The disappointment of the British soldiers was compounded when they discovered that, despite the clearly thriving trees growing in the area, there was no water. Rumours went round that an underground supply was available two feet below the surface and, over the next hour, holes started to appear all over the camp as frantic soldiers searched for the precious liquid. Fortunately, as they were reaching the point of desperation, a camel train arrived carrying supplies of food and water and, once again, these ugly beasts with their patchy, vermin ridden hides and their unpleasant habits were greeted with rapturous cheering by the Lancashire soldiers.
The men, so used at home to seeing excessive amounts of water falling freely and, often, inconveniently out of the skies, sipped at the now scarce liquid with a reverential relish. They rolled drops of it with sensuous delight around their mouths, experienced its pleasure as though it was nectar from the hands of some lustrous goddess, and then let it slide caressingly down their throats.
Their thirsts slaked for the moment, Edward and Liam went to root out Big Charlie who they found prostrated and gently snoring in his bivouac. They explained to him that they had volunteered the three of them for a scouring party to go out in the desert to find and bring back casualties. After a long succession of loudly repeated ‘Sod Offs’ from the big man they managed to persuade him to his feet and to adopt a minimum of a half-interested expression.
***
29 Myrtle Street
Cross Lane
Salford 5
Great Britain
15th July 1916
Dear Dad,
Something very sad has happened to Miss Howard because when I went to Sunday School at the Mission she was in the Church Hall by herself playing the piano and crying so much she was dripping on the keys. I stood near Mrs Willoughby whilst she was talking to Elsie Craddock’s Mother and she told her that Miss Howard had had some bad news from the Somme (Mam told me how to spell Somme. She said it is foreign.) Mrs Willoughby said that Miss Howard had been sat there crying all day playing the same music called ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desirings’ and she wouldn’t talk to anyone.
I asked Mam how they would get the piano keys dry because you can’t get a cloth down those little gaps between the keys and she said it is not important because her sweetheart must have been killed. She said that she should have got married when she wanted to but she didn’t because her Mam was a widow and was pulling her face. Mam told Billy Murphy’s Mam when she came round and said now she might never know. I asked her what she might never know but she just said that I was too young to understand and, anyway, I was supposed to be washing the pots. I heard Mrs Murphy telling Mam that he shouldn’t have been in the army but some woman had given him a white feather. That must be some kind of secret code.
I told Mam that perhaps she had better go and get Miss Howard and give her a cigarette like she did with Edith Hardcastle’s Mam or else she might stay there for ever. She said God will put his arm round her and comfort her and I told her that Reverend Williams was trying to do that when I left and he is God’s spokesman but he wasn’t having any luck.
Thank you for the headband that you sent for my birthday. I really like it and I saved it and wore it at Whit Week with my new dress that Mam had made. I told everyone that it was from Egypt and that you had bought it from near where Jesus came from. I told Uncle Jim about the carpenters and he said to ask you if you have come across any nice stables.
Our Mary has started in the beginners’ class at Sunday School and I had to sit with her the first time because she was frightened of old Mr Hillman whose nose is always running. She was alright last week because Mrs Hillman was there and she told the story about Jesus feeding thousands of people with a bit of bread and some fish.
Mam said that I can help her tomorrow to make another fruit cake for you. She said that it depends a bit on what our Edward can fetch home but we should be alright although sometimes it might be handy if Jesus could come round here and do his trick with the bread and the fish.
Love
Laura
PS Mrs Murphy told Mam that she had had a letter from her Liam and he’d had an accident with the toilet. She used some naughty words about him but then asked God to forgive her so that it would be alright.
***
‘This bloody, sodding war. Just when you think that you are coping something else comes along and kicks you in the balls.’
Hearing the agonized cry from his friend, Edward looked up from his letter to see Liam, his own post scattered on the sand in front of him, holding his bowed head with his clenched fists as his body was shaken by a deep, racking sob. A slight evening breeze blowing through the doorway of the bivouac fluttered the letters then left them still again at Liam’s feet.
‘What’s the matter, mate? Is there anything I can do?’ Edward searched for suitable words but felt inadequate in the face of this surprise show of naked grief. Liam, in all the thirty years that he had known him, had coped with any difficulty with a shrug of the shoulders, a laugh and a joke. They had been to infant school together, played football together, swum in the nude in the lake at Ordsall Park and shared the same bed when Liam’s mother had been confined with his young sister. The close bond between them was never discussed or even thought about. It was just there. Now Edward felt slightly uncomfortable and totally unprepared as he witnessed the turmoil that his friend was trying to contain.
He needed to show concern but he was fearful of revealing his misgivings. So many of the lads had received letters from wives whose desperate search for survival for themselves and their young families had led them into new relationships, that he feared that the same destructive message might have been now delivered to Liam. It seemed impossible to believe that the staunchly Catholic, God-fearing Bridget could have strayed in this way but something had delivered Liam a profound body blow. He lit a cigarette and passed it over silently.
The cooling smoke seemed finally to settle Liam enough for him to salvage words from his inner pain.
