‘Mother?’ She didn’t pause but continued towards her grandmother to take her son from her. ‘I’ll take him up, Granny, thanks for your help.’
‘No trouble.’ Florence shuffled to the front of her chair and settled her feet firmly on the ground in readiness to stand, still holding Tom. ‘I’ll go up an’ all.’ She handed the baby to Winifred.
‘What’s up with you?’ Ethel’s voice was strident. Her hands on her hips.
‘What?’ Winifred wasn’t going to let her mother upset her. Not when she was holding Tom. All she wanted was to go upstairs. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Scared that his father will have to go and fight,’ Ethel sneered. ‘Not that we know who he is of course. I wonder if you even do.’
Winifred and Florence exchanged glances. The slight shake of the head and warning look reminded Winifred of her father but it didn’t prevent her anger.
‘Shut up, Mother. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You’re vicious – nasty.’ Ethel’s jaw loosened. She opened her mouth to retort but Winifred held up her hand keeping her voice steady. ‘Tom’s father was a good man—’
‘But he ran off, didn’t he?’ Ethel pointed her finger at Winifred, triumphant. ‘He sussed what you were. Easy. A strumpet.’
‘Something has stopped him coming back for me. For us.’ Winifred walked towards the stairs. ‘I don’t know where Tom’s father is. But he will come back…’ Did she believe that? Had she been a fool to be taken in by him? She stopped, lifted her son closer to her and waited for Florence to go past her to the stairs.
‘And another thing. Unless I really have to, I won’t be speaking to you again. If you ask me something I’ll answer. That’s all. I blame you for the miserable life my father had. I blame you for the miserable childhood I had.’ Winifred knew she was being unfair but couldn’t stop. ‘In fact, I blame you for all that has gone wrong in my life. So, from now on, leave me alone. We may have to live in the same house but I’m telling you, I want nothing more to do with you. You’re on your own, as far as I’m concerned.’
Chapter 57
August 1914
Bill liked Ashford better than Bradlow; it was smaller, more friendly than the larger town. And he liked the little pub he’d found on Newroyd Street, just off the tram route. On his trips to Ashford, he often finished off with a quiet pint or two, sitting in the corner, minding his own business and pretending to read the newspapers.
For weeks the chatter in The Crown had been that Britain would soon be at war with Germany. It made him restless; his life had become monotonous, boring.
So that morning, on impulse, instead of going back home with Giles, the neighbouring farmer, he’d offloaded the goods he’d bought onto the wagon and had gone to the railway station to catch a train to Manchester.
He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he walked into the soddin’ recruiting office. He frowned, taking a gulp of his beer. He wouldn’t forget the sniggers of the other blokes in the queue when he was turned down because of his height. Lately he’d become more conscious than ever about his lack of inches wherever he went. Even at home. Moira had even been stupid enough to say she was glad he couldn’t go into the army and had started to call him “her little man”. He soon put a stop to that. She was lucky he hadn’t clouted her.
Going to the bar he ordered a third pint, tapping the tuppence on the counter.
‘Bad day?’ The landlord placed the glass in front of Bill, slopping the beer on the counter.
‘No worse than usual.’ Bill grunted the reply.
‘Just that you’re looking like you lost a shilling and found a penny.’
‘Mind your own fuckin’ business.’
‘Now, now,’ the landlord said, mildly, wiping a grey dishcloth across the pool of ale. ‘Don’t want to have to bar you. I’m losing enough customers as it is to this bloody war. Still…’ he had the last word, moving to serve an old woman who was peering through the hatch of the snug. ‘Don’t suppose you’ll be going anywhere. Little chap like you.’
‘You bastard.’ Bill yelled, ignoring the threat of being barred. He rolled his shirtsleeves up, balanced on the brass rail that ran along the front of the bar and pressed his hands on the top, ready to leap over. ‘I’ll bloody kill you.’
The landlord laughed. ‘I wouldn’t advise you trying, pal.’ He didn’t look back.
A hand pressed on Bill’s shoulder.
‘Steady on, mate.’
He whirled with a roar, fists raised.
