by Anne Bennett
‘What rubbish are you spouting now?’
‘No rubbish,’ Finn said slowly, his voice beginning to slur. ‘This is the end of the road for me, Christy.’
‘Ah, no, man,’ Christy said. He was unable to see the glistening of Finn’s eyes because of the tears in his own. ‘You’re my best mate. We’ve been together through thick and thin. You can’t give up on me now.’ Tears spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. But he knew just by looking at the waxen pallor of Finn’s skin, and the trickle of blood seeping through his blue-tinged lips, that he spoke the truth. He felt sick to his very soul.
‘Take my dog tag,’ Finn said, and Christy had to strain to hear every painful word he was gasping out. ‘Look out for Gabrielle and the child for me, and tell Gabrielle I died still loving her with all my heart and soul.’
He closed his eyes and suddenly there was a rattle in his throat followed by a sudden gasp and then silence.
There was a roaring in Christy’s head too and a soundless voice screaming denial that Finn should be dead.
But he was gone, the boy and then the man he had known and loved all his life, and he didn’t know how he was going to bear the loss of him. Already, he was feeling as if he had a hollow pit of pain in his stomach. He unfastened Finn’s dog tag, told his name, serial number, brigade number and regiment, and he put it in his own tunic pocket and lay for a moment almost overwhelmed with grief. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he began to slither after his comrades.
He had reached the other side of the hill and was hurrying to catch up when a shell came from nowhere. Instinctively Christy rolled into a ball, but it lifted him into the air and he landed in a crater and knew no more.
The Ulster battalions captured the redoubt in vain. Their reinforcements had been beaten back by the Germans and they were given orders to retreat under cover of darkness. The medical orderlies were hard at work in no man’s land, taking the casualties to the infirmary on stretchers.
Father Clifford, who had been shaken by the tragic savagery of that first day, worked alongside them, almost overwhelmed with sorrow. Never in all his life had he seen so many corpses. Some had even been killed as they left the trenches, had tumbled back into it and lay spread-eagled on the duckboards. Some were impaled on the wire, but no man’s land was a sea of bodies and parts and pieces of bodies.
The short summer night was almost over, there was definitely a lightening of the sky, and he was just leaving the infirmary to collect more casualties when they brought in Christy’s unconscious form. The priest gasped when he saw him and the stump of his left leg that the orderlies had tended to in the field to try to stem the bleeding.
‘Someone you know?’ the doctor asked as he cut the clothes from him.
The priest nodded. ‘Yes, but then I know so many of them. His name is Christopher Byrne and he is with the Royal Inniskillings.’
‘Odd,’ the doctor said, reaching into Christy’s tunic pocket. ‘There is a tag here that says his name is Finn Sullivan. ‘And he showed it to the priest.’
‘That’s his best mate,’ the priest said. ‘They have been bosom buddies since they were small.’ He knew the only reason Christy would have removed Finn’s dog tag was if he was dead, and he told the doctor that. ‘Will Christy make it?’ he asked.
‘Probably,’ the doctor said. ‘But he needs to be prepared for surgery.’
Father Clifford left them to it and returned to his tent, beaten down by heartache. He thought of Finn’s pretty little wife and the child she was carrying, and Finn’s parents, whom Finn had once told him hadn’t wanted him to enlist in the first place. After what he had seen that day, he didn’t blame them either.
They would likely be prostrated with grief at the loss of their son and he could guess many parents would be the same. There would be grieving families all over England and Ireland he imagined. And then there would be parents like Christy’s, who had seen their fit young man march away, and would welcome him home maimed and mutilated. War surely was a terrible catastrophe altogether.
It was two days before the priest was able to see Christy, and then only for a few minutes because they stressed he was still very ill. The priest saw the pain reflected in the glazed eyes that were turned to him.
‘Hello, Christy,’ he said gently, his heart turning over in pity to see him in such a state. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘You don’t want to know, Father,’ Christy said. ‘You want me to say I’m grand and I’m bloody well not. In fact, I don’t know whether I will ever feel grand again.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. Really it doesn’t,’ the priest said. ‘Did Finn—’
‘Finn’s dead, Father.’
