by Keely Hutton
“Well done,” Mr. Sullivan said, patting the boy’s head.
Thomas smiled. He’d been shocked to find Charlie and Henry on his doorstep a month after Frederick and Charlie had been discharged from the army. After Charlie explained that their father had been killed in a bar fight, the Sullivans had welcomed the brothers into their home without hesitation. Charlie found a job at St. Paul’s, where Father Clark taught him to read and write in exchange for help around the church, including painting, which Charlie loved. Two years later, it was as though Charlie and Henry had always been part of their family.
“Look who I found,” Mrs. Sullivan yelled from the end of the dock. Max let out an excited bark, scurried down the dock, and leaped into the waiting arms of a soldier with glasses and tidy black hair. A distinguished looking gentleman with a receding hairline and neatly trimmed gray mustache stood beside him.
“Max!” Frederick exclaimed, petting the terrier. Max licked his face, jumped down, ran two circles around his legs, and then sprinted back to Thomas.
“You made it!” Thomas said, striding forward to shake Frederick’s hand.
“Thomas, may I introduce my father, General Theodore Chamberlain?”
Thomas saluted General Chamberlain. “It is an honor to meet you, sir.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thomas,” Frederick’s father said. “My son has told me a great deal about you and your family.”
“I apologize for our tardiness,” Frederick said. “But as you well know, I’ve never had good luck with trains running on time.”
The boys chuckled at the memory of their first meeting on the transport train at Charing Cross station.
“Tardy or not,” Thomas said, “I’m glad you both could join us today.”
“We all are,” Mrs. Sullivan said, patting Frederick’s arm.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Frederick said. “We made a promise.”
Thomas smiled. “Yes, we did. How have you been?”
“Good. It took some persuasion on my father’s part and a sizable donation, but Eton let me return.”
His father cleared his throat and raised a warning eyebrow at his son. “Manners, Frederick.”
An ashamed blush warmed Frederick’s cheeks. “Sorry, sir.” He motioned to his Eton uniform. “I’ll graduate a year late, but at least I’ll graduate and be reinstated into the army.”
“The army would be lucky to have you again,” Thomas said.
“Thank you.” Frederick looked past Thomas to Charlie, who’d joined them along with Mr. Sullivan, Henry, and the twins. “How are you, Mouse?”
“I’m well. It’s good to see you, Frederick.”
Frederick shook his hand. “You too.”
“Come on,” Thomas said, leading him down the dock. “Let me show you the first vessel of Sullivan Brothers Shipping’s fleet.” While General Chamberlain and Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan became acquainted, Thomas and Charlie led Frederick over to the boat.
“King George!” Frederick exclaimed with a chuckle as he read the name painted on the stern. “You’re a man of your word, Thomas.”
“That he is!” a voice called out from behind them.
They turned to see George striding down the dock.
Frederick smiled. “If it isn’t the King of the Secret Soldiers himself.”
“Former king,” George corrected. “I abdicated my throne to become part owner of the newest shipping company in Dover. It promises to be the finest to sail the Channel.”
“I had heard rumors of your new venture,” Frederick said, extending his hand. “Congratulations, Shillings.”
George pulled him into a hug. “Thanks. How are you, Eton?”
“I can’t complain.”
“Of course you can,” George said with a teasing smile. “It’s your special skill.”
* * *
After Thomas and George christened their new boat, George announced he had something to show everyone.
“What is it?” asked Letitia, bouncing on her toes.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to come with me to find out.”
They followed George up a worn path leading to the cliffs of Dover. Max trotted along at Thomas’s heels. When Thomas reached the top, he stopped short.
Before him, in the spot where he and James had sat and dreamed about their futures, stood a white cross. A short inscription was carved into the stone.
JAMES M. SULLIVAN
LOVING SON AND BROTHER
1898–1917
Mrs. Sullivan let out a gasp and covered her mouth. Mr. Sullivan pulled her into an embrace, and Letitia and Charlotte fought back tears as they drew close to their parents.
Thomas didn’t speak. He stared at the memorial, his face void of expression.
After several seconds of silence, George shifted nervously in his place beside him.
“You did this?” Thomas asked.
“Well, yeah,” George said, wary of his friend’s reaction to his surprise. “I’ve been working on it for a while.”
When Thomas remained silent, staring at the memorial, George glanced over at Charlie, who shrugged.