The two men standing in front of him where even smaller than he was. They were smiling at him. He weighed them up; the grins weren’t mocking. One of them had bright ginger hair and freckles, the other was blond with pale blue eyes. He shrugged and dropped his hands to pick up his pint.
‘Aye, well…’
‘We know,’ the bloke with the ginger hair said. ‘And we have something to tell you we think you’ll be interested in.’
‘What?’ Bill glowered, suspicious. He downed his beer in one long swallow. His hand was unsteady when he banged the glass on the counter.
‘Another?’ It was the blond bloke this time.
‘Why not.’ Bill blinked, nodded towards his table. ‘My things are there. There’s a couple of chairs free.’ Might as well listen to them. They didn’t look like poofters but if they were he’d soon see them off.
‘I’m Reilly, he’s Boardman.’ The one with the ginger hair sat opposite Bill.
‘Bill Howarth.’ The name he hadn’t used for two years came out automatically.
‘We’re off to Bury to sign up.’
It was Bill’s turn to smirk. ‘Well, good luck with that.’ Stupid sods. He looked down at the glass in front of him. He didn’t want any more to drink.
‘No, listen. There’s some battalions being formed for men like us.’
‘Us?’ They were, they were soddin’ poofters. ‘Think you’ve got hold of the wrong bloke, mate. I’m married.’ Well, near enough. Moira had been nagging him for months to get wed. He was bloody sick of her whining, tell the truth. An’ she’d let herself go. Fact was, she smelled more like the pigs every day.
The two men were roaring with laughter. Heads back they slapped the table with both hands.
Bill glared, waited for the bloody racket to stop. Most of the pub and the landlord were staring at the three of them. He stood, adjusted his braces and took his jacket and bag off the back of the chair.
‘Hang on. Don’t go ’til you hear what we have to tell you.’ Reilly spluttered, wiping his eyes with the pads of his fingers. ‘We’re not nancies. Sit down, man.’ He looked up at Bill. ‘I meant shorter chaps like us. Some bigwig in Parliament has persuaded Kitchener to let him form battalions in the army for men under the regulation size.’
Bill was baffled but he sat down. ‘Why?’ He’d never heard anything so daft; a load of only small blokes in a battalion. And the memories returned from when he was a kid; the times his father told him he would never amount to much because of his size; would always be good for nothing. What was that bloody phrase he used? ‘Cuthbert, Harry, Dai… (whatever name his father could conjure up in any moment) makes ten of you, you soddin’ little runt.’ Only short blokes? All in one battalion? Bill mentally scoffed at the idea.
‘Are you fit?’ It was Boardman this time.
‘Course I bloody am. I work… I own a pig farm.’ Bill held his arms out and flexed his muscles.
‘Well then, you can sign up. We’ve just heard that the War Office says we can. Why don’t you come with us?’ Boardman lifted his chin in a gesture of a challenge. ‘There’ll be eight of us including you, if you do.’
They waited, watching him while they finished their pints.
Bill pressed his lips together. He was fed up with his life, lately. He’d cottoned on to the fact that he irritated Moira more and more for some reason and she barely spoke to him. And the stink of pig shit clung to his clothes; he hadn’t missed the way fo
lk sniffed and looked at one another when he went near them. A bit of excitement was tempting. The Army. If ever he came across them buggers that had laughed at him in the Recruiting Office in Manchester again, he’d show them what for.
‘Aye, okay. Count me in.’ He shook hands with each of them.
He was off to a new life.
Chapter 58
Shit. Bill burrowed his head under the covers. Given chance he’d shove that bloody bugle right up that one’s arse.
From all around him there were curses and groaning. Bill listened to the sounds of stumbling footsteps on the wooden floor and the rustling of clothes.
‘Come on, you lot. Up and at it.’ Bill’s blankets were pulled off him. ‘Get up, Howarth. Now. Unless you want to be cleaning the latrines all day.’
God, he hated the bastard. ‘Yes, Sarge, I’m up.’ He stood swaying, his eyes still closed.
‘Sergeant Bell, to you Howarth. Who am I?’
