To Ride the Wind

by Peter Watt

  But now he was reading through the reports by his few surviving company and platoon commanders detailing what they had experienced. One matter caught his eye when he read of a machine gun that had wrought havoc on one of the companies and how it had been knocked out, thus saving many Australian lives. Other reports corroborated that the machine gun appeared to have been neutralised by Captain Sean Duffy. Patrick was not surprised. Already the young former solicitor from Sydney had earned a Military Cross for his courage at Gallipoli, so why wouldn’t he risk his life to save his men by attacking and killing the German machine-gun crew? Although the act had not been witnessed by a fellow officer, Patrick felt the incident worthy of a recommendation for a further medal of bravery for his newly promoted captain on the strength of what he was able to assemble from the different reports.

  He flicked through the reports to find Sean’s and was surprised that it was so sketchy – just a report on the ground captured and the casualties his company had sustained with a short note on his withdrawal. He mentioned that he had been temporarily cut off from his men during the assault on the forward lines but nothing else. If he had alone cleared the trench and silenced the German machine gun then his act was worthy of a Victoria Cross. Patrick commenced drafting his recommendation for the medal to his superiors. The matter would have to be investigated but Patrick felt Sean had been too modest in his report. He realised that the recommendation would be his final act as battalion CO before being moved to Divisional HQ in a staff officer’s appointment. It was a fitting way to say goodbye to the man whom he loved as much as his own sons.

  Corporal Jack Kelly lay on his back in a field of wild flowers under a hot summer sun. His company had been pulled back behind the lines for a rest and a chance to recover from the horror that had been Fromelles, and it was a rare opportunity to do nothing but sleep and dream among the vivid colours of the Flemish countryside. The remaining men of the battalion had been stood down and they also sat around smoking, chatting or sleeping in the tiny oasis of peace away from the war despite the distant thump of artillery and the faint sound of small-arms fire occasionally drifting to them on a gentle breeze.

  Jack closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his infant son looked like. He had received a letter from his wife but as yet had not had a photograph of young Lukas Kelly. He was aware that a shadow had fallen over him.

  ‘I hope that I am not disturbing you, Corporal Kelly,’ Captain Sean Duffy said, sitting down beside Jack before he was able to stand and salute. Sean was in full dress uniform and wore his shiny Sam Browne belt across his chest as well as the distinctive white and purple riband of the Military Cross decoration on his left breast. ‘I noticed that you were alone in the field and felt that this might be a good time for us to have a small talk.’

  Jack sat up, brushing away grass from his flannel singlet and adjusting the braces to his trousers. He was not wearing full uniform because of the heat of the day and reached for his jacket. ‘Not necessary,’ Sean said, observing how Jack was attempting to make himself look respectable. ‘This is just an informal chat.’

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ Jack asked, sensing that something was playing on his company commander’s mind.

  ‘I just wanted to ask your forgiveness for what happened to me back there,’ Sean explained.

  Jack was taken aback by the frank apology. A commissioned officer apologising to or confiding in a junior NCO was not something usually experienced.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Jack said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I have seen men go troppo in New Guinea when I was prospecting and know that it is usually a temporary thing. You saved my life when that big Hun was about to brain me.’

  ‘I don’t even remember that,’ Sean said, squinting against the bright sunlight. ‘I hardly remember anything after I saw the CSM cop it.’

  ‘Well, sir, you did not disgrace yourself,’ Jack said gently. ‘So, that is it.’

  ‘I have just returned from seeing the CO,’ Sean continued. ‘He had the happy news that I was being recommended for another gong for neutralising a German machine-gun crew and damned if I can remember doing so. I have racked my mind but cannot recall anything – except that you were with me before we joined the rest of the company for the withdrawal. But if the reports are to be believed I must have killed the Huns manning the gun.’

  The mention of the machine gun had been something Jack was trying to put out of his mind. ‘Then it must be true,’ Jack said, refusing to push himself forward as some kind of hero. ‘Congratulations, skipper,’ he said, looking away to the end of the field, where he could see cows grazing and an old farmer hoeing weeds oblivious to the war raging a few miles away.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to have this chat and apologise for the temporary loss of my reason,’ Sean said, rising from the grass. ‘Don’t get up, Corp,’ he continued when he saw Jack about to rise to his feet. ‘Stay here and take your rest. I will be parading the company at 0600 tomorrow morning. I have recommended you to temporary sergeant’s posting in Mr Wilberforce’s platoon. His sergeant is being sent to Blighty for senior NCO training.’

  Jack was stunned by the casually delivered announcement of his sudden promotion and watched as the officer strolled through the field, idly hacking at the plants with his swagger stick. He wondered what sort of man Sean really was. Did the captain really remember all that had eventuated when they were alone and was now attempting to take credit for another man’s act of bravery? Was the promotion a pay-off to ensure Jack stayed quiet as to who really killed the machine-gun crew? Or was his senior officer really suffering the after-effects of shell shock and did not remember? Jack scowled. No matter what the reason, he did not care. All that mattered was that he survived the war to return to his beloved wife and child and eventually go back to the jungles of New Guinea and Papua to prospect for gold. Medals were simply cheap metal and cloth to attach to a uniform. Jack Kelly preferred to see the end of the war in one piece.

