Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  ‘Brigadier, we must act before the enemy does. They must have seen us, they know what we were doing, and right now, they’re reorganising. Don’t forget. They could have the same support soon, and then do the same to us. It must be cannon fire at noon, followed up with sporadic shelling, then a penetration by our troops. We must take advantage now to help draw a conclusion to this war.’

  ‘I’ll speak with you within the hour. Now finish your breakfast. It’s getting cold,’ said the Brigadier, before drinking his tea.

  The Brigadier wired his superiors in London to inform them not only about the information produced by the bi-planes, but also of their improved observations, and that the new precise details could change their plan of attack, essentially repeating what Timothy had said.

  At one o’clock, the Brigadier received a wire giving him permission to progress. However, he had to deploy the troops within an extreme safety strategy, as too many men had been lost over the last seven months. When this information was passed on to an impatient Timothy, he sighed, then quickly asked if it was possible to use five platoons instead of a brigade.

  ‘Organise a briefing in here for three o’clock, for shelling to begin at four o’clock, and the answer is yes.’

  A wry smile came to Timothy’s face before he turned to the three Lieutenants and instructed them to prepare their troops. For the next hour, it was all bedlam. Troops were assembled, then quickly issued with ammunition, while Timothy issued final instructions inside the planning tent. Suddenly, all hell broke loose when the enemy began to shell them. The Brigadier instantly gave the order to return fire, and when the cannons began to rumble, he turned to Timothy and shouted, ‘We go forty five minutes early!’

  Timothy nodded, then turned to the Lieutenants and gave the order to assemble. Men with rifles were no match for deafening cannon-fire in front of them and explosions behind them, but as if the British cannons were making their mark, the enemy slowly ceased firing. Without giving a second thought to his promise to Penelope that he wouldn’t lead his troops, Timothy led them from the front, but this time he took great pleasure in destroying the real enemy fuel dump, now knowing the previous one was a dummy. They used different coloured flags to notify their home base, and when they retreated, friendly shelling began to stop the enemy following; Timothy’s battle plan was, once again, successful.

  It wasn’t long before politicians in England began to regularly hear the name Captain Timothy Cotton-Walters. The British troops were now far enough inland to make regular successful strikes towards the enemy, and the powers that be had to organise an emergency meeting concerning the quicker transportation of supplies.

  Timothy was ordered to attend one meeting; he was now in charge of six bi-planes, using their powers of observation to the fullest. The war cabinet wanted his ideas for using them in to attack or bomb the enemy. However, the planes didn’t have the speed, and were subject to sniper rifle-fire from the ground, so the only thing that kept the pilots alive was their skill and the manoeuvrability of the planes.

  Timothy’s promotion to Major came next. The powers that be had two meetings before granting the promotion, mainly because of his educational background and his previous area of residence. When it was announced, the promotion made the national newspapers. It was that time of year when the brewery agent called at the farm, so as usual, he left a few out of date newspaper editions.

  Florence, George and Georgina were staying with the Websters’ to help with extension and decorations of Harold and Edith’s house. Their own house was nearly habitable, awaiting only a few items of homemade furniture. At the farm, when Joseph and Mahala had finished dinner, they casually browsed the papers. Suddenly, Mahala gasped as she read about Timothy.

  Joseph leaned over, read the piece, then said, ‘At least it seems he has achieved what he wanted.’

  Staring at him, she snapped, ‘There has never been anything about our Henry.’

  ‘They only put in the good things like Timothy being promoted. When he comes down to earth and he drops an almighty clanger, they’ll quickly demote him, but not put that in the papers. That’s the way the good old upper classes work, my love; they like to build them up to chop them down for fun.’

  ‘Maybe so, my love. And can you remember what Gran used to say? Money doesn’t give you happiness. It only makes you greedier and lazy. Well, I have come to the conclusion that she was right—just look at you. Now you’ve got a steady income, you’re doing far less work.’

