Now he said – Remember the fun we used to have when we were young together – the scrapes Id lead us into? I said – I recall the summer you worked at the mill – thinking mebbe that would pull him up short – he mustve remembered how everyone called him Gertie – but he just smiled and said – Yes indeed – more great days – remember that fifty I made against Uncle Sams Eleven? And you were a very steady bowler if I recall – do you manage to get any cricket out there?
His fifty had been nearer ten and my seven wickets had won us the match. I said – Not much opportunity for cricket over there sir. Grounds not really up to it.
Nonsense – he said. All you need is twenty two yards of flat field – Im sure even the French can manage that. I thought of the shell shattered earth which awaited us as we came out of our trenches and set out up the ridge in front of Wancourt – and I was going to say something a bit sarcastic when I caught old Grindals eye – and I kept quiet – not because anything I saw there made me afraid but because I saw how afraid he was. And he had cause.
Gertie went on – Never fear – Im sure well be able to get some kind of game going when I get across. Get across? – I echoed. Yes Ive got my orders. Off tomorrow – possibly well be travelling together.
I didnt point out the difference between first and third class but said – Sorry sir – Ive still got three days leave.
He looked as if he thought that was a small price to pay for the pleasure of his company then he said – One thing you can help me with Pascoe – I was thinking about shipping my hunters across – what do you reckon? When the breakthrough comes Id like to be properly mounted.
Id seen men properly mounted galloping forward near Monchy where some idiot brass hat had imagined a break in the line. Pennants fluttering – sabres flashing – oh it were a sight to remember – but what really stuck in the mind and would do till memory died was the sound of the horses screaming as they were hosed down with bullets from the Huns machine guns.
I looked sadly at the poor smiling child and thought – three weeks -I give you three weeks. That was about the average for a subaltern in hard fighting. Mr Hurley our present platoon commander had managed nearly three months which was quite remarkable considering he couldnt tell left from right without checking his Sam Browne. We all thought he were a bit of a liability – but compared to the poor bastards who were going to get Gertie we were sitting pretty.
Anyway I gave him another big salute which delighted him and left. As I walked away Mr Grindal came after me and took my arm.
He said – Peter youve been out there long enough to know your way around – look out for him will you?
I knew it must have cost his pride a lot to ask my help and I knew that in his own way hes been right good to me – better than I would have expected once I took up with the Union. But I knew also this was a promise Id no right to give. This werent like stopping a kid from falling in the beck or patching him up when hed scratched himself in a bramble patch. It werent even like pulling him back when he looked like he were going to get tangled in one of the big looms which Id had to do on more than one occasion.
It takes God Almighty to pull you out of the way of bombs or bullets or flying shrapnel and theres neither rhyme nor reason to the way He does it.
But while I was seeking words to say this old Grindal nodded his head – them keen black eyes which see all for once deceiving him into seeing what he wanted to see in my face – and he squeezed my arm and said – Thanks lad – thisll not be forgotten.
I know I shouldve said something but I didnt – and I cant feel guilty.
I mean – why the hell should I feel bothered that I didnt try to tell someone like old Grindal what its really like out there when Ive not yet been able to find words to tell my own dear wife what I feel about it?
'OK, Peter, enough's enough. If I'm going to share my life with Hamlet's ghost, I'm entitled to eavesdrop on the soliloquies.'
He hadn't heard her come down the stairs. Now she padded barefoot into the kitchen, flopped down on a chair at the other side of the table and tested the warmth of the teapot with her left hand.
'I'll make some more,' he offered.
'No, this'll do.'
She pulled his mug towards her, refilled it and sipped the lukewarm liquid.
'It was Hamlet's father whose ghost walked,' Pascoe pointed out.
'Also called Hamlet. So, who do you want revenge on?'
He considered. Was this the right note, very English, light and rational? What was the alternative? Latin emotional? Slav confessional? Scand suicidal?
He said, 'The British military and political establishment might do for a start.'
Then he told her succinctly and unemotionally what Studholme had told him.
He could see she found the information puzzling rather than devastating.
'But how can Ada's father be called Peter Pascoe? It doesn't make sense. It must be a mistake, compounded by the coincidence of names.'
'And the coincidence of faces? No, he's the one, I'm sure of it. And I'm going to find out how it happened.'
'How your maternal great-grandfather happened to have your name, you mean?'
'No. How my great-grandfather happened to end up being tied to a post and pumped full of bullets by his own countrymen.'
'Peter, it's terrible, but it was all a long time ago,' she said gently. 'I know revenge is a dish best eaten cold, all that crap, but this has been lying around so long, even the salmonella's got salmonella! Is it really worth calling up the Furies over something like this?'
He said, still trying to keep it light, 'Maybe they're up and out already.'
She considered this then said, 'You mean after you, don't you?'