“I won some money playing cards with a group of miners in town,” George continued. “Made enough to buy the marble. The chap who carves the gravestones for St. Paul’s cemetery agreed to carve and inscribe the memorial if I helped around his shop for a few months. I wanted it done before we launched King George. It’s quite heavy. Thankfully, Mr. Bartlett let me borrow a cart and pony from the mine to haul it up here. I got it in place just as Eton arrived.”
Without taking his eyes off the memorial, Thomas nodded.
“I just thought maybe you needed a place to visit your brother. You know, a place where James can watch over you as Sullivan Brothers Shipping sails the Channel.” He glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan and the twins. “Where he can watch over all of you.”
His eyes glistening with grief and gratitude, Mr. Sullivan nodded, but when Thomas still didn’t respond, George stepped closer to his friend and whispered. “I can take it down if you don’t like it.”
Thomas’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
A relieved smile spread across George’s face. “You’re welcome.” He then turned to Frederick. “Eton, didn’t you bring a surprise for the Sullivans too?”
“Yes.” Frederick stepped before Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. “My mother had hoped to join my father and me here today, but unfortunately she was called away to London. She did, however, ask me to extend her condolences for your loss and her appreciation for your family’s sacrifice.”
“Thank you, Frederick,” Mr. Sullivan said. “We are grateful for everything you and your family have done to try to find our James.”
Frederick pulled a thick envelope from his coat pocket. “Although the army was unable to recover your son, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, my father was able to learn what happened to him.”
Frederick’s words tore Thomas’s attention away from his brother’s memorial. “You know what happened to James?”
Frederick nodded and handed Mrs. Sullivan the envelope. “This contains the sworn testimonies of twelve Allied soldiers: six Brits, two Canadians, two Aussies, one Belgian, and one French, all of whom were held as prisoners of war with your son on the German front line.”
The envelope trembled in Mrs. Sullivan’s hand as silent sobs shook through her. Thomas reached out and took her other hand as Frederick continued.
“Each testimony states that your son’s actions early in the morning of June 7, 1917, saved the lives of all twelve prisoners of war.”
General Chamberlain stepped beside his son and addressed Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. “When Frederick told me of George’s plans to present you with this memorial, I asked if I might join him today to meet your family.” He took a small box from his coat pocket. “Over the last two years, I have had the privilege to meet the families of many of Britain’s most courageous soldiers. Men who, like your son James, gave ev
erything on the fields of battle to protect crown and country.” He opened the box and took out a medal. A square bronze cross hung suspended from a wine-red ribbon and bronze bar. The cross bore the image of a crown and a lion, along with the words For Valor.
“On behalf of King George the Fifth and the British Army, I am honored to present to you the Victoria Cross, for acts of gallantry and extreme bravery performed under enemy fire by your son, James M. Sullivan.”
Mr. Sullivan took the medal. “Thank you, General Chamberlain.” He then handed the medal to his wife, who showed it to the twins.
After everyone had seen the medal, Charlie placed a small hand-carved wooden frame holding a painting he’d made of James against the base of the marble cross and recited two verses from the poem “For the Fallen” that Father Clark had helped him memorize for the occasion.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Following the recitation of the poem, Mr. Sullivan took out his tin whistle to play his eldest son’s favorite song. His breath, weakened by decades in the mines and tight with emotion, drew out shaky notes. When he could no longer play, George put a hand on his shoulder and sang. His voice wasn’t as deep or rich as James’s had been, and he missed the key on many notes, but the lyrics had never meant more to Thomas.
Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
From glen to glen and down the mountain side.
The summer’s gone and all the roses falling.
’Tis you, ’tis you must go, and I must bide.
Thomas and the others joined George for the remaining verses, and as the last mournful note echoed over the cliff, the four secret soldiers stepped up to the memorial and saluted their fallen brother before joining the Sullivans, Henry, and General Chamberlain as they made their way back down the path.
“Are you coming?” George asked when he noticed Thomas lingering by the cross.
“In a minute. There’s something I have to do.”
George nodded. “Take your time. We’ll wait for you at home.” He patted his leg for Max to follow. The terrier trotted after George, stopping several times to glance back at Thomas before disappearing below the hill’s slope.
