‘We’ll look after these while you’re here,’ he said and left Joe alone with the big warder.
Joe sat down on the pallet, feeling the cold of the cell even more by the barred window.
‘What shall I wear?’ he asked, growing tired of the way they were treating him, and no longer caring what he said. At that moment another warder arrived, carrying a bundle in his arms.
‘There you are,’ broken-nose said, as the other warder entered the cell. ‘What took you so long?’
The new warder grunted in reply. ‘You know why.’ He passed the bundle to the other warder and left the room again. Joe wondered whether all the warders were in a permanent bad mood, whether this was just their manner, or whether they were unhappy at having to deal with him. It could be the latter. He sat back further on the pallet and wrapped his arms around his body, trying to find more warmth.
‘Here.’ The broken-nosed warder put the bundle he had been given down on the side of the pallet. ‘You can wear this if you want to wear something.’
He smirked at Joe showing semi-rotten teeth, and it was an expression that Joe could only describe as being pure evil. The warder was taking some kind of perverse pleasure in his suffering. If this was what the warders were like, then what would the prisoners be like? Joe shuddered and it was nothing to do with the chilly breeze that permeated the cell.
He sat the bundle of clothes on the pallet and reached out a hand. He stopped abruptly when he saw the colour of the cloth. It was a khaki colour, the same colour he had seen George wearing before he set off to France. He recoiled, realising what the warders intended for him.
‘What’s this?’ He didn’t want to ask, fearing the answer, but he couldn’t help himself.
Again he was met with that predatory smirk.
‘This? Oh, this is your uniform, coward.’ The rotten breath hit Joe like a hammer. The warder was far too close for his liking. There was only one person he liked being that close to him and she was miles away. Small victories.
‘It’s not… not what I was expecting.’ He was playing for time, trying to think, but also willing the warder to go and leave him. He hoped this was all some sick joke, and soon the prison chief would come and put him out of his misery. He knew that he was lying to himself, but he had to cling on to something. The warder was still enjoying his distress. He picked up the tunic and held it out for Joe, much as a tailor might to someone trying on a new suit jacket.
‘Ya see, you’re a military prisoner, right? So there’s only one appropriate uniform for you.’
They’d even gone to the trouble of putting the regimental badges and pins on the tunic. This wasn’t just some khaki they had got out of storage, it was the King’s regiment uniform. What was worse was that they wanted him to put it on.
‘You only need put this on, and you can walk out of here at your pleasure.’ The warder still smirked. Joe was lost for words. He couldn’t think how to formulate his argument, to make this overbearing bully of a man understand. It had been his problem all along.
‘But… that’s the reason I’m in here.’
Broken-nose laughed out loud in that booming volley that Joe was becoming ever so familiar with.
‘Of course it is, coward. I know exactly why you’re here. You’re too scared to go and fight the Hun.’
‘I’m not…’ He thought better of it.
‘You’re too much of a coward, when there are people like me that would love to go out there and get stuck in. To show Hun what we’re made of. If only I had your eyesight, I’d happily go out there and fight.’
The warder reached for Joe’s head and he pushed himself back against the wall in fear. The touch didn’t come and the warder just boomed with laughter again.
‘See, you’re just a coward.’
Joe got angry for the first time, and he stood up and crossed to the other side of the cell to put some distance between himself and the warder.
‘I may be intimidated by larger men, but I am no coward.’
The two men watched each other and rounded the cell, like two boxers waiting for the initiating blow. Joe was at a disadvantage because he wouldn’t be the one to attack, and the warder knew that. He smiled with confidence at Joe who kept moving to keep away from him. The cell was too small to put much distance between them. To an observer the situation would have seemed hilarious. Joe, a scrawny, thin man dressed in only his white underwear, circling the big, bruting warder. He had no chance.
‘I don’t want to fight,’ he said. ‘I’ve come here because fighting is the last thing I want to do. I will defend myself if necessary, but I won’t fight.’
‘All you have to do is put on that uniform and you’re free to go. I will open up every door for you and forget about you. You’ll be warm, at least.’
‘This war is wrong. I can’t help but think that. Nothing you say or do to me will change that. I’ve already had enough abuse and derision for my opinion. Nothing will change it.’
He was back by the pallet now, the movement had brought him some warmth, but the cold breeze was sapping his energy. He sat down and the warder stared from by the doorway.
‘This war is wrong,’ he repeated. He looked down at the floor unwilling to meet the warder’s judging gaze. ‘It’s even turning us against each other. Men are dying, and no one has yet given us a good reason for why. Go out and fight if you want to. I’m not stopping you. But I won’t lift a hand to kill another man. I’m no murderer. Even if you will lock me in prison. If that’s what needs to be done to keep me from killing other men, then so be it.’
The warder grabbed open the door and walked into the corridor.
‘Just remember, you only need put that on.’ He pointed at the uniform. ‘And you’re free to go.’
With that, he closed the heavy door behind him, which fitted into its frame with a loud clang that reverberated from the uncoated walls and was deafeningly loud in the confined space.