'Do I? Yes, perhaps I do,' he said, managing with difficulty a smile.
'But why? I mean, what have you done? What is there in your great-grandfather's death to make you feel guilty? Think about it. How many millions got killed in the Great War? Seven? Eight? More? I doubt if there's a person alive in Britain, France or Germany who didn't lose some relative at that time. So how come you get elected to bear the guilt?'
He felt on the edge of dangerous country which he needed to explore himself before he invited those he loved in. But she deserved something more than silence. A lot more.
He said carefully, 'Look, I'm not clear myself, but it's about my family… as you've frequently observed yourself, we are on the whole a pretty mixed-up bunch of no-hopers…'
'Come on, Pete!' she protested. 'Bad-mouthing your spouse's nearest and dearest is an old and socially accepted convention of marital dispute.'
'So it is. Except that in this case none of my nearest come anywhere close to being my dearest. There were times long ago… not so long ago… when I used to fantasize about discovering I was a changeling and I really had this other completely different family I could make a fresh start with, only this time with me calling the shots as well as them.'
'Everyone does that,' she said dismissively.
'In their thirties?' he replied, only half mocking. 'Look, I'm not sure I've really got this worked out, but it's something to do with justice, yes, but it's also something to do with me, what I am, what I'm not, what I would like to be. I know it's a simplification, but it's as if everything that's wrong with the Pascoes, wrong with me, stems from what happened to my great-grandfather back in 1917.'
'Now that would be convenient,' she said. 'But what if what happened to him happened because whatever you imagine's wrong with the Pascoes was there already? Please leave it, Peter.'
'I can't,' he said helplessly. 'When those Furies have got you in their sights, you've got to keep going till you set the record straight. That's the only sanctuary they allow.'
She looked at him steadily and lovingly over her mug of cold tea. She knew what many close friends still failed to grasp, that dominant though her own personality must often seem in their relationship his was by far the stronger will.
She said, 'OK. Go get the tru
th if you must. Any idea how to start?'
'God knows,' he said. 'But as He seems intent in chucking great lumps of my family history at me in a provocative fashion, I presume that He'll come up with some help on the research front too.'
'Could be He's started,' said Ellie. 'I met this Australian history prof tonight. Poll Pollinger.'
'A female Australian history professor called Poll?' said Pascoe as if he could believe no single element.
'That's right. She invited me up to her flat for a coffee else I'd have been home a lot earlier…'
'What happened to Wendy Walker? I thought you were giving her a lift.'
'Never saw her. Changed her mind or was having such a good time in another part of the party, she forgot all about me. Wendy always did think good manners were a form of social elitism,’ said Ellie dismissively. 'Anyway, Poll's here on sabbatical to write a book about, yes, you've got it, Passchendaele. What she doesn't know about the First World War isn't worth a footnote. Best of all, she has a direct line right to the heart of MOD records. I asked her how she managed that. She said, "It's all a matter of reputation." I said, "Sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to someone really famous," and she said, "Not my reputation, dingo-head!" It seems she knows something utterly unspeakable about some senior brass hat at whose command all doors fly open. She's really great!'
'She sounds… interesting. What line is she taking?'
'In conversation at least she seems to think dickhead and Haig form one word. There's a piece by her in the current Review. She gave me a copy. It's titled Lest We Forget, not so much an historical essay as a J'Accuse for Remembrance Day. Read it. But not now.'
'Why not now?'
'Because you've got me wide awake. Because if I remember right, Wendy Walker interrupted a very interesting conversation earlier today. Because if it's really sanctuary you're after, I can do a much better job than a whole barrow-load of Furies.'
'Sanctuary?' he echoed. 'I really can't imagine what you're talking about.'
She reached her hand under the table and smiled.
'You always were a lousy liar,' she said. xvi
… and the earth moved. Jesus Christ! – said Jammy – What the hell was that?
It takes a lot to startle Sergeant Jameson – hes got the kind of face that looks like its carved out of rock – and when he shouts on the parade ground he can set a whole intake of recruits pissing their pants. I know – he did it to me – I used to think he was the most terrible man on earth -I hated him worse than the Kaiser – till one night in Leeds a redcap corporal was putting me through the hoop when Jammys big hand descended on his shoulder and he said – One of mine – and I dont need no help to keep him straight. The redcap remembered urgent business elsewhere. I said – Thanks sarge. For what? – he asks like he didnt need gratitude from shit like me. For stopping me kicking that sod in the balls – I said. Wonder of wonders that made him laugh – and after that I began to change my mind about him – and him about me I reckon – cos I got my first stripe and you didnt do that without Sergeant Jamesons say so. But it werent till we got to France that we became really friendly. Theres nowt like picking up bits of your old platoon for bringing people together.