  *

  Sean Duffy did not return to his company straightaway. He had completed all his military duties and chose to stroll down a leafy lane to sit under a beautiful old tree with branches that hung to the ground as if the tree were weeping. He sat down with his back against the trunk and, out of sight of any living human, he began to cry softly. The shell shock had not gone away and he knew that his sanity was hanging by a fragile thread. Only the fact that so many depended on him kept him from the edge of madness. How was it that he could remember very little of what had happened in the trench when he was with Corporal Kelly? Had he killed all the men that had been reported dead by personally inflicting their fatal wounds? All he could remember was the soothing voice of the corporal pleading with him to snap out of his stricken state. Colonel Duffy had been beaming when he announced to him at BHQ that he had submitted the recommendation and would not be surprised if he did not receive a Victoria Cross for his actions. How could he tell his distant cousin and man he most admired in the world that he, Captain Sean Duffy MC, was actually a craven coward who had relinquished his command in the middle of the attack on the German lines?

  4

  With the first buds of the spring of 1916 appearing in the trees, the balmy day could not be better for an outdoor garden party overlooking the city’s harbour. George had sent out invitations to the most influential people he knew, wanting them all to hear his most important announcement since his marriage to Sir Keith Gyles’ daughter, the very attractive and charming Louise Gyles.

  To most of the guests the war raging in far-off Europe was of little interest, apart from how it impacted on their commercial or social interests. There would be no European holidays this year as the tedious war continued, interrupting their social plans. The slice of society George had invited comprised people much like himself – men interested in company profits and concerned about the restrictions to trade caused by the threat of German U-boats and surface raiders interdicting the sea lanes between Europe and Australia. The tiresome casu
alty lists mostly consisted of working-class names, and these human losses did not impact on the lavish lifestyles of the better-heeled, although there was the occasional comment from one of their own, usually some foolish, patriotic officer who was ‘going west’ somewhere on the Western Front or in the Palestine campaign.

  Louise dutifully welcomed each guest with a bright smile and the offer to help themselves from the lavish spread of food set out on the tables in the garden. White-coated waiters carried silver platters, carefully balancing crystal glasses of expensive French champagne. There were one or two men in uniform, usually with red tabs at their collars denoting staff officer appointments. Although Captain Alex Macintosh was the most junior officer among the guests, his wife Giselle looked most elegant and turned one or two heads from the men present.

  ‘Oh, Giselle,’ Louise said, giving her long-time friend and sister-in-law a peck on the cheek. ‘I am so glad that you and Alex could make it today.’

  ‘Is my brother going to announce that our companies are making record profits?’ Alex asked sarcastically.

  ‘Stop it, Alex,’ Giselle rebuked. ‘I am sure that he is not going to do any such thing.’

  ‘No,’ Louise said. ‘George has something much more important to announce today, but all in good time. For now you must try the fresh oysters and champagne. It appears that George was able to have a consignment of vintage wine shipped from France despite the dangers.’

  When Louise was distracted with the arrival of a new guest, Alex took his wife’s arm and strolled over to a table almost bending under the weight of the delicacies.

  ‘We get to eat bully beef and biscuits,’ Alex said, eyeing the abundance. ‘And my brother is able to have French wine. I wonder how much he is skimming off the top of the lucrative army and navy contracts.’

  ‘Your brother is doing his bit to support the war effort,’ Giselle said lamely, attempting to defend George. ‘Not everyone is able to don a uniform and fight for their country.’

  ‘I have a uniform,’ Alex retorted. ‘And I am not offered the opportunity to fight for my country.’

  Giselle did not reply. She had suffered her husband’s despair at being held back from overseas service to train men for the front and somehow felt that she was responsible for his misery at being denied what he felt was his right to prove his worth as a soldier. She had overheard a senior army officer at a similar function months earlier commenting that young Captain Macintosh might be with his father – except that he had married a German national. The officer had glanced up and smiled at Giselle, not recognising her as the German national he referred to. Giselle had not relayed this information to her husband. She was glad that Alex was being held back as she well knew that if he was overseas the chances of him surviving were very poor. He was very much like his father and would feel that he must take terrible risks to prove his worth.

  ‘Do you think that Louise looked different today?’ Giselle asked, trying to steer Alex from his brooding. ‘She appears to be growing thick in the waist.’

  Alex passed a flute of champagne to his wife, before taking one for himself. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, sipping. ‘She looks the same to me.’

  Giselle wanted to shake her head at the obtuseness of men. They were so ignorant of the subtle signs that it seemed only women could read. Giselle had noticed a strained expression in her friend’s smile when she greeted them. Giselle was determined that she would corner Louise and find out what was behind it. Her opportunity came when her husband was engaged by an old friend, Colonel John Hughes of the British army, who had been on secondment to the newly raised Australian army for many years now. Of all the faces at the garden party, the senior British officer’s was the only one Alex wanted to see. Engrossed in military talk as the two soldiers were, neither noticed Giselle slip away to join Louise, who for a moment was alone at the edge of the neatly kept garden.

