by Diane Allen
Will leaned on the oak table in the Moon and took a sip of his pint, the frothy white head giving him a creamy moustache, which he wiped off with his jacket sleeve. ‘So, what do you reckon, Jack? Are you going to join up and see a bit of action?’
‘I’m not off anywhere. I’m farming with my father and that’s where I’m stopping. I’m not going to be cannon fodder for the toffs, bugger ’em. I’m best off at home, same as you are.’
‘Aye, but haven’t you ever wondered what it’d feel like to shoot a fellow dead? I nearly did – remember t’other spring when I shot O’Hara? It was such a feeling, I could hear my heart beating. Nothing like shooting rabbits: they just sit there and let you pull the trigger.’ Will downed his pint and got to his feet. ‘Another, Jack?’
‘OK, one more, then I’m off home.’ He set his pint glass down on the table and watched Will head over to the bar. He remembered all too well the day that Will shot Sean O’Hara. The man had been an evil bastard, and after the way he treated that horse he deserved everything he got, but Jack wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.
Will returned with two frothing pints. ‘Here you go, lad. What’s all this talk of “One more, then I’m off home”? It’s not that late – sun’s not even set yet.’
‘I’ve a cow that’s about to calve, so I’ll need to be up early in the morning. I’m not like you, a man of leisure.’
‘Nay, be fair – I’ve been busy tidying up at the mill the last few weeks. I’d be helping dig the foundations out for the new buildings, but everything’s on hold now until Gerald gets home from playing soldiers. To be honest, the last thing I want is to be a man of leisure – bloody Nancy is starting to turn me mad, never mind herself.’
‘Well, you’ve only yourself to blame. Back when we were both working at the manor, how many times did we hear her screaming and carrying on? You knew what you were taking on. We always used to joke that she was mad – well, now you know she is.’ Jack took a mouthful of his fresh pint and looked at his friend. He had that faraway expression on his face that he always got when he was plotting something.
‘Did you know Gerald got fifty quid to fit himself up for his new uniform? All the officers get that. He went to Moss Bros in Leeds with his allowance. Fifty quid – that’d last me a lifetime in clothes.’
‘Aye, they might last his lordship a lifetime – the way he shoots, he’ll be lucky to last a week. You should know what he’s like with a gun: can’t hit a pheasant, let alone a Jerry.’
‘Jerry who?’ Will frowned, his pint stopping midway to his mouth.
‘That’s what the papers are calling the Germans on account of their helmets are like Jerry pots that you put under the bed.’
Will spluttered into his pint. ‘Fancy having helmets like pisspots! We’re bound to kick their arses. I tell you, Jack, it’ll all be over by Christmas and life will get back to normal. Still, I wouldn’t mind having a pop at one or two of them. I’d soon get their numbers down.’ Will mimed shooting Jack with his fingers.
‘Don’t even bloody well think about it – you’ve a baby on the way and your Alice will need you,’ Jack growled.
‘Our Alice, need me? She doesn’t need anybody, that one. She’s as hard as nails and feisty with it. You should know – you’ve had plenty of do’s with her!’ Will grinned cheekily.
‘She’ll more than get feisty with you if she hears you talking about going off to fight. Just behave yourself and keep out of trouble for once in your life.’ Jack drained his pint and stood up. ‘Right, I’m off. Knowing my luck, I’ll get home to find this cow will have started to calve.’ He pulled his cap low over his eyes and walked out of the Moon.
Will watched him go. There had been a time when the two of them had dreamed of going off to see the world. No way Jack would be doing that now – he was too content with his lot. Still, it might not be too late for him. And perhaps now was the time to do something about it.
Will wrote his note quickly and left it on the kitchen table in clear view for Alice to find it. He cut himself a slice of bread, spread it with butter and ate it while he gazed around the kitchen. God, Alice would go mad when she found out he’d left, but he couldn’t take living with Nancy any more. Besides, she’d be all right: she had money, and Alice would take care of her and the baby. He swigged a pint of milk to wash down the bread. Then quietly closing the kitchen door behind him, he led his saddled horse down the lane.
