Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  The clerk looked shocked and opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking slowly and carefully. He stared at Joe with narrowed eyes as he refused to look at Anne. ‘The crowd are angry with the Germans because they sunk the Lusitania.’

  There was a shocked silence in the room. The only sound was a faint clicking of a radiator in the corner as it cooled.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ the clerk asked, and Anne shook her head. Joe could feel himself doing the same; this changed things.

  ‘As far as we can work out the Lusitania was sunk by one of those German U-boats. Those people out there want retribution for that. That’s what they’re so angry about. I don’t know what they expect us to do about it, we’re trying to work out how many survivors there are at the moment, let alone condemning the Germans for this. That’s something the government can do, surely?’

  Anne nodded.

  ‘How many people were onboard?’ Joe asked. Something the clerk had said was worrying him.

  ‘One thousand two hundred and sixty-six passengers,’ the clerk replied, without hesitation.

  Joe stared at him, and he looked straight back, unflinching. Joe was the first to give in, pretending to make a note in his notepad. ‘And how many crew?’ he asked, refusing to look at the clerk, who this time hesitated for a moment.

  ‘On our manifest were six hundred and ninety-six crew of all ratings,’ he said at length, clearing his throat afterwards in a way that was starting to annoy Joe.

  ‘I make that out as one thousand, nine hundred and sixty-two onboard,’ Anne added.

  ‘Precisely.’ Again, that little clearing of the throat.

  Joe looked up again. Anne had gone white, if she could be any paler. The blood had drained from her face, and she covered her mouth with one hand. It was a large number of people to die, just like that, but the numbers were less than those in France.

  ‘How many of those survived?’ Joe plunged on, knowing already that he wouldn’t like the answer.

  ‘Well…’ The clerk coughed. ‘That’s just it. We don’t know as of this present moment. This is one of the reasons why the directors are all indisposed. We are trying to find out more about what happened, but as I’m sure you can imagine, reports coming through are somewhat confused and disjointed. As is to be expected.’

  ‘A rough number perhaps?’ Joe ventured.

  ‘The only solid report we have is from the cruiser HMS Juno at the scene. Their telegrams mention that they believe only six lifeboats successfully launched.’

  ‘Six?’ Anne gasped.

  ‘Yes, only six. But you must understand that you cannot print that as fact.’ The clerk gave them both a stern look. ‘We do not have enough details and cannot be sure of the facts until the entire area has been checked and the manifest cross-referenced. Why, even now there could be more information coming in that I am not aware of.’

  ‘Of course,’ Joe said, holding up an appeasing hand, palm outstretched, pencil between thumb and index finger. ‘We’re aware that this is only speculation at the moment. Anything we print will be appropriate.’

  He thought about the previous articles he had written and realised now that he was being dishonest. He would write and print precisely what he meant to. Some would try to use this article to rouse the rabble about the war, but he knew he couldn’t do that.

  ‘How many survivors does that make on the lifeboats?’ he asked. ‘How many can they hold?’ He would instead focus on the human cost of the war, on both sides.

  ‘It depends entirely on the type of boat, I’m afraid. The Lusitania was equipped with several types of lifeboat.’

  ‘On average, then.’

  ‘Say about fifty people per boat? Some can take more, some less.’

  ‘So about three hundred people you would say?’

  ‘If they were full, about that. Many would have perished in the cold conditions. The Juno stated that they found many afloat, drowned in the conditions, or frozen to death.’

  Anne gasped again. ‘How horrid,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Those poor, poor people.’

  ‘Three hundred, out of almost two thousand people,’ Joe whispered under his breath.

  ‘Early days yet,’ the clerk tried to reassure him, clearing his throat.

  *

  Joe and Anne walked for some time in silence. They had left the Cunard building and the growing crowd behind. Joe didn’t feel like saying anything, and Anne was quiet too, biting her lip in thought. The weight of the Lusitania disaster had hit Joe hard. It would affect the whole city in time, just as the Titanic had three years before. This time it felt so much worse. Perhaps it was because Joe was closer to it, old enough now to understand what it meant, or perhaps it was because it had not been an accident.

  ‘How could they do such a thing, Joe?’ Anne asked behind him, finding her voice.

  He glanced over at her and saw the sadness in her eyes. He was sure it was present in his too. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same thing. How could anyone take another person’s life? It’s unthinkable.’

  She sighed. ‘How could they torpedo a civilian ship? With all those women and children aboard. The men too. They weren’t soldiers. How could they do it? Why would they do it?’

  ‘Perhaps they thought it was a naval ship? Who knows how much those U-boats can see under the water?’

  ‘But the Lusitania was huge. They must have known what they were doing. It’s horrible.’

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t know what else to say. They were at war with each other, and in war there were casualties. It was what he had been trying to say for the last few months. Perhaps now people would listen.

  Anne shook her head again. They crossed a busy road, between the horses and carts. Joe didn’t want to go back to work just yet, he wanted to get his thoughts right in his head before he had a chance to write down what he was thinking. ‘They were defenceless,’ she said, once they had crossed the road.