‘Ah, Christy, I’m sorry. I know how close the two of you were.’
Christy’s eyes were dulled as he said, ‘You know, Father, I wouldn’t have minded joining Finn, for I will never have such a good friend however long I live. Maybe you think that wicked of me?’
‘Not at all. You are still coming to terms with his death.’
‘I don’t think I will ever come to terms with it,’ Christy said with a sigh. ‘There is another that needs to be told too, of course, and that is Gabrielle.’
‘Won’t the authorities have informed her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Christy said. ‘No one knows officially about Finn’s marriage, do they? Finn asked me to remove his dog tag and they told me that when they found it in my tunic, with me unconscious and not able to put them right, they gave it in like mine so that the army could inform our families. I think, according to army records, Finn’s next of kin will still be his parents.’
‘But they will know that the news of his death should have gone to Gabrielle and will tell her.’
Christy shook his head. ‘Unless you have already sent the letter he left with you, his parents don’t even know of Gabrielle, never mind that he was married to her.’
‘He told me that he had informed them.’
‘I don’t care what he told you. They don’t know.’
‘Dear, dear,’ said the priest, distressed at the state of affairs. ‘I will sort this out, because the girl must be informed.’
The priest went away quickly to attend to this and Christy felt his spirits sink. What was it all about? he asked himself. Their first day on the battlefield, and Finn’s body still lay there, and he himself would go through the rest of his life with one leg. Life was a bloody bitch all right. And he turned his face to the wall and wept.
Father Clifford went into his tent, sat down at the desk and put his head in his hands. In front of him was a writing pad. He made no move to pull it nearer, though he knew he had many letters to write. Finn’s parents needed to know of his marriage. That was of prime importance, and according to what Christy said, the letter Finn had left in his keeping was the one informing his parents of that. If he sent it now, as he must, of course, it would follow hot on the heels of the telegram informing his parents of his death. Surely that was a lot for them to cope with, yet it had to be done. He had the marriage lines to enclose with the letter so that they could see it for themselves.
He also had to write to Gabrielle, informing her of her husband’s death and trying to explain why she hadn’t been informed by the military. He groaned aloud. So distracted was he that he didn’t hear the whistle of the rogue shells until it was too late. The first one ripped into the cookhouse, killing the cook his three helpers, and some surviving soldiers nearby, having a meal, but the second was a direct hit on Father Clifford’s tent so that his body, together with all the letters and documents relating to Finn’s marriage, were blown into a million pieces.
Christy was unaware of this for some time, because after the shell attack, the hospital was moved back to what was considered a safer location. Christy was actually too ill to be moved and he developed an infection from which his life hung in the balance for weeks.
In Buncrana, they were aware of the Battle of the Somme, and for the firs
t time could read with horror of the colossal loss of life and look at the heart-rending grainy newspaper photographs.
‘It says twenty-one thousand Allied soldiers were killed in the first hour,’ Tom said. ‘It’s hard even to visualise so many.’
Thomas John’s face was grey and lined with worry. ‘Aye, and if there were that many killed in the first hour, how many were killed in the first day, and the day after.’
‘This wasn’t a battle,’ Biddy said. ‘It was a massacre and they’ll just go on massacring people.’
No one said anything, because there was nothing to say. The photographs showed the scale of the tragedy all too clearly as there were many pictures of no man’s land littered with mangled bodies.
Along with accompanying pictures the reporter had written,
The dead were left on the field, but any who have a chance of survival are carried away to the field hospital on stretchers by the medical orderlies. Some of these men are horrifically injured, and many have missing limbs, but the doctors and nurses are working tirelessly to save them.
‘Of course there’s no saying that Finn was involved in any of this,’ Joe said.
‘That’s right. He might be in a different place altogether,’ Tom said, his tone matching Joe’s. He was worried about the affect the report of the battle was having on his parents.
