The Shadow of War

by Jack Murray

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Mayer, after a short pause. He emphasised ‘you’.

  Manfred looked at him and said simply, ‘I would like to join the army.’

  From the corner of his eye, Manfred could see Anja looking down. But his eyes were on her father.

  ‘Have you told your family?’ asked Mayer.

  Manfred shook his head and admitted, ‘I don’t know how to. My father wants me to go to the university. His heart is set on this.’

  ‘I can understand,’ said Mayer, ‘But it is your life and you must decide what is best for you. I can help you if you wish. I have many contacts. Someone like you, Manfred, could be moved towards officer training quite quickly. More quickly than you imagine. You’re smart and I think you have leadership qualities. I’ve watched you with the boys.’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Mayer. It would be a dream for me to do this.

  ‘Have you given any thought to which branch of the armed services you would like to join?’

  -

  It was late in the evening when Manfred returned to the family house. His mother was in the drawing room but did not look up from her book when he entered. Manfred looked at her for a moment. Finally, she turned away from her book.

  ‘Do you want something?’

  There was vagueness in her voice. Uncertainty. She seemed to be lost. More and more these days a fog surrounded Frau Brehme. She seemed to have little will or energy to find her way through it.

  ‘Where’s father?’

  ‘Your father?’ She looked confused for a moment and then said, ‘I heard some noise from the room over there,’ indicating his father’s office. She looked at Manfred to see if the answer meant anything before returning to her book.

  Manfred left the room and his footsteps echoed along the wooden corridor. He knocked and waited for a reply.

  ‘Enter.’

  Manfred walked into the room. His father glanced up from the large wooden desk. He had taken to wearing spectacles. He looked over the rim of his glasses and said, ‘You’re back late. You seem to be spending a lot of time at the Mayer house.’

  ‘Yes, Father, they invited me for dinner.’

  Manfred stood still and there was a brief silence. They looked at one another and then his father asked, ‘What do you want, Manfred?’

  Manfred looked his father directly in the eye and said, ‘I want to join the army, Father.’

  Brehme took off his glasses and looked at his son. There was neither shock nor anger. If anything, it seemed to Manfred, there was resignation. Or recognition of the inevitable. The only sound in the room was the clock ticking. Manfred waited for his father to reply.

  ‘May I ask why you don’t want to go to university?’

  ‘There’s no point, Father. There will be a war. We both know this. The fatherland will want me to fight. It is better I join now and can, at least, influence where I go and what I do.’

  Brehme nodded but did not look happy.

  ‘Has Mayer put you up to this?’ There was anger now.

  ‘No, Father. It’s my decision.’ His voice was barely audible.

  ‘Decision?’ Now a hint of contempt.

  ‘Yes, Father. Decision.’ Manfred walked forward and stared back at his father daring him to raise an objection. It was a fight that his father must know was unwinnable.

  ‘I knew a lot of boys your age who went to fight last time, Manfred. Most never came back. Those that did were never the same. You think that war is glorious. It’s not. Trust me, I know.’

  How? wondered Manfred. You didn’t fight. There may have been a look on Manfred’s face but all of a sudden Brehme stood up and roared at his son, ‘Get out!’

  Manfred reddened and then spun around, walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He walked into the library and switched on the wireless. It was the news. For the first few moments, Manfred was too angry to hear what the announcer was saying. Then, as he calmed, he heard the word ‘war’. He stopped and turned up the volume. The voice of the announcer was mocking as he revealed that Germany was now at war. Manfred collapsed into the seat. His heart began to beat rapidly, and his breathing became laboured.

  The door to the library opened. It was his mother. She looked at Manfred and said, ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought it was your father.’

  ‘We’re at war, Mother.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Britain, France. They’ve just announced,’ said Manfred glancing at the wireless.

  His mother did not seem to register what he was saying. Her face a mask, impenetrable, or perhaps, uncaring. Manfred couldn’t decide. Later he knew.

  ‘I see,’ she said absently. ‘Have you eaten?’

  Manfred looked at his mother in incredulity. He then answered slowly, ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Yes, we’re at war. It happened before I think.’

  ‘Mother, I’m going to join the army. I’m going to fight. Do you understand?’

  Frau Brehme looked at her son. Her face was a mask, neither approval nor disapproval. She nodded and left the room. This was no fit of pique, or anger. Manfred stood alone in the room, the announcer on the wireless had stopped and music was playing. It was the Horst Wessel Lied. Manfred sat down and listened.

  For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!

  For the fight, we all stand prepared!

  Already Hitler's banners fly over all streets.

  The time of bondage will last but a little while now!

  Chapter 5: Britain 1941

  1

  Little Gloston: January 1941

  Henry Cavendish stood up from his table and looked at the young men sat with him. There were around a dozen of them, none older than twenty-five, all destined to leave the village at the weekend to join a branch of the military. The war had come to Little Gloston, and it was going to extract its toll.