Joe, exhausted after his short time in prison, lay down on the pallet and stretched his legs out. He closed his eyes, willing his heart to stop beating so fast, breathing in deep. In, and out. Without the knowledge that he was in a cell, the cold breeze that kept blowing over his skin and raising goosebumps would make him think he was lying down outside. He shivered where he lay. Some time later he fell asleep.
Chapter 34
George walked inside the rudimentary cell and nodded to the military policeman on duty, who shut the door behind him. Tom was curled up in a corner on the pallet they had given him for a bed. He still stared at the floor after George had entered. George stood opposite, as there was nothing to sit on, and coughed. Still Tom didn’t respond.
‘The Captain finally relented and gave me permission to see you. After the third time of asking. Begging more like,’ he said after a few awkward seconds. ‘He warned me against it actually, but I had to come.’
George was trying to fill the silence, and he was sure that Tom didn’t care for what he said. He finally regarded George.
‘Thank him for me, George,’ he said. ‘God, but it’s good to see your face. The old Captain was right though, you shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t see me like this.’
Tom’s skin was pale, even against the white walls of the room, and there was a sick pallor to him. There was a few days’ growth of beard on his chin, and the black stubble made him appear a lot older. His eyes were drawn, and the youthful exuberance was a distant memory.
‘I had to come, Tom. You know I did. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. You’re my oldest friend and I couldn’t leave you in here to rot on your own. Everything’s going to be all right.’ He wanted to reach out and somehow comfort his friend, but he had no idea what to do. This situation was unprecedented.
Tom looked George in the eye and burst out laughing. He rocked back and forth on the pallet he was laughing so much.
‘What?’ George asked, put out.
‘You…!’ That was the only word Tom could say betwe
en laughs.
‘What do you mean, “me”?’
‘You know what, don’t be daft, lad. You trying to comfort me. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. It’s just… it’s just that it’s usually me saying things like that to you. “Don’t worry, Georgie, everything’s going to be all right.” Look how much this place has changed us. I’m locked in here and you’ve grown up. Oh, don’t look at me like that!’
George tried to be impassive as Tom had sensed his unhappiness at the implication.
‘It’s a good thing, George. Trust me. You don’t want to rely on me anymore, it’s not healthy. It’s time for you to take charge. “George Abbott’s Army” always had more of a ring to it.’
He flashed that all so familiar grin for the first time in months, but through the black stubble, and alongside the pain in his eyes he looked like a different person.
George suddenly felt an anger he had never felt before. It rose up within him and made his head hurt. The outside world felt distant and distorted.
‘I’m the one you fucking left behind, Tom. So don’t give me that. We could have pushed that attack if you had been with us, but instead you left me to die. Don’t make out like you’re some fucking martyr for my cause. It’s not fair!’
Tom’s mouth fell open and he stared at George. Then his head dropped and he stared at the ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He sounded like a chastised child, and George knew that he could never maintain his anger at Tom. It still stung, but they had been through so much together.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter, Tom. Does it? I made it back in the end.’
‘No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have left you. I just… I… I just couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even think. I felt trapped. My head was buzzing, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I no longer saw you, and I no longer saw the explosions and gunfire. I just saw a means of escape, and I ran.’
He sighed a heavy sigh and looked up at George. His eyes were red with tears, but his mouth stuck in a line. He was still angry, but angry with himself.
‘I know it’s a terrible excuse, but there it is. I can’t explain it any better than that. In my fear I was blinkered to reality and I fled. I’m a coward and that’s all there is to it.’
George sat down on the pallet next to Tom and shared his view of the opposite wall. It was an unremarkable wall, with white paint peeling to reveal the brickwork underneath. He could imagine how staring at it for hours on end in confinement could drive a person insane. He closed his eyes and shook his head to banish away the thought.
They both sat there for a while in silence. What Tom was thinking, George had no way of telling, but he could hear him breathing away. He didn’t even know what he was thinking himself. He had been angry at Tom, worried for him, and every other emotion he could think of. He didn’t know how he felt now, seeing him in this state. He tried not to think about what was going to happen.
‘Where did you go?’ he said, forcing his mind away from the dark path it was leading down.
It was an honest question, but Tom made a confused ‘hmm’ sound from next to him. George got the impression that trying to change the subject had only annoyed Tom more.
‘Where did I go? Why are you asking that? What difference does it make?’
‘I just want to know. I’m curious. You disappeared without a word, and then the whole time… well, the whole time I was worried about you. I had no idea where you were, and I couldn’t leave my post for fear of the consequences. So where did you go?’
Tom didn’t answer straight away. He shuffled in his sitting position on the bed, but George still couldn’t look at him. After a few moments, Tom sighed and spoke.
‘At first I had no idea where I was going,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to get away. It was like my vision had gone blank and I just ran blindly. Kind of how I imagine a blinkered horse might feel. It took me quite some time to get my sense back and realise what I had done.’
