George didn’t feel much like talking either; he had received a letter that morning with the usual Christmas bar of chocolate, but what he hadn’t been expecting was the news about his sister. He had shed what tears he had left for Lizzie, when he realised that he could only just picture her face.
Tom didn’t drink the brew George had handed him. Instead he wrapped his fingerless-gloved hands around it, rubbing them against the warm metal for added heat. All the while the rain fell down amongst the duckboards. At least for once the rats were nowhere to be seen, George thought. George passed Tom a piece of creamy brown chocolate.
He said something in reply, and George didn’t quite hear.
‘Hmm, what?’ he said, clamping his jaws back together in an effort to keep the cold in.
‘M… M… Merry Christmas, I said.’
George hadn’t even thought about it. Today was just another day in the trench as far as he was aware. Another day of mind-numbing dullness as they sat around in case the Germans decided to attack. Even the British officers wouldn’t be made to issue an attack order in this cold. He very much doubted that the Germans would try to either. He would bet that half the artillery guns were frozen shut, there would be no shelling to prelude an attack.
At that moment, there was the crump of a bang further up the line. A shower of brown snow fell over their trench and George shook it off him. A couple of machine guns opened up on either side, but stopped as soon as they realised there was nothing to shoot at. The explosion could be someone with a trench mortar getting bored.
‘Merry Christmas, Tom,’ he said, smiling ruefully.
Chapter 27
A woman in a beige winter dress pushed a heavy perambulator down the street and past him, the dust of the road turning the hem a blackened-brown. Joe caught a glimpse of the child inside, wrapped up safe in the white cloth coddling, not a care in the world, or any inkling of the horror that was going on. He wondered if this child would grow old enough to be forced to fight in the war that was even now consuming thousands of lives. It was supposed to have been over before it had started, but two years later it still dragged on with no sign of a conclusion. They had said it was supposed to be over by Christmas, a cliché, but they were just closing in on their second Christmas without any sign of it ending. Would that child someday be on the end of a German charge?
He shuddered at the thought.
How could such a young woman have had a child during a war. Was her husband not out fighting? Perhaps he owned an estate somewhere and only his staff had to go to war. She had looked well off.
What business was it of his who went to fight or not? He was against the very idea of the war in the first place. If he had his way, no one would be fighting.
He walked up the road to his house. The neighbours glanced at him warily, but wouldn’t show outward aggression. He knew that they had already disowned his family. His mother hadn’t told him, but he could see it in her expression and what she didn’t say. Even Mrs Adams next door had begun avoiding the Abbotts. It made Joe sad to think that he had caused his family to be pariahs, but it wasn’t his fault. People could make him an outcast all they wanted, but his family had nothing to do with it. They had tried to talk him out of it enough.
Even Anne didn’t feel safe coming to his house any more. Some of the neighbours had been aggressive towards her for associating with him, and her parents were not keen either.
The family were all in the front room as he entered the house, and only Catherine looked up as Joe walked into the room. His mother was wearing black and was dabbing her eye with a handkerchief. Joe’s heart sank. What had happened? Was it George?
Catherine jumped up from her chair and headed off Joe at the door. Pulling his arm, she took him into the hallway, and to the bottom of the stairs. She hugged him, laying her head on his chest. They weren’t close, but she had never been a distant older sister to him.
‘I’m so sorry you have to find out this way, Joe. We couldn’t find you earlier.’
He rubbed a hand across his face. He had dreaded this day for so long, he didn’t know what to do.
‘How did it happen?’ he asked. ‘Was he in an attack or… what happened?’
‘What?’ Catherine stood back. She put a hand to her mouth in sudden realisation. ‘Oh, George? No, it’s not George. Oh, Joe.’
She reached for him again, but he pulled away.
‘It’s Lizzie. Her cough… she had an infection in her lungs.’
His legs gave way underneath him and he landed on the bottom steps of the staircase. The wooden creaked in sympathy.
His little sister? He couldn’t believe it. He shook his head and fumbled for the banister to pull himself back up.
‘There was nothing they could do.’
He pulled himself up and pushed past her, wrenching the door open and rushing out into the street. He had lost his only connection to this family and he wanted to get away. What had Lizzie done to deserve this? He had always feared for his brother’s safety – he was in constant danger – but Joe had never imagined that someone so young would be taken from them. He couldn’t come to terms with it. It wasn’t right. He had to walk and think. He didn’t know where his legs were taking him, but he went anyway. He had to clear his head.
*
‘Joe, where have you been?’ Anne asked as he walked into the office. She drew him to one side. ‘Without Mr Harlow here to protect you, you have to be careful.’
Joe didn’t say anything. He didn’t feel like talking. Anne just took it as his unwillingness to listen.
‘You know that the owner is suspicious of you. With all the other men your age and older gone off to fight, he’s wondering why you won’t.’