  ‘Why does it matter if a man has a gun or not? Killing him is still a bad thing.’

  ‘There were Americans on that ship too. They’re not even in the war.’

  ‘Oh, fantastic.’ He stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘That means more men to throw into the war machine. America will surely enter the war now.’

  ‘Isn’t that a good thing? The war will end more quickly.’

  ‘How can we know that? They didn’t think it would last long at the start. Now they’re going to start conscription soon. Why would they do that if they thought the war would be over soon?’

  He didn’t realise, but he had put a hand on her arm whilst talking to her. He looked into her eyes and through the sadness he saw a flicker of determination flare. ‘You still won’t go? You’ll stay with me?’ she said in a whisper. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of you out there on your own.’

  He didn’t know what to say, he was dumbstruck. She had never openly voiced any kind of concern for him before. He pulled her close and hugged her. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to bring her closer to him, into his world. She didn’t resist and felt just right, like the missing piece of a jigsaw. As he had done at the picture house, he brushed her cheek, but this time he ran his finger under her chin and lifted up her head to look him in the eye.

  ‘Nothing in this world will make me go to war,’ he whispered. ‘I will not leave your side, as long as you will have me.’

  ‘I never thanked you for standing up for me back there.’ Her voice was a whisper too, afraid that anyone might overhear them and break this moment. He kissed her then for the first time. Her immediate shock turned into reciprocation, and they held the kiss for a long, pleasant moment.

  ‘You’re a terribly forward young man, Mr Abbott. Whatever would your mother say?’

  Happiness returned to her eyes and they laughed together.

  He pulled her closer and she hugged him back, cuddling into his body. She fitted perfectly into the shape his arms made as if she were the other, missing, half of
him. He felt that if she should ever let go that he would be incomplete again. He paused for a moment, smelling the sweet smell of her hair, then let go.

  As she had when they’d first properly met, she took his hand in hers and led him away, but this time their fingers intertwined together.

  Chapter 24

  Soon it was their time to go back into the line. The orders had come down that they were to relieve another unit. Their rest was over. George could see the trepidation on everyone’s faces, despite their best efforts to hide it. No one talked, they just stared. It was a look that permeated the entire army and at some point became disinterest. They packed up their belongings, removing any trace that they had been there, and were gone.

  George was sad to leave it. Despite the trouble acquiring their billet, the barn had become a home for the past few days. It was always preferable to the foxholes in the trench where they grabbed a few hours’ restless sleep.

  Tom strode over to where George was forming up into the marching column. His face was downcast, with a heavy frown on his brow, and George could already sense that bad news was coming.

  ‘I’ve just been to see the Sergeant, lad.’

  George starting walking with the rest of his section and Tom fell in beside him.

  ‘He says there’s going to be an assault first thing in the morning. HQ want to make another big push to try and force the situation. They want us right at the front of it all, we’re going in with the rest of the battalion, and the support of the entire artillery in this area. It’s going to be a big one, I caught sight of them bringing shells up from the rear.’

  ‘But we’re only just going back into the line.’

  ‘Aye, so they think we’ll be fresh and raring to go. It’s happening whether we like it or not, George.’

  So much for that restless sleep. Even that was preferable to a full-on assault of the German trenches.

  *

  They walked, as was their orders. The artillery hadn’t stopped firing. They had been carrying on for hours, pummelling the landscape into an unrecognisable mess. They were supposed to be laying down a curtain of fire in front of them, but some of the shells were falling short. George cursed the artillery under his breath. They had to slow their rate of advance to an even slower pace than the already painfully slow walk they were achieving.

  ‘Steady there,’ the officer shouted at one man, but George couldn’t see who. The officer clutched his pistol, high out in front of him, in a way that showed he intended to use it, whatever the cost.

  The artillery was a good screen, but George prayed that it would stop soon and leave them with the cover of darkness. If they were unlucky a shell could land right amongst the section. At least they wouldn’t know about it.

  They came to a length of wire. They had been told that the shelling would cut it, allowing them an easy way through, but as they got closer George could see that it was unaffected. Despite the orange flakes of rust and the disjointed angles, it was still intact. They would have to spend time cutting it themselves. Time they could ill afford.

  A star shell went up, just ahead of them, and then all hell broke loose. The Germans started firing trench mortars and they fell in the mud, throwing up great clots of dirt and body parts. George wasn’t sure if they had been spotted, or if it had just been precautionary.

  There was the crump of a change in air pressure around him, and a shell landed nearby. It blew dust at him, but he was unscathed. Men were still advancing in order, but he had lost Tom in the confusion.

  ‘Tom?’ he shouted, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice. He couldn’t see him in the darkness, he could be anywhere. He could even be one of the many bodies that littered no man’s land. He dropped deeper into the shell hole, into the thick mud and stale water that filled it and now came up to his shins, soaking his boots. It stank of rot and decay.