  ‘You bugger, with all I have done for you today. I’ve even hung out the washing,’ shouted Joseph, and seeing Mahala grinning, he jumped up and grabbed hold of her, making her squeal.

  Now wearing a smile, Mahala stared into his eyes and kissed him. ‘Alright, then, because you’re not getting any younger. I’ll let you off, but only on one more condition: you make me a cup of tea.’

  The notice of Timothy’s promotion did not mean much to them. They focused on planning for the future of George and his family, who were only days away from moving into their new home. Joseph had built them a dining-table, cupboards and a bed, and he had also made a sole for George’s peg-leg so he was a lot more stable. He managed most manual tasks as usual, and after discussions with his father, they decided to improve the pork-breeding side of the farm, as chops, bacon, liver, trotters, and off-cuts always sold well.

  During the following week, with much anticipation, George, Florence and Georgina moved into their new house. It was of simple design, with a living room, bedroom, kitchen and wash-house. It was a smaller version of the farmhouse, but strategically placed—it was half a mile from the main farmhouse, but only a mile away from the Webster’s house in the village.

  Village life seemed to be more sociable; there was now a regular timetable for the trains, which seemed to bring people together. There was a proper wooden alighting platform, and the ticket office was made bigger to hold luggage. No one would think there was a war on, except for families whose sons had not yet returned home, and so far, they had all received very little communication from them.

  Chapter 26

  Timothy’s skills as a leader of men were never questioned. He had always been successful, and as the war progressed, it seemed to get easier for him; when an enemy army retreated, they were nearly always in chaos. Timothy’s superiors were not aware that Timothy had always studied enemy actions in from every perspective, and in time this made him quite aware of their differing strategies.

  Now that he was a Major on the battle front, Timothy was not supposed to get involved with actual fighting, but restrict himself to planning and organising strategic advances. However, as he always relished the devilment and intrigue of battle, he could never resist, taking part, until Christmas 1916, when he was given leave and ordered to go home. In actual fact, Timothy was ready for a rest, and from first embarking the ship for home, he took advantage of its luxuries. First a shower, then a clean change of clothing, and then he was ready to eat.

  One hour later, while having dinner, Timothy had to smile when he was offered the same extras as his old Major. He finished eating, and then downed his second glass of wine, chatting to a young woman who took his fancy. An hour after that, they ended up in his cabin. She was one of many provided for the officers, so Timothy took advantage—now that he knew what he was missing, after regularly sleeping with Penelope, he couldn’t wait until he arrived home for the pleasure. On the following morning, without even saying goodbye, the woman left, having earned her wages. Timothy prepared to travel, quickly shaved and washed down, knowing the ship would dock in thirty minutes. When it did, he thought it strange that his old Major wasn’t with him, and when he was all ready, he had to smile as he carried his overnight bag down the gangway and then on towards the coaches.

  He thought about the immense pleasure that the woman had been paid to give him the night before. This led him to consider his future. Would he be happy living permanently with Penelope and his child, or would the army always b
e his mistress? He thought the latter would be the most obvious choice, especially when he remembered that it would be his only source of income, and he knew that he must follow that path.

  When he reached Penelope’s house, she cried out with joy when the door opened, throwing her arms around his neck. Holding her at arm’s length by the shoulders, he gazed down at her belly and had to smile at its size. ‘Please come in, Tim,’ she said, dragging him indoors.

  ‘Has anything changed while I’ve been away?’ he asked, placing his bag on the floor before following her into the living room.

  ‘Not really, but there are a few letters for you. I’ll just get you a drink first.’

  Two letters were from the army command office. One confirmed his promotion to the rank of Major, then outlined his salary and pension. The other letter was to confirm that Private Henry Cotton’s body had been exhumed, and appropriately reburied with full military honours inside the battalion’s cemetery. It also stated that once he acknowledged the letter, an interview would be arranged, and that there were three medals with dispatches belonging to Henry for him to collect on behalf of his family.

  Penelope returned, looking rather thoughtful. She handed him a glass, saying ‘Anything wrong, my love?’

