The Lost Soldier

by Costeloe Diney

  “But I didn’t desert,” cried Tom. “I was going back. I had a forty-eight hour pass, and then I was going back.”

  “So you say,” agreed Lieutenant Hill, “but they’ve only your word for it, so it’s up to you to try and convince them. I’ve asked around, and the best way seems to be to put you on oath and then let you tell your own story. They may ask you questions, but you can answer in your own words and try to make them believe you.”

  Tom stared at him bleakly. “Is that all?” he asked.

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Can I ask you something, sir? Have you been a Prisoner’s Friend before?” asked Tom.

  Lieutenant Hill looked uncomfortable. “No, Carter, I can’t say that I have. It’s not a popular job, you know. No one wants to do it, but,” he added in a rallying tone, “since I am doing it, I will do my very best for you.” He pocketed the notebook in which he had jotted notes of what Tom had told him. “After you have spoken, I can sum up your defence, and then it’ll be up to the court.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and then once again the boom of the heavy door cut him off from the world outside.

  Tom slept hardly at all that night. His brain churned over and over what he might say to the court in the morning and how best he might say it. From what Lieutenant Hill said it appeared that his being away from his unit would be construed as desertion, whatever he told them. The fact that he had come down from the front line thinking he had permission to do so, would not be believed, or even if it were, would not count as a defence. He watched the grey fingers of dawn creep through the bars of his window, and felt grey fingers of despair creeping with them.

  Sergeant Tucker brought him some breakfast, but Tom was not hungry and he ate none of it, just drank the mug of strong tea that went with it. He was given hot water to wash and shave in and then Tucker came back to fetch him.

  The court martial had been convened in the main room of HQ. It was in a villa just outside the town. Lieutenant Hill was waiting as Tom was marched up between two MPs. He said hastily, “Colonel Bridger is presiding, with Captain James and Captain Howard. They’re all right, but the colonel is another matter altogether.” He looked Tom over and went on, “We’ll be on one side of the room and the prosecutor, that’s Major Pilton, will be on the other. Don’t speak unless you are spoken to. Understand? Don’t interrupt. Your turn to speak will come.”

  Together they went into the room where a table was laid out with paper and pencils, pens, ink and a blotter for each of the tribunal. There was a small table on the right hand side, and next to this sat the prosecutor, Major Pilton. Hill led Tom to the other side where there was one chair and another small table. “Stand there,” he said, indicating the space behind table, and as Tom did so, Hill sat down on the chair, putting his papers on the table beside him. At the back of the room were the two military policemen who had arrested him, and Major Gyles.

  The sun streamed in through the floor length windows behind the main table, and as he waited for the tribunal to make its appearance, Tom found himself watching the motes of dust dancing in the shaft of sun. Just so had they danced on summer mornings through the dining-room windows of the London orphanage. Tom found himself with a vision of that old Victorian hall, with its pitted panelling and pock-marked tables, which was so vivid that suddenly it was the small court room, painted a cold and clinical white, which seemed unreal. Only by concentrating on the frivolous dance of the dust in the sunshine did Tom keep from trying to push his way from the room to find the real world outside.

  The door swung open and the officers making up the tribunal strode in and sat down behind the table, followed by two more military police, who took up their positions on either side of the door.

  Colonel Bridger announced his name and then the names of the officers on either side of him. The prosecutor announced himself as Major Pilton, and then Lieutenant Hill, in a rather hesitant voice, gave his name and said that he appeared as Prisoner’s Friend.

  “Stand forward, prisoner, and state your name, rank and number.”

  Tom did so, and then the colonel turned back to Major Pilton. “Read the offences that this man is charged with,” he ordered. The prosecutor stood up.

  “Private 8523241 Thomas Carter of the 1st Battalion, Belshire Light Infantry is charged on two counts as follow:

  1. That on the night of 1st July 1916, when on active service he did, without leave, absent himself from the front line trenches near Beaumont Hamel and remained absent until he was found outside the town of Albert on the morning of 3rd July.

