Bold, Brash and Brave

by Alan Tansley

  The following evening, while they were eating dinner, Timothy received a wire informing him that Penelope had a son, and that both mother and child were doing fine. He beamed as he showed the Brigadier the letter; the Brigadier beamed back, and without hesitating, he began to hand around the brandy, saying, ‘I’ll try to get you some leave soon as possible, but mind you, I think this war will be over in a month or so.’

  ‘You reckon? I hope to hell you are right, Brigadier, because I’ve just about had enough.’

  ‘Listen, and this is not for anyone else’s ears, lad, but the hierarchy are in negotiations now. Why do you think we haven’t fired a shot for the last two days?’

  ‘I put it down to being short of ammo again,’ replied Timothy, and laughed heartily.

  The Brigadier grinned. ‘So bloody true. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for us.’

  Chapter 27

  When the war ended, there was a mass evacuation of troops to organise, and they all had to be transported back to England by ship. Timothy returned home a month before the cease-fire and spent his leave with Penelope and their recently christened son, James. He very much enjoyed his break, and regretted that he had to return abroad. He was well aware of the poor financial state and political turmoil of England, but as he wanted to stay in the army, he was not too upset when the establishment issued his new orders.

  Penelope was financially sound, and she hoped to have the house fully re-decorated for when Timothy returned. The maid had to quickly adapt to being a part-time nurse as well as a housekeeper, and to keep her sweet, Penelope gave her a small pay rise.

  Things were a lot less sweet for Timothy when he reached France. He was lucky to not be posted further inland like many men of similar rank, having to cope with billeting, feeding and securing many thousand captured prisoners of war. For Timothy, it was the weather that caused the most havoc. All it did was rain, making conditions terrible for everyone. Transporting animals, armaments and munitions was horrendous, and food supplies were drastically reduced when vast amounts began to rot.

  It seemed that peace time was worse than being at war. They worked under covers, trying to keep warm and dry, as much as they could. Timothy began to write out a report stating the inadequacies of the tanks that had been transported over, which had really proved to be useless in extreme wet weather conditions.

  Many lessons had been learned, but the bi-planes proved to be the most advantageous and had the most impact; their usefulness for spying on the enemy and, during the latter part of the war, bombing raids, had become legendary.

  Anyone with engineering skills was welcome to stay, and knowing they would receive extra pay, many did. It was hard work saving as much live ammunition and working armaments as possible. Getting it to the ships was the hardest, and many cannons ended up in the sea. Prisoners of war were also conscripted to work, and eagerly agreed, knowing they would get fed.

  One month after the end of his leave, Timothy stood at the side of Henry’s grave, reading the inscription on the wooden cross. Tears rolled down his face for the unforgivable error he had allowed; he was finally allowing himself to feel the full extent of his grief, made worse by the fact that he was now officially aware that he could have contradicted the Major’s instructions.

  He whispered, ‘Please forgive me,’ and looked up into the sky. When the sun came out, he had to smile, and said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t leave you out here, and if I can’t get you back home, we’ll visit.’

  He didn’t know that the Brigadier was visiting, and when the tide allowed later that afternoon, he entered the billet shouting, ‘Attention!’

  Timothy looked around then sprang to his feet and saluted. He smiled and held out his hand, asking, ‘I hope to hell you have brought some fresh food?’

  ‘We have, and also this gentleman, that’s when the old bugger catches up,’ replied the Brigadier, with an impatient look on his face. ‘Ah, here he is now. Timothy, this is Major-General Broadbent.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ said Timothy holding out his hand, and the General grinned as he shook it.

  ‘Right then, let’s all sit down and have a chat, refreshments will be here soon,’ said the Brigadier, and turned a chair around.

  Timothy politely waited until they were seated, and then sitting opposite them, he asked why they were here.

  ‘To see you, my boy; I haven’t been able to pester you since the war ended.’ Turning to the entrance, the Brigadier shouted, ‘Come on in quick with those bloody drinks.’

  When a large bowl of salad and then a plate of boiled ham were placed on the table, Timothy stared, knowing that there was something in the wind. Looking straight at the General, he asked, ‘Does this mean my days are numbered here, or is it time for me to go home for good?’

  ‘What? Oh no, lad, you’re not going anywhere. Well, only from here. Someone back in London likes you and has been reading your reports. You are coming home with us this afternoon. Not as a Major, though, but as a Brigadier.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ gasped Timothy.

  ‘Do you know, that’s all I ever hear from my wife, and she’s two hundred and fifty miles away.’

  Seeing them heartily laughing, Timothy began to think it was a joke, but soon changed his mind when the Brigadier threw him some epaulets. When he saw the insignia on them, he looked up at the General, asking, ‘And now the accompanying letter?’

  The General passed it over, and after opening and reading the contents, Timothy stared, gobsmacked. Slumping back in his chair he said, ‘I will accept, but on one condition.’

  ‘You cheeky young whippersnapper, that’s a two thousand pound a year job, and for life. Oh, bloody hell, I know your stubbornness, we might as well let you go on as you will anyway,’ groaned the Brigadier, and sighed.