‘Eddie. We’ve changed, haven’t we? You know. Like now, you hardly ever talk about your Laura and the kids and I don’t talk about our Brig and the family.’
Edward’s heart sank. She must have done it. What could he say to help? ‘I suppose it’s how we cope. They’re still important. But when you’re this far away and can’t do anything about it, you just seem to lock it away.’
‘It’s like having some precious jewels and you lock them in a safe when you have to go away,’ Liam said slowly. ‘You think that when you get back they’ll still be there to enjoy just as much as before. But then some bastard comes along and steals one from you.’ His face contorted as the hurt pressed into his mind with renewed vigour.
Edward reached out and put his hand on Liam’s back. ‘What is it? Has something happened to Bridget?’ Liam’s shoulders drooped and his head fell forward as he shook it. He handed the screwed up letter to Edward as his body shook again with the great waves of anguish.
Edward took it, pressed it against his thigh to straighten it, checked the top right-hand corner for the address then looked at each page for the numbers to confirm the page sequence. He was reluctant to start, as if doing so would make him complicit in the words that had caused this grief, but he knew that he felt compelled to share the burden of the pain in any way that he could.
Finally, he slowly read the body of the letter. The writing was in pencil in a large, flowing feminine script that sometimes strayed from the ruled lines on the blue writing paper. Bridget had clearly struggled for control of her emotions as she had written it.
‘My Dearest, Darling Lee,’ he read. He felt an embarrassed flush of heat on his back. He had never thought of his pal as someone who shared the same touching intimacies with his wife as he did with his Laura. ‘I don’t know how to find the words to tell you this but you need to know and I don’t know how else to do it.
‘I told you in my last letter that our Lizzie had the scarlet fever. She was r
eally poorly and her little body was on fire with it. I had the doctor round to see her and he did what he could. Father Regan came and blessed her on Sunday but on Monday morning she passed on into the loving arms of Jesus our Saviour. God Bless her and keep her. She struggled so hard, the poor little mite, but in the end she didn’t have the strength left to fight.’
‘Laura had the kids whilst Lizzie was ill and she was round here when she died. She has been a big help, as have all the neighbours. We’re putting Lizzie in with your Mam in Weaste Cemetery on Friday morning.’
‘Lee, I’m crying as I write this because I know that every word I put down is like sticking a knife into you, the man I love more than my own life. I want to put my arms round you and hold you tight and take all the pain away. One day, please God, I will.’
‘I know this will be hard for you when you are so far away but please don’t worry about us. We will be alright. I am proud of you for fighting to keep us safe and you will always be my hero. Be strong for us and keep safe, my Darling. All my love for ever. Bridget.’
Edward stared at the creased pieces of blue paper in his hand, hardly believing what he had just read. Lizzie would have been just two and a half years old. She couldn’t have been taken just like that. He went over the words again, willing them to change, to deliver a message that wasn’t so searingly corrosive. They were the same. He reached out and put his arm round Liam’s drooping shoulders. ‘Christ, mate. I’m so sorry. She was such a bonny little thing. I can’t believe it.’
‘I never had the chance to get to know her,’ Liam said quietly. ‘Working all week, like, then going to watch United on Saturday afternoon. Used to take her out in her pram on Sunday, though. Down to the park and then to see her Granny. She was such a pretty little thing. I was proud as a button, showing her off, you know.’
‘I know what you mean, Liam.’ Edward struggled getting the words out. His mind seemed to be racing away to nothing. ‘She was a beautiful little girl. A lovely smile. Black curls like her Mam. It’s hard to believe.’
‘She was crawling when we left. Since then, she’d started toddling and I never had the chance to walk down the street holding her hand. She’d learnt to say Dada and I wasn’t there to say what a clever little girl she was. She’d learnt lots of words, could sing little songs, could sit there and feed herself. She played with dolls and toys and gave the others what for if they tried to take them off her. And where was I? I was crawling round a stinking rat-infested hell-hole in the arse end of Turkey thinking that I was making a better life for them.’
‘But we don’t have a choice. We’ve got to do what’s right. The women understand.’
‘Maybe. But little Lizzie didn’t. If she fell and hurt herself, I couldn’t bend down and pick her up and give her a cuddle. What I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to feel her little arms squeezing round my neck. I wanted to feel her wet tears on my face, to give her a kiss and take all her troubles away but now, all that’ll be left by the time I get back will be a name on a gravestone.’
‘But you’ve still got all the memories of when you did things like that with your lads. You’ll have to try and build on those.’
‘Aye. I know that I’ve done it with the lads but it’s different with a daughter. You love all your kids the same, but you want the lads to be tough enough to take the knocks in life. If they fall you rub the bit that hurts and tousle their hair. You know it’s different, Eddie. I’ve seen you with your Laura and your Sadie. There’s a sort of… tenderness when it’s your daughter. You want to protect them and be strong for them.’
Liam’s words began to stir memories and emotions that Edward had long since buried deep inside him. He was right. They were like priceless jewels, those unique moments of innocent love between a parent and a child. He had locked them away to protect them from the murderous savagery of the life that he was now leading, just as Liam had done. But now fate had visited her cruel intentions on the little terraced house in Goodiers Lane and had snatched away the life of Liam’s only daughter.
