Winthrop Manor

by Mary Christian Payne

  The men’s haversacks were placed on the floor inside the front entry. It was obvious they would be spending their leave with their wives in the new structure.

  Josephine was clearly with child. It was amazing what four months had done to her lithe body. She told Win she could feel the baby kick, and that he or she was very active. She said Dr. Drew was most pleased with her progress, and the prediction was for a delivery date of May 5, 1915.

  “Oh, God, I wish I knew I’d be here. However, progress is not being made in this wretched war. I suspect there is very little chance England will be anywhere near whipping the Huns by then.”

  “You mean the Brits aren’t making any progress?” Josephine enquired.

  “It’s a stalemate, darling. The Germans fire from their trenches, and the British fire from theirs. Men are being slaughtered by the thousands, but nobody can say either side is winning. It almost looks as if the whole mess won’t end until each side has wiped out the other. Whoever has the last men standing will have won.”

  “Then what in blazes is the point of the war?” she asked.

  “That’s an excellent question, Josephine. I’m not certain anyone really knows or has ever known. It’s damned foolishness, but when so many men are being massacred, one can’t simply shrug and say they want no part in it. It is a war. A brutal, bloody, ugly, disgusting war. They’re calling it 'the war to end all wars’.”

  “Will it?” Josephine asked innocently.

  “Sweetheart, as long as man has been on the Earth, there have been wars. I personally think it’s naive to think this will be the last.”

  “So I shouldn’t get my hopes up that you’ll be home when the baby comes, nor even for quite some time after that?” Josephine replied sadly.

  “I have to say you shouldn’t. Just know I’ll be praying for you and the baby. You’ll be in my heart continually. I’ll live for your letters. Naturally, I want you to send word the moment the baby is born. I’d give anything to be here. I hate the idea that you’ll go through giving birth without me by your side to comfort you. Just always remember that I love you with all my heart, and I’ll feel exactly the same way about our child.”

  By this time, the two had retired to their own bedchamber, under the auspices of having Win put his uniforms and other clothing away, and getting settled for the short time they would be home. Andrew and Elisabeth had done the same thing.

  “Do you want to choose names, so if you’re not here, we will have made that decision together? It’s most important to me that you have just as much input regarding what we decide to call our child as I do. I’d feel dreadful if I made a mistake, and the poor baby was stuck with a moniker he or she despised, not to mention your feelings.”

  “Absolutely. Have you given the subject any thought? To be completely honest, I’ve had little time to devote to issues concerning the name of our forthcoming infant. However, I have time now, so the topic does need to be talked over. I assume you’re in agreement with me that the baby should carry a tried and true name, befitting an old heritage, as opposed to some of the newer names I hear bantered about. I know how you feel about titles, but like it or not, the baby will someday be an earl or countess. I’ve always thought the use of family surnames can be nice. What do you think about using your maiden name as a second name for the baby?” asked Win. “It would be appropriate for either a boy or a girl.”

  “Oh, it would mean a lot to me if my maiden name were to be incorporated into our baby’s name in some fashion. It would be a tribute to my parents.”

  "Yes, absolutely, darling. It’s a fine, solid, English name. I should think it could be matched with a good many given names. But I definitely want your input. We must both agree on the name chosen. If it’s a boy, what thoughts have you had?” he asked.

  “I’ve considered George as a first name, after my father, but you might want to follow your own family line.”

  “No. I like George. It’s a good, strong name. Have you any other family names that would go well with Chambers?”

  “Well, my grandfather’s name was Theodore. They called him Teddy. I like that.”

  “Oh, I love that. I’d rather turn it ‘round and call him Theodore George Bradley. Then he’d be known as Teddy Bradley. I adore that. What do you think?”

  “Why not Theodore Chambers Bradley?” Win suggested.

  “I like it a lot, but I feel rather awful leaving your family out of a son’s name.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m all for it. You know it doesn’t really matter anyway. You understand that he’ll rarely be called by his given name. Because of tradition and the aristocracy, as a child he’ll be a viscount, like me, and later, of course, an earl. So things will progress as they always have, with most people referring to him as Winthrop, or Lord Winthrop—maybe he’ll be lucky, and we can get by with Win again. If social restraints keep loosening, the lucky boy might even be able to use his actual birth name. Look at what’s happened with the prince of Wales. He has a plethora of titles, yet everyone knows him as Edward or sometimes David. I’m sure some friends call him ‘Wales’, but the formal styling is becoming less rigid.”

  “Well, that would be fine with me, as you can imagine.” Josephine laughed, as she hung a uniform in the cupboard. “But honestly, Win, I truly don’t mean to leave your family out of consideration. They already don’t look very favorably upon me. I don’t want to be blamed for any more problems in your family.”

  “Josephine, you didn’t do anything to cause the estrangement—they did. Let’s leave it at that. So, we now have a boy’s name. What about a little girl?”

  “Oh, Win, I really don’t know. There are so many pretty names for girls. Again, have you any family names?”