  There was a shape at the bottom of the shell hole, a body freshly deposited in the dirt. With fear, George turned the body over with one hand, keeping his other on the rifle. He was afraid of what he might see, Tom’s lifeless eyes staring back at him. It was a struggle to get the body to turn, it was a complete dead-weight. He had to use his foot to help, but the mud pressed against him. It wasn’t an honourable affair, but he wanted to find his friend, whatever the cost. If this was Tom he would at least try and return his body to their own lines. Once the body was perpendicular with the ground its centre of gravity shifted and it slapped back down into the mud causing ripples in the thick, scummy water. Dull, lifeless eyes stared back at him, just peeking out of the murky filth.

  It wasn’t Tom.

  Thank God.

  He pushed back in revulsion at the deed. He didn’t know this man, but he had just kicked his body over. He crawled back up the mud backwards, unsure where he was going, but determined to get away from the body.

  Another star shell went up ahead of them. In the light he could see some other men were advancing and not too far ahead. He rushed to catch up, slashing through the mud and grime.

  A machine gun opened up somewhere to their right, the rattle deafening in the night. His section ducked. Some of the others weren’t so lucky, and George could hear the puff and muted cries as they were hit. He could just about make out the machine gun from the muzzle flash. It didn’t seem to be able to traverse as far as where he lay so he raised his head a little higher over the tip of the crater he was lying in. He couldn’t see where the officer had gone; every man looked the same in the dark, whether friend or foe. There were some men moving in front of him in the direction of the enemy trench.

  He moved his hand to get some grip and pull himself up out of the hole, but it went straight into the thick mud and almost became stuck. He had to use his other arm to pull it free, putting down his rifle at the same time. He was glad there was no officer around, otherwise he would be in trouble for that act alone, not to mention the fact that he wasn’t moving forward in an ordered fashion. He picked up his rifle again and checked the firing mechanism. The bolt rocked back fine, but he doubted it would pass inspection. He hoped he wouldn’t need it to before he got a good chance to clean it.

  He ran after the other men, not caring about his orders, only intent on keeping up with them so he wasn’t alone. They were pressing their advantage well and had managed to cross the ground to the first German trench.

  He jumped in after them.

  German soldiers were still defending the trench. The Brits were too close for them to bring weapons to bear so some men used bayonets to thrust at their enemies. A man lunged at George and he managed to parry the bayonet with his own rifle.

  He grabbed for a club he had in his harness and swung it at the German. The heavy wood was wrapped in barbed wire and it hit the man on the temple. Blood sprayed across George’s forearm. It was a brutal weapon, but it saved his life. He had taken it from the farm they had billeted in and added his own barbed wire as he had seen other men do to similar weapons. Bayonets were too long to wield in the close quarters of a trench brawl.

  Panting from the struggle he searched for his next target. A young German saw him, his mouth dropped open and he turned and ran. George let him go.

  The others were dealing with the remaining Germans. There was still no sign of Tom.

  The trench was in a lot better condition than the trenches they were used to. The duckboards were about a foot deeper and the walls were reinforced in a way that George hadn’t seen before. Apart from that it appeared almost the same as the British trenches. Both sides had pretty much the same conditions in which to suffer. There was a lot less mud, but it wasn’t a place that someone would want to call home. And still, the Germans had left it to get out of the artillery fire. That same artillery fire that was now falling down amongst the British.

  ‘Someone tell those fucking gunners to pack it in!’ a voice shouted over the din.

  The officer turned on him but said nothing to reprimand him.

  ‘We’ll have to head back,’ he said
at length, looking unsure about it. The officer had still yet to fire his pistol in anger, but he couldn’t argue that they were in a precarious situation. They had lost too many men and were in danger of being fired upon by their own artillery. If and when the gunners stopped firing, the Germans would counter-attack from whatever safety they had gone to. There weren’t enough men left in the section to hold on to the enemy trench and the officer had come to the same conclusion.

  ‘There’s nothing for it, lads. We can’t hold this trench with what’s left of us,’ he said again, confirming George’s suspicions. ‘Come on, let’s get back over that wall. On with you.’

  There was some groaning from the men, a couple of whom had only just crawled into the trench from no man’s land.

  ‘You can’t be serious?’ one of them said. It was the same voice that had complained about the gunners.

  This time the officer looked fit to burst.

  ‘Of course I’m serious,’ he shouted at the man, still brandishing his Webley revolver. ‘We’re heading back to our own trenches, now get on with it.’ He gestured back out into no man’s land, but the private was not done.

  ‘We can’t go back out there, sir.’ He spat the title out, and stared at the officer. ‘We only just got through it the first time.’

  ‘We can’t stay here either,’ George said, stepping between the two men. He didn’t know why he did it, but he was keen to stop any fighting between their own men. The private, should he survive the raid, would no doubt be up on a charge, and the officer might push matters to make sure he saved face in front of the men. George didn’t want either. The officer gave George a nod.

  ‘The private’s correct. We can’t stay here. Good soldiers that you all undoubtedly are, once Fritz comes back we will be outnumbered. There’s nothing here for us, the raid has failed and I would rather take my chances out there—’ again he pointed at the gloom between the lines, ‘—than take my chances with a German counter-attack. They’ll have their backs up after this, that’s for sure.’