  Henry looked up and down the table in the entrance hall where they had enjoyed a five-course meal. All of them were familiar to him. He had seen them all grow up. The Shaw brothers sat closest, the Gissing brothers at the other end of the great table. There were other sets of brothers also. Some of the young men before him would not return. He felt an emptiness as he thought about his own wife and the loss she had experienced as a young girl in the previous War. Beside him, Jane looked up. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

  Robert was also with them. He was back from his boarding school for the Christmas holidays. Whether it was the nature of the evening or the time at the school, Henry knew not, but there was a solemnity and a seriousness in his young boy that reflected the mood of the evening.

  Much to Henry’s surprise, Sarah had asked to attend the meal. He’d initially been unsure. As much as he worshipped his little girl, for little girl she always would be to him, he recognised something of his old manner in her; a standoffishness. Growing up was its own journey. He looked at her and wondered what she must be thinking. He had no idea. She was sometimes enigmatic, often distant, always polite but rarely warm. To see her beauty and innocence among young men who would soon lose any trace of their own made his heart break in a hundred ways. Soon their country would train them to kill with impunity and efficiency. Beside her sat Lord Augustus Browning, son of a friend and a friend of Sarah’s in particular.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Henry, which caused some amusement among the audience, considerably relaxing the mood, ‘I do mean gentlemen, I have watched you grow over these years into young men that your parents, any parent, in fact, would be proud of. You will leave us now to go off and fight a war you did not cause, against men who care not for liberty or justice or freedom, only conquest. You will take with you the burden of our fears and in return you offer us the promise of your life. A bad bargain, yes, but know this. You’re fighting for something greater than yourself or your town or even your family. This is a fight for freedom. It is a fight you must win. Take with you our gratitude for your steadfastness, our prayers for your survival and the love that we feel
for all of you. For you are also our family. I toast your success but most of all I toast your return, safe into the arms of the people who love you.’

  The young men cheered Henry and made the toast. Danny clapped enthusiastically and looked across the table at where Sarah Cavendish was sitting. She was looking directly at him. Normally when he saw her, she looked away or pretended not to notice him. This time she continued to look at him. Danny wanted to tear his eyes away but could not. Finally, the sound of clapping ebbed away, and the moment was broken. On an impulse, Danny stood up and looked around the table.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for inviting us to this supper. I think I speak for every man here when I say how special this evening has been. It is an honour to represent the village in this fight. We stand united against the tyranny that threatens our country, our village and our families. As you say, sir, we have grown up together and yes, we are family. He today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’ This brought cheers from all of the assembled audience and a knowing look from Henry Cavendish. Danny continued, ‘We are not the first men from the village to go off to war, but I hope earnestly we are the last. I toast our country, our village and our families.’

  The room rang to the sound of ‘Hear, hear.’ After the toast, Henry looked at Danny and said, ‘Well done, young man. Whenever this business is finished, and you come back, I pray, I want to talk to you about your future. But there’s much to do, I know.’

  Danny nodded; there was a small matter of survival. He risked a glance at Sarah again. She had risen from the table and gone to speak to one of the servants. Robert tugged at his arm and congratulated him on his response to his father. They chatted for a while about his school. As they did so, Danny saw Sarah and her mother slip out from the entrance hall into another room, to leave the guests to their talk of war.

  Danny glanced at the young lord in front of him who was now chatting to Lord Cavendish. Age had not made him any friendlier. Danny wondered what Sarah could possibly see in him. His character was evident in the perpetual sneer that the young lord took to be required from someone of his station when with people he clearly felt were inferior.

  ‘Danny,’ called Henry, ‘Please let me introduce you to Lord Augustus.’

  Sarah’s friend seemed less than pleased by this. Danny tried to remain neutral and walked over. The two shook hands as Henry explained who Danny was.

  ‘Please to meet you, I’m sure,’ said Augustus. Henry looked at him as he said this. Was there a hint of amusement on his face? It was difficult to know sometimes with Lord Cavendish. Of late, Danny had begun to realise that he was a man who had a wicked sense of humour, but this was not always made obvious to the target of his amusement. Danny was becoming more adept at reading the signs.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you again, sir,’ said Danny with a grin. ‘You’ve been a frequent visitor over the years, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Augustus, mildly flattered to be remembered.

  Henry glanced at Danny. This was unusual, even from Danny. Although he was very familiar with the staff at the Hall, he was usually more reserved when speaking to the family. At this moment, Danny seemed to be a different person.

  ‘I think I speak for the rest of the village when I say how grateful we are that you should honour us with your company at this moment.’

  In fact, Augustus had had little idea this event was taking place and had been highly reluctant to join. This was a point he had made clear to Henry earlier that afternoon.

  ‘Of course, it’s important we should be here to support our men,’ said the young lord with a level of pomposity that nearly caused Danny to explode in laughter. Danny saw that Henry was now choking on something.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, is something stuck in your throat?’

  The coughing soon finished, and Henry looked at Danny archly, as Lord Augustus drifted off, and said, ‘You seem to have become a spokesman for the village.’