  2. That on the night of 1st July 1916, when on active service, he did desert His Majesty’s service.”

  “Guilty or not guilty?” the colonel demanded, staring at Tom.

  “Not guilty, sir,” Tom said. He managed to keep his voice steady, but his insides were churning and he had to keep his hands rigidly at his side to stop them from shaking.

  “Carry on, Major,” the colonel directed.

  “Private Thomas Carter was part of a unit that took part in the attack by the 29th Division on the enemy line at Beaumont Hamel on 1st July. He attacked with his unit through no-man’s-land, and was seen to advance in line with the rest of his comrades. As the attacking force advanced he disappeared and was not seen again. The next time he was seen was at the forward dressing post in the support trenches when he joined Private John Gerard as an ambulance driver and took a horse ambulance back from the lines to the casualty clearing station at Hebecourt. There he had some food with Gerard and then while Gerard was at the latrines, he disappeared again. He did not ride back up to the lines with Gerard, who having searched for him before leaving and been unable to find him, returned to the forward dressing post alone.

  “No officer had directed him to the ambulances, no order had been given to him to accompany Gerard to the clearing station. When he appeared beside the ambulance which was preparing to leave, Gerard says he asked if Carter was Henderson’s replacement.” The major glanced across at the colonel, explaining, “Henderson had been Gerard’s co-driver who had been wounded in the shoulder on their last trip. The accused said that he was. Gerard accepted this and Carter joined him on the ambulance. When Gerard reported back to his own officer, Captain Hicks, he discovered no one had sent this man to be his co-driver, and subsequently he has driven with another man to replace the injured Henderson.”

  Lieutenant Hill got to his feet and asked tentatively, “May I ask, sir, if this Private Gerard will be appearing as a witness?”

  Colonel Bridger looked annoyed at the interruption and snapped, “Your time for questions will come, Lieutenant.”

  However, Major Pilton said, “No, Lieutenant, he won’t. He can’t be spared, his work is particularly vital at this time, as you can imagine. His statement has been taken.” The major looked down at his papers again. “From the time the accused left the casualty station at Hebecourt until he was found by the arresting officers, he was absent without leave, and had made no attempt to report himself for duty anywhere.”

  “Call your witnesses, Major,” said Colonel Bridger.

  The two military policemen were called, and each gave the same version of events as the other. They had been on patrol in the area outside Albert and had found Private Carter hiding in a barn.

  When allowed to cross examine, Lieutenant Hill asked Sergeant Tucker, “What made you think that Private Carter was hiding?”

  “Stands to reason,” replied Tucker. “We see it from time to time. A bloke goes AWOL and slinks off among the farms trying to get food from the French there.”

  “Was Private Carter at a farm?”

  “No, sir, in a derelict barn… so that he wouldn’t be seen, sir.”

  “Seen by whom?” asked Hill, but before Tucker could answer Colonel Bridger snapped, “I think the sergeant has already answered your question, Lieutenant. He said the man was in hiding from the army.”

  “Excuse me sir,” replied Lieutenant Hill bravely, “bu
t I don’t think he said that exactly…”

  “It is what he meant,” said the colonel. “Have you any other questions for this man?” His tone implied that there should not be, but Lieutenant Hill said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He turned back to Tucker. “Did the accused try to run away when he saw you?”

  “No, sir. He seemed exhausted. Unsteady on his feet, like.”

  The next witness was Major Gyles, who briefly described the conversation he had had with Tom when he had been brought in.

  “Did you believe his story?” enquired Major Pilton.

  “No, not really,” Gyles replied.

  “So you had him locked up while you made some enquiries?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what was the result of those enquiries?” asked the prosecutor.

  “He said he had been given a forty-eight-hour leave pass on compassionate grounds by his company commander, Captain Frederick Hurst.”

  “And does Captain Hurst confirm this?”