  “None that I’m particularly fond of. My grandmothers were Edith and Lorene. I refuse to label a child with my mother’s name, Beatrice. What was your mother’s name?”

  “Helen. I don’t care for it, particularly, although I loved her dearly.”

  "I know. You love flowers so. Why don’t we choose something like Jasmine or Violet?”

  "I’m not very keen on either of those, but I do like something like Lillian, and we would call her Lilly.”

  "Yes, Yes. That’s more like it. Since she would be born in May, it also goes with the season.”

  “And for a second name…? What about May? Lillian or Lilly Mae?”

  “I love it,” Win responded. "May would be spelled M-A-E, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, definitely. So, Win, we have the child’s name, whether it be a boy or a girl. Whichever it turns out to be, we’ll save the other name for our second child.”

  Win held Josephine in his arms. “So when you wire me, assuming I’m in France, just inform that either Lilly Mae or Teddy Chambers has arrived.”

  “Win, we’re so very fortunate. I hate the war and you being away, but it’s wonderful to have something so happy to look forward to. If only the Americans would join the fight. Between Britain and America, I think the Huns would be crushed in no time flat."

  “Yes, I agree. I believe eventually they’ll be in it. They’re trying hard not to become involved, but they are equipping us with a lot of armaments. They’re clearly on our side. Sooner or later, the Germans will get too big for their britches and make a gigantic mistake. They’ll anger the Americans, and that will be that."

  “Until that day comes, darling,” said Josephine, "you must take every precaution to stay safe. You’re going into a hell-hole, from what I’ve read in the newspapers.”

  “I know, my pet. Believe me. I fully intend to come back to you unharmed,” Win declared.

  ****

  Once again, Josephine stood with Win’s arms wrapped around her at the Winthrop-on-Hart train station. Andrew and Elisabeth were close by, holding tightly to each other. The short furlough had come to an end all too quickly. It was sleeting and spitting snow on January 6, 1915, the day Andrew and Win had to once again board a train. They would be travelling to Ch
aring Cross Station in London, where they would transfer to a railway line, which would carry them to Dover, the cross-channel ferry, and on to Calais, a French town on the eastern side of the English Channel.

  From that locale, Win had information they’d be posted to the main base camp just outside the French village of Étaples. “My precious wife, don’t be alarmed if you don’t hear from me right away. We’ll be travelling a good bit of the time, and there will be the usual time allotted for actually setting up our base. I’ll contact you just as soon as possible. Please, though, write to me just as often as you can. Your letters will mean the world to me.”

  There were usually about one hundred thousand soldiers at a time housed at the camp. They’d be moved to whichever site they’d been assigned. It would definitely be someplace in either France or Belgium, wherever men were needed in the trenches.

  ***

  Win wrote his first letter to Josephine upon arrival at Étaples.

  March 1, 1915

  My Dearest Love,

  “We started for a camp in France at eleven in the morning. Upon our arrival at base camp, rifles, oil bottles, gas helmets, etc. were given to us. Base camp appears to be somewhat depressing. Reports are that we may not be here for more than three days before going "up the line." However, it could be anything from three days to three weeks. Every day, citizens from the village come with stalls into the camp and hold a sort of mart with chocolates, fruit, and postcards. It looks as if we’ll be put through more training regarding the trenches. I guess they are trying to prepare us for life in those god-awful, narrow holes. We’ve also received training on how to deal with everything from lice, trench foot, and poison gas. Not very pleasant subjects. I long and long to see you, to clasp you in my arms, and I long with all my heart to see my baby when he or she arrives. Here I am, not but a week or so away from you, yet it seems a lifetime already. I haven’t time to write more now but promise you will hear from me again soon.

  With all of my deepest love,

  Win

  Win was limited regarding exactly what he could write. All letters were censored, so recipients wouldn't be able to discern exactly where soldiers were located.

  *****

  Josephine received her second letter from Win more than three weeks after the first.

  March 20, 1915

  My Dearest Josephine,

  Trench life is always one of considerable squalor, with so many men living in a very constrained space. Scraps of discarded food, empty tins, and other waste, and the nearby presence of the latrine, the general dirt of living half underground, unable to wash or change for days or weeks at a time, creates conditions of severe health risk—and that’s not counting the military risks. Vermin, including rats and lice, are very numerous; disease is spread both by them and by the maggots and flies that thrive on the nearby remains of decomposing human and animal corpses. We troops in the trenches are also subjected to the weather: this winter in France is the coldest in living memory; the trenches flood, sometimes to waist height, whenever it rains. Men suffer from exposure, frostbite, trench foot—a wasting disease of the flesh caused by the foot being wet and cold, constrained into boots and puttees for days on end, that could cripple a man—and many diseases brought on or made worse by living in such a way. I apologise for being so graphic about the conditions under which I live. I could choose to billet with other officers in great, old houses, which the army has selected for officers, but I wouldn't even contemplate such a thing. How can I expect to command those of lower rank if I myself am not experiencing the same conditions they are? Andrew feels the same way.

