by Alan Tansley
Mr Webster glanced over towards Edith, who smiled. As if trying to get something off her chest, she suggested, ‘Tell him about the mine?’
His expression quickly changed, and he gasped, ‘Oh no, Edith please; really, that’s nothing to do with him.’
‘What’s that all about?’ asked Joseph, perplexed, and wondering what troubles he would hear about now.
‘She shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Oh bloody hell. It’s just that the gaffer said I have to improve production by a quarter or I’m out,’ snapped Mr Webster, then bowed his head as if exhausted and helpless.
‘I’m sorry. I know nothing about working underground,’ said Joseph, confused.
‘That’s the same as half the buggers they send down the mine to me. Do you know that in an hour I’m supposed to teach them what to do? How am I supposed to increase output when half the buggers can’t even read or write? How am I supposed to teach them? Two new lads got killed last week, and because they were from another village, the bosses didn’t even turn up to their funerals. It was completely disrespectful,’ he replied, and shook his head with disgust.
Joseph noted the mixture of disappointment and anger on his face.
‘Let’s leave it for now, and we will be at your house on Sunday,’ said Mrs Webster. She stood up quickly and added, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cotton, I should have known better than to bring you into it.’
‘If I can help in any way, I will. Anyway, thank you very much, both of you, for your hospitality,’ said Joseph, standing up. He held his hand out towards Mr Webster. After he shook it, he turned to Mrs Webster and, after shaking her hand, said, ‘Florence really is a beautiful young woman, she’s a credit to you.’
With tears forming in her eyes, she replied, ‘Thank you. And I must say, George is a smashing lad; it’s just a pity he had to go to war.’
‘I’ve a feeling that a lot of mothers are saying that right now,’ said Joseph, and smiled with some bitterness.
‘Too true, and goodnight, Mr Cotton, please mind how you go as the weather is still unkind underfoot,’ said Mrs Webster, escorting Joseph to the door.
Joseph walked home briskly through the cold weather, but managed to take note of his land on the way. When he arrived, Florence was in bed, but after he had hung up his coat and made a cup of tea, he sat with Mahala by the fire and told her what had happened at the Websters’ house. They agreed that it was best not to disturb Florence, but tell her everything in the morning. They decided on an early night, after Joseph made the entries in his diary.
An hour later, they were lying in bed and Mahala began to sob. She hugged Joseph, and he realised why; he slipped his arm under her neck to hug her. After kissing her cheek, he said, ‘Steady on, love, our lads know how to look after themselves.’
‘It’s all very well you saying that, but our sons could be dead and buried by now, and we don’t know anything about them,’ she sobbed.
‘You can bet your last shilling that that’s the only thing the authorities will ever notify us about them,’ he replied, and frowned.
Chapter 10
Timothy was going about his duties with his usual efficiency, which the Major recorded in his log, knowing that it would make them both look good. Back home, their superiors did take note that supplies regularly reached the front, keeping the British troops in a reasonable state of maintenance, or so the higher-ups thought. Timothy and his Major’s reliability, and ability to dig in and not lose ground, was appreciated. Although the Major was also inexperienced at the battle front, he was able to hide it, and gave the necessary orders when required, which had turned out well so far. He had the common sense to turn an occasional blind-eye, and now that he had to deal with death regularly, made sure that all bodies sent back from the front were duly identified, recorded, tagged and then treated with the utmost respect.
For George and Henry in Ireland, it was a completely different story; they and the rest of their unit became bored stiff. Their presence was supposed to maintain stability around, but they were also supposed keep out of view. Occasional pot-shots were taken at them while they went about their duties, but so far no one had been hit. The drill Sergeant that arrived with them was soon posted elsewhere and replaced by a very inexperienced Captain. Unfortunately, he appeared to be their junior in many ways, so the unit quickly began to take advantage of his inexperience. Many began to test him by asking for leave, but he knew enough to very quickly reply that it was out of the question.