An early morning mist hung over the river and the smell of autumn was in the air, with a hint of frosty days to come. He turned to look back at the huge pillars of Stone House viaduct and the cottage that had been his marital home. A wave of guilt washed over him: was he being selfish? It couldn’t be helped. He had to get away. As he’d crept out of bed, tucking his shirt in and pulling on his braces, he’d watched Nancy sleeping peacefully. Another month and the baby would be here, and then it would be too late to leave. He didn’t love her, he never had. How could anyone really love someone whose moods changed like the weather? She had worn him out. No, it was definitely time to go. He mounted his horse and kicked its sides. He had an urgent appointment with a recruitment officer and after that . . . who could say?
Alice sat at the kitchen table, her hands shaking, tears dripping from her cheeks onto the brief note until the ink ran down the page. How could he? The stupid bloody idiot, how could he walk out on his wife and soon-to-be-born child? And how could he leave her with all the worry of looking after them both? She screwed the note up tight in her hand. Selfish bastard! He wasn’t going to join up because he was patriotic; he was running away from his responsibilities. Her heart ached, with sorrow at not having a chance to say goodbye to her brother, but also with worry at the thought of how strong she was going to have to be. Would she ever see him again? She prayed to God that for once he would do the sensible thing and keep his head down instead of trying to prove himself.
Her first problem was how to break the news to Nancy. How do you tell an eight-month-pregnant woman that her husband has gone to war rather than standing by his family? This poor baby was already facing the prospect of being born to a mad mother; now it looked as though it might never know its father. And with the war raging in Europe, who knew what the future might hold for the poor little mite? Alice vowed that, no matter what anyone else did, she would stand by the baby. This little niece or nephew would need her, and she needed him or her; by caring for this child she would make up for what she had done to her own baby.
The sound of Nancy moving about upstairs brought Alice to her senses. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on a tea towel, putting the kettle on to boil before trying to deal with the mess Will had left her. Best she told Nancy of Will’s absence straight away: it would have to be done sometime. She’d make a pot of tea for them both and then show her the letter. Alice felt so sad for her; it was bad enough that Gerald had gone to war, but for her husband to abandon her when she was eight months pregnant . . . that would no doubt tip the poor girl over the edge.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Alice took a deep breath, stuck her chin out and dried her tears, and then turned to face Nancy. The weight of the baby slowing her down, she entered the kitchen and smiled at Alice as she pulled out a chair and sat down. She took a long sip of her tea before speaking.
‘That’s good – just what you need to start the morning off. Do you know where Will is? I woke up this morning and his side of the bed was empty.’ She peered at Alice over the edge of her teacup. ‘I expect he’s gone out with that terrible gun of his. I do wish he’d realize that he no longer has to kill things to keep us fed.’ She took another sip of tea, and only when there was no answer from Alice did she look at her face and see the tears welling up in her eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Alice? Why the long face?’
Alice didn’t say a word. She couldn’t – the words wouldn’t come out; instead there was this huge lump in her throat that she kept forcing down, along with the tears. Silently she passed Nancy the letter wi
th a trembling hand and then wiped the escaping tears from her cheeks.
Nancy read the letter. She read it once and then she read it again, trying to take the news in. Not believing that her husband would rather go to war than be with her, would rather be killed on some foreign battlefield than hold his newborn baby.
‘No, no! I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t leave me, he wouldn’t walk out on me in this condition, he wouldn’t, he just wouldn’t. Help me, Alice, help me! I don’t want to be left on my own. I’ve nobody, nobody, and I hate this baby and what it’s doing to me.’ She rocked her body, screaming and yelling with the grief of Will leaving her.