  ‘The party is wonderful,’ Giselle said, approaching Louise from behind. ‘You do know how to entertain.’

  As Louise turned to face her Giselle could see the pain belying the friendly welcome her friend had extended to all attending. ‘You have noticed,’ Louise said. ‘But then, you are my dearest friend.’

  ‘What has happened?’ Giselle asked, gently touching Louise on the hand.

  ‘I am with child,’ Louise blurted bitterly, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. ‘I have been now for some months.’

  ‘Oh, but that is wonderful!’ Giselle exclaimed before stopping herself. Clearly it was not wonderful to Louise. ‘But why the tears? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Everything,’ Louise replied, wiping her tears with a small, lace handkerchief and attempting to smile for the sake of anyone who may be observing them. ‘I want the child, but not under the present circumstances.’

  ‘A child is welcome under any circumstances,’ Giselle said, thinking of the birth of her own son, David. ‘It is a time to look forward to.’

  ‘It is just that I am not certain that I should be with George,’ Louise said, staring across the harbour. ‘I know that divorce would be impossible but I would rather be free of him.’

  Giselle was stunned; she had thought her sister-in-law’s marriage was made in heaven. ‘Do you wish to talk to me about this?’ she prompted gently.

  Louise glanced at Giselle with a rueful smile. ‘You were certainly lucky in marrying Alex,’ she said. ‘He is a man of honour and character.’

  Giselle did not reply. She already knew that her husband was the rock of her life.

  ‘I hired a private detective to follow George,’ Louise confessed. ‘He was hardly at home at nights and rarely went near me in the bedroom. The detective reported that my husband has a place near his office where he entertains prostitutes on a regular basis. It appears that I am not good enough for him.’ The tears welled and rolled down her cheeks.

  Giselle placed her arms around her. ‘I am so sorry, Louise,’ she said. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about his behaviour?’

  ‘I spoke to my father,’ she replied. ‘But he only consoled me with the fact that men in George’s position often behaved in that fashion, and advised me to ignore my husband’s little affairs as long as he was discreet. Would you accept that from Alex?’

  ‘No,’ Giselle answered firmly. She knew her husband already had a mistress – the army. ‘Oh, my mother has arrived,’ she said, grudgingly changing the subject. She broke the embrace and Louise wiped the tears from her face. Together, they regained their poise and strolled back to the guests milling in the garden.

  What Louise had failed to tell her best friend was that the private detective had also reported on the many meetings George had conducted with Giselle’s mother at George’s office. This had been as confusing as it was intriguing. Louise did not think that George was having an affair with Karolina Schumann. In fact, from what she could ascertain, the relationship between Giselle’s mother and her husband was cool. For some reason known only to him George did not seem to like Karolina very much. But this was something Louise thought she should keep to herself.

  With a touch of pride, Giselle could see the fine figure her mother presented among the well-dressed matrons. She caught her mother’s eye and they exchanged warm smiles, but before Giselle could engage her mother in conversation she noticed that Karolina had attracted the interest of a senior naval officer, who had already placed a flute of champagne in her hand. No matter, Giselle thought, her mother lived with them and she would catch up with her that night. At least she hoped she would be home that night as lately Karolina Schumann was hardly to be seen. It was as if her mother led another life. Confidences were no longer exchanged between them and Giselle resented this rift in their once very close relationship.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests,’ George said above the chatter. ‘I have an important announcement to make.’

  The guests fell silent.

  ‘I know that you are curious as to why you have been invited here
today,’ he continued. ‘Louise, my darling, will you please join me?’ The guests parted to allow Louise to walk up and stand beside her husband. ‘I did not just simply invite you here today to show off my good French wine . . .’ A twitter of laughter followed his statement. ‘You are here to be the first to know that Louise and I are expecting the next heir to the Macintosh companies.’

  Loud clapping and expressions of ‘Good show, old chap,’ followed the announcement as glasses were raised and a business acquaintance of George proposed a toast.

  Alex did not raise his glass. How was it that his son, the first-born grandchild to his father, had not been mentioned? Already a sinister cloud hung over the future.

  ‘To you, sister-in-law,’ Alex said, finally raising his glass in toast. ‘May the birth of your daughter be a joyous one.’

  Laughter and chuckles followed his toast along with a few ‘hear, hear’ expressions of agreement. Louise smiled sadly as George glared at his brother with an undisguised hatred that was missed by most of the guests now replete with fine champagne and excellent food.

  ‘I hope that you are right,’ Colonel John Hughes said softly beside Alex. He detested his good friend Patrick Duffy’s oldest son. In fact, from his investigation of George’s links with the Germans before the war he suspected that the manager of the Macintosh companies might be guilty of treason. He had not been able to find any direct evidence, however, and well knew that suspicion was one thing, and proof another.

  As the sun descended behind the blue hills west of Sydney, the Australian captain and the British colonel continued to discuss military matters. Only Giselle noticed Karolina leave with the distinguished-looking naval officer. She had a feeling that she would not be chatting that night with her mother at home.