by Alan Tansley
‘If you sign now, on Monday there will be a train passing by the village at noon. You have no station yet, but we have noted it passes by the church, so we will instruct it to stop as close as it can. Of course, we will be on it to assist you,’ replied RO Nicholson, and standing up, glanced at everyone in turn while wearing a delightful smile.
Mahala looked at her sons, and noticed Timothy was all smiles. He suddenly stood up, took a form from the officer, and signed. Aware of their education, and having assessed their mental capabilities, RO Nicholson nodded in agreement. He smiled at Timothy, and said ‘You will go far in the King’s army, my lad.’
‘I intend to,’ said Timothy, then stood up straight, turned and smiled, satisfied, at his parents.
Henry stood up and eyed the form. When it was handed to him, he took it, placed it on the table and signed. Looking even more pleased, the officer smiled, ‘Thanks, lad, and I can see this whole family is going very far in the King’s army.’ George glanced at his mum, and noticed a tear in her eye. Reflecting on his impending circumstances, and knowing that he needed money if he was to marry, he held out his hand, had a form thrust into it, and quickly signed it.
‘Right, lads, and listen carefully now, be outside the village church at noon. You won’t need any luggage, only a small towel, and a razor if you have one; we will provide the rest,’ said RO Nicholson, as he rubbed his hands together.
Mahala seemed bewildered. ‘What about a change of clothes?’
‘Your lads are in the army now. The King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, same as us, and we will provide for them now. They are only going to Sheffield so we can get them trained up and looking something like men,’ he replied, while he confidently glanced around the room, taking note of their luxuries.
Mahala looked at Joseph, mumbling, ‘In my eyes they already are.’
After the soldiers had left, for the rest of the evening, Joseph discussed with his lads the best way to reduce work on the farm, knowing full well that he couldn’t do it all himself. ‘The animals I think you can about manage, dad,’ said Henry, but glanced at Timothy, noticed he was reading a book, and thought this lack of interest was bad manners.
‘Do what it said in the newspaper, dad. Why not ask the local women to help? You could always put a notice on the church board in the village. Let’s be fair, you’ll have three less mouths to feed now, so give them food instead of wages,’ suggested George, as he smiled patiently.
‘The locals pinch enough from us now,’ sneered Timothy as he snapped his book shut.
‘Oh, you are with us then?’ asked Henry, and eyed him sarcastically.
‘Don’t be a bore, brother. Just remember this: I might be your superior officer soon,’ he replied, stood up, and continued into the bedroom with his nose in the air and the book clutched to his chest.
Henry snarled as he watched him. ‘Over my dead body, mate.’
‘Less of that talk,’ snapped Mahala, as she glared at him.
Over the weekend, the lads were chirpy, and did as much work as they could to help their father. Henry noticed that his mum was definitely not herself, and when he asked her what the matter was, she snapped, ‘Here, you are part of my family and I can protect you. In another country, I can’t. Fighting a war is for trained soldiers, killers, so if you come back, will it change you so much that you will remain one?’
‘That I do not know, mother,’ he replied, and bowed his head.
On the Monday morning at eleven thirty, behind an old shed adjacent to the church and near the intended picking up point, George had his arms wrapped tightly around Florence. Hearing the train toot, she sobbed, and hugged him as tightly, saying repeatedly that she loved him, and begging him to return home safely. ‘Don’t worry about me, my love. When I return, I shall have enough money for us both. We will get married and have the rest of our lives together,’ he replied, and when tears rolled down her cheeks, he tenderly wiped them away.
‘Oh my good Lord,’ she gasped, and greedily kissed him.
Reluctantly, they let go of each other when Joseph approached them. Suddenly, smoke from the tender flooded past, and when the train drew level, before it shuddered to a grinding halt, the carriage doors opened.
