My Father, My Son

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘It could be a secret…’

  ‘No, that’s not fair. Your mother’s done a lot for you, it wouldn’t be right to go behind her back. I won’t be lonely if I know you’re thinking about me.’ He kissed her once more and went inside.

  When Rowena joined the others, Becky exclaimed, ‘Oh Charlie, I won’t be able to sleep with you, will I? Father’ll be there.’

  Lyn groaned at the thought of a drenching. ‘I wish he hadn’t bothered to come now.’

  Charlie rebuked her. ‘Well, I’m glad to see him.’

  ‘Huh, I don’t see why, he only wants to get rid of you.’ She was asked what made her think that. ‘I heard him and mother arranging for you to go away to boarding school.’

  ‘That’s because he cares about my education!’ corrected Charlie, and stalked off to the other side of the road to lean on the railings.

  ‘You’ve upset him now, meanie,’ scolded her red-haired sister.

  ‘Well I’m sick of him!’ spat Lyn. ‘It’s him that’s made Father and Mother maungy. Everything’s gone wrong since he came – and now we have to put up wi’ you peeing our bed again!’

  Rowena tried to end the argument. ‘Becky can come in with me and you can have Rhona.’

  ‘We don’t want her! She’s always trumping.’

  Russ could hear them quarrelling as he plodded up the staircase. Bloody women, came the weary thought. As soon as they’re born they’re moaning. On the landing, he paused to look at his son’s door, then defied his wife by tapping on it. ‘Bertie? It’s Father… your mother’s worried about you, lad. I know my coming back has upset you, but don’t take it out on her. You’ve got to eat… I’m going to bed now, so if you want to go down I shan’t be there to annoy you.’ He turned the knob. ‘Bertie?’ At the silence, he turned to the attic stairs, then revolved to add softly, ‘When I go back you can have the birds’ egg collection. I’d like you to have it now, just in case anything happens to me.’ Still no answer. ‘Anyway… goodnight, son.’ He finally retired.

  * * *

  Russ was woken by banging in what he assumed to be the middle of the night but was in fact only nine o’clock. The rude awakening produced a wave of nausea and he rolled over in discomfort. The banging grew more frantic. He opened his eyes to a shady presence.

  ‘It’s Mrs Hazelwood.’ Charlie, clad in pyjamas, was quick to explain that it hadn’t been him who had woken his father. ‘Bertie still won’t come out.’

  With a grunt, Russ swallowed the bile that had leapt to his throat and rolled to his other side. Soon though, the din compelled him to rise and stagger down to the landing.

  ‘He won’t come out!’ announced Rachel. ‘Won’t answer at all.’ She noticed that the girls had come to see what was amiss. ‘Get back into bed!’ They jumped and disappeared. Rachel’s eyes conveyed her fears to her husband. ‘What if he’s harmed himself?’

  Even after hearing about the gun incident, the thought hadn’t occurred to Russ, but it now had the effect of piercing his befuddlement. ‘Move out of the way!’ With one more unanswered shout to his son, Russ rammed his shoulder at the door several times. It would not yield and he rushed downstairs to fetch a screwdriver, with which he eventually removed the lock.

  Rachel stood back as he prepared to open the door, picturing Bertie swinging by his neck from the light fitting. The door was opened – the curtains billowed at the sudden draught, continuing to ripple over the open window. There was no dangling body. The room was empty. Rachel went into hysterics and hurled every possible abuse at her husband. ‘It’s all your fault! You’ve driven him from his home!’

  There followed a feverish search for a note, but none was found. Russ combed his fingers through his hair and stated his intention. ‘I’ll go for the police.’

  * * *

  Russ searched throughout the night – searched not just the endless rows of buildings but his mind too, trying to think of what to say to Bertie when he found him. ‘Sorry’ was no good. It hadn’t worked before and it wouldn’t work now. This wasn’t an ordinary upset; Bertie really hated him, must do, to feel incapable of being in the same house even for a few days. The only comfort he could give his son was to say he wouldn’t come home again. That would mean he would be parted from his little girls… but it was the price he must pay, he couldn’t have his son driven into exile.

  There was no need to make this promise. By morning he had patrolled every street, every back lane on South Bank, he had toured the riverside, had gone right into town, but he had not found his son. Leaden-hearted, he made his way home in the hope that the police had had more luck.

