Charlie was forced to acknowledge this trait of human nature, then made a dangerous admission of his own. ‘Just like it was obvious I’d be glad when Bertie died.’ He paid no regard to his father’s look of horror. ‘Obvious that now I was your only son and you’d have to love me.’
Russ used the minute stub of the cigarette to light another. His chest throbbed with pain, for both himself and the boy. Emotion clogged his throat. He cleared it and spoke. ‘I can’t tell you what you want…’
‘No, you don’t have to,’ said the youth quickly. ‘I know…’
‘We just have to make do with each other, Charlie. You as my son, me as your father… not much of one, I know, but…’ He shrugged. ‘I do admire you for the way you’ve come through this and I know Mrs Hazelwood respects you, and the girls are very fond of you as well… I can only try.’
Charlie nodded. At least he had his father’s recognition. It was a start.
‘That priest was more of a father to you than I ever was. You’ll not go far wrong to follow his vocation rather than mine.’ He started plopping stones into the river again. ‘Though I can’t say I have much belief in God after the things I’ve seen. Mind you, one of the bravest men I ever met was an Army chaplain, a left-footer like yourself. I once saw him carry a wounded man for a hundred yards on his back. There were shells going off all round him and bullets rattling like crazy but he never wavered, he carried that bloke right back to our lines then blow me if he didn’t go over the top again and carry another in the same way – and they weren’t even Catholics! Marvellous he was, bloody marvellous.’
Charlie’s lips parted. ‘That’s it,’ he breathed. ‘That’s what I’m going to be.’
Russ expelled a stream of smoke. ‘A padre?’ And then he caught the inference. ‘Oh, I see. Half soldier, half priest.’
Oh, the joy of being certain of something for once in his life! Charlie’s breast swirled.
Russ saw the ecstasy on his son’s face and mistook it for childish ambition. He responded accordingly. ‘Just give it a bit more thought before you go jumping in. God forbid that there should be another war like this one, but if there is… well, people, especially the flag-wavers, seem to have this jolly idea that war’s just a case of going bang! and the enemy falls down with a neat hole in his chest. It’s not like that, Charlie. It’s messy and cruel. You haven’t seen what happens to a man when he’s machine-gunned through the bowel, what happens to all his body waste…’ He gulped and shuddered. ‘I’m not deliberately trying to frighten you, or belittle your plans… I just want you to understand. You have to live with it to know…’
‘I have lived with it,’ replied a more mature-looking Charlie. ‘I’ve seen what it’s done to you.’
His father nodded dispiritedly. ‘Aye, if ever there was a testament to the destructiveness of war, it’s me.’
‘As you say, God forbid that there’ll ever be another war,’ murmured his son. ‘But if there is… well, I’d like to be able to help those poor men in some way.’
‘But this is what I’m trying to say, Charlie,’ protested his father. ‘It’s not just the men. Bombs don’t discriminate. Chaplains get killed too.’
‘And you don’t think I’m brave enough to face that if it should happen?’
Russ looked deep into his son’s face. ‘Oh, I’m damned sure you’re brave enough… it’s just that I wouldn’t want to see it happen.’
Charlie smiled then. ‘It’ll be quite a few years till I’m old enough. But it’s definitely something I want to do.’
Russ succumbed with a nod. ‘And what Charlie wants to do…’ He returned the boy’s smile. ‘I wish you well in it, Charlie. Sincerely. And… forget what I said about spending your holidays at your mate’s. I’d like you to come home.’
After an awkward silence, he began to rise, saying, ‘If we sit here any longer we’ll be getting piles. Away, Cha…’ He broke off with a laugh. ‘I suppose as you’re going to be a priest I should be calling you Father now.’
Charlie scrambled up and mirrored his crooked grin, made the sign of the cross and said, ‘Bless you, my son.’ And, sharing a soft chuckle, the two men walked home along the tow path.
Author’s Note
Though there was a similar incident at the Guildhall in 1913 to the one described in this book, the characters are in no way meant to represent real-life persons – this being a novel and not a history book. For this same reason I had no wish to recreate every blow of the Great War, hence I have mustered a fictitious regiment – the King’s Own Yorkshire North Riding. This said, even a novel requires an authentic background and I have tried to be as accurate as possible when portraying specific battles and the lives of our soldiers in the trenches.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1988 by Century Hutchinson Ltd
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Copyright © Sheelagh Kelly, 1988
The moral right of Sheelagh Kelly to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911591948
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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