  ‘Now as you know, Brigadier, my brother is buried here because you arranged it. Is it possible to have him exhumed again and returned home? I want him buried in Yorkshire, and so do his parents.’

  ‘His parents, oh, right then?’ He knew the case history, and he supposed that there was a family rift. The Brigadier glanced at the General, who nodded a yes, and then turned to Timothy, saying, ‘Arrange it soon as possible, we sail on the next tide. But don’t forget this, lad, you’re still my junior.’ With that, he smirked at him.

  Five hours later, Timothy was on deck, staring at Henry’s recently-made coffin, draped in the Union Jack. He had skipped dinner. In an open hold underneath, there was stored a vast quantity of scrap iron, but as he listened to the steady beat of the engines, he stood upright and gazed at the moonlight that illuminated the calm sea.

  He was thankful to be going home, but in his melancholy mood, he wished that it was in far better circumstances. Timothy sighed, desperately trying to work out how to get Henry’s body home.

  When the Brigadier approached, he decided not to interrupt Timothy’s brooding, feeling that it was good for him. He had, however, anticipated some of Timothy’s problems; it as an unwritten law that no bodies of high-ranking officers or their relations were left buried abroad, so he decided to visit the wireless operator instead.

  The next morning, as they were having breakfast, the Brigadier began to outline the problems involved bringing Henry’s body home. ‘I have put my neck on the line for you, Timothy, so listen. Seeing as your brothers coffin is new, people will take it as a recent death, so we have to keep things discreet. From the dockside, a coach will take you both to the station. When you get there, it can be stored safely for twenty-four hours while you visit home. The following day there is a train to Sheffield at nine o’clock, and then you change carriages, reaching your hometown at noon.’

  ‘How do you know all that?’

  ‘Because I asked the wireless operator to find it out for me,’ he replied, and grinned. He waited until Timothy had absorbed it all, and then continued. ‘Right then, have I your permission to wire your parents to meet you at the station? It will give them
two and a half days to arrange a funeral.’

  ‘Well, I can’t really say no, can I?’

  ‘Very good, because that’s all done as well. You will have an escort of four guards, who will provide a military honours. If I were you, I’d get a small speech prepared to impress your parents, and go wearing your new uniform.’

  ‘I haven’t got it yet.’

  ‘You soon will have,’ came the reply.

  Four hours later, Timothy stood at the bottom of the gangplank while Henry’s coffin passed him, continuing towards an open coach. He escorted it onto the train, and five minutes later, he was sitting in a compartment. Feeling lonely, he glanced out of the window and began to worry that his parents might not have received the wire in time. He wondered whether the church would allow the coffin to rest there.

  Joseph and Mahala were apprehensive when they heard a loud knock on the door, and they opened it to find a man in uniform. When he handed them a piece of paper, Mahala gasped at the thought that something had happened to Timothy. She was relieved that that wasn’t the case, but started to cry as Joseph read her the message.

  ‘I’d better go and get George,’ he said. ‘You go into the village and see the parson—it looks like we are going to be busy.’

  After dinner that evening, they all remained seated around the table, including the Websters. Mahala was looking and feeling much better, knowing that Henry’s body was going to be returned home and that she would be able to visit his grave. Mr Webster smiled at Georgina, who was asleep in George’s arms, and turned to Joseph, stating that the situation was unusual as most soldiers were buried where they fell.

  ‘It is obvious to me Timothy has had something to do with it, as he is travelling with him,’ said Mahala, and then wondered how old her second grandchild could be.

  ‘We’ll soon find out because the train arrives at midday tomorrow. The grave’s done. The parson will meet us at the church,’ said George, and smiled when Georgina shuffled around to get more comfortable.

  The following morning, Penelope stared at Timothy, dressed in his new uniform. ‘Good grief, Tim, you look so handsome.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he replied, and then laughed heartily when he heard James giggle.

  ‘Come on then, the coach is due.’

  They met the guards at the station, surprised that they had obtained rifles from an overnight lock-up. They carried the coffin into a freight wagon and stayed with it until they reached their destination. Timothy carried an overnight bag containing food and clothing for James, while Penelope, wearing that new mother’s smile on her face, lovingly carried the baby.

  Conversation was mainly about recent decorations to the house, but Timothy seemed to be in a trance at times. Penelope just smiled, knowing he was having difficulty minimising his speech to around the customary one hundred words.

  After a smooth changeover, they were on the train approaching the village. Timothy glanced out of the window, seeing his parents’ land in the distance. When he took hold of Penelope’s hand, she knew they were nearly there, and smiling at him, said, ‘It’ll soon be all over, my darling.’

  Timothy stared, totally unprepared for the large crowd gathered near the railway stop. He wasn’t sure whether they were there to pay their respects, or to do him damage, and he tried not to show that he was shaking with nerves. When they all solemnly stood back, and the men removed their flat caps, he sighed with relief. Turning to Penelope, he asked her to wait so he could see to the coffin before he helped her off the train.

  She agreed, but she understood that he was going to test the temperament of the crowd before he allowed her and the baby into their midst. She watched when Timothy climbed down the two steps onto the temporary platform, and heard occasional gasps. As he approached the freight wagon, Timothy stared at Joseph, and respectfully said, ‘Hello, dad.’