  They hadn’t – Rachel’s face told him that the moment he was through the door. ‘Did you search the woods?’ she hectored as he coaxed Lyn out of her chair and sat in her place.

  ‘There wasn’t much point till it got light.’ He hunched over the table.

  ‘Well, it’s light now!’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered tautly. ‘I just thought I might have a cup of tea before I set about that job. I have been on my feet all night.’

  Rowena brought her father a cup of tea. She had been up for hours, not just out of concern for Bertie but because of the wet sheets. She had enlisted Biddy’s help with these. They were hanging out on the line. Mother was too preoccupied to notice and so Becky had escaped punishment.

  Unsmiling, Rachel ordered the maid to fetch her master some breakfast.

  ‘No, tea’ll do, Biddy,’ insisted Russ quietly. ‘I couldn’t face anything more.’

  Rachel looked at the clock and said, ‘School time.’

  Some of the girls showed reluctance to go while Bertie was missing.

  ‘Couldn’t we just wait till he gets home?’ asked Becky.

  ‘The last thing I want is you under my feet, Rebecca. Now go along.’

  After they had left, Russ asked his wife if he should call on the neighbours to find out if they’d seen Robert. She replied that she had already done this last night and again this morning while he had been out searching. ‘Nobody’s seen him.’

  He pulled his lips from the cup sharply; the tea was red hot. He blew on it. ‘You asked everybody?’

  ‘Yes, of co… course I have!’ Her impatience hid the fact that she had excluded Ella Daw from her enquiries – she wasn’t going to lower herself by knocking on that door, and anyway Ella wouldn’t have been very helpful.

  ‘Do you want me to carry on searching, then?’ Russ tried his tea again. ‘Or shall I give you some help at the shop?’

  ‘You don’t think I’m opening the shop today!’ she almost yelled. ‘What sort of mother do you think I am? I must be here in case he comes home.’

  Tiredly, he acquiesced and, after succeeding in drinking his tea, hauled his tortured body back onto the street to look for his son. The search of Knavesmire Wood, where he had been found after his last abscondment, turned up nothing.

  Two days later Bertie was still missing. Rachel was almost demented with worry. Her husband tried to persuade her that it might take her mind off things if she opened the shop and for this reason only she agreed to do so. ‘I might as well be there! He isn’t likely to come home while you’re about.’ She wants me to say I’ll go back to my unit now, perceived Russ. But I won’t – I can’t. It would be hell enough going back when his leave was up; he couldn’t bring the day of reckoning forward. Instead, he volunteered, ‘Would you like me to come and help?’

  ‘No, I would not! You’d be better employed looking for your son – your legitimate son, I mean.’ She held her feathered hat with one hand and rammed a pin into place with the other.

  ‘Rachel, I have searched every blasted inch of town, there’s nowhere else to look!’

  ‘Go down to the police station and see if they’ve got any news! I don’t want to be cooped up all day in that shop with you, I want to be on my own!’ She marched down the passage, struggling into her light jacket.

  Russ put his cap on, gave an angry tug at the peak and foll
owed, waving aside her impatient glare with, ‘Don’t worry! You won’t have to be seen with me, I’ll walk six paces behind.’ He dreaded to think what she’d do to him if she knew that this uniform had not long ago been infested with lice. Had it not been fumigated while he was in hospital he would no doubt have brought her a few little strangers home.

  The front door was opened and sunlight streamed down the passage. Rachel stepped out, leaving the door for her husband to close. Ella happened to be leaving too. Rachel did not speak to her. Russ, forgetting the antipathy between the two, raised his cap. ‘Morning, Ella.’

  She acknowledged him with a curt nod. ‘Honoured to be on leave, aren’t you? I haven’t seen my Jack since he went.’

  ‘I got gassed.’ He didn’t know why she should make him feel guilty. ‘I’ve been in hospital.’