The Websters had visited the farm; all had seemed to go well. Mahala and Joseph escorted them into the lads’ bedroom to see Florence, then gracefully retired into the kitchen to give them some privacy. An hour later, they had nearly finished preparing dinner, and all was smiles as they gathered around the table. Joseph invited everyone to sit down and opened a small bottle of French brandy, courtesy of the corn merchant.
Joseph smiled as he listened to the chatter, pleased that everyone was getting on well. Joseph poured out their drinks into their best cream-ware cups, leaving Florence out. Winking at her, he said it wouldn’t do her or the baby any good. He noticed Harold staring at him, and asked, ‘Sorry, I’ve no beer, don’t you like this?’
‘Well, yes. It’s just that since you called at our house, I haven’t touched a drop, so you’d better ask our Edith for permission first,’ he replied, and smiled at his wife.
‘Of course you can,’ she snapped, winked at Mahala, and continued chatting about their next mothers’ meeting.
Florence and Mavis helped Mahala serve dinner. Edith and Harold tried not to stare at the quality and amount of food, but couldn’t help it. For Joseph and Mahala, the only difference to their normal Sunday dinner was that they were using their best crockery and cutlery, so they didn’t realise that they seemed extravagant. Always well-mannered, they asked Harold to say grace. Afterwards, Harold turned to Joseph and politely thanked him for the gesture of respect. Joseph smiled and listened to the women chattering, and suddenly laughed when Mavis said she had been knitting matinée coats, raising his eyebrows when he heard that she had not managed to finish one properly yet. To bring Harold into the conversation, he asked, ‘And how is your job at the mine going on?’
‘Well now, since you called at our house, a lot better. You know the old saying, about how a pint slackens the dust? Well, going without a pint also sharpened the senses, and for a change, I’ve been retaliating against the bosses, mainly for the sake of the young colliers,’ he replied.
‘Don’t get into trouble, Harold, work is vital. Without it there is no money,’ said Joseph, and stared at him to underline the point.
‘I understand that, and don’t you worry, Joseph. On the other hand, manipulation is also a very good word, and when you have all your faculties, by my God, can you have some fun,’ he replied, and smiled craftily.
Inviting the Webster family for Sunday dinner was not intended to tempt Florence back home, it was to unite their families, and it worked. From that day on, and because he began to work a new shift pattern, Harold would walk up to the farm to give Joseph a hand, and Joseph would always pay him accordingly.
Harold managed to stick to his resolution to avoid beer, and he began to give Edith the extra money, which helped her enormously. They decided to get married before their grandchild was born; however, both were still unsure about the animosity between their religions. Edith decided to ask the vicar for advice, and whether it would be possible to proceed and get married without the other parishioners finding out. Frowning, he informed her that banns must be posted and read out in church. He noted her disappointment.
‘Please do not worry, Edith. Have faith; times are changing very quickly, leaving people with more to worry about than your impending wedding.’
A week later, Harold and Joseph took some pigs to market, and by now they were almost behaving as if they were brothers. As they travelled, laughing and joking on the way, Joseph began to admire Harold’s way of leadership. Joseph realised that Harold wa
s a quick learner, honest, and very forthright, and when they arrived at the market and he began to argue with one of the officials over a stall, Joseph also realised he was very precise.
Edith and Mahala had always got on well, and at the next mothers’ meeting Edith informed her that she and Harold and plucked up the courage to meet with the vicar and tell him the truth.
When Edith next saw the vicar, he smiled and assured her that there had been nothing to worry about; the banns were posted, their marriage arranged for the following Sunday morning, and Joseph and Mahala had agreed to be witnesses.
Chapter 11
Henry was now wearing a full uniform, including a greatcoat and a shared tin hat, and armed with a loaded rifle. He had nearly ended his patrol around the barracks, and was standing to attention near the main door, patiently waiting for his relief. It was two o’clock in the morning, and while on duty, he had, as usual, allowed Billy to enter the compound, knowing he had been out with a woman.