After several minutes of standing before his brother’s memorial, uncertain what to say, Thomas removed his necklace and looped it over the top of the cross. The saints medals hung below the carved letters of James’s name. Tears blurred Thomas’s vision as he placed his hand on the marble. “I miss you, James. So much.” He ran his fingers over the inscription, pausing over the word brother. “I promise I’ll always remember you, and I know you’ll always watch over me.”
Giving the memorial a final salute, he had just turned to join his family and friends when a brisk wind swirled across the cliff top, nipping at his clothes and tousling his hair. With a smile, Thomas patted down his cowlicks and wiped away his tears.
“It’s what brothers do.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE TUNNELLERS’ MEMORIAL website was an invaluable resource in my research for this book. In July 2017, I emailed military historian Jeremy Banning, who was part of the Tunnellers’ Memorial team, and he was kind enough to put me in contact with his colleague, historian Simon Jones. Jeremy also recommended Simon’s book Underground Warfare 1914–1918, which became a main source of information for my research. I emailed Simon after I finished it, and he generously answered my questions. Simon’s book also led me to two other extraordinary works, Beneath Flanders Field and Pillars of Fire. I spent months poring over their pages. Further research uncovered articles, documentaries, and firsthand accounts, including letters home from soldiers on the front lines, which gave me a better understanding of the trials and tribulations faced by the brave men and boys who served on and under the battlefields of the Western Front.
I was shocked to discover that more than a quarter of a million underage British boys served in the four-year conflict. Unlike the child soldiers of the Ugandan Civil War, whom I wrote about in my first novel, Soldier Boy, the young soldiers of the Great War were not stolen from their families and forced into combat. The boys who served lied about their ages and volunteered to fight. In my research, I learned about the various reasons that drove a literal army of boys, some as young as thirteen, to the recruiter’s table. Some joined out of a sense of duty. Others sought glory. Many joined out of necessity, willing to risk their lives in the trenches for the promise of fare wages and three meals a day. The hundreds of thousands of underage British soldiers with their diverse reasons for joining the war inspired the main characters in Secret Soldiers and provided endless sources of tension and conflict for Thomas and his clay kicking crew, who struggled to work as a team and complete their secret mission beneath no-man’s-land.
While researching, I discovered that British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, whose grandfather founded Macmillan Publishing, graduated from Eton, served in World War I, and read Aeschylus’ Prometheus while in the trenches. I gave these details to my character Frederick as a nod to Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Macmillan and the publisher of Secret Soldiers.
If reading this book has sparked your curiosity about the tunnellers of World War I and the Battle of Messines, I recommend the Tunnellers’ Memorial website and the following wonderful resources that proved so invaluable to me.
“A Memorial to William Hackett VC and the Tunnelling Companies of the First World War.” http://www.tunnellersmemorial.com/.
Barton, Peter, Peter Doyle, and Johan Vandewalle. Beneath Flanders Fields: The Tunnellers’ War 1914–1918. Montreal: McGill–Queen’s University Press, 2014.
Jones, Simon. Underground Warfare 1914–1918. Barnsley: Pen & Sword Military, 2010.
Passingham, Ian. Pillars of Fire: The Battle of Messines Ridge, June 1917. Stroud, Gloucestershire: Spellmount, 2012.
Secret Tunnel Warfare. Directed and produced by John Hayes Fisher. Produced by John Farren. Performed by Jay O. Sanders. Public Broadcasting Service. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/video/secret-tunnel-warfare/
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Soldier Boy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Keely Hutton is a novelist, educational journalist, and former teacher. She is the recipient of the Highlights Foundation Writers Workshop scholarship at Chautauqua. She has worked closely with Ricky Richard Anywar to tell his story in her first novel, Soldier Boy. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Dulce et Decorum Est
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One<
br />
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Author’s Note
By the Same Author
About the Author
Copyright
Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
Copyright © 2019 by Keely Hutton
All rights reserved
First hardcover edition 2019
eBook edition June 2019
mackids.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Hutton, Keely, author.
Title: Secret soldiers / Keely Hutton.
Description: First edition. | New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 2019. | Summary: In 1917, Thomas, a thirteen-year-old coal miner seeking his missing brother, James, joins the clay kickers, who tunnel beneath the battlefields of the Western Front as they learn to be men.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018039223 | ISBN 9780374309039 (hardcover)
Subjects: | CYAC: Coming of age—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Soldiers—Fiction. | Miners—Fiction. | World War, 1914–1918—Campaigns—Western Front—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.H913 Sec 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018039223