‘After that, I stopped in a clearing and tried to get my breath back. I didn’t know where I was, but I was somewhere behind the lines. I knew if the military police found me I’d be in a lot of trouble, so I decided to keep running.’
He sighed again.
‘It wasn’t very clever, and it certainly wasn’t very brave, but I think we’ve already established that I wasn’t particularly thinking straight.’
‘Then what happened?’ George asked, determined not to bite and give his opinion on Tom’s actions. He could feel Tom observing him, his eyes boring into the side of George’s head, wondering where he was going with this.
‘Well, lad,’ he said. ‘I wanted to go home. To see my ma. It’s been too long.’
George nodded in agreement.
‘But there was no way I’d be able to board a boat at Le Havre, or anywhere else for that matter without a correct form. I was trapped between the enemy and our own army.
‘So, I thought I’d go back to that estaminet we drank in near Ypres. That village was nice, and if I only had a few hours before they found me I’d want to spend it somewhere like that. And, I thought I’d see if I could try my luck with that pretty serving girl. She was a real looker.’
George could hear Tom’s smile in his words and he laughed. Something of Tom’s old self shone through at that moment and they shared the laugh together. It reminded George of better times, back home in the Grapes, even on the dock, where Tom’s carefree attitude had got them through the working day and they had often laughed together with their friends. Then the war had come along and changed all that. Now Patrick and Harry were dead, and it was only Tom and George left. He no longer felt like laughing, and his lips straightened at the thought. They had lost so much, and he could dwell on that for hours. He tried not to. The only thing that made any difference was thinking about what the war had brought to the other people of Europe. George and Tom had lost a lot, but at least their families still had their homes. Out here, the same could not be said. In the villages they had billeted in and fought over, the houses were but ruins. Who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t stopped the Germans from advancing further?
‘So,’ George said, breaking the silence and his morbid train of thought. ‘Did you find her? Did you have any luck?’
‘I wish! The bloody place was closed.’
They both laughed. It felt good to laugh. George couldn’t remember the last time that either of them had laughed like this. The war had always been in their thoughts and in this cell was the first time that it had felt distant, as if it was now happening to someone else. The laughter died out as George realised that he would soon have to return and face the war. He couldn’t hold it off for much longer. Tom too lapsed into silence. The only sound in the cell was the sound of their careful breathing. Not even the outside sounds of war penetrated the walls of the cell.
‘Hey, George,’ Tom said after a while of them sitting in silence. ‘You know I’m not going to be around much longer, right?’
George didn’t know what to say. They had both been thinking it all along. The charge for being absent without leave was one of the most severe the army had. He just nodded, trying not to dwell too much on the fact. He sighed involuntarily.
‘I reckon Joe is right, ya know,’ Tom continued.
It was an odd comment, and George wasn’t sure where it had come from. George hadn’t mentioned his brother in months. In fact he didn’t think he had since they had been out in France. He had kept the contents of his mother’s letters to himself.
‘How do you know? What do you mean?’ he said.
‘My ma tells me. She writes too, ya know.’
Tom gave George a punch on the arm.
‘Don’t be stupid now. You know exactly what I mean. Don’t try and hide from it. You’re always running away from your problems.’
George couldn’t bring himself to point out the irony of that comment. He frowned and pursed his lips, letting Tom continue.
‘I reckon your bro
ther’s right. He always had more sense than you.’
George stood up from the pallet. There was a defiance in Tom’s eyes, and it scared George. He had never spoken to him like this before.
‘What are you talking about?’ he shouted, his anger at Tom for leaving him coming back, and adding to the anger he felt at hearing his words. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’ve finally seen the truth. We shouldn’t be fighting this war. Sooner or later you will realise that for yourself.’
George heard movement outside the room, and a shadow crossed the outline of the door. He heard a key being put into the lock, and then it opened with a click.
‘Time.’
The military policeman didn’t enter the cell. He just stared at them both with an air of thinly veiled contempt. George could see now why they were so hated by the other soldiers. How could they take any joy in what they had to do? Yet some of them seemed to enjoy it, more than was natural.
Tom had gone back to huddling in the corner, holding his knees up to his chest. He rested his head on the wall beside him and refused to meet George’s eyes.
‘Just go, George,’ he said. His voice didn’t falter. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
‘But…’
‘Goodbye, George,’ Tom forced, with finality.
‘Bye, Tom,’ George whispered as he turned to leave.
He walked out of the cell, using all his willpower to not look over his shoulder. Yet another metaphorical corner was turned in his life. He would have to live life without Tom. As he left through the front room six other privates were being instructed by the provost martial. They stopped as he came near, eyeing him with suspicion. Two of them he recognised from his company; they had known Tom. The other four he didn’t recognise. It occurred to him then that according to army regulations it required six volunteers for a firing squad. He wanted to scowl at them, but what good would it do? He couldn’t understand their decision, like he could no longer understand his oldest friend. Why would they volunteer for such a duty?
Goodbye for Now Page 33