  The Western Front in Europe appears to have stabilised since the second battle of Ypres. The Germans have gone on the defensive. I don’t think I’d better add more. I am hopeful they won’t take any of our lads before this day is over. Both Andrew and I live in fright of being captured. I believe that would be worse than being killed.

  I shall sign off for now. I love you with all my heart, darling. Take good care of yourself and our baby. In spite of this letter’s tone, Andrew and I are getting along well. Please try not to worry.

  All of my love,

  Win

  Josephine cried every time she received one of his letters. On the one hand, she was overjoyed to hear from him and to know he hadn’t been injured, but he seemed to be living in such wretched conditions. Andrew’s letters to Elisabeth sounded much the same. Often, both Josephine and Elisabeth wished their husbands had chosen not to fight with the men under their command. Josephine received another letter in early April. Both she and Elisabeth lamented about the sometimes-lengthy periods between letters.

  April 14, 1915

  Dear, Dear Josephine,

  We are two miles from the trenches, and I shall face real battle on Sunday. A few shells have knocked us around, but we have taken no notice and surprisingly, sleep well. It is a glorious morning. We go over in two hours’ time. It seems a long while to wait, and I think, whatever happens, we will all feel relieved once the line is launched.

  No Man’s Land is a tangled desert. Unless one can see it, one cannot imagine what a terrible state of disorder it is in. But we do not yet seem to have stopped the machine guns. These are popping off all along our parapet as I write. Please don’t worry. The trenches don't seem too bad, really. My trench-mates are decent fellows, and we share bread, etc. Thank you so much, my pet, for the sweets and letters. We’ve now been paid, so I can buy a few more luxuries. I think of you every moment. You and the baby are always in the back of my mind. You must be over eight months along in pregnancy. Oh, to be there when the child comes. I pray for such a miracle every night. One never knows.

  I must stop writing and rest, for I doubt there will be much sleep in the trenches tonight.

  I love you, darling.

  Win

  ***

  Letters of that sort flew back and forth between France and England. Josephine wrote daily, and Win wrote whenever he could. His letters were more sporadic, and Josephine was always thrilled to see one with Win’s handwriting. She lived in mortal terror of soldiers appearing at her doorway, announcing that he had been killed or severely injured. She had learned not to listen to rumours, which were rampant. If she believed everything she heard, she could not have endured the separation from her husband. She didn’t allow her mind to travel to places where her darling Win might be lying dead with a bullet through his head. She’d heard stories about crows picking the eyes out of those soldiers whom the Germans had managed to hit with their dreaded bullets and grenades.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was spring 1915. On April 22, the German army shocked the allied soldiers by firing more than one hundred and fifty tons of lethal chlorine gas against two divisions at Ypres in Belgium. Win and Andrew were both present during the horrendous attack. It absolutely devastated the Allied line. The deadly gas even permeated the trenches and was blown by the winds. Everywhere one looked, there were soldiers staggering about, unable to see or to breathe. Foam was coming out of their mouths. They fell to the ground and convulsed, dying horrific deaths. Many of the men were sobbing, calling for their mothers.

  Why was it that men always called for their mothers at the end of their lives? Win wondered. He was certain that if ever faced with such a horrible situation, Josephine’s would be the last name he uttered.

  He’d never, in his wildest dreams, imagined anything remotely like what he witnessed. Shortly after the gas attack, Win realised that Andrew had inhaled what must have been a significant amount of the deadly poison. At first, he thought perhaps his dear chum and brother-in-law was only wounded. However, when Win reached his side, it was abundantly clear that Andrew, with whom he’d spent every hour of each day whenever possible and for so many months, was dying.

  Many soldiers moved on, but others were writhing on the ground in agony, awaiting ambulances to collect them and take them to base hospitals. There was actually little that could be done for the wretched
creatures. Win knelt with his arm about Andrew's shoulders, hoping against hope that something might help his friend. There was blood seeping from Andrew’s mouth, and his skin had literally turned a greenish hue from him having breathed in the fatal gas. He was also convulsing, and mixed with blood there was froth. It was clear that Andrew had been called upon to pay the supreme sacrifice.

  It was amazing Win hadn’t also succumbed to the gas attack. He’d remembered from his training to cover his mouth. It was believed that the ammonia in urine counteracted the gas. So, after soaking a piece of torn shirt with his own bodily fluid, he had tied it round the lower half of his face. It must have contributed to saving his life.

  Andrew died in Win’s arms. There was almost a feeling of relief when Win saw that Andrew was no longer suffering. Win had seen many deaths during his military duty, but nothing had come close to the carnage he had just witnessed. Since he was the ranking officer, he buried his chum, calling upon three other men from his unit to dig graves for Andrew and four others. The ground was literally strewn with bodies—some dead and some still living, writhing on the ground in unimaginable agony. After the burial of Andrew, Win had no memory of how he’d managed to return to his base. He only knew he still had to face the nearly impossible task of writing to Elisabeth, Andrew’s wife and Win’s own sister. It was the end of a truly gruesome day.