Thomas John looked from one son to the other. He knew what they were doing. Worry for his youngest son was clawing at his innards, but he knew he had to put a brave face on it for the sake of his wife. He sighed heavily as he got to his feet.
‘If Finn is involved then no doubt we will know soon enough,’ he said, patting Biddy’s trembling hand. ‘And people say no news is good news.’
The following Sunday morning the three Sullivan men were just finishing the milking when Tom, glanced up through the open door of the byre, saw a boy in a uniform of sorts clatter across the cobblestones on a bicycle. He saw him throw this down before the cottage and take a telegram from the bag around his shoulders.
None of the Sullivans had ever received a telegram, but Tom remembered Joe had said that was how the army informed the relatives if a man was missing or dead. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.
He looked back into the byre where his father and brother were tipping milk into the churns, and he called out, ‘There’s a boy here with—’
He got no further, for they all heard Biddy give a sharp cry of distress and Tom, bursting into the yard, saw the boy standing apprehensively before the open cottage door. He looked thankful to see Tom, and he said, ‘She sort of fell over when I gave her the telegram.’
‘It’s all right,’ Tom assured him. ‘I will see to her now,’ and as the relieved boy mounted his bike again, he turned to his mother.
She was kneeling on the floor, keening in deep distress, the tears pouring from her eyes and a crumpled buff telegram clutched to her breast. His father and Joe were at his heels.
‘What is it?’ Thomas John cried, but in his heart of hearts he knew what it was all about
Tom didn’t answer, but instead lifted his mother to her feet and, putting his arms around her, led her to one of the easy chairs pulled up before the fire, saying as he did so, ‘Come on, Mammy, don’t take on like this.’
He was moved by the bleak expression in his mother’s dark and saddened eyes. She didn’t answer but handed him the telegram and he scanned it quickly.
‘It’s Finn,’ he said to his father and Joe standing staring at him.
‘Well, of course it’s Finn,’ Thomas John snapped. ‘I haven’t a rake of sons in the British Army. Is he dead?’
Tom nodded and Thomas John felt a deep and intense pain inside him. ‘Ah God,’ he cried. ‘What a tragic waste of a young life.’
Biddy began crying afresh and Tom busied himself making tea so that none would see his own wet cheeks. As the eldest, he remembered Finn from the day that he was born. He recalled the cheeky grin he had and how funny he had been as a wee boy. He would trail after him all the time, and plague him to death with questions. What he wouldn’t give to hear those same questions now, he thought as he set out with the cups, noting that Thomas John’s eyes were glittery with unshed tears and even Joe’s were brighter than normal.
No one went to Mass that Sunday, but sat on and talked of Finn, their memories punctuated with Biddy’s sobs.
‘I will have nothing of his,’ she said suddenly, ‘not even a grave to tend.’
‘Well, that’s the way of it in wartime,’ Thomas John said. ‘And you won’t be alone either. There will be many families, both sides of the Irish Sea, mourning the loss of a loved one this day, I’m thinking.’
‘Maybe, but that doesn’t help me.’
‘Nothing will help,’ Thomas John said. ‘Nothing but time.’
In the end, because Biddy was incapable, Tom and Joe made a stab at getting some breakfast for them all, though his mother could eat none of it and even Tom had little appetite.
Eventually he could stand the atmosphere no longer, and when he lifted his jacket from the hook behind the door, Joe said, ‘Where you off to?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Nowhere in particular. I just want to try and walk some of the sadness out of me.’
‘Do you want company?’
‘Aye, come along if you want to.’
For a while, the two brothers walked in silence, and then Joe said, ‘It’s unbelievable really, isn’t it? Finn seemed so alive, had more about him than either you or me.’ He gave a sad little smile. ‘D’you know what the little fool said to me when I told him to be careful? He said not to worry about him. That he would catch the bullets in his teeth and spit them back.’