With more slaps on the back, hearty handshakes and kisses, George suddenly looked up when someone shouted, holding out his hand to help him on board. From the village and surrounding area, twenty-six young men were about to climb up onto the train. One lad aged fifteen, but looking much older, had absconded from a gypsy camp five miles away. Obviously, he must have been in serious trouble, and with head bowed, quickly jumped up and disappeared inside. Now approaching twenty-three, the eldest was Timothy, who to show his strength grabbed the hand rail and nearly jumped up into the carriage with a big grin on his face. Most of the women, including Mahala, were crying, as for many it was the first time their offspring had been out of their sight. After more hugs, kisses and shaking of hands, George and Henry boarded. They frantically waved to their parents, and suddenly, when the train immediately set off with an almighty judder, both grabbed hand-rails to stay upright.
George waved to Florence, and for the first time, he wondered if he had done the right thing in leaving her. As soon as they were out of sight, he stared at his land through the distance, struggling to see through the drifting smoke from the train, and wondered, disheartened, if he would ever see it again.
Mahala hung onto Joseph’s arm and stared straight ahead while they walked down the lane towards their home. Her heart was heavy, and the thought that she would never see her sons again made her desperately want to burst into tears. Joseph could sense her mood, knowing that an uncomfortable night lay ahead, and he also found it strange that their lads were not following them.
That night at dinner was the worst time, and Mahala could not finish her meal. Suddenly, she burst into tears, and bowing her head into her arms sobbed out loud. Joseph comforted her, but he too thought the silence in the house strange, and while patting her shoulder he said, ‘Come on my love, we have to work out how much we can afford to pay out for extra help.’
She snapped her head up, and staring at him through her tears, she shouted, ‘Is that all you can think about, bloody money?’
‘No, my love, but what would you do without it or me—sell up and retire to the coast in luxury? You know my dad’s old saying, the more money you have the better you live, but you’ll have to work for it because no bugger is going to give you it.’
Chapter 5
Unaware of their destination, there was great excitement among the men on the train when those who could read quickly informed the others when they saw signs for Sheffield. The train shuddered to a halt, and the Cotton brothers and the rest who travelled with them suddenly had their sightseeing interrupted, and were brought severely down to earth when ordered to jump off the train. There was a uniformed man for every thirty men, and each bawled out instructions on how to line up, then bombarded them with directions on how to march in time. To most, the basics proved easy; so after another briefing, they set off, turned right, and began to jovially march out of the railway yard, continuing to their unknown destination of a temporary billet, five miles west on the outskirts of the city, where the assessment would begin.
Timothy marched carefully on the dirty, greasy cobbled road, and occasionally eyed the surrounding buildings, deciding that he didn’t think much of the area. He noticed that everything was black and covered with soot or grime, including the scruffy young children grouped outside grubby little terraced houses who paused their games to watch the marchers go by. Occasionally, he had to lick his lips and cough because the atmosphere seemed thick and heavy. To make an impression on his new comrades, however, he always faced forward, marched in time and held his head high.
Eventually Timothy noticed the time on a nearby church clock, and shortly after smiled when the houses began to dwindle. He noticed that trees began to grow fewer, and realised there was green grass in the dista
nce and the air was fresher. After ten more minutes of marching down a country lane, the column turned to enter a field. ‘Good grief,’ thought George, if those huts are for us to live in, we have better ones for our hens at home.
All stood to attention while the staff Sergeant instructed the first twenty men to enter the first hut. At his third set of instructions, George and Henry followed their group into a hut. They saw thin wooden-framed beds with slats across them, covered with chunky knitted woollen blankets folded on top.
‘Right, you horrible looking lot, pick a bed and stow your belongings underneath. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,’ shouted the Sergeant. He spun around and regimentally stamped his feet together before he marched out.
Henry relaxed, turned, and staring in wonder at his bed’s frailty, he gasped, ‘Bloody hell, they spared the timber making these.’
‘What the bloody hellfire have we let ourselves in for here?’ asked George, and scratched his head as he thought his bed didn’t look safe at all.
A man standing to his right asked, ‘Hey up mate, my name’s Taffy, how-ya doing?’