  So that’s what the telegram had been about. Ella’s attitude changed. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Russ. I haven’t had a letter from my Jack in ages.’ She moved through the gate. ‘He’s in charge of you again, so he said in his last letter.’ She threw a gloating look at Rachel, who turned her nose up – he hadn’t mentioned that to her. ‘Yes, he’s done very well for himself has Jack – Second-Lieutenant.’ She latched the gate. ‘Still a corporal, are you, Russ?’ You shouldn’t tease, she chided herself as Rachel began to prance away, he’s got enough folk round here on his back. She added more conversationally to Russ, ‘See your Bertie’s following in Father’s footsteps.’

  Rachel stiffened and turned slowly. ‘What did you say?’

  Ella directed her face from the man’s to the woman’s. ‘Saw him marching along to the railway with another batch the other day.’ She noticed their startled faces. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’

  Russ wheeled on his wife. ‘I thought you said you’d asked everybody!’

  But she ignored him to shriek at Ella, mincing right up to her. ‘He isn’t thirteen years old! Do you think we’d sit and let him join the Army? Why didn’t you tell us before?’

  Ella was shirty again. ‘Rachel, you made it quite plain that your family is none of my concern.’

  ‘But this is an emergency! He’s been missing for two days!’

  ‘And I’m supposed to know that, am I, when you’ve never spoken to me in months?’

  Russ cut the argument short. ‘What day did you see him, Ella?’ He was told Monday.

  ‘You watched him march away to his death and didn’t say a word!’ cried Rachel.

  Ella drew in her jaw, creating three chins. ‘Well, I thought you’d know all about it since you’re always keen to impress upon me how close you and your children are!’ With this she stalked off down the street.

  Once the wave of disbelief had ebbed, Rachel spun on her husband. ‘You’ve got to go and fetch him back! Don’t wait for your leave to be up – go now! He’s my son and he’s going to be killed!’

  She swept back into the house, barging into the kitchen, where a surprised maid and Charlie surveyed her from the sink. She levelled a trembling finger under the boy’s nose. ‘If anything happens to him…’ Suffused with emotion, she could say no more, her finger like a deranged metronome.

  Russ tried to put a comforting arm round her but she hurled it off. ‘What are you still doing here? Get your bags and go!’

  Charlie dared to ask his father what had happened. ‘Bertie’s joined up,’ replied the man coldly. Then to his wife, ‘I’ll go now.’ He looked at the three of them, then went upstairs to collect his kitbag and a photograph of his son.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  On leaving, he went directly to the War Office and informed them of the situation. A promise was made that everything humanly possible would be done to find his son. In the meantime, Russ visited both the railway sidings and the station to interrogate ticket collectors, guards and the stationmaster about a contingent of recruits for the King’s Own Yorkshire North Riding regiment who had left York two days ago. All were very sympathetic when he explained his reason for asking. Several lists were consulted, but eventually he was informed that there had been no contingent of KOYNeRs in that period. Could his son have joined the York and Lancs or the KOYLIs? Russ nodded and said it was possible, though it subdued him to think that his son had even scorned his father’s regiment.

  Whatever regiment Bertie had chosen, he was still no nearer to being found. It was a very worried man who boarded the southbound train some time later. When he reached Southampton, he made more enquiries but was again thwarted. There were so many troop ships leaving for the front every day full of underage boys, who would notice another one? There was some refuge to be found in the fact that Bertie would have to undergo training before being sent over to France. Maybe the Army would run him to ground before he faced the guns. This reassuring sentence was included in the letter he wrote to his wife. She would not burn this envelope; it might contain news of her son. Russ also dashed off a letter to Father Guillaume, telling him that Mrs Hazelwood could not stand any more of Charlie and that the priest must make arrangements for the boy to attend boarding school at Russ’ expense. Even as he wrote he could hear the faint booming of the guns on the other side of the Channel. It induced a churning in his bowels. That was what he was going back to. He dropped the pencil and buried his head in his hands, squashing nose and mouth. Oh Christ! Will they get me this time?

  On the boat over to France he was surrounded by new recruits, laughing and joking, smart uniforms, neat haircuts. Because of the urgent need for reinforcements he did not have to pass through the dreaded Bullring with them, but went directly to his unit in Belgium.

  Ironic, that he should have to come to the middle of a war to find someone who was glad to see him. Dobson and the rest of his comrades greeted his return with an effusive bout of swearing. ‘Oh, friggin’ hell, we thought we’d seen the last of this old bastard! Who said they’d paid Fritz to turn the gas tap on? Tell him you want your money back.’