Alice hugged her sister-in-law, tears running down her face as she comforted her. What had he been thinking? How were they going to cope without a man about the house? Desperate to calm her down, she offered her an arm to lean on and suggested that she return to bed, murmuring words of encouragement as they climbed the stairs to the empty bedroom. The last thing they wanted was for the upset to result in the baby being born early. As she mixed her a tonic to help her sleep, Alice caught sight of yesterday’s newspaper by the side of the bed, its front page full of news of the war and of patriotic propaganda, with Lord Kitchener pointing his finger and declaring, ‘Your country needs you.’ Alice pulled the covers over a sobbing Nancy and grabbed the paper. Well, that can go on the fire, she thought; it’s done its job! And now because of it there were two heartbroken women and a baby about to be born without its father present. She pulled the bedroom’s curtains and stroked Nancy’s hair as she sobbed into her pillow.
‘Hush now, we’ll be all right. You know Will – he had to go. Where there’s trouble, that’s where he’s got to be. I know he loves you – he’s always telling me that he does and he’ll always be there for you and the baby.’
She kissed Nancy’s forehead, then left the room and went downstairs. She was fed up with lying, especially for her brother. He didn’t love Nancy, he never had done, and he would never be satisfied with life. Well, there was only one thing to do and that was to get along without him. Somehow they’d get by – who needed a man anyway?
20
Gerald lit a cigarette and leaned back on a wooden crate, exhausted. Since the moment he had disembarked from the troop ship at Le Havre, he’d been on his feet virtually twenty-two hours a day. What little time he did get for sleeping was interrupted with the constant sound of shellfire and gunshots. He remembered the Channel crossing: the waters had been so rough that everybody had been sick and what had started off as smart uniforms were mostly covered with vomit by the time they reached the shores of France. Then there was the marching: a fifty-pound backpack plus weapons and ammunition to be carried all the way to the Belgian border. And on their arrival they’d taken a pounding from a gun that the soldiers had nicknamed Little Willie. Gerald remembered throwing himself on the ground as he heard a shell whistle overhead. All the soldiers who’d been stationed there carried on as if nothing had happened and didn’t give the new officer a second glance. Since then he’d got used to gunfire, exploding shells and the never-ending casualties and deaths. Some of the young comrades he lost were as young as eighteen. These young officers, fresh out of Eton and Uxbridge, had arrived at the front line full of patriotic fervour and eager to fight for their country. Now, those that survived looked like him: gaunt and weary. Any illusions that dying for their country would be a glorious thing had vanished like the smoke that hung over the mud-laden fields of war.
Gerald drew on his cigarette and decided it was time to write home. He wondered whether Nancy was a mother by now and hoped that things were going well for her; she’d been so upset when they had parted that early morning at Dent station. He remembered kissing Alice on the cheek, and her standing watching the train pulling out of the station. What a fool he had been! He should have taken her in his arms and kissed her properly to say his goodbyes. Life was too short to abide by formalities. There were boys dying around him who had never kissed a girl, lads so young that they had only known their mother’s love. And there he’d been with a beautiful young woman under his roof, ignoring her because of her class! Life was stupid. Death was stupid.
He cast aside his cigarette butt and dragged his boots through the mud-filled trench to the officers’ dugout. There he found a pen and some paper and sat down to write home. How he missed home! What he wouldn’t give right now for the comforts of the manor and his evening meal with a good glass of port . . . He must not think about it; Blighty needed him to fight and he was here to do his bit. Picking up his pen, he wrote:
My dear loved ones,
It has been some weeks since we said our goodbyes and I think of that moment with great tenderness. You really have to be here to understand what it’s like, and I don’t want to be too graphic about what goes on out on these flat French fields. However, I will tell you about my billet. I am sitting in a hole dug in the trench, five feet by three feet, with a board stuck up in the middle to support the roof. At present there are two of us in here. Later on, I will try to get my other officer in. It is raining and the mud at the bottom of the trench is a foot deep – in some places it’s so deep it goes over your knee. Across the entrance of the hole is waterproof sheeting, now daubed with mud like everything else around here, but it provides some shelter. We are continually under bombardment and the earth vibrates with the big shells the Boche keep chucking at us. Despite this, morale is good. We are supplied with cigarettes, port and brandy, and reasonable food. The one thing that is not so good is the water. It is transported in petrol cans from our stores and they sometimes forget to clean the cans out before filling them with water. Tea flavoured with petrol is not to be recommended.