  ‘Timothy,’ Joseph replied, then turned, as if letting him know all his family was there. Timothy nodded to them, then turned around, allowing the guards to prepare.

  When the guards were all ready and the Union Jack was draped over the coffin, they waited for Timothy to take James, and then help Penelope off the train. Mahala stared through the tears running down her cheeks; Florence was in a similar state, and George stood to attention with Georgina asleep in his arms.

  Timothy gave the order, and without waiting, he and Penelope began to follow the coffin towards the church, the silent mourners trailing after them. Timothy met the parson in the church doorway, and leaning towards him, politely asked if they could continue to the graveside. The parson led the way, saying the prayers, and the crowd gathered around the grave.

  The guards gently lowered Henry’s coffin onto two thick canvas belts, and in time, they eased their rifles around their shoulders before continuing to lower it into the grave. When they stood at ease on one side of the grave, the crowd gathered around.

  ‘Attention!’ shouted Timothy, and the guards instantly responded.

  After the prayers, Timothy began his speech, by now desperately trying to calm his emotions. He found it difficult to get through it as he heard sobbing in the crowd. His voice stayed clear and loud, and he didn’t realise that his parents were staring at him. After allowing a minute’s silence, he shouted for the guards to present arms. When their rifles pointed in the air, he shouted, ‘Fire!’

  After one last stare at the coffin, Timothy shouted, ‘About turn,’ and when they did, he gave one the nod, and began to follow them out of the churchyard. Penelope slipped her arm in his. James was wide awake, looking around him. When they neared the church, Mahala shouted, ‘Please, stop!’

  Florence was now carrying Georgina, and George was wearing a stern expression. He approached, and standing close to Timothy, sneered, ‘You will have shouted “fire” to kill him, and now “fire” to bury him. I hope you are satisfied, General Cotton.’

  As they walked away, it seemed Florence was arguing with George and tugging his arm, as if she didn’t like what he said. Mahala noticed this, and then eyeing James, she smiled before she asked if they could stay a while. Without hesitation, Penelope passed James to her, which made Timothy smile, especially when his mum instantly kissed him.

  The crowd dispersed in all directions, bar Joseph and Mr Webster, who were approaching. With shoulders back, Timothy waited until they acknowledged him first.

  Seeing Mahala holding a smiling James towards him, Joseph had to restrain himself from smiling when he asked what they had called him.

  ‘James, and unfortunately, he was born two days after Henry’s birthday,’ said Timothy.

  ‘Well, Timothy, and this is without temper or arguing, it’s very nice to see you and your family. For bringing our Henry home, you have our heartfelt thanks. Someday, I will want to know the truth, but not just yet. Until then, farewell,’ said Joseph then walked off.

  Mr Webster politely waited, then held his hand towards Timothy. ‘Best of luck to you both,’ he said as Timothy shook it, then turned to follow Joseph.

  ‘Sorry, mother, but I don’t think it’s wise to stay any longer.’

  Staring into Timothy’s eyes, she asked, ‘May I come with you to the train?’

  Penelope smiled saying, ‘Of course.’

  The guards were already seated on board, waiting. The driver had a quick word with Timothy, informing him that they must set off in ten minutes. Mahala nuzzled James’s neck, making him screech, and Penelope smiled, thinking about how estranged she was from her own mother. She informed Mahala that she was welcome to stay at their house at any time.

  ‘Thank you, and I will bear that in mind,’ responded Mahala.

  When he heard the toot of the whistle, Timothy leaned forward and kissed his mum’s cheek, then Penelope did the same. Mahala kissed James, and tears flowed down her cheeks when they climbed up into the carriage.

  With a sudden jolt, the train set off. Waving to his mum, Timothy turned to Penelope, saying, ‘If you hadn’t been with me, I would have b
een hanging from a tree by now.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly. Look over there, is that your father?’ she asked, and waved in that direction anyway.

  Chapter 28

  Timothy settled in at home, enjoying himself as a husband and a father. Especially now that winter was approaching, with a nip of frost in the air, Timothy felt relieved that he wouldn’t be returning abroad. The following Monday morning would be crucial to him; he was starting his new job, and didn’t look forward to working inside an office all day. He felt apprehensive when informed that he was to attend a government meeting that afternoon, particularly when he read the list of officials in attendance, including their ranks.

  It was now two months after Henry’s funeral, and his grave had a headstone, designed, then carved by Joseph. It was always adorned with flowers. Mahala regretted that she hadn’t asked for a keepsake of James, and often wondered how much he was growing.

  She was in the kitchen washing up one day when the government rep banged on the door. He was still buying anything they could sell, to ease the shortage of food. After his business and purchases were concluded, he was happy to pass the time by discussing the country’s ongoing problems, and he left them out-of-date newspapers before continuing his tour around the area

  On the following day, when Joseph relaxed after lunch, he had a smoke while he browsed one paper. It contained a list of soldiers who had deserted or been executed for a dereliction of duty. Thinking there was a great number, he suddenly started when read Henry’s name; in disbelief, he quickly stood up, having thought the army had changed its mind when it gave him his medals.