Remembrance

by Theresa Breslin

  There was such joy in Charlotte when she spoke about John Malcolm, and her obvious delight at being able to help him in any way made Maggie feel churlish about her resentment of the younger girl. Maggie found that her annoyance was not long lasting, but it was there none the less and she masked it with a cold politeness. When Francis was with Charlotte it was more difficult for Maggie to maintain her coolness. She usually left her father or Alex to attend Charlotte, while she spoke to Francis.

  Her continued reading of the newspaper each evening resulted in her having the ability to hold a meaningful discussion with him on current affairs. Francis did not seem surprised by her knowledge, as her father had been when she mentioned that she knew of the use of poison gas, but instead he went into serious detail. Maggie found that she was reading more and in greater depth in order to keep up with him, using her break time in the factory to look at newspapers her father would not stock. As the War progressed he had added to the range of papers sold in the shop, but it was titles such as the War Illustrated which were almost jingoistic in their sentiments. He did not take any political journals which had views that he frowned upon. When Maggie thought about some of the radical ideas put forward in their pages she found that they struck a chord within her, and Francis seemed to have a wide knowledge of them all. Unlike her father, he was eager to talk to her about the concept of socialism and pacifist ideals, and also, unlike her father, he did not mind her disagreeing with him. She enjoyed their animated discussions and the fact that neither of them felt threatened by the other when they held opposing opinions. On one occasion she felt quite exhilarated when he had slightly altered his stance in the face of her argument.

  One evening on return from her work in the factory she met him on the point of leaving the shop. Francis had stopped at the entrance to wait for his sister, unfolding the evening newspaper as he did so. An item must have caught his eye because she saw him look at the front page and utter an exclamation.

  ‘What is it?’ Maggie asked stopping in the door-way.

  ‘Nothing much,’ Francis replied briefly.

  Finding the tone of his voice a little strange, Maggie looked at him more closely. She saw that Charlotte too had turned from the counter where Alex was wrapping her purchases.

  ‘It’s just another military law,’ Francis added lightly.

  Charlotte tilted her head to one side. ‘What?’ she asked her brother. ‘A military law about what?’

  ‘Conscription,’ said Francis.

  Chapter 12

  THE MILITARY SERVICE Act was enforced on 9 February 1916, compelling single men and childless widowers between the ages of eighteen and forty-one to enlist. Not long after Francis received his call-up papers. He lodged an appeal and was called to a Military Tribunal in Edinburgh.

  When Francis arrived at Military Headquarters he was met by an officer who introduced himself as Major Grant, a cousin of his father. ‘Unfortunately I am not sitting on today’s tribunal, but your mother asked me to have a word with you before you were called in. I have it to understand that you are looking for an exemption.’

  Francis replied. ‘I suppose that I must be,’ he said. ‘At any rate I do not want to enlist.’

  ‘It may be that there are grounds that would suffice. You are engaged in some vital industrial skill?’

  Francis looked at his hands. ‘Hardly.’

  The Major frowned. ‘You do appreciate that volunteers can choose which regiment to be attached to? If you are conscripted then you must go where you are sent.’ He paused. ‘It would be better if you chose to enlist.’

  ‘I cannot do that,’ said Francis. ‘If I am compelled to take up arms then perhaps I must. But I will not choose of my own free will to fight in this war.’

  ‘It can be very difficult for a man who they think is a Conchie, or … worse.’

  Francis spoke in a low voice. ‘I know. I have heard that conscientious objectors are sent as stretcher-bearers into No Man’s Land in the thick of the fighting.’

  ‘That could be the least of it. If they deem you to be a malingerer you could be sent to prison or to a labour camp. Men have died or gone mad in these camps. Can you say that you are a pacifist? Are you of a Quaker persuasion?’

  ‘I cannot say that,’ said Francis. ‘I am not a conscientious objector. I agree that it may be necessary to kill if the cause is just.’

  ‘Killing is required in war.’

  ‘This cause is not just,’ said Francis passionately. ‘The War should be stopped at once. The vast amounts of money maintaining the Army would be better spent at home feeding the poor. It is the same situation in Germany, and the condition of the ordinary Russian people does not bear thinking about. Thousands of young men’s lives are being squandered for little gain.’

  ‘The conduct of the War is criticized in many places,’ replied the Major. ‘Mostly by those who know nothing of warfare. It is true that mistakes have been made, but we have learned from them.’

  ‘Other men pay with their lives for your mistakes,’ Francis said bitterly. ‘The carnage sickens me.’

  ‘Things are improving,’ said Major Grant.

  ‘How can a war improve?’ said Francis in despair.

  ‘If you are not a Conchie, what are you, man?’ demanded the Major.

  After some moments’ thought, Francis said, ‘I am a human being who does not believe in killing my fellow man for insufficient reason.’

  The Major made an impatient gesture. ‘You may not realize it, but the objections you give would, in some quarters, be thought of as talking treason.’

  ‘I must answer as truthfully as I can.’

  The Major sighed. ‘How young you are. It does not always do to be … completely truthful.’

  ‘It is the way I am,’ said Francis.

  As he left the room Major Grant put his hand on Francis’s shoulder. ‘For your mother’s sake, I beg you to say as little as possible.’

  The tribunal gave Francis four minutes of their time before declaring him suitable to be called up. Then much to Francis’s embarrassment a letter from Major Grant was read aloud. In it he stated that, as a friend of the family, he felt it his duty to inform the tribunal that the management of Stratharden was beyond the capability of Mrs Armstrong-Barnes. Her son was needed to oversee the workings of the estate and a good part of the economy of the village depended on the estate. The tribunal then agreed, on both domestic and business grounds, to grant Francis a temporary exemption.

