that we were not thrashing the Germans. They were making it sound like a test match at cricket. All we needed to do was play with a straight bat and we would win. There was a belief that we were British, we ruled the waves and victory would inevitably follow. Everyone was being blamed as though we had a divine right to win on the battlefield. In my time in France I had never seen a newspaperman. I suspect they got their news from the War Office. They would be speaking to staff versions of Lieutenant Ramsden; the kind who are never close to either fighting or danger. I shook my head to clear it. I was home now and my priority was my family. I had missed them. When I was back in the cottage then life would make sense, once again.
It is strange but the fields at home looked greener. It was autumn but many of the fields in Flanders had been churned up by boots and hooves. Here they were green and the leaves, undamaged by bullets, were still on the trees. This was a different world from France and Flanders. It was as though I had crossed a continent and not just the English Channel. The journey to the cottage took longer than it should have as everyone on the estate and in the village wanted to speak with me. They had all seen Robbie and had been anticipating my return. I had no idea what stories my friend had been telling but they all looked at me with something approaching awe.
“Your mam will be glad to see you!”
“They must feed you well in the army or you are still growing!”
“You showed them Huns what a lad from Lancashire can do!”
And so it went on until I became weary. I just wanted to enter the cottage and close the door. Mum was waiting for me with our Alice. I worked out that the others would still be working, even though it was Saturday afternoon. Mum threw her arms around me and began sobbing. She kept saying, over and over, “Our Bill, eeh, our Bill!” I felt Alice stroking my back, much as one might do with a sick child. It was comforting but I felt foolish. I was now healed.
Eventually I disentangled myself and said, “Let’s go in mum. I am dying to be inside the cottage again.”
“Of course, Alice, make a pot of tea for your brother.”
I knew the kettle would have been on. It was always on the fire just waiting for such a command. The cottage seemed tiny now that I had been away for some time. I wondered how we had all fitted in such a cramped space. I went to sit on the stool by the fire but mum pointed to dad’s seat. “No, you sit there.”
I was shocked. No one sat in dad’s seat. “But that is dad’s place!”
“He won’t mind son.” She stood back and looked at me. “Well, you look well. Where did they wound you? Young Robert told us.”
I pointed to my left arm, “In the arm and here.” I pointed to the top of my leg.
“Are you all better now son? Are you out of the army?”
I avoided the second question. “The doctors passed me fit. They say another two weeks of convalescence and then I will be fit for anything.” Alice handed me my tea and a piece of parkin. “My favourite!”
My mother and sister looked happy and I certainly was. This was normality and it felt wonderful.
Alice put some bread on the toasting fork, “I’ll make you some toast too.”
The thought of hot toast cooked by the fire, dripping with butter made my mouth water. I sipped the tea and bit into the moist and spicy parkin; it took me back to the days before the war when everything was much simpler.
Alice went to take my knapsack. “No, Alice, I’ll look after that.” By way of apology I said, “It has my travel documents in there and I need to keep them safe.” I didn’t want my sister seeing the Luger which still nestled in the bottom of my bag beneath my gas mask. It would be harsh reminder of the war.
The door burst open and Albert stood there. He looked taller somehow. “I ran all the way when I heard you were back. Dad, Sarah and Kath are coming. Show me your wounds!”
Mother was shocked, “Albert Harsker! You get yourself washed up and stop bothering your brother! I’ve never heard the like.”
I winked at his crestfallen face and whispered, “I’ll show you later.”
Dad came through the door next and I saw his eyes filling. He didn’t say anything but threw his arms around me and just held me.
�
�I’m glad to be home, dad.”
His voice, heavy with emotion whispered, “I’m bloody glad to see you, too, son.” He never swore and was a mark of his feelings.
I heard Sarah say, “Come on you two. Let me see the hero.”
Dad stepped aside and Sarah embraced me. “Congratulations our Sarah. When is the big day?”
“You timed it well our Bill. Next Saturday. It will be good to have you there.”
Our Kath threw her arms around me and planted a huge kiss on my cheek. I thought she was going to crush me. “My big brother, the hero! I’m right proud of you, our Bill.”
“Right Bill, get your bag upstairs and then we’ll have tea. I’ve made a nice cow heel stew and potato cakes.”
I almost leapt upstairs. They were my two favourite things and we never had them together. It was a treat just for me. They were spoiling me. Once in the old room I had shared with my brothers I put the knapsack on the shelf above my bed. My old clothes were still there. I decided to get out of my uniform.
I had just taken my trousers off when Albert burst into the room. I was slightly embarrassed and annoyed. “Have you never heard of knocking?”
The shout was a sergeant’s shout which I regretted the minute it left my mouth. He looked as though I had slapped him. He turned to leave, “Sorry Bill. I…”
“Come in you daft bugger! I didn’t mean owt. This is your room after all. You just took me by surprise. I thought it was our Alice.”
He shut the door and stared at the scar on my thigh. It was no longer angry but it was a big scar. He moved his hand towards it as though to touch and then thought better of it. “Did it hurt?”
“That’s a daft question; what do you think?”
I had taken my jacket off and he saw the wound on my arm. It was less dramatic but the scar was still there. I tried to change the subject. “How is the driving going?”
“Robbie McGlashan told us that Caesar was killed.” He meant nothing by it but I had hidden that memory and suddenly it was there again. I relived the moment that brave beast had stumbled to his death. I felt the tears spring into my eyes and saw the shock on Albert’s face. “Eeh I am sorry Bill. I know how much you loved that horse.”