‘You know, and he knows why.’ Joe shook his head.
‘Why don’t you agree to go and do some menial task?’ Anne asked, imploring. ‘It will keep you away from the war, and it will stop the authorities from harassing you. Will you not consider it?’
Joe looked at her, and at first said nothing. How could he make her understand his principles, and everything he believed? He often thought they were so alike. Before the war had taken over their lives and forced them to this, they had been. They could talk about philosophy, and politics, but now, now everything had changed for them. She was so concerned for him that he almost wanted to weep. He knew that he wasn’t being fair to her, and that by associating with him she would be ostracised. But even for her, he couldn’t change his views.
At times like this he often wondered if religion might be an easier way. So many people found solace in faith. For many of the other conscientious objectors, religion was a huge part of their argument, and for the most part, from what Joe could tell, their argument got a lot more recognition from those in a position of power. To say it was easier for them would be unfair, but it seemed as if the Quakers and the like were more understood than those that just refused to do any harm. If they had no religion, what was their problem?
But then Joe couldn’t bring himself to resort to religion either, and he was certain he couldn’t lie about it. The way he had learnt at school had been unusual as far as he could tell from his conversations with others. His teacher, old Fenning, had often talked philosophy and had told the boys to make up their own minds about things.
Joe had decided after many hours reading scriptures and essays that he could find no solace in religion. He liked the moral messages, but they should be human messages, not just attributed to religion.
‘I’m sorry, Anne. If I were to do that I would be a hypocrite. Anything I might do that would benefit the war effort would be to condone the war. I can’t support them in any way. It wouldn’t be right. If I can provide for the war effort then I can go and fight and I’m not prepared to do that.’
Anne just stared, biting her lip. She was unsure what to say, opening her mouth once, then closing it again. Then with determination in her eyes, she ploughed ahead.
‘Can’t you see why you’re not g
iving them much choice?’
‘There’s always a choice, that’s what this is about. We should always have a choice. They cannot force us to go to war to fight for things we don’t believe in.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Joe. You know exactly what I mean.’
Her lips pursed. She frowned at him in frustration and all he could think about was how pretty she was. He knew she understood, but he also knew that she was conflicted. He couldn’t quite understand it himself. She was on his side and against it all at the same time. Perhaps it had been her that had put the first white feather he had ever gained on his desk all those years ago. Perhaps it had been her subtle way of trying to encourage him to do what she saw as the right thing, without having an open conflict with him. An open conflict like they were having now. He could imagine her being tactful like that, trying to save his feelings, in her own special way. He felt a little anger himself now, but it was dangerous to think like that. He had to stop himself before he said anything he regretted. He had already made her angry by just being honest. He could never control what he said around her. She had a way of opening him up like a key. At times he loved her for it. This was not one of those times. He decided to stay silent.
She carried on the conversation for him.
‘The tribunal will not end well,’ she said. It was like she couldn’t face him, to look him in the eyes and say what she knew to be true. Not because of any embarrassment, or lack of conviction, but because she couldn’t bear the look of pain that he knew dropped onto his face at her words. ‘They will call you a coward. You know they will.’
‘I know,’ he whispered, wishing he could just take her in his arms and hold her, but she wouldn’t not thank him for it, not right now, not while they were having this conversation and she had things that needed saying. ‘It will be up to me to convince them that I’m not a coward.’
‘They won’t believe you.’ This time he could see the pain on her face that no doubt matched his. She held his gaze. ‘They’ll only see that you refuse to fight, and see that as cowardice. I can see why they would think that.’
He was speechless, and didn’t know what to say. His expression must have changed because Anne hurried to continue.
‘I’m not calling you a coward,’ she said with almost no pause. She almost reached out for him but stopped herself. ‘Just that I can see why they would think that you are. The men that want to fight have gone. The only ones left to judge you are the ones like you, who won’t be involved, or those too old to go and fight.’
Now she put her hand on the back of his.
‘The men that are too old to fight will hate you. They will envy your chance to fight, and hate you for not embracing it. Surely you can see that? They will not listen to any other story.’
Joe hoped with all his strength that she was wrong. The tribunals had been set up to help people like him, hadn’t they? They had to see that it wasn’t cowardice that stayed his hand, but the fact that he didn’t want to, couldn’t, harm another man. He couldn’t think of anything more hideous than that.
Then it occurred to him: if not wanting to hurt your fellow man was cowardice, then so be it. If they would not believe him or understand his values then he would try and educate them. If he still failed then he would pay the price. But nothing would make him go to France, not even to find George. He would stand by his principles whatever may come.
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,’ he said. ‘We’ve had this argument before. It never changes. Can we not argue for once? Today of all days.’
He hadn’t meant to be rude to her, but his heart was breaking and he wasn’t sure he could hold it together. He didn’t want to think about the war for once.