  Danny looked Henry in the eye, there was an undisguisable glint.

  ‘We’re just simple lads. It’s an honour to meet young men of substance like Lord Augustus.’

  ‘Indeed, Danny, indeed,’ said Henry. ‘A true man of substance.’ Although his voice was neutral, Danny saw it again. A hint of amusement in the eyes of Lord Cavendish. Tempted to add another comment, Danny decide to let it pass. He didn’t need to mock the young lord. By doing so he would also be guilty of snobbery. A moment of silence, then Henry nodded to Danny. They both turned to join the other young men of the village.

  All too soon, it was time to go. The men left together as they had arrived, in a group. Henry left them for a moment. A few moments later he reappeared with Jane and Sarah to bid farewell to their guests. Danny and the men walked past the Cavendish family who were all standing in a line, shaking hands. From the room the two women had emerged from there was music was playing from a wireless. Danny recognised Al Bowlly’s voice.

  The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

  You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

  I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

  It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

  Henry and Jane both said goodbye and thanks to Danny. Robert was about to say the same when Danny ruffled his hair and pretended to dig him in the stomach. This suited Robert better. He was not one for farewells. Sarah was the last in the line. Danny stopped for a moment and was about to say something until she shook her head imperceptibly. They shook hands in silence. Of Lord Augustus there was no sign.

  The cold air hit Danny like a freight train. He walked ahead with Bert Gissing and Tom, not looking back.

  2

  Just after dawn, two days later, the young men re-assembled in the centre of the village with their families. The sky was orange and purple and there was a freshness about the air. Despite the hour, the whole village was awake and standing in the square to bid farewell to sons and, in Beth Owen’s case, a husband. A bus was waiting to take the men to Lincoln where they would catch a train down London to enlist. All had passed their medical a week previously and been certified fit to join His Majesty’s Armed Forces.

  Danny and Tom hugged their parents as they started boarding the bus. Kate’s emotions were running wild at the prospect of both her boys leaving to join up. She looked at both of them with tear-filled eyes. Pride mixed with fear as she held them tightly. Stan shook first Tom’s and then Danny’s hand. He couldn’t say anything. What was there to say? He knew what they were going to face. There were no words adequate to the demand of expressing his love, his pride and his fears. Then, much to the surprise of his sons, he hugged them both.

  Minutes later the bus set off. Danny cast his eyes in the direction of Cavendish Hall. He saw Henry Cavendish, on horseback, join the road and he trotted alongside the bus. Danny acknowledged him and then the bus picked up speed and drove off towards the next village.

  The journey took just over two hours as the bus stopped several times to take other men to enlist Danny sat with Tom and soon became the centre of the banter on the bus between the rival villages. It was full-bodied and a foretaste of what life would be like in a barracks. Danny threw himself into combat with enthusiasm.

  ‘The Germans are for it. Once they see the Little Gloston boys they’ll climb right back in their tanks and head home,’ said one wag at the back.

  Danny shouted back, ‘One look at you Branston boys will be enough. Jerry’ll think anyone that ugly’s got nothing to lose anyway.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t say that last night,’ came the reply.

  ‘She was probably fast asleep because you’d bored her so much.’

  There were songs, too. ‘A Long Way to Tipperary,’ ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’, ‘Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major’ and the recent hit, ‘Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line’.

  We're going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line.

  Have you a
ny dirty washing, mother dear?

  We're gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line.

  Cause the washing day is here.

  The songs and the banter kept the mood up for the rest of the trip and by late morning, all of the men had reached Lincoln, in good spirits.

  The train station was mobbed. Similar scenes played out to those from the villages. Danny and his brother took a train compartment with Bob and the Gissing brothers. Another half an hour and the train set off towards London’s Kings Cross. From there the young men would split up and head to different basic training barracks in the south. Danny’s group was destined to go to Caterham in Surrey.

  As the train set off, an older man looked in on the carriage.

  ‘I say, do you have room here for one more?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, make yourself at home,’ said Danny expansively.

  The man stepped into the carriage and hoisted his bag on the overhead shelf. The village boys looked at him as he sat down. Dressed in a suit and tie, wearing a clipped moustache, he had the look of a local bank manager.

  Danny spoke on behalf of the boys and introduced all of them. The man seemed unimpressed and desirous to be anywhere else; however, with innate good manners he replied, ‘My name is Carruthers. Are you chaps all from the same town?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Danny and told Carruthers where.

  ‘I’ve heard of it but never been. I’m from Lincoln. I must confess, I don’t know why I’ve been called up. It seems a frightful mistake. I manage a shoe factory. I would have thought a profession such as mine would have been held back.’

  Danny suppressed a smile and was tempted to take the rise out of their fellow passenger. But he realised quickly that he was merely displaying outwardly the nervousness that they all felt but could not reveal. In fact, each of the boys would probably have taken a bullet before admitting any kind of fear for the future. This was particularly true in front of the friends they had grown up with, fought against and played with over the course of their lives.