There was a rumour spreading that in a week’s time they were being posted elsewhere, but Henry’s main worry at the moment was that he had heard they were going straight to Belgium. He was wondering about Timothy, because at lunch the previous day, he and George had been informed by a visiting Captain that Timothy was already at the front. The Captain was surprised when he heard that George and Henry were Timothy’s brothers, reeled off which battalion he was with and who was his Lieutenant Colonel. George never let on about Timothy’s new double-barrelled name, just discreetly inquired what rank Timothy held. When informed that he had reached First Lieutenant, and was expected to go higher, he and Henry stared at each other and raised their eyebrows, but were not really surprised.
Henry’s relief made him jump, but as it had started to rain, Henry maintained silence, just smiled and saluted him before he returned into their quarters. Henry took off his greatcoat, and out of sheer boredom, he moaned, ‘Bloody hell, what a night!’ He hung his greatcoat on his locker and began to undo his tunic. When his uniform was hung up correctly, Henry quickly polished his boots and then slid them under his bed. When he was down to his long-johns, he smiled at the grunts, moans, and snoring from his mates, then took a quick glance at George, before he gingerly sat on his squeaky bed.
Trying not to disturb the dust in his pillow stuffed with eider duck feathers, Henry rested slowly back on his pillow so that he wouldn’t sneeze. So far in the army, the instructions had been to just keep your nose clean while trying to induce sleep. Henry began to analyse the rest of his platoon. He began to categorise them based on reliability; who could he depend on first, and who would be the first to crack under attack? He glanced across at Billy, who had often made it quite clear that all he wanted was an easy life, and he was in his element as long as he was free every night to go out courting. He next thought about Albert, who seemed a yes man, and did everything he was told to do without question. However, when anyone irritated him by pointing out his inadequate personal hygiene, Albert instantly showed a fiery temper, but really that was all. Edward seemed a stable bloke, but he always kept to himself, and had only spoken to him twice in the last few months. Taffy, now, he was a witty bugger, but if he had a bayonet thrust at him, how would he react? And Mick was the same. ‘Oh, sod it, I’ll stick with our George, he’s about the most dependable one here, mind you Mick doesn’t seem bad at times,’ moaned Henry, and rolled over, thinking, ‘Bernard and John Thomas are the strangest ones; they just seem to be here to pass the time of day.’
Chapter 12
Back in Yorkshire, approaching the end of March, life was back to normal. Florence’s parents were married, and everyone was looking forward to the birth, except Florence, who was apprehensive. Florence was still living with Mahala and Joseph, mainly so they could keep an eye on her as both her parents were working now, and Mavis was wrapped up in her own concerns. Mr Webster worked all hours to keep the mine efficient, which was eventually noticed by the owner, who gave him a pay rise. Due to the introduction of the railways into the area, local trade began flourishing, not only with passengers but transportation of goods into the city. Mrs Webster had queued all morning for a job on the railway. After a brief interview, she had been offered employment at the newly built railway hut-cum-temporary station as a ticket clerk. She also managed to help Mavis to be taken on as a book-keeper, which meant keeping records of goods being transported in and out of the village. The Webster household now had three wage-earners, and so family morale was very high. This light-hearted mood was evident when Mavis approached her parents for permission to be escorted to church by a lad from the village. ‘First of all, who is he? And are you happy for him to do so?’ asked her father, with a big smile on his face.
Rather perplexed, and expecting a beating for asking, Mavis replied, ‘His dad works for you at the mine. His name is Robert Coates, and yes, dad, I really like him.’
‘Very well, then, you have our permission,’ Mr Webster replied, and relaxed back in his chair was looking proud. He was not aware that Mrs Webster, who was pressing their clothes behind him, had already approved, and smiled and winked at Mavis over his head. There was good news at the farm; Mahala had received letters from her sons. George had enclosed a letter for Florence and, without knowing of her condition, mentioned nothing of it.. Mahala smiled; she could see the frustration of wanting to be with her man in Florence’s face. She didn’t know that George had just got off a boat in Liverpool, and was preparing to board a train towards London.