He looked out of the bivouac at the puffs of dry sand that were rolling down the dunes. A sea breeze was building up as the evening sun lowered slowly behind the palms at the rear of the camp. The summits of the sand hills glowed fiercely red as the dying sun picked them out. A native walked past leading a train of camels and soldiers wandered unhurriedly by. They were close but strangely distant. The two of them had been trapped in this silent capsule of sadness and those around them could not penetrate its invisible barrier.
Edward did know the special moments that Liam craved for. He was a little taken aback by this revelation that his bluff, wisecracking friend had actually noticed, and had been coveting, those fleeting intimacies, those sweet seconds, when solace is offered and accepted. These were those brief but important occasions that engrave the footsteps on the path of life that a man treads uniquely with his daughter. He thought of the scrapes that Laura, and later, Sadie, had got into as they tried to match their older brother in everything that he did. How, so many times, he had picked one or other of them up and hugged them and kissed their tears. Kissed tears that had formed like jewels on tiny eyelashes. Salty tears.
‘I just thought’ Liam said slowly, ‘when all this started, that I’d be walking back in the house within six months. I could just see myself going home. She would hold two little hands up to me. I would bend down and pick her up and I’d be there… hugging my own little daughter.’
An electrifying bolt hit Edward’s brain as another memory unleashed itself into his reluctant consciousness. His little Mary. She had been born just after Lizzie and his wife, Laura, had often told him in letters about the progress that she was making. But over the last two years he had increasingly sealed the snippets away in his memory, with only an occasional cursory review. Dwelling on the memories of his family brought the pain of longing to be with them, so he coped by not thinking. Liam’s torment had exposed this rawness. He had not had the opportunity, yet, to enjoy with Mary those jewels of time and, if fate dealt him an unkind hand, he also might never have that chance.
He turned and kissed the top of Liam’s head and rested his forehead against his. ‘Eh. I’m so sorry, our kid. I’m so very, very sorry.’
The tears of both men merged and fell onto the dry sand.
***
Ballybunion Camp
North Suez
Egypt
23rd September 1916
Dear Pippin,
I was very sorry to hear about Miss Howard and how sad she was. She is a lovely lady and I hope that she is feeling better now. I was also very sorry to hear about Lizzie Murphy. She was a beautiful little girl but Mrs Murphy will know that she is safe with Jesus now. I hope and pray that you are all alright and that you are managing OK in these difficult times.
Since I last wrote to you we have had to do a long march across the desert and it was not very pleasant – mainly because it was so hot. We started off at a place called Pelusium which has been an important trading port since before Jesus was alive. Some of the buildings were very old and parts of the town were a little bit smelly. If you look at a map of Egypt at school, and you find the top bit near the coast, well that is where we are now. When the Romans occupied this area two thousand years ago, they built forts spaced out along the coast for their soldiers to stay in. So it is quite funny because we stayed in places where the Roman soldiers had lived all that time ago.
Our engineers have just found a good way of building roads in the desert. Do you remember those chickens that Uncle Joe had in his back yard and he kept them in with wire netting? Well, they found that by rolling that out, and pegging it down to the ground, it would stop the sand moving so much. They can run the motor lorries on it so that is really good.
We are seeing a lot more of those flying machines out here that the British Army have got. They are amazing when you see them, like big birds up in the sky. It’s strange when you think that they have got men in them
. They use them to see what the other side are doing. Mr Murphy said that he wouldn’t mind having a go in one of them but I told him that they are not for me. I want to keep solid ground under my feet as God intended.
We have heard that next month they are going to start giving us a week’s break in Alexandria which is still in the top bit of Egypt but further to the left. It is a big, old town but there are lots of nice beaches so, hopefully, we should be able to go swimming quite a lot. It will be a nice change not to be doing army work for a week. There are these horrible things called lice that get in your clothes and make you itch a lot when you are in camp, so going in the sea will give us a chance to clean up a bit. We said that we would prefer to come home for a week but that takes three weeks there and then three weeks back.
Your Mam wrote and told me that you had had a good school report this summer. Well done. I am really pleased about that. She said that you like reading and you are always hiding in a corner with your head in a book – especially when she wants you to do something. Where are you getting your books from?
I know that I have not seen you for two years now, and you will have changed a lot, but please remember me, my little Darling, and know that I love you all with all of my heart. I pray to God for your safekeeping and hope that it will not be too long before I can see you again.
Love
Dad
***
29 Myrtle Street
Cross Lane
Salford 5
Great Britain
1st December 1916
Dear Dad,
I am enclosing a Christmas card that I made at school in the art class. They are supposed to be the three Kings on camels in the picture but our Edward said that they look more like the mangy dogs from the Maltese café on Trafford Road. It’s not my fault because we don’t have any proper paints left at school so the teacher makes them out of plants and things. She says that they were good enough for the great Dutch artists but when we do it they go all over the place. Anyway, will you send it back when you have finished with it so I can use it next year because teacher said we can’t get hold of good quality card now.
Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) Page 16
