‘This is the beginning of the end,’ Emmie said gleefully to the MacRaes. ‘With our biggest ally, Russia, out of the war, we have no reason to carry on.’
But despite the celebrations among trades unionists and Labour members, nothing changed. The Government was more bullish than ever. The Central Powers were now free to fight on one front - the Western one. Still, the MacRaes were buoyed by the news of change and determined to be optimistic.
Then came an unexpected blow. Peter was summoned by the recruiting office. Men under twenty-six were no longer allowed exemption on grounds of business or employment. Mr Speed was told to give up his delivery boy. The MacRaes appealed on medical grounds. After a cursory medical examination, Peter was reclassified as fit for active service.
‘I’ll be just like Sam,’ Peter said proudly, pleased to be classed as a soldier and confused by his parents’ opposition.
‘The lad won’t survive away from home.’ Helen was distraught. ‘He’ll get picked on.’
Emmie hurried to Gateshead to help rally support for his appeal. At least they could try to get him exempted from frontline combat to serve on the home front.
Flora looked gaunt with strain. She had helped nurse Mabel through a bout of influenza, as well as carrying on Charles’s work for the Fellowship. Philip was convinced they were under surveillance and was wary of taking in CO runaways at the Settlement.
Emmie thought of Rab’s old room at Mannie’s, or his workshop. They could be accessed from the woods without being overlooked by the street. She would ask Mannie whether he would take such a risk.
‘It’s possible I could find you somewhere in Crawdene,’ Emmie told Philip, ‘if it was just a holding place for a day or two.’
Philip put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Dear Emmie, don’t put yourself in danger. You have the boy to consider.’
‘We all have someone to consider,’ she answered stoutly. ‘I’ll do my part if I can.’
She thought of Rab and his comrades incarcerated in a distant prison. If she could save just one man from that fate she would do so willingly. None of them had heard from Rab for months. All they knew was that he was being held in East Anglia and that there were restrictions on COs writing letters. But their own ones had gone unanswered and they did not know if any of the winter clothing and food they had scraped together to send had ever reached him. After nearly a year of hard labour, his state of health was a cause for worry.
Helping in the soup kitchen, Emmie found the miner Bill Osborne, who had approached her at Christmas. She had put him in touch with the Runcies.
‘So you’re still here?’ she said in surprise.
‘Got a medical exemption,’ he smiled. ‘Didn’t have to join the “flying corps”.’ He winked at his mention of the Quaker underground network.
‘That might not stop you being conscripted,’ Emmie warned. ‘Peter MacRae’s being reclassified. It’s a nonsense sending a lad like him to the Front. He talks a good fight, but he couldn’t harm a fly.’
‘Aye,’ Bill agreed, ‘he’s not quite twelve pence in the shilling, is he?’
‘No,’ Emmie sighed. ‘He’d run a mile if he heard gunshot.’
Bill shook his head in disgust. ‘Must make you really angry. If I was you, I’d get him away quick. Couldn’t you hide him somewhere? You’ve got connections, haven’t you?’
Emmie thought again of Mannie’s. They could hide Peter and he would think it a big game. But for how long?
Emmie shrugged. ‘Maybe … there is somewhere I have in mind.’
‘Let me know if I can help,’ Bill said earnestly.
‘Thank you.’ Emmie was grateful. ‘The more of us at the appeal, the better.’
The day of the appeal came, and Jonas and Helen brought Peter down from Crawdene. They hung around for hours, Peter soon tiring of standing in the corridor and wondering why they could not go home. Helen was close to tears when their turn was called.
As a JP, Reginald Hauxley sat in judgement, flanked by two other officials. He began by questioning Peter, his voice soft and considerate.
‘You’re a good worker, Mr MacRae,’ he smiled. ‘Your employer speaks highly of you.’
Peter looked behind him, thinking the man was talking to his father. Hauxley nodded at him. ‘I’m referring to you, Peter. Mr Speed says you are very reliable.’
Peter grinned as realisation dawned. ‘Never missed a day’s work,’ he said proudly.
‘And you manage to remember the instructions he gives you?’ Hauxley pressed. ‘You can follow orders easily?’
‘Aye,’ Peter nodded vigorously.