  Shrouded by darkness, Russ and the rest of the company wound their way along the zig-zag of trench to take up their positions. ‘And who was it risked the wrath of the platoon by saving my neck?’

  ‘I did!’ Dobson thumped his chest proudly. ‘Carried you on me back for three miles.’

  Russ cocked a dubious face over his shoulder. ‘You’ll be getting a medal, then?’

  ‘No, he was shot at dawn yesterday,’ supplied Lance-Corporal Beech. ‘He’s a lying sod, Sarg. It was the Lieutenant who saved you.’

  ‘Daw?’ Hazelwood’s voice rose in amazement.

  ‘Mr Daw, if you don’t mind.’ Russ spun round to find his old neighbour had sneaked up behind him. ‘All right now, are we, Lance-Sergeant Hazelwood?’

  ‘Yes, sir… I believe I have you to thank?’ Arriving at his destination, Russ took position.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ Daw lit a short stub of cigarette as the others drifted about their business, leaving the pair to themselves. Russ asked how come Jack hadn’t suffered from the gas attack. ‘It was only bad luck that any of us got it,’ said Jack. ‘It was well dispersed when it got to us, you just happened to take the worst of it. I grabbed you as you came running up the communication trench. It wasn’t meant for us – you ought to have seen what it did to them poor darkies down the road. Christ, what a bloody mess. Anyway, we’ve been issued with these masks now, so we’ll be ready for the next lot.’

  Russ made a face, then offered genuine thanks, asking if any more of the platoon had suffered. He was told three others were still absent. After a further period of dialogue on the state of the war, Daw asked, ‘How’s things at home, Filbert?’

  The lack of formality invited similar treatment from the lance-sergeant, who had also lighted a tab. He drew long on it, its red glow secreted in the cup of his palm. ‘About as peaceful as they are here.’

  ‘Them two women of ours still giving each other the evil eye?’ When Russ nodded grimly, Jack made a sound of amusement. ‘Funny buggers, women, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh a
ye… as funny as bleeding piles. Did your Ella mention anything about Bertie getting shot when she last wrote?’

  By the surprise on the Lieutenant’s face, she hadn’t. ‘I thought this was where people came to get shot. How did he manage it in Blighty?’

  Russ told him, and had the perverse satisfaction of earning Jack’s apology before saying equably, ‘Ah, it wasn’t your fault, Jack. He loaded it himself. The lad’s disturbed, very disturbed… if that’s anybody’s fault it’s mine. And now…’ he turned sickened eyes to the other, ‘the silly little sod’s run away and joined up.’ Daw closed his own eyes and uttered an oath. ‘If there’s anything you can do to find him, I’d be grateful.’

  The Lieutenant nodded and said he would see what he could do. ‘Is he with our lot?’ At Russ’ shake of head he straightened and ground the butt of his cigarette with his heel. ‘Ah well, I don’t suppose it makes much difference, he’ll still be a bugger to find – by the way, the captain wants to see you.’ He walked away, leaving Russ apprehensive.

  However, all the captain wanted was to tell him that he was now on sergeant’s pay. The promotion had apparently come on the day of the gas attack. ‘Good to see you back, Sergeant.’ Russ thanked him. ‘Here, have a piece of this. It’s champion, as you might say.’ Captain Capstaff handed over a slice of fruitcake sent by his mother. Russ took it, balancing it on his palm until the young man said with a smile, ‘I did intend for you to eat it, Sergeant.’ Russ took a polite nibble, then issued suitable compliment, for the cake was delicious. ‘Makes you think of home, doesn’t it?’ said Captain Capstaff.

  For a second, Russ stopped chewing, looking deep into the wistful young face. Then he nodded, gave a weak smile and took another bite of the cake.

  * * *

  The countryside was preparing for autumn but there was still no sign of Bertie. Russ was growing more worried by the day. His son may have finished his training by now and could be in the front line. He had made dozens of enquiries of his Commanding Officer and others, but though they appeared genuinely concerned they could only tell him that everything was being done to find the boy. Each newcomer whom Russ met faced an inquisition and was shown Bertie’s photograph, but the only response it drew was, ‘Sorry, chum.’