‘Aye,’ commented Tom wryly. ‘Maybe he found that more difficult to do than he anticipated. When a person joins the army, especially if the country is at war at the time, you take on board the risks, or you think you do. It was the first thing crossed my mind that day in Buncrana when Finn stepped forward to answer the recruiting officer’s call. Inside, though, you hope and pray that your loved ones will come home safe and sound.’
‘Aye,’ Joe said. ‘And now we know that that is not going to happen I think Nuala should be told. Daddy won’t want to go today and leave Mammy on her own. I wish her employers hadn’t asked Nuala to go in as a favour today.’
‘Yes, and wasn’t she upset enough at the reports of this battle when she read all about it in the paper?’ Tom said, as they began to walk towards the Big House. ‘Of course any normal human being couldn’t fail to be upset.’
‘Huh, if Mammy had got her own way she would never have let Nuala see those papers,’ Joe said.
‘I know,’ Tom said, ‘but you can’t protect people from this. It’s too big and too tragic.’
‘Anyway, didn’t she tell us that they talk about the war all the time at the house because the mistress’s brother is in the army as well?’ Joe said. ‘Mind you, she’ll know something is amiss with none of us at Mass today.’
‘Yes,’ Tom agreed. ‘And I don’t mind telling you I dread doing this. Nuala will be heartbroken for she and Finn were very close.’
Nuala was in the window of the nursery rocking the fractious baby and wondering why none of her family had been at Mass that morning. She should have gone up after Mass and seen that everything was all right, but she had promised Nanny Pritchard that she would be straight back. The point was her master and mistress were out for the day, and it meant that Nanny Pritchard had charge of all the children on her own and there were four of them now. This was more than enough for anyone, especially with the new baby, wee Sophie, teething and letting everyone know about it.
Suddenly, she saw her two brothers turn into the gravel drive from the road. They had never called at the house before, and at the look on their faces and their determined strides, she felt her spine suddenly tingle with alarm.
‘My brothers are here, Nanny,’ she said, turning from the window. ‘Will you have the baby? I must see what they want.�
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‘Aye, give the child to me and get yourself away,’ Nanny Pritchard said. ‘I know you have been fretting that something was wrong at home.’
She watched Nuala leave the room, biting her bottom lip and hoping that she wasn’t going to hear bad news.
Nuala flew through the house and arrived in the kitchen where the preparations for dinner were in progress and delicious aromas wafted in the air.
Nuala wasn’t a usual visitor in the kitchen and the cook had just turned from the stove to ask her if she wanted something, when there was a knock at the door. That too was an unusual occurrence. Grumbling slightly, she went to open it.
Tom had just asked if he could have a word with Nuala and she was there before him, her eyes full of foreboding as she said in a voice that trembled slightly, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Tom’s heart felt like lead. He said gently, ‘It’s Finn, Nuala. We had the telegram this morning.’
‘Dead?’ Nuala said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Are you telling me he is dead?’
‘Aye.’
She looked at Tom and Joe with eyes so full of pain that Tom had to look away. ‘Finn assured me that he would be all right,’ she said in a small voice brittle with anguish. ‘That any bullets would bounce off him.’
She suddenly covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh God, I can’t bear the thought that he is dead,’ she cried. ‘I really can’t bear it.’
The cook left down her spoon and she put her plump and motherly arms around Nuala while she wept.
‘Take her home,’ she said to Tom, when she was calmer at last, and to Nuala she said gently, ‘You need to be with your own at a time like this and be some support to your poor mother.’
‘But Nanny Pritchard…’
‘Amy here will go up and give a hand,’ the cook said, indicating the kitchen maid. ‘And we will cope. You go on home, for the loss of that poor boy will be a grievous one for you all.’
Nuala knew the cook was right. She stopped only to fetch her coat from the nursery and tell Nanny Pritchard the news, and then she walked home, a brother either side of her, so numbed by the tragedy that no one could think of a word to say. Nuala had never experienced the death of anyone before and didn’t know how to cope with the loss of her very dear brother. She remembered the time when they had been playmates when they were children, the only one of her brothers her mother had allowed her to play with, and they stayed close as they grew up. Nuala had known Finn better than any of them.