‘And you’re good with horses, especially,’ Hauxley smiled in encouragement.
‘I feed and groom Lily and Farmer every day,’ Peter answered. ‘Lily’s me favourite - known her since she was a foal on Mr Speed’s holding. Farmer’s a bit contrary - takes a bit of handling - but he’s a grand—’
‘Yes, quite so,’ Hauxley interrupted him. ‘Obviously very good with horses. How would you like to handle horses for the army, Peter?’
Flora sprang up. ‘His parents are appealing the decision to send Peter MacRae into active service. He does not understand that looking after horses for the army will necessitate being at the Front in a combatant role. Peter has no concept of what war is actually like. He has the mind of a child - the innocence of a child.’
Hauxley looked at her with ill-concealed contempt. ‘Dr Jameson, no man knows what war is like until he experiences it at first hand. Peter appears to me a sensible and well-balanced young man. His medical report passes him as physically and mentally fit for active duty. His employer has released him for military service. What possible grounds are there for appeal?’
Flora gripped the chair in front of her. ‘As I say, he has the mind of a child. Peter has no idea how far away France is. He thinks it is like going to Newcastle or Durham - somewhere just beyond his normal delivery round, beyond the bounds of his experience.’ She turned and pointed to the MacRaes. ‘His parents know him best. They know he will not last two minutes away from their care. He will be frightened and confused to be taken away from his home surroundings, and will therefore do more harm than good.’
Hauxley was dismissive. ‘All new recruits have to experience such dislocation.’ He turned to speak to the MacRaes directly. ‘Peter will soon get used to it. And the army is caring of its young men. Rest assured; they will look after your son.’ He gave a tight smile.
Jonas sprang up. ‘As - they - looked after - yours?’ he stuttered, forcing the words from his half-paralysed mouth.
Hauxley gave a look of loathing. ‘I have no further questions.’ He glanced at the rest of the panel. They nodded.
‘We see no grounds for appeal. Peter MaeRae will report to the recruiting officer as ordered. I’m sure this fine young man will do his patriotic duty proudly and be a source of pride to all those who love their country.’
Peter grinned. The room erupted in protest. Helen shook her fist at the panel.
‘It’s wicked what you’re doing! He’s just a bairn in a man’s body. How can you think of sending him to fight? Murderers!’
Philip and Emmie closed in to protect her from the policemen moving towards her from the door.
‘Leave her alone,’ Emmie defied them. ‘Can’t you see she’s upset?’
‘Get her out of here now, or we’ll arrest her,’ one of them ordered.
Jonas took her by the arm, his face livid. ‘Come, Helen.’
Peter watched them, his face crumpled in confusion. Emmie went to rescue him.
‘Haway, Peter,’ she murmured, slipping her arm through his.
‘Have I done some’at wrong?’ he asked.
‘No, kidder, nothing wrong.’ She squeezed his arm.
‘Mam’s cross at me,’ he worried.
Emmie’s eyes stung. ‘Not at you, Peter. She’s cross at the men up there - for sending you to war.’
‘But I want to gan,’ Peter said solemnl
y. ‘If I’d been there to look after the horses, Sam wouldn’t have fallen under that cart and been trampled. See?’
Emmie’s heart squeezed at the sight of his eager face. She clutched him to her as they were hustled from the chamber. Outside Helen threw herself at her youngest son and wept openly. Peter grew agitated and Jonas stepped in to steer them away. Friends from the union were waiting to convey them back to the village.
Emmie had to return to the Settlement to collect Barny from Mrs Mousy’s care. Bill walked back with her. He seemed as furious as she.
‘A fool could see he’s not fit for the army,’ Bill raged. ‘Shows how desperate they are. I think they’re just being vindictive ‘cos he’s a MacRae. They’re scared the likes of the MacRaes are about to start a revolution here. Bloody good idea too, if you ask me. Do you want to see revolution, Emmie?’
‘Aye,’ she said bitterly, ‘if it would mean this war stops now, like they’ve done in Russia.’
He stopped her with a grip on her arm. ‘Then do something,’ he urged. ‘Don’t just let them get away with what they’re doing. Strike a blow for Peter - for his parents - for all of us!’
Emmie felt filled with the same impotent rage.