  “No. I’m afraid Captain Hurst was killed as he led his men into the battle on 1st July.”

  “You found no one else who was able to confirm this… leave pass?” He spoke the last two words as if they left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  “No, sir. Though it has to be said that there are very few of Captain Hurst’s company left. Those that did return to the lines safely have been reassigned to other units.”

  “So there is no one to corroborate what the accused says?”

  “No, sir.”

  The men at the table made copious notes; indeed Colonel Bridger seemed to be writing everything down verbatim, and kept asking Major Pilton to wait while he did so.

  When at last it was Lieutenant Hill’s turn to ask questions of Major Gyles he said, “Were attempts made to contact some of the survivors of Private Carter’s unit?”

  “It is very difficult to locate individuals in the present state of affairs,” the major replied evasively.

  “So there is no one to say that Captain Hurst did not give the accused a pass to return to Albert immediately after the attack.”

  “It is so unlikely as to be almost impossible,” replied Major Gyles. “This is the biggest push of the war. No officer is going to hand out leave, compassionate or otherwise.”

  Lieutenant Hill knew he was going to get no further with this, and he was well aware that the colonel was eyeing him with distaste.

  “The accused says that he brought in a wounded man, Jimmy Cardle, into a part of the line that he did not recognise. Have you been able to find this man Cardle?”

  “He subsequently died of his wounds.”

  “And the officer in the trench who gave Carter a shirt and service tunic to replace the one he had left on the wounded man, Sam Gordon?”

  “We have not been able to trace any officer who remembers doing this.”

  “It is possible,” Lieutenant Hill suggested, “that he too has since been killed.”

  “This is pure supposition,” interrupted Colonel Bridger. “Have you any other relevant questions?”

  Lieutenant Hill could see that any more questioning was going to do more harm than good, so he said, “No, sir. I’d like the prisoner to give evidence on his own behalf.”

  Tom was sworn in and then Lieutenant Hill asked him to explain exactly what had happened in his own words. As he went through it all again, he noticed that the colonel had stopped taking notes and was sitting back in his chair staring at him with his cold grey eyes.

  Major Pilton stopped him at one stage and said, casually, “You say that this pass was not with immediate effect? It did not start at once?”

  “No, sir,” said Tom. “Captain Hurst said that I could not go until after the attack. He said he didn’t know when it would be, but very soon. He said that when it was over I could be released for forty-eight hours… to get married.” It sounded weak even to his own ears, but Tom went on, “I am an orphanage boy, sir. Never knew my parents. I didn’t want my child to grow up without my name to protect him. Molly and me was going to get married anyway, but I wanted us to be before Molly went home.”

  “So,” Major Pilton ignored all that Tom had said, “so your pass was not with effect until the attack was over.”

  “No, sir.”

  “It is still not over, Carter. The attack has continued ever since the morning you went over the top.”

  “Lieutenant Hurst had dated it for the 8th July, sir.”

  “Why would he do that, I wonder?” said the prosecutor.

  “Because he thought the battle would be over by then, sir. He thought we’d be through the German lines and well dug in, sir, and he would spare me for a couple of days.”

  Too many people had believed the same thing and been proved disastrously wrong for this to be a comfortable thought for the major, so he ignored Tom’s answer and continued, “So that was the date on the pass?”

  “ Yes, sir. The 8th July, sir.”

  “According to what we’ve heard, you were arrested on the morning of the 3rd July.” He paused and then went on softly, “Your leave, if you had leave, did not begin by your own admission until 8th July. Therefore I put it to you that you were Absent Without Leave. You had deserted your comrades, you had deserted your King whilst on Active Service.” A long silence followed his words and then he sat down.

  Lieutenant Hill remained seated. He knew he could do no more.

  Colonel Bridger got to his feet. “The court will retire and consider its verdict.” Everyone stood rigidly at attention while the tribunal left the room.

  “You will wait here, Carter,” ordered Major Pilton, and then having instructed the two military policemen who had remained on either side of the door to guard the prisoner, he left the room, followed by Major Gyles.