‘Fine thanks, I’m George, and this is my brother Henry,’ he replied, pointing to Henry, who was still looking very bewildered.
‘Hello there,’ said Henry, and leaned over to shake his hand, then sat on the edge of his bed to test the strength of the wooden slats.
‘Looks like we are in for a cold night, mate. Anyway, my name’s Billy,’ said a chap on the other side
‘It does, doesn’t it? I’m Henry,’ he replied, shook his hand, and then gingerly lay back.
‘I heard, and pleased to meet you all,’ said Billy, and then began to spread out his blankets.
From the far corner across the hut came another voice: ‘I’m Edward, and this is my cousin John-Thomas, better known as Jonty.’ Neither George nor Henry could see either man spreading out their blankets in the darkness.
Henry just smirked, and then replied politely, ‘Hello both.’
The Sergeant standing silently in the doorway staring at them suddenly shouted, ‘What a fucking shower of nancies they’ve brought me here. Not one of them has the initiative to light the fire. Well, I hope you fucking freeze tonight.’
Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, George could just make out a single stove with a piped flue leading up through the roof at the other end of the hut. Turning toward the Sergeant, he ventured, ‘With respect, I didn’t know we were staying in here permanently, else we would have.’
The Sergeant marched over, and standing to attention in front of him, stamped his feet together. Staring into George’s eyes, he shouted, ‘Never ever again interrupt me, else I will cut your balls off and pin them on the door. You are all here for six weeks. Supposedly to make men of you, and you, lad, I will keep an eye on, because you look like trouble to me.’
Lightly, and as if to test the Sergeant’s authority, George asked, ‘Do you mean me?’
‘What have I just told you?’ bawled the Sergeant, leaned right up into George’s face to glare at him. George pushed him back, and pulling a face of disgust, moaned, ‘Steady on mate, your breath stinks rotten.’
‘How dare you place a hand on a king’s Sergeant? Tomorrow, my boy, you will find out the consequences of such actions,’ he snapped, and smartly stood back. Stamping his highly polished boots together, he shouted, ‘This is now your home. If you have any sense in those thick heads of yours, light the fire, make your beds and get cosy. Dinner will be in one hour, but you, my lad, I will be keeping an eye on you.’
Waiting until the Sergeant marched out of their billet, Taffy leaned over, groaning, ‘Bloody hell, mate, you don’t want to make an enemy of him.’
‘Like us, he is only human… I think,’ smirked George.
‘I wonder where they took our Timothy to?’ asked Henry, and pondered while he made his bed.
‘How the hell do I know,’ grunted George, inspecting the stove and finding oiled paper and wood inside. After he checked that it wasn’t damp, he turned and asked if anyone had a flint.
‘Sorry, no mate,’ said John-Thomas and glanced at Edward who just shrugged his shoulders.
‘I have, mate,’ said Billy, walking over. After striking the flint a few times with a small pocket knife, he ignited a spark, which he used to light the paper. George stayed by the fire to make sure the wood took hold. When it began to give heat, the rest of the inmates around gathered around to warm themselves and introduce each other. Henry had to smile at the different dialects, and was curious when most said they had been living in Yorkshire for some time.
The door burst open and they all looked around. Illuminated by an oil lamp he carried, the Sergeant entered the hut and hung his lamp on a nail in the middle of the centre roof beam.
Facing the huddled group, he glanced around, and shouted in that precise, loud regimental voice, ‘Right then. In fifteen minutes a cart will pull up outside. You will each be given a knife, fork, spoon, mug, and plate, and then it is dinner time. Now, listen, all of you. Never ever forget this: you, and what you are given now, belong to the king. Lose anything, and it won’t be replaced.’
As if testing his temper, George raised his eyebrows and asked, ‘What if I lose my plate?’
The Sergeant’s eyes flared, and he marched over to George, ‘Then you will eat off the fucking floor.’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ said George, and turned away.
Watching George about to sit on his bed, thinking it was in defiance, the Sergeant called for a guard.