Bill went on. ‘Look at that!’ He pointed to a row of recruitment posters on the wall beside them - old ones from last summer that still bore Kitchener’s image. Bill began tearing at them, ripping them from the wall. Emmie looked around in alarm. If someone saw him, he could be arrested. But he did not seem to care. Emmie turned to help him. She felt savage satisfaction in tearing the posters down. They hurried along the street, turning through a tunnel towards the docks. At the far end was a church hall, which was used as a temporary recruitment hall. Its notice board displayed a new poster, exhorting women to do their bit by going out to work. It showed smiling women loading gun shells in a factory.
Emmie grabbed it and tore it down, stamping it under her feet. Two people across the street stopped to stare. Bill took her by the arm and hurried her away.
‘Good lass,’ he crowed, as they slowed down two streets away. ‘Now the next thing we have to do is get Peter away before the army gets its hands on him.’
***
When Emmie returned home, she found a note from Louise. ‘Where are you? Come round as soon as you can.’
Her heart lurched in fright. Had they had bad news about Tom? She hurried over to the Currans’ with Barny. From the end of the street she could pick out her in-laws’ house; it was bedecked in red, white and blue bunting. A Union flag hung from an upstairs window. Barny clapped his hands.
‘Is Grandma having a party?’ he cried.
They were met at the door by an excited Louise. ‘Isn’t it grand he’s coming home?’ she gabbled.
‘Tom?’ Emmie gasped.
‘Aye, of course Tom! Letter came two days ago. Didn’t you get one?’
Emmie hesitated. She had not had a letter from Tom in over two months. Perhaps they had gone astray. She had not dwelled on why Tom should still write to his parents but not to her. ‘I - I’ve been down Gateshead. Peter MacRae’s appeal.’
‘Oh, Emmie,’ Louise said impatiently, ‘you’ll have to stop all that now Tom’s got leave.’
‘How long for?’ Emmie asked, heart hammering.
‘Two weeks,’ Louise said in excitement. She picked up Barny and swung him round. ‘Your daddy’s coming home, just think of it! What a change he’ll see in you.’
Barny’s face lit up. ‘Daddy’s coming! Can we have a party, Mammy?’ He struggled out of his aunt’s hold and flung himself at Emmie.
‘Course we can,’ Emmie grinned.
Mrs Curran appeared and put out her arms to receive Barny. He ran to her.
‘We’ll have a great big party,’ his grandmother promised. ‘It’s already planned. We’ll have it here, of course. Nothing but the best for your daddy. Mammy’s been far too busy to see to things.’ She gave her daughter-in-law a reproachful look.
Emmie ignored the slight. ‘When does he get here?’ she asked.
‘Day after tomorrow,’ Mrs Curran announced, ‘at Central Station in Newcastle.’
‘Thank you,’ Emmie smiled. ‘Me and Barny will gan to meet him.’
‘Oh, we’re all going.’ Mrs Curran smiled. ‘Reverend Mr Attwater has offered to take us down in his trap. He’s organising a special service of thanksgiving on Sunday for Tom’s safe return. You’ll come, won’t you?’
Her mother-in-law’s look was nervous, as if she were afraid Emmie would spoil it all in some way.
Emmie swallowed. ‘Course I’ll come.’ She held out her arms to Barny and the boy came running. She hugged him to her. ‘Barny can’t wait to see his daddy again.’
Chapter 29
Emmie spent the following day making the house as welcoming as possible. She spring-cleaned the kitchen and bedroom, and took Barny to the woods to pick daffodils for the table. She scoured the village for currants, begged some flour from Helen and made Tom’s favourite griddle scones.
Helen was putting a brave face on Peter’s going. She would not hear of Emmie’s idea of hiding him.
‘I’ll not see him get into any more trouble than he has to,’ she said with resignation. ‘He’s not like Rab - our Peter would never survive a spell in prison.’
Emmie put out a hand and squeezed hers. ‘Rab’ll be out in a month or so,’ she encouraged.
Helen’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Aye, just as one comes back, I lose the other.’ She turned away and briskly set about measuring the flour Emmie wanted. She would talk no more about it, stoic as ever.
