Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  He couldn’t have sat around and waited. What if the war was over before he got his chance? He couldn’t live with the guilt of knowing he was here doing nothing and others were out there defending their country. He had always felt older than his years, which was perhaps something to do with being a younger brother and everyone he knew being older than him. Most of them treated him like an adult, except his brother.

  ‘We could tell the recruiting office that they’ve made a mistake?’

  ‘Don’t you dare, Joseph. If he’s taken the King’s shilling then he’s one of us now. He’s a soldier, and there’s nothing that can be done to change that. Besides, it’s what you want, isn’t it, George?’

  George nodded. He thought about all the answers he could possibly give, all the different reasons. What would be the best thing to say? What did his dad want to hear?

  ‘Of course, I always wanted to,’ he said, and hesitated again. Why was it so difficult to talk to his dad? He felt like a child again. ‘Now felt like the right time. When we got there, to the recruiting office, there was a whole line of other men signing up, including some I knew from school. I couldn’t let them go without me. How would I feel sat here waiting? It wouldn’t be right not to do my bit too.’

  ‘Good, honourable reasons.’ His father stood up and limped towards him. The click of the cane was deafening in the kitchen. He then put a hand on George’s shoulder. It took all his willpower not to flinch. ‘If it helps, I think you’ve done the right thing, son.’

  ‘But he’s too young.’ Joe stood up and George thought that he was going to storm out again. Why was he getting involved? What was it to him if George enlisted? At least it would take the attention off him. ‘How could they let him enlist? It’s clear he’s not old enough.’

  ‘He’s a grown man now, bigger than me or you, Joe,’ their father said. ‘He’s an intelligent chap, that’s what they’ve seen. They’ll make him an officer in no time. And every man should do his bit. You know, I wish I was coming with you.’

  ‘You’re both mad.’ Joe was pacing now, every bit as angry as he had been the other morning. He looked as if steam was about to burst out of his head, which had gone red.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that, Joseph. I’m your father. Don’t forget that you should be doing your bit too. If you weren’t so selfish… What gives you the right to judge, Joseph? You, who won’t lift his finger to help another.’ Joe was frowning, furious, but he didn’t storm out as he had last time. Still, their father didn’t look at Joe, as if he didn’t want to see him. Only George glanced between the two of them, oddly noticing how alike they appeared at this moment.

  ‘No, Dad. People die in wars. Look at your leg! Do you want the same for George?’

  ‘How dare you?’ Their father raised his voice only enough to make Joe be quiet. It was a commanding voice he had practised for years. ‘I was just one of the unlucky ones. Our George won’t be. He’s got a smart head on his shoulders. He’s smarter than I ever was.’

  ‘I have to go to work.’ Joe moved to the kitchen door, but waited on the threshold. He gave George another sad look, slightly too long so that it became awkward, then with a sigh he left. George heard the front door close a few seconds later.

  ‘When do you go?’ his father asked, sitting again.

  George didn’t know the answer to that question. They would start training soon, he had been told, but technically he wasn’t eligible to go out to Belgium yet.

  ‘I don’t know. The regulars have been mobilised, but I joined the territorials, the reservists. They haven’t told us when we will be shipped out yet. I don’t even have any kit.’

  He handed over the form that he had been given after enlisting, along with the shilling that he had taken as part of the ritual of signing up. ‘This is what they gave me. We’ll have drill training and then when they need us we’ll get our mobilisation orders. I’m not even old enough to go yet. They might decide to keep me back.’

  ‘They won’t. What did you tell them about your age?’

  ‘I told them that I was eighteen, almost nineteen.’

  ‘You gave them your actual day of birth, son?’

  ‘Not the full date, no. I just changed the year by two and so to them I’m eighteen.’

  ‘Very clever, half a lie rather than a full one.’ His father’s face became a brief smirk. ‘Speaking of clever, or not, have you seen this rubbish they printed in the paper? All about the cost of war and encouraging lads to think about their decision before signing up. It’s cowardice, rank cowardice if you ask me. Typical of the kind of nonsense that your brother gets up to at that paper. This Albert Barnes should be ashamed of himself. How could they let him write such a thing, let alone publish it?’