  He took the glass and handed her the letters, then sat in the Major’s old leather chair. ‘No, not really, but it seems I might have to go home again.’

  She read the first letter with her head bowed. ‘We both will then.’

  ‘What, with you in your condition? No, my darling, it looks like I’m on my own this time.’

  Two days later, Penelope eyed the medals that Timothy had picked up from the army headquarters. She slipped her arm through his as he closed the box that contained them, and said, ‘That should make your parents proud.’

  Timothy stopped, and staring into her eyes, asked, ‘Are you sure you are up to this journey? Really. I don’t want you to travel all that way then have to walk to the farm.’

  ‘We are doing this together—besides, we have an escort this time, so hurry up or we’ll miss the train.

  An hour later, and feeling better after having wired ahead for a carriage and it being confirmed, they sat opposite two soldiers whose main duties were to secure the front door of the army headquarters. As they had ordered a carriage to take them from the station to the farm, both Timothy and Penelope knew that this journey would be far easier and more comfortable than the last.

  One guard carried a highly polished oak wooden box containing Henry’s medals—a 1914 star, a British war medal and a Distinguished Conduct medal, accompanied by a parchment letter, noting Henry was mentioned in dispatches.

  Penelope coped well. Now seven months pregnant, she didn’t relish the journey, but knew she had to be at Timothy’s side when he went home. When they had reached the village and were seated in an open coach, she gasped as it set off with a lurch, grabbing onto Timothy. ‘Steady on please, we are in no hurry,’ he shouted, and saw the driver nodding as if he understood.

  This time, as they were riding, their journey was much shorter. When they reached the farm, Timothy asked the driver to stop, and as soon as they disembarked he began to turn around ready to leave. When the guards were ready, they set off towards the farmhouse. George came out and stared as they approached. Suddenly, he turned and opened the door, shouting to his parents who came dashing out, wondering what the matter was. When all three were standing staring in the yard, Timothy halted, and regimentally stood to attention with his guards.

  Timothy took a deep breath before he approached, and stood to attention in front of his family, saying, ‘I know we’re not welcome here, and that is understandable, however—’

  George took a pace forward, and snapped, ‘You are right, so move on.’

  ‘Please hear me out.’

  Joseph glared at him, asking, ‘So why bring your pregnant girlfriend with you? Is that for comfort or defence?’ Mahala noticed the size of Penelope’s belly, and gasped.

  Timothy defiantly stared at his father, and still poised at attention, said, ‘The army has presented Henry’s war medals inside this box, as well as a money order for ten pounds.’

  ‘Is that my all that my son’s life was ever worth to you?’ said Mahala, dissolving into sobs and leaning on Joseph.

  ‘No; Henry’s life was worth millions to me—he was my brother. The army began the mistake, not me; I will carry the burden of guilt for the rest of my life. They have sent me to ease their guilt. Mother, father, and George, my last brother, I wish you all health, wealth and happiness. But never forget this—I will carry the burden of my brother’s death forever.’

  Standing back, all three soldiers saluted them, then regimentally right-turned and marched towards Penelope. Timothy took hold of her arm, and then Mahala ran towards them asking them to wait. Approaching Penelope, she stared into her eyes, and seeing love, asked if she was keeping good health and when the baby would be due.

  ‘I believe it’s due about Henry’s birthday,’ responded Penelope, moved.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so, and please, I know it doesn’t seem that way, but please accept our love, and I hope everything goes well for you. This has been a terrible business, and in time, it might all be forgotten,’ said Mahala, then gently patted her arm before she turned and slowly made her way back towards the farmhouse.

  When they were all seated and ready in the coach, the driver set off to return them to the station. They had an hour to wait for their train, and sat in the shade for comfort, discussing their journey. During a lull in conversation, Timothy daydreamed as certain paragraphs from the reports submitted by Henry’s Lieutenant flashed through his mind. He did not understand his falling asleep on duty, foaming at the mouth and failing to obey orders. Unwittingly, he said, ‘At least my family now have his medals, but don’t know all the story.’