Barnabas took a half-day off work for the triumphant trip into Newcastle to collect his brave son. Emmie sat with Barny on her knee, joggled in the back of the trap with the Curran women, while Barnabas sat up front with Mr Attwater. The last time Emmie had spoken to the minister was at Christmas, to berate him for doing nothing to help bring about peace. He was coolly polite to her and once again Emmie wished she had been allowed to go alone to meet her husband.
It was over a year since she had waved him away down the back lane, his tender words of contrition lingering after his going. Despite his illness at the time of the Somme offensive, Emmie knew Tom must have seen gruelling front-line action. Last summer and autumn, some of the bloodiest and most costly battles of the whole war had taken place, judging by the casualty lists.
However mixed her feelings were for Tom, Emmie was determined to make his leave as happy as possible. She and Barny would give him all the attention he needed; their home would be a haven from the barbarity of the trenches.
At the station, it was noisy and chaotic. Trains drew in late and overcrowded. The men ushered the women and Barny into the ladies’ waiting room and told them to be patient. They would be summoned when there was any news. Emmie sat in frustration, trying to keep a bored and hungry Barny occupied and quiet. They played I spy umpteen times and sang all the nursery rhymes they knew. They went to the toilet more times than was necessary.
Finally, Emmie lost patience and went out to look for the men. She spotted them coming towards her, waving.
‘London train’s pulling in now,’ Barnabas called. ‘Go and fetch the others.’
But Emmie was not going to be ordered around any more. She pulled Barny by the hand.
‘Haway, let’s find Daddy,’ she grinned. ‘Grandda can fetch them.’ They ran past an open-mouthed Barnabas, laughing.
The train sighed to a halt and doors banged open. Soldiers threw out kitbags and milled on to the platform. Emmie held up Barny so he could see. Scores of passengers hurried towards the barriers and waiting loved ones. The Currans caught up with them and craned for a sight of their son. Away down the far end, Emmie thought she saw Tom. He seemed to be having difficulty with his kitbag. Another soldier came to help him. The platform was almost clear before the Tom-like figure wended his way to the barrier. Emmie decided it was not him. His hair was close-cropped; he looked too full in the face. He walked different
ly, staggered almost.
But he was grinning at them. Louise shouted out, ‘Tom! Over here!’
Emmie’s stomach twisted. Something was not quite right. Even before he got through the barrier with the help of his friend, Emmie realised what it was. Tom was drunk. His eyes were unfocused, his grin inane. As his companion pushed him through the barrier, Tom clapped him on the back.
‘Danny, this is me family,’ he cried. ‘Look, there’s me little lad! Come here, Barny. Come meet me friend - Danny. Everyone meet Danny.’ He started to giggle. ‘Me best mate.’
Tom lurched at Emmie and Barny. ‘Me darlin’ missus, gi’ us a kiss.’ He planted a slobbery kiss on her lips. He reeked of alcohol. Emmie recoiled. Barny drew away, burying his head in Emmie’s shoulder.
‘Come on, little nipper.’ Tom laughed loudly. ‘Gi’ yer da a cuddle.’
Barny refused to look at him, alarmed by the booming voice, the smell he did not recognise. Emmie could feel him shaking.
‘Give him a minute, Tom,’ she murmured.
Tom frowned in annoyance.
‘Give him here, woman,’ he ordered, trying to prise Barny from her arms. Barny clung on like a limpet.
Grandma Curran encouraged, ‘Go on, pet, give your father a hug.’
Emmie kissed the boy and whispered, ‘Do it for Mammy.’
Barny looked round, his eyes fearful, but loosened his hold. At once Tom grabbed his son to him.
‘See, Danny!’ he crowed. ‘Little smasher, eh?’ He gave Barny a wet, noisy kiss on the cheek. ‘Look at you - twice size,’ he slurred.
‘Ugh, Daddy, you smell nasty!’ Barny complained.
Danny laughed. ‘We’ve been telling him that for months.’
The Currans hovered around their son, patting him and pretending nothing was wrong.
Louise began to gabble nervously. ‘We’ve got a party arranged for you - there’s that many folk want to see you, our Tom. By, it’s grand to see you - and looking so well. Isn’t he looking well, Mam?’
A Crimson Dawn Page 27