Two soldiers dashed into the hut, stamped their feet to attention and saluted. ‘Escort this man outside,’ snarled the Sergeant, and standing back, craftily smiled.
Each soldier took hold of an arm and began to drag George outside. George feared that a good hiding would be the consequence of his impertinence, and tried to resist, but they were too strong. Outside in the chilly night air, the Sergeant spoke.
‘Right, lad, you seem to be a little headstrong to me, and seeing as I am as well, we can’t have two the same in this garrison,’ he said, standing in front of George.
George thought he was going to fight him, prepared his stance, and then stared when the Sergeant walked over to the side of the hut. He returned carrying two buckets of sand and placed them on the floor in front of George. Standing up straight, he shouted, ‘Pick 'em up, lad!’
‘What for?’ asked George, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘This is your punishment, so you learn never ever to question me again. Let’s see now. You have two choices—you can either run for two hours around your hut, carrying those, or swim across the river and back,’ snarled the Sergeant, and began to smile.
‘How can I swim a strange river when it’s nearly dark? I’ll drown,’ said George.
‘Precisely,’ he sneered.
George eyed Henry, who was peeping around a half-open door with the rest. Glancing around, he noticed that the doors in the other huts were also half-open. Standing to attention, staring defiantly at the Sergeant, George bent down and picked up the buckets. When he set off walking around the hut, the Sergeant shouted ‘At the double!’
George began to trot, and when he returned to the front, ‘Faster!’ shouted the Sergeant, then turned and gave instructions to one of the guards, before marching off towards the other huts.
Ten minutes later, it began to drizzle. George appeared at the front of the hut when a single horse-drawn covered cart entered the barricade with steam oozing through the canvas. Sniffing the aroma coming from it, he smiled, realising it was the food wagon. As he turned the corner to do another lap, the Sergeant returned and the guard handed him what appeared to be a large cape.
George disappeared around the hut when the Sergeant spun the cape around his shoulders and fastened it under his chin, giving orders to two soldiers seated on the cart. They jumped off, pulled a canvas down over the end to make a canopy, then pulled out a trestle as if they were going to serve from under it.
When all was prepared, one of the guards marched over and banged on the first hut door. When it didn’t open, he opened it shouting, ‘Dinner time, ladies!’
‘And what do you think you are doing?’ shouted the Sergeant, who had noticed George stop at the corner of the hut. Saturated with the rain, and still holding the buckets while gasping for breath, George stared at the Sergeant, thinking, ‘You evil swine!’ then slowly turned, shrugged his shoulders, and carried on.
All lined up at the rear of the cart. Henry and Billy held out their plates while the two soldiers on board served them—they were surprised at the amount. As they turned to enter the hut, George trotted past them. ‘Never mind him, get inside!’ shouted the Sergeant.
John-Thomas nodded towards Edward, moaning, ‘Bloody hellfire, he’s keen.’
When the cart moved off, the Sergeant waited until it was at the far end of the camp, then approached George, held up his hand and told him to stop. George dropped the buckets, and instantly bent double with his hands on his knees, panting. ‘Get inside now, and I hope you have learned your lesson. Always keep this in mind, lad; from now on the punishment only gets harder,’ said the Sergeant, and walked off.
George gasped, ‘What about my dinner?’
‘It was very nice,’ the Sergeant called back, and laughed.
George realised that the Sergeant was a bully, and turned to enter the hut. He stared at the empty utensils on his bed, and was immediately surrounded by the rest of the men. Henry knew there would be no dinner for him, and had saved some of his. ‘Thanks mate,’ said George, when Henry slipped a blanket around him, then sat on his bed and watched him gulp it down.
In a lean-to at the rear of the hut was a deep, foul-smelling ash-midden pit toilet, including a wooden stand with a mirror, a cracked shaving bowl and a jug of water provided for washing facilities. Henry grimaced when he returned from using it, noticed someone had lit the stove, slumped down on his bed, feeling disheartened at their impoverished conditions. His thoughts turned to home and how easy a life it was there compared to this.