  ‘It wasn’t him, Dad. I overheard him say it wasn’t. He’s even signed up for the regiment. I saw him at the recruitment office.’

  ‘Odd.’ His father was back flicking through the newspaper.

  George had a thought and rummaged in his pocket. He pushed the shilling across the table. His confidence was rising by the second, secure in the knowledge that his father was on his side. He could do anything with his father on side. ‘It’s not much, but there will be more where that’s come from and I’ll make sure it is sent here while I’m out in France, for you and Ma.’

  ‘We don’t care about the money, George. We get along all right. This isn’t about money.’ He shoved the paper aside again and looked at George. This time his eyes were full of warmth. Gone was the stare that made George feel tiny. ‘This is about doing something right; doing something bigger than yourself. The money is yours if you want it, we’ve no right to claim it. You’ve done the right thing.’

  Chapter 10

  Frank leaned over and dropped a newspaper in front of him, as Joe was crossing out some lines on a piece of paper. It was that morning’s copy of The Times.

  ‘What’s this, Frank?’

  ‘You know what it is. It’s The Times. What else could it be? Have you gone blind all of a sudden?’ He cackled and Joe struggled not to give him a stern look that a school teacher might give an unruly pupil.

  ‘You know what I mean, Frank. Why have you thrown it on my desk? I was busy working.’

  ‘When are you not busy working, Joe? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stop. You’re always in here before me, and still here after I’ve gone home for the night.’

  That much was true, but often he was just reading, or trying his hand at writing. Every morning he would come back in and go over what he had written, then throw it away in disgust. The only way he would get better was to keep trying.

  ‘It’s a report on the British Army, Joe,’ Frank said, bringing Joe out of his reverie by prodding the paper with his index finger. ‘It’s not looking good.’

  He flicked through the first couple of pages. The grainy pictures of smiling soldiers and waving men at the recruiting offices were a stark contrast to the headlines and articles. Perhaps that was the whole point, Joe thought. The British Army had been heavily defeated at the small Belgian town of Mons, it said. They had taken over a thousand casualties and were on the retreat.

  He set the newspaper down and took a sip of water from a glass on his desk. His throat had gone dry.

  ‘Are you all right, lad? You look pale as a ghost.’

  Concern and confusion was etched across Frank’s face, and he could clearly sense Joe’s discomfort. He took the newspaper back when Joe didn’t reply.

  ‘I just keep thinking of our George going out there.’

  ‘I didn’t think he’d shipped out yet?’

  ‘No, he’s not gone yet, but soon they say. With heavy losses like this, they will be sending them all over as soon as possible. See how many they’ve lost, and the war has only just started.’

  ‘Well, wait, look here,’ Frank said, prodding the newspaper and waving it in his face. ‘It also says that the Germans suffered many more casualties, expected to be in the thousands.’

 
‘Oh, and that means it’s going to be all right, does it?’ Joe felt ashamed at his outburst, but Frank was unconcerned.

  ‘It’s war, lad. There’re bound to be casualties. But if we’re inflicting more than them, then we will win. It’s a simple matter of numbers. We’ve suffered defeats before and still won the war, and still looked good in uniform.’ He smiled emphatically, but it had no effect on Joe.

  ‘It also says here,’ Joe said, grabbing the newspaper, ‘that we’re on the retreat.’ He paused for a second, waiting for it to settle in. He had never thought of the British Army as ‘we’ before. The idea of nationalism was disconcerting. Perhaps the national pride was working its way into his psyche too. ‘The British Army are almost as far back as Paris. That’s something like… like a hundred and thirty miles from where they started. They’re no longer helping Belgium, not anymore. The Germans far, far outnumber the British Army, even if they keep inflicting casualties, it’s unsustainable.’

  ‘Then they’re gonna need our help, lad. You know it makes sense.’

  Joe sighed.