  ‘Never mind, my love, they will someday.’

  Seven hours later, after they had dined in a restaurant, they filled the bath-tub for a soak as soon as they reached home. The maid was excused for the night, and they lingered in the tub together. Timothy stared at the size of Penelope’s belly when she slipped under the suds. Even with his arms wrapped around her as they relaxed relaxing in the warm water, Timothy still thought of home, and how he could explain to his parents the conditions of Henry’s execution. When he mentioned his thoughts to Penelope, she sat up, saying, ‘Please, my love, stop putting yourself under so much pressure. In time, it could affect our family life, and I don’t want my child to be brought up within family squabbles and falling out.’

  ‘I do apologise, and I won’t mention it again, sweetheart.’

  Two days later, Mahala had prepared Sunday lunch. The Webster family was invited, and she knew there would be discussions concerning Timothy. Her premonition was correct. She watched Joseph carve a joint of pork, waiting, and then Florence, with Georgina sitting on her knee, asked why Timothy didn’t stay overnight.

  ‘At the moment, it’s a touchy subject,’ said George, and nodded towards his mum as he took a plate from Joseph.

  Mr Webster leaned forward, saying, ‘Please forgive me, I just don’t understand when they said Henry was shot as a coward, and now you receive his medals.’

  Florence leaned forward, and staring, gasped, ‘Please dad.’

  ‘It’s alright, my dear,’ said Mahala, holding back tears. ‘It seems to me that there have been some drastic mistakes made. I think I think only our Timothy knows the answers. We should have listened before we made him go away. He’s in pain; I saw it in his eyes.’

  ‘I saw that as well, my love,’ said Joseph, trying to smile as he passed her a plate.

  George eyed the box. He opened it, but couldn’t understand the outcome, even after reading the dispatches. His father handed him Florence’s plate, and he passed it on to her. Then, frowning, he turned to his mum, saying, ‘These men were in my platoon, and I knew them personally. I could read them all like a book, including Henry, and that�
�s why I always said he was never a coward. The only way to get to the bottom of this is to talk to any of my platoon men. They will have seen what happened. On the other hand, we can only do that if there are any left when this stupid war is over.’

  Three days later, Timothy was back at the battle front, studying reports. Because some things had not gone well, he instantly began to make strategic adjustments. The Brigadier had ordered a briefing for that afternoon because he wasn’t impressed either. In the last two days, it seemed as if the enemy was standing its ground, but he was adamant that progress had to be ongoing.

  The first thing Timothy did was to get two bi-planes in the air to observe and make notes. The pilots needed both hands to dodge and weave through enemy fire, so it was still impractical to use a camera, although the pilots were able to take notes. Unfortunately, one was badly wounded in the leg before he returned to the beach.

  Interrupted by intermittent enemy fire, Timothy deciphered the pilot’s notes. When he began to organise an attack, it suddenly occurred to him that he could learn to fly. When the plane had been fuelled thirty minutes later, Timothy was sitting cramped behind the second pilot, listening intently as he was given the basic instructions of flying.

  He was not very impressed, but he did take notes, and that evening, another plane was in the air making observations for them. This one was in for a shock when he was attacked by three enemy bi-planes. They were loaded with munitions so they were slower, but their accuracy was good, and they did considerable damage to the rear of the fuselage.

  ‘That’s it!’ shouted the Brigadier, upon hearing the news. ‘We attack this evening when those buggers can’t fly. Where’s the Major?’ At this, he stormed out of the briefing room.

  The battles continued, but towards the latter end of the war, aeroplanes and their development became more important, with the main essence being speed. Many pilots became famous for some of their mid-air battles and achievements, but Timothy wasn’t one of them. Having learned the basics, he flew half-a-dozen times, but only to make observations. Timothy was resigned to the fact he would always be a planner, and knew that he would never make a cavalier of the air. His strategy had to change swiftly, from day-time to dusk and night attacks, knowing the bi-planes couldn’t see them in the dark.