The battalion was still in the reserve area outside Arras when I got back from leave but we knew from the bombardment up to the north that something big was coming off – so we didnt expect to stay there much longer. And now this – about three this morning – the ground shaking like egg custard and the sky to the north all burning red as if the devils had tunnelled their way out of hell.
We were eating breakfast before we found out that our sappers had set off this huge mine under the Germans on the ridge near Messines. There was a hole in the ground as big as Bradford – one signaller said – and the Jerries were surrendering in their thousands – most on em stark naked cos the blast had blown their clothes off. Our boys were just walking through the gap in the German line not even having to bother about guns because the blast had jammed all them as it hadnt destroyed.
Some of our new lads were keen to get orders to get on up there – among them Archie Doyle. I hadnt been best pleased when I found him in our platoon when I got back off leave – but hes not daft and hed soon worked out it were better to act like an old mate of your corporals than an old enemy. So he was huffing and puffing about how we were missing our chance for a bit of easy glory till Jammy said – Thas not been here long enough to get chatty Doyle – theres some of us have heard it all before. Aye sarge – pipes Chuffy Chandler – but weve not heard a bang like that before – which Jammy had to admit was true.
Then Lieutenant Hurley – old Hurly Burly we called him came along and said we were moving. We all thought it would be up to Messines but gradually we realized that we were going too far north for that – and finally Hurley confirmed it – we were heading for the Salient.
That soon shut up all those whod ever been in the Salient before. In all that stinking festering front line the Salients like a bloody great boil sticking out towards the enemy. Hurly said wed be all right – the Messines mine had taken the southern corner off the Salient and it was only to be expected thered be a follow up attack mounted there within a matter of days if not hours. By the time we got there the Hun would likely be in full retreat. And I’ll be Queen of the May – said Jammy right out loud. The lieutenant laughed – hes a decent sort and weve all got used to his little daftnesses like always wanting to look on the bright side of things.
We camped near Pop to start with which were fine – egg and chips in the Cafe des Allies with a good singsong to follow whenever you could duck off duties – red hot weather – lots of football matches – and would you believe it young Gertie whod landed a job helping Captain Evenlode the adjutant actually got his cricket team going till Jammy hit the only ball we had into a river – and that was the end of that. Pity the Frogs dont play – said Gertie. Nor Jerry either – I said – Could have asked them for a game. True – he said – though perhaps if Jerry did play we wouldnt be fighting this war.
Mebbe he was making a joke but I dont think so.
It had to happen. Orders to move up into the Salient came yesterday. First by train to Ypres then we marched to Zillebeke where we waited for dark before moving up into the line. We were sitting by the lake enjoying the sunshine when Jammy suddenly yells – Minnie left! Where the hell it had come from Christ knows. We should have been well out of their range – mebbe it had a following wind or Fritz was trying a new gun – but there it was – a little black spot in the air tumbling slowly towards us. Most didnt risk looking – when Jammy yelled Minnie left! you headed right and dived into the first hole you could find. Thats what we did all except Hurly Burly. Hed loosened his Sam Browne so perhaps thats what did it. Someone said they saw him shooting off like a scalded cat – only he didnt head right but left – and all that was left of him wasnt worth collecting in a bucket.
It didnt feel like a good omen and we were more down than usual as we prepared to follow Jammy through the dark into our front line position. Then he was called up by the adjutant and a bit later he came back with someone behind him.
Corporal Pascoe – he said – This heres our new platoon commander.
I knew who it was before I saw his face and heard his voice.
Hello Pascoe – said Gertie Grindal – Isnt this jolly?
Yes sir – I said looking at Jammy whose huge face showed nowt – Where exactly is it were heading sir?
Southeast corner of some wood – what do you call it sergeant?
Sanctuary sir – said Jammy.
Id heard some misleading names for some terrible places but this sounded to me like it could be the worst fitting of them all.
Especially with Gertie in charge. Thats it – he said – Lovely name isn't it? – Get the men moving then sergeant – and if they need jollying along just tell them were heading to Sanctuary and that should speed them up eh? Sanctuary!
PART TWO
GLENCOR
SE
And nothing may we use in vain.
Ev'n Beasts must be with justice slain;
Else men are made their Deodands. i
A Meditation for Remembrance Sunday by Andrea Pollinger
Passchendaele was not so much an exercise in modern warfare as an experiment in mass suicide.
The contemporary equivalent would be to devastate an area of several thousand acres with a tactical nuclear weapon, then send in a force of unprotected men to occupy it. This, I am assured by men who did National Service in the fifties, was a tactic actually rehearsed by the British Army at that time, suggesting that little has changed, and the men at the top always want to fight today's wars according to yesterday's technology. Central to the tactical thinking of World War One, such as it was, stood the proposition that if you could punch a hole in the enemy line and send cavalry galloping through, then everyone would be home for Christmas… or New Year… Or Easter.. . or…
The wood beyond dap-15 Page 11