‘Sergeant Bell, Sergeant.’ And a right bastard to boot, Bill added to himself.
The sergeant walked away from him, bellowing at any other man reluctant to rise. ‘Get this place clean and tidy and I might, just might, let you have a brew after.’
He stopped by the door. ‘And you’ll be pleased to know you’ll be getting your uniforms today.’ He grinned. ‘After all these months you’ll look like proper soldiers.’
A small cheer went around the barracks.
‘About bloody time, too,’ Boardman, standing by the bed next to Bill, muttered, ‘I’m sick of looking like a bloody postman in this lot.’
Bill laughed quietly. The blue get-up hung in their lockers, nicknamed ‘Kitchener Blue’, what with the cardboard cap badge, did make them look like postmen.
‘Will we get a proper rifle as well, Sergeant Bell?’ someone asked.
‘You will. You can donate your wooden weapon, as well as these uniforms, to the next lot of poor specimens I’ll have to knock into shape,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Because…’ he raised his voice. ‘Because today I get rid of you. You’re leaving the sunny climes of Bury and you’re off to the even sunnier Ashford.’
‘What?’ Boardman’s mouth dropped open.
‘Yes, you an’ all, Boardman. We all know about your shenanigans with a local lass. Well, you’ll be leaving her behind today. Let’s hope you haven’t left her with a little present an’ all.’ He shouted above the ribald laughter. ‘Just remember you’re Infantry, you’re Lancashire Fusiliers. You might be called a Bantam Battalion; you might all be little squirts but you’re my little squirts, medically fit…fit in any way the War Office requires. I’ve taught you proper military discipline…’ He was interrupted by a few groans. ‘And how to fight with your rifle and bayonet.’ He stopped speaking, lowered his voice. ‘You’re soldiers, my soldiers, and I’m proud of you.’
He laughed at the cheers that echoed around the metal building before shouting above the noise. ‘You’ve all sworn your oath of allegiance to King and country. And you’ve promised to obey any and all orders of the generals and officers who will lead you.’ He glowered at them. ‘And you bloody well will do. Right?’
‘Right, Sergeant Bell,’ they shouted in unison, following a ritual that had built up over the months.
‘Right.’ He grinned again. ‘I’ve done my best with you. If I ever hear that any one of you has let me down, I’ll personally come and cut your balls off.’
‘Like to see him try.’ Bill grinned at Boardman.
‘What’s that, Howarth?’
‘Nothing Sarge– Sergeant Bell.’
‘Right!’ Okay, clean this shit-tip up and I’ll see you on the parade ground 06.30 on the dot. It’s our last day together, you lot, so let’s make it a good one.’
Chapter 59
January 1916
There’d been rumours for months that they were being sent to Egypt but that morning they’d been told they were being sent to France the following day.
Bill was calm about it in front of the other men. After all he had to keep up the reputation he’d earned over the last sixteen months of being the hardest bastard of the battalion. But inside he was sick with excitement. At last he’d get chance to do what he’d been waiting for; what they’d all been promised. To beat the shit out of the Krauts. It was the carrot that had been dangled before them when they’d slogged for miles in the rain, with blisters on their feet and nowt in their bellies.
Spitting on his boots and rubbing the polish into the leather, Bill was convinced this was what he’d been waiting for all his life. He was a soldier now, trained to kill.
Bill buffed his boots until he could almost see his face in the toecaps and then put them on the floor by the side of his bed. He took out the folded piece of old newspaper from bottom of the case he kept his polish, brush and cloth in and wiped the inside clean. Intrigued he unfolded the paper. As soon as he started reading he remembered why he’d kept it. It was some bloke called Bottomley who’d set himself up recruiting, He and some of the lads had been to see him in Manchester last year, just to see what he had to say. And then Boardman had found this article on him. And Bill had made Boardman read them out again and again until he memorised them; “…we shall have the Huns on the run. We shall drive them out of France, out of Flanders, out of Belgium, across the Rhine, and back into their own territory.” But it had caused an uproar of vulgar hilarity in the barracks when Len had read out the last bit where the MP had said everyone should, “keep your peckers up.” because Boardman had just received a letter telling him his girlfriend was pregnant.