  ‘Come on, lad. I keep saying you’d look good in a uniform. There may be lots of them Germans, but they’ll take one look at you and run away with their tails between their legs.’

  He made a sound like a dog whimpering and ran around the desk. Some of the other men looked up, wondering what was going on, and Joe laughed.

  ‘Carry on like that, and you’ll get yourself shot,’ he said as Frank sat down again, lazily draping his arm over the back of the chair. ‘They’ll shoot you just to shut you up.’

  ‘Steady on, lad,’ Frank said, all mock innocence. ‘I have the very vocal cords of a tenor, me.’ He burst into song, singing a couple of lines then stopping. ‘Even the Germans will be rushing over to hear me. Hah.’

  ‘I’d like to see that.’

  He was being honest. It would be quite a sight, and perhaps show some semblance of peace. ‘But, no, not for me. It’s bad enough that our George is heading out there. I’ll not be joining the army, no matter what they say.’

  ‘Oh well, I didn’t think I’d ever convince you, lad. You knows what you wants. Far more than I ever did.’ He patted Joe on the arm, but this time it was as a sign of friendship, not in a playful manner. ‘This is something I want. I reckon this is my last day, lad.’

  ‘I was wondering how long you would last,’ Joe said, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Then I’m off in the morning to take the shilling and sign an oath.’

  He put his hand on Joe’s arm again and turned his body gently so that he was looking into Frank’s eyes. He was serious for a change.

  ‘Will you do something for me, Joe?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘While I’m gone… will you… will you look after all the girls for me?’

  Frank burst out laughing again and pushed back on his chair, whilst wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. ‘You’re a softie you, lad. Had you going for a minute.’

  Joe tried not to get angry at Frank’s ridiculing, he knew he was only joking. ‘Oh, are you still here, Frank?’

  ‘Hah! At least you have a sense of humour though. I’d be worried I might upset you otherwise.’

  Joe didn’t think that Frank would ever be worried about upsetting anyone, he was too free and easy. He acted like he didn’t have a care in the world. Everything was a joke to him.

  ‘You know you’ll have to do all the boring work while I’m gone, don’t you, Joe? Can’t say that I’m sorry. I’d rather get away before it all piles up on my desk.’

  ‘Yes, well your spelling is atrocious anyway.’

  ‘Hah!’

  Joe would miss Frank’s laughter around the office, that was for sure, and he wasn’t looking forward to the amount of work he would have to do. But that didn’t matter. He felt like he was losing a friend, and who knew if Frank would come back? The office would be a lot quieter, and a lot duller without him. He would only have Mr Harlow’s soft wheezing to keep him company on the long nights of overseeing casualty lists and reports from the front.

  ‘Listen, Frank. It’s my turn to be soppy now.’

  ‘Oh, ’ere we go. I thought you were already being soppy. Is that not a normal state of affairs for you? You actually mean you’re going to get worse? I’m not sure if I can take it. It’s completely against my martial pride.’

  ‘Shut up, Frank, and listen for once.’

  Frank leant an arm on his desk and lay the side of his head at an angle on his upturned palm, to show that he was listening, then smiled at Joe. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Joe tutted, wound up by Frank’s levity.

  ‘Just when you’re out there. If you see my brother, you look after him. All right?’

  ‘Ah, I was only joking. Of course I will. I’ll take George under my arm and show him how a man in uniform behaves. Show him how to charm the ladies, since I seem to have failed with you. Hah!’

  ‘If you ever find him somewhere he shouldn’t be—’ Joe ignored Frank ‘—you do me a favour and make sure you get him out of there. Get him to safety. All right? Do that for me?’

  ‘All right, all right. You’re so serious sometimes, I worry about you. You’re going to end up very lonely sometime if you keep it up, you know? I won’t always be there to cheer you up.’

  Joe grumbled. He didn’t need Frank to tell him that. Besides, it wasn’t the point, he was asking about his brother.