The lads were on their way to the war front, and nobody relished going there because of all the horrible rumours. They had heard it was a one-way ticket, because nobody yet knew of anyone that had returned. Taffy frowned all the time, adding his pennyworth of moaning to the unit by stating that he had heard that the only troops who returned were either near dead or missing limbs.
They all began to badger the Staff Sergeant to give them more information, but he spun around impatiently snapped, ‘You are just the same as I am; you will do as you are ordered or be shot.’
George remained quiet, although he had also heard the rumours that British troops were being shot in their thousands. As if he sensed a dilemma, Henry nudged him, and asked ‘Do you think it is that bad?’
Suddenly remembering his morale-boosting orders from the Sergeant, George stuck his chest out, and replied, ‘I don’t know. We’ll have wait and see, just pull our weight, and kill the enemy before they kill us.’
Their night was to be spent in a special tented camp erected in a field on the outskirts of a small town south of London. Just before nightfall, each platoon sergeant instructed his men to group outside their carriage when the train had stopped. They were marched a few hundred yards away to what seemed like a whole village of tents. It was a big operation. Five hundred men had to be fed and bedded for the night. Each platoon was first ordered alphabetically, and then on command they began lining up for grub.
After eating, they washed their utensils and performed their ablutions before resting. It was a chilly night, and as they sat around their numerous camp fires, many had blankets wrapped around them while chatting about their recent experiences.
Eventually, after the necessary bragging about recent experiences was dispensed with, their conversation turned to the war. Many had feared joining up, though they had hidden their feelings. Although they didn’t know the truth of their present situation, it was always on everyone’s mind, and nobody was sure about how to cope. George had already formed an opinion just from overhearing the occasional rumour from his superiors, and thought their outcome was looking very bleak indeed. He had to keep his mouth shut, though, and because of this, Henry had noticed a great change in him. As his younger brother, and particularly considering his sickly childhood, Henry was in the habit of looking up to George, especially as he seemed to be the strongest of the family. Even at school, George had always defended him against the bullies and the fights which arose from bragging by the children who had more.
; At three o’clock in the morning, and in a subdued mood, the Staff Sergeant strolled around the perimeter of the camp. Standing to attention near the railway lines, he glanced over the rows of tents and sighed, well aware that the men he was sending abroad would probably last less than a week. ‘God have mercy on them,’ he whispered, then continued, smiling as he recalled past recruits and some of their antics, which mainly involved trying to sneak out for a drink in a local inn. By the main gates, and meaningfully regarding the inattentive guards on duty, he suddenly shouted at a large hawthorn bush. ‘You there, stand to attention!’
Out of the shadows, and naked from the waist up, a recruit quickly emerged. He saluted with one hand as he tried to fasten his fly with the other. ‘Sorry, Sarge, but I must have a piss.’
‘Oh go on then, I haven’t seen you,’ snapped the Sergeant, and turned away. With a wry smile on his face, the Sergeant acknowledged the guards before continuing to stroll between the rows of tents. Hearing moans, groans and occasional snoring, his smile faded as he thought, ‘If only you poor bastards knew what you had let yourselves in for.’
As he reached his tent, the Sergeant tied the flap behind him and turned up the oil lamp before he carefully sat on his canvas chair. He rested his head back and shook it side-to-side to ease his neck muscles. He thought about his family, longing to be with them. Even though he came from a long line of soldiers, his wife had always made it perfectly clear that he would never get the opportunity to pressure their two sons to enrol, and he respected her wishes and had never mentioned it to the boys.
He tossed his cap on his canvas bed; he slipped his hand into his coat pocket, grumbling, ‘Whenever is this stupid war going to end? I think they’ll run out of men first. Mind you, they will only lower the age of consent to get more recruits.’