Boardman was married and a dad now, to a baby boy, and Bill had heard him crying in the latrines when they’d got the news about France. He’d confided to Bill that he didn’t want to leave them; he’d lost the taste for a fight.
Bill didn’t understand that, he couldn’t wait. He lay back on his bunk, pulling the pillow under his neck and relaxed. The place was quiet; everyone had been given a twelve-hour pass to go home and say goodbye to their families. He wondered if Boardman would actually come back. He hoped so, he wouldn’t want to see him in trouble, he’d become a good mate, same as Reilly. Besides, he needed both of them to watch his back, just like he’d keep an eye out for them, wherever they were.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew most of the men had returned and were getting ready to settle down for the night. Nobody was talking. When he looked around he could see a lot of them looked upset, all red-eyed and pale. Why weren’t they as excited as him that at last they were going to do what they’d signed up for?
He looked around for Reilly and Boardman. Reilly was across the barracks from him sitting up in bed, reading.
‘What’s that you’ve got, Dennis?’ Bill lifted his head and looked between his feet at his friend.
‘Letter and a parcel from my mum,’ Reilly answered. ‘She wouldn’t come to the station to see me off, she was too upset. But she gave this to Dad for me to read.’ He grinned at Bill. ‘She’s a soppy old cow; she’s worried I’ll get cold.’ He picked a pair of thick woollen socks and waved them in the air. ‘And listen to this, “…and don’t forget to wear your scarf all the time, you know how soon you get chesty.” Can you see Major Allen letting that happen?’
They chuckled, both seeing the ridiculousness of it.
‘Aw, she means well,’ Bill said. He’d met Reilly’s mother a few times over the past months. She’d found out he had no-one to go to when on leave, and had insisted Dennis took him back to their place. ‘She’s all right, your mum.’
‘She is…’
There was something about his friend’s voice that made Bill sit up. The man was crying, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
‘You okay?’
Dennis lifted his head and looked around the barracks at the same time as Bill. Nobody was watching them. Or were pretending not to more like, Bill thought, embarrassed for Reilly.
‘Aren’t you a bit scared?’
‘Good God, no
.’ Bill settled back on the hard mattress, uneasy for a moment; he hoped Reilly wasn’t going to turn out to be a coward. Don’t be bloody daft, he told himself, the man had matched him side by side in training. There was no way he was a quitter.
He couldn’t get a song out of his head. Him and Reilly had been to see Marie Lloyd in Manchester and it was the first and last one she’d sung. By, she was a bit of all right, she was. They’d all joined in with her and the words had stuck. Bill folded his arms behind his head and let rip: “I didn’t like you much before you joined the army, John, but I do like you, cockie, now you’ve got yer khaki on.”
He couldn’t remember the rest of the lines but it didn’t matter. He repeated the words a couple more times, grinning as he looked around the barracks.
‘Shut it, Howarth.’ Smith, two beds away, glared at him.
‘Too bloody cheerful for your own good, you,’ added another voice. ‘You’re not normal.’
He let it go. He didn’t feel like tackling both of them. And Smith might be even shorter than him, but he was a nasty little sod with a dirty way of scrapping. Save his energy for the adventure they were all going to face tomorrow, he thought. Travelling between Yorkshire and Lancashire was the most he’d ever done. To be going to another country, to be on the sea, let alone seeing it for the first time in his life was the most thrilling thing he could think of. He was too stirred up to sleep.
But he fell asleep before he saw whether Boardman was back. The creaking of the bunk next to him woke him. It was pitch black.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Didn’t want to leave Flora and the kid.’ Len’s voice was muted. ‘God, he’s grown.’
‘Aye, they do.’ Bill wasn’t that interested in kids. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Sykes and O’Mallory are on the gate. They let me sneak in.’
‘You’re bloody lucky, you daft bugger. The major would’ve had your guts for garters.’ Bill turned over on his side. ‘Get some kip. Big day tomorrow.’
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