‘What’s the matter with you, Joe? You’ve been acting strange since you walked in. More distant than usual.’ She stared at him, as if trying to penetrate his inner thoughts.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said.
‘Don’t be like that, Joe, you know you can tell me anything. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Lizzie,’ he said.
‘What’s Lizzie?’ Anne looked confused.
‘She’s… she’s gone.’
With those words the floodgates opened. Tears rolled down Joe’s cheeks unchecked. He didn’t care who saw him, it didn’t matter anymore. Years of pent-up rage and frustration came forth at his closest sister’s death. He had held his emotions in check for so long, but he couldn’t any longer. She had been so young, so full of life until a few short weeks ago. He blamed himself. Perhaps he should have tried to bring in more money to the household and if he hadn’t caused his family to be outcasts, then they could have got her more help. It was all so sudden. He sobbed and tried to wipe the tears away, but they were too many.
Anne still stared at him, and he saw one tear drop down from her eyes to run down her cheek.
‘I’m so sorry, Joe.’
She was still so pretty, even with tears in her eyes. He didn’t reach up and wipe them away, but instead pulled her close to him. He didn’t care that they were supposed to be working, or whether the owner would have anything to say. All he wanted to do at this moment was to hold Anne close to him, smell her hair and forget about anything else.
He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to his sister, and he couldn’t imagine losing Anne in the same way. The thought brought on more tears.
He would never let her go.
1916
Chapter 28
Joe read the casualty lists for the newspaper and his heart almost stopped. The news coming in from France was growing worse and worse. Despite the conscription, the British Army had thousands more casualties. The latest assault was being labelled as a success, but the roll of the dead was bigger than any he had seen before. He ran a finger along each line of text as his finger blackened from the ink, but he couldn’t see a ‘Private. Abbott, G.’ and for that he was thankful. With Lizzie’s passing, Christmas had been non-existent and the family was close to breaking point. Joe felt it would only get worse, and he hoped for George’s safety. He was due home on leave soon, but it was likely to be cancelled as it had several times before.
He was also thankful that there were no other names he recognised either. He looked around and the rest of the office was almost empty, only a few of the older men working at their desks. There were also women working away, but Anne was out somewhere working on an article. He had been so absorbed in his own troubles, he hadn’t paid attention when she had told him. He knew she was doing something along the lines of gathering reports of the war, but to her it was just a job. She hadn’t seemed to notice, or was too aware of his worries to pull him up on it.
He thought of all the boys and men that had lost their lives in this latest battle and that they were now just names on a sheet of paper. How many mothers would be receiving letters from commanding officers telling them of their sons’ bravery in the line of duty? How many mothers would receive more than one letter on the same day? He knew his mother feared that day more than anything, but at least she would not receive one for Joe.
At that moment he also felt guilty for the thought. What right did he have to be glad that he wasn’t there? What made him any more special than the soldiers who were giving their lives? Education? That was unfair on the other men. Just because he had received a better education that should not single him out. No, what made him different was that he was willing to fight for another cause. He would fight the government and the military so that those other men could come home. So that they could have the opportunities that he had.
He finished scribbling down some notes on a piece of paper in front of him and put the pen to one side. He pushed the most recent letter he had been writing to George underneath the pile so that no one would read it in his absence.
Anne would come to meet him soon, and he had taken the time to compose his notes. It had taken him a few drafts to get it right, but he was somewhat confident he knew now what needed to be said. Even if he wouldn
’t use the notes in the military tribunal the very act of writing them out had helped ease them into his memory. It wasn’t a rousing speech, he wasn’t capable of awe-inspiring oratory, but he was happy with the points he was trying to make. He had applied for exemption, and all going to plan it would be granted.
Anne walked into the office from the stairwell and smiled over at him. For once she didn’t put her hat and coat on the stand, but instead walked straight over to him. She lay a hand on his shoulder.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked, eyeing the notes in front of him.
He grunted in reply, rested his ear on her hand and relished the warmth there. If he could, he would have stayed there for the rest of eternity. Knowing that wasn’t possible, he stood up and retrieved his jacket and tweed hat. They left the building arm in arm for what could be the last time.
*
The town hall stood magnificent at the end of Castle Street looking along the road as if in judgement. Like many of the other buildings in the area it was made from a pale grey stone that had begun to go a blackish-brown from the soot and smog of local industry. The top of the building was a dome, on which Minerva sat holding a spear and staring down at the street.
Joe and Anne entered via the main entrance to the front of the building, which was housed in the middle of three arches underneath a series of columns. He held the door open for her letting her inside first, with a smile. She gave him a knowing look, suspecting that he was trying everything possible to hold off the inevitable. The tribunal could not be avoided, but he wasn’t going to run at it with open arms.
Goodbye for Now Page 27