I’m sitting here wondering if I’m an uncle yet. Promise you will write and tell me – some good news would be cheery. Give my best to Mrs Dowbiggin and Faulks. I know the manor is in good hands while they stay there. I miss you all greatly, but it won’t be long before I’m home.
Your loving brother,
Gerald
He sealed the letter and put it in the pile of documents to be posted. Hopefully it didn’t sound too downbeat. He didn’t want Nancy to worry about him: she would have enough on with the baby. A shell exploded directly overhead and a whistle sounded; time to organize his troops and go over the top. How many would die this morning?
A fortnight of hard training had taught Will that, wherever he was going, it would be no picnic. He’d excelled in gunnery, but he was finding it hard to follow orders. If he could have rammed a grenade down the sergeant major’s throat, he would have done. He was sick of training with full kit on, saluting and being shouted at. Now the order had finally come through: they were being shipped across to help hold the line at Ypres. Instead of bayoneting straw men and yelling at the pretend Hun, they’d be let loose on the real thing. At last they could do their bit for King and Country.
‘Give us a light, mate.’ The young lad next to him was trembling as they neared the shores of Calais. He seemed so young, Will wondered if he’d given the recruitment officer his true age. They’d heard the guns as they stood on the docks at Dover and now, as they were nearing French soil, they sounded even louder. The young lad’s hand shook as he held the match to Will’s cigarette. He flinched as an extra-loud shell exploded somewhere on the Belgian border.
‘You’re going to have to get used to that, mate. We’ll be right under them in twenty-four hours.’ Will winked at the young lad.
‘I know. I just can’t do with the noise. I’ve never heard anything so loud. I didn’t think it’d be like this.’ His face was strained and frightened.
‘What’s your name, and where you from? I’m Will, come from a little town called Dent in Yorkshire, which seems a million miles away now.’ Will held his hand out.
‘I’m Billy, from Buxton in Derbyshire. Me mam and dad farm, but I’d had enough, wanted to see the world.’ He smiled and shook Will’s hand.
‘Well, Billy, you stick next to me and we
’ll get through it together. We’ll show these bastards not to take us farm lads on. We’ll make your mum and dad proud of you.’
Will looked at young Billy, still wet behind the ears, yet desperate to prove himself. How could he have envisaged what he was going to be up against? The way the lad was quivering every time a shell went off, he’d be a sitting duck on the front line. Will decided he’d make it his business to keep an eye on the young lad, keep him alive as long as possible. For the sake of Billy’s mam and dad, who must be going out of their minds with worry, he’d be the lad’s guardian angel without letting him know it.
His thoughts returned to his own life and the way he’d walked away from his responsibilities. By now things should have calmed down. Alice would have cursed him, and Nancy would be doing her usual wailing, but she’d soon have a baby to keep her busy. His thoughts were interrupted as the sergeant major gave orders to get ready to disembark. The clank of rifles, ammunition and backpacks being gathered up by hundreds of intrepid soldiers echoed around the ship. The atmosphere was so laden with fear, you could almost taste it and smell it as the aged troop ship docked.
‘Stick with me, lad – I’ll look after you. Keep your head down and your mouth shut and we’ll make it.’ Will pushed his protégé down the gangplank in front of him.
Orders were being yelled out left, right and centre as they marched out of the docks and down the road that led to the Belgian border at Ypres.
Ten miles from the Allied trenches, the troops rested for the night in a holding camp; even that far back from the front line, they could smell gunpowder and hear the pounding shells and gunfire. Will could hear Billy in the bunk above him sniffling and crying.
‘Quiet, lad, you can’t go home to your mother now – it’s too late. You’ll have to grow up and be a man. Get some sleep, ’cos this will be the last good night’s kip you’ll have for a long time.’ Will looked up at the wooden boards of the bed above his head and heard the young lad turn over. Not another word was spoken as Will gazed into the night. In truth, he too was frightened. He longed to be back at the little cottage in Dent, even if it meant putting up with Nancy’s screams and his sister’s caustic tongue. He knew now what a fool he’d been.