  ‘I can’t promise anything, Joe,’ Frank said. ‘Who knows what’s going to happen out there? I may never see him. He could be in a completely different regiment to me. But, I promise you I’ll try to find him, and if I ever see him in danger then I will do what I can.’

  ‘Good, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘You know, if you’re so worried about him, you could enlist yourself and keep an eye on him? It would be the best way, you could do more than I could.’

  ‘I don’t think he would appreciate his older brother mothering him in the army. Besides, you know I’m not going to enlist, no matter how much you try and convince me.’

  ‘Oh, go on. It’ll be fun. You won’t have a foil for your seriousness if you stay here on your own.’

  ‘No, Frank.’

  ‘Not even if I forced you?’ He balled up Joe’s sleeve in his fist, but it was gentle, and threatened to pull him off his chair. All the time he was smiling, the gesture lighting up his blue eyes. Joe tried not to resist, knowing that it would upset his friend.

  ‘No, not even if I’m forced, Frank. You can’t drag me round with you everywhere to keep you out of trouble.’

  ‘Hah.’

  A wheezing sound passed down the rows of desks, accompanied by the clop of heavy footsteps. Joe looked up just in time to see a puff of smoke and then Mr Harlow’s round face peered out of the cloud.

  ‘What on earth are you two up to now?’ he said, shaking his head, glancing at where Frank still held Joe’s sleeve. Frank let go quickly.

  ‘Just chatting, Mr Harlow,’ Joe said, trying to distract him. ‘Sorry about the noise, you know how excitable Frank can get.’ With that, he gave Frank a very pointed stare, who merely shrugged in reply.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Mr Harlow said, before taking another puff of his cigar. ‘I knew I should have split you two up on day one. It’s a wonder you get any work done at all, Gallagher.’

  Frank mumbled something under his breath, but Joe didn’t catch the words.

  ‘I should bring my office out here, so I can keep an eye on you.’ There was a glint in Mr Harlow’s eye which showed that he was joking, but Frank just stared at the pile of work on his desk with a frown. ‘At least I wouldn’t miss out on the fun,’ Mr Harlow continued, ignoring Frank. ‘Do you have that work I asked you for?’

  He could do that so well, Joe thought. Go from reprimanding someone to being their friend, then asking them for the work that they should have been doing. It was a well-practised management technique he had picked up somewhere. Joe couldn’t thi
nk where he might have got such a thing; as far as he knew, Mr Harlow had been at the newspaper his entire life.

  Frank shuffled through the papers on his desk, making what was a mess into an altogether different type of mess. He found what he wanted between a pile of books and pulled it out, smiling to himself. The books clattered onto the floor. Without attempting to pick them up, he handed the paper to Mr Harlow.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘I finished it this morning. Had I known you wanted it that desperately I’d have brought it you.’ He beamed with pride at having not been found wanting by Mr Harlow and smirked at Joe who shook his head and scoffed.

  ‘You should get that framed, Mr Harlow,’ Frank said.

  ‘Oh, why?’ He frowned at the two younger men.

  ‘It’ll be worth something one day. The last article that Frank Gallagher, national hero, ever edited. It’ll be priceless.’

  ‘You’re priceless, Frank,’ Joe said, laughing.

  ‘Another one leaving me.’ Mr Harlow tutted and shook his head. ‘Don’t think that there will be a job for you here when you get back. I can’t go keeping spaces for everyone that fancies their hand at soldiering. We’ve got a paper to run, you know. The owner said, “We have to support our brave men and boys,” but what does he know about running a paper, eh?’

  He stared for a few seconds, as if willing them to answer his question.

  ‘Just you make sure that you get the rest of those articles ready to go for tomorrow’s paper, all right? I’ll have to go off and sort out finding someone to do your work, not that it’s much. Still, someone’s got to do it, even if it’s a trained monkey.’

  He walked off, leaving a cloud of acrid smoke in his wake. The wheezing grew quieter as his footsteps diminished into the distance.

  ‘Well, I never. That was a bit rude,’ Frank said shaking his head and trying to tidy his desk. ‘He’s never spoken to me like that before.’