  Lieutenant Hill looked at Tom. “I did my best for you, Carter, but I think you just condemned yourself.”

  “What happens now?” asked Tom fearfully.

  “Now they decide whether you are guilty or not. If not, you will be released at once and returned to your regiment. If guilty, they’ll want to know more about you and your character.” He got to his feet and followed the other two officers out of the room, disliking the job he’d had to do, feeling that he hadn’t done it very well and angry that he’d been asked to do it in the first place.

  It was half an hour before the officers returned to the courtroom. Tom had spent the time slumped in a chair with one military policeman by the open window, the other beside the door. When the officers came back in Sergeant Tucker rasped out, “Prisoner, attention!”

  Tom leapt to his feet and stood to attention as the two majors and Lieutenant Hill took their places, followed almost immediately by the tribunal.

  When everyone was in place, Colonel Bridger looked slowly round the room, before he said, “Private Carter, we have listened very carefully to all the evidence in this regrettable affair, both against you and in your defence. However, at present the court has no findings to announce.” He looked across at Major Pilton. “What is known about this man, Major? Do we have anything from his commanding officer?”

  “Colonel Johnson was unable to attend, sir, however he sent this statement to be read in court.” The major took a sheet of paper from his table and read, “ ‘Private Thomas Carter volunteered in October 1914 and has served with B company of this battalion since he was posted here in May 1915. He has been a trusted soldier, used on several occasions as part of a raiding party because of his courage and reliability. On one occasion he brought in a comrade who had been wounded on such a raid, when he was already wounded himself. He was not sent home, but this resulted in a stay in hospital here in France. Once he was pronounced fit for duty he returned to his battalion and continued to serve willingly. He was granted seventy-two hours’ local leave in March from which he returned promptly. I have not come into personal contact with Private Carter, but this report is based on information both from his service record and from officers under whom he has serv
ed. Unfortunately nearly all the officers and NCOs by whom he was best known have recently been killed in action, and so there is no close, first-hand knowledge of him. Private Carter appears to have been a brave and loyal soldier. It is a great shock to hear of the very serious charges laid against him now.’ It is signed, James Johnson, Lieutenant Colonel. 1st Belshire Light Infantry.”

  “No other evidence as to this man’s character?” asked Colonel Bridger.

  “No, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Hill, have you anything more to say on the prisoner’s behalf?”

  The young officer stood up and cleared his throat nervously, “Just to say, sir, that this evidence of good character from Colonel Johnson, seems to bear out some of the things the accused said, sir. He has been wounded himself in the service of the king, he has rescued at least one, he says two, wounded men from no-man’s-land. He is not a coward, sir, he has never run away from his duty before. I suggest to you, sir that he did not do so wilfully this time, but under the misapprehension that he had leave to come to Albert for forty-eight hours, leave given even at this desperate time, compassionate leave, because it was a family matter. Private Carter had no intention of remaining at large, sir, and once he had married his fiancée, he would have returned to his unit immediately. I ask you sir, to take all this into consideration when coming to your sentence, sir.” Lieutenant Hill sat down again and Colonel Bridger turned to Tom.

  “Well, Carter, have you anything to say for yourself?”

  Tom said, “Yes, sir, please sir.” He drew a deep breath. He knew as he had not been declared Not Guilty that they had found him guilty, but he also knew he had not yet been sentenced. “Everything I have told you is true. If you must find me guilty, sir, I beg you to find me guilty of being absent without leave. I didn’t desert, sir.” Tom spoke earnestly, his eyes fixed on the colonel. “I wouldn’t never desert my mates. I wouldn’t never desert my king. I joined up as soon as I could to do my bit, like, and I wouldn’t give up, sir, not till the war is over. I rescued my mate, Harry, and he died. I brought in Jimmy Cardle and he died. If nothing else I owe them Germans for them, sir. I didn’t desert.”