  Francis came out into Wellington Square feeling helpless and disorientated. He began to walk aimlessly through the city. A number of his friends and relatives lived in Edinburgh, and in the past he would have visited them or even stayed the night. But by now most had enlisted, some had already been killed, and he was aware that if he called upon their families it might prove awkward and uncomfortable. By late afternoon he found himself on the outskirts of the city, and knowing that the country bus must stop at some point along this route on its way to Stratharden, he decided to return home. He noticed a group of workers and shoppers waiting on the pavement opposite, and saw that one of them was Margaret Dundas. He crossed the road and asked if he might stand with her.

  ‘Are you not travelling by car today?’ Maggie asked Francis, more for something to say than anything else.

  Francis shook his head. ‘I deemed it an unwise thing to do.’

  Maggie nodded her agreement. ‘Yes, saving on fuel is sensible when the troops at the Front are so short of supplies.’

  Francis gave her a quirky look. ‘It was more to do with the fact that I was at Military Headquarters in Edinburgh today attending a tribunal that wanted to discuss my refusal to enlist for military service.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Maggie.

  ‘“Oh,” indeed,’ said Francis. ‘Some of the chaps there have been at the Front, suffering God knows what kind of deprivation. I thought it would be tremendously bad form to roll up in a large motor car. It might have given them the wrong impression altog
ether.’

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  Francis put his head on one side and looked at her. ‘Laughing suits you,’ he said.

  Maggie looked at him quickly, suspecting that he was mocking her. The grey eyes looking back at her seemed sincere. She could feel herself beginning to blush. ‘Tell me about the tribunal,’ she asked quickly.

  Francis told her of his conversation with his father’s cousin, who had warned him against saying too much.

  ‘The tribunal itself was a formality,’ he went on. ‘The Colonel in charge as good as said so. He said that they were desperately short of men in France and that it did not serve the national interest to give complete exemptions.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Maggie asked him.

  ‘Only that I did not think it was a just cause. To which they concluded that the war would be lost if everyone cared as little as I did.’ Francis turned a desperate face to Maggie. ‘It’s not because I don’t care,’ he said in a wretched voice. ‘Rather, it’s because I do.’

  Maggie looked at him, and was aware of some great distress within him. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said.

  There was a silence where Francis saw that this girl was the first and only person who had freely accepted his standpoint. ‘Thank you,’ he said at last, and then after a moment, ‘but it must be difficult for you to appreciate this point of view when your brother volunteered and is now fighting in France.’

  ‘My brother’s viewpoint is not necessarily mine,’ said Maggie. ‘And to hold one viewpoint does not mean that one cannot be in sympathy with another’s.’

  Francis smiled and gave a slight inclination of his head. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked beyond Maggie towards the others waiting for the bus.

  Maggie turned her head. Two women, both dressed in black, were walking slowly along the pavement, stopping to speak to each group or individual. As they came nearer Francis took a step away from Maggie to put a little distance between himself and her. The women stopped in front of him and the older of the two addressed Francis. ‘Not wearing khaki, sir?’

  ‘How observant you are,’ Francis replied quietly.

  ‘Officers on leave tend to wear their uniform.’

  ‘I am neither an officer, nor am I on leave,’ Francis replied.

  The woman turned to her younger companion. ‘I thought as much,’ she said. She nodded her head.

  The younger woman took a white feather from the little straw basket she carried and held it in front of Francis’s face. He lowered his eyes, and the onlookers began to nudge each other and whisper together. Maggie’s cheeks flamed red, and she moved quickly to Francis’s side as the two women began to talk to each other in a loud tone of voice.

  ‘It is usually very easy to tell the type of man who will not join up,’ said the older woman. ‘They have a certain weakness in their features.’

  ‘Cowards cannot hide their cowardice!’ the young woman cried out in a shrill voice.

  ‘They pretend it is a matter of conscience to be excused,’ said the older one.

  ‘Nothing can excuse them. Others perish while they sit happily at home.’ The younger woman’s eyes were now full of tears and her face had taken on a blotched appearance.

  Francis gravely took the white feather from her.

  ‘Wear that badge of shame, so that all might know you for what you are!’ The younger woman almost spat at Francis.

  The older woman took the younger woman’s arm and led her away.

  ‘How dare they!’ cried Maggie. ‘You could be in a reserved occupation, or ill, or wounded.’

  ‘How noble you are, Maggie,’ said Francis. ‘Most of my other friends would not defend me. And,’ he waved his hand towards the people around, ‘everyone else here is cringing away.’

  ‘Well I’m not.’ Maggie tucked her arm into his. ‘Your reasons for not fighting make a lot of sense to me. The behaviour of those two women is outrageous.’

  ‘No doubt they have their reasons,’ said Francis. ‘The younger one looked close to breaking down. I would say that she has recently lost a new husband, and her companion is the boy’s mother.’

  Maggie fell silent for a moment. ‘You are so generous in your understanding,’ she said at last. ‘I would condemn them as easily as they condemn you.’

  ‘I am becoming accustomed to it when I am out in public. I have quite a collection of white feathers now.’

  He smiled down at her. Maggie was suddenly aware that he had a firm hold of her elbow, but that it was she who had boldly taken his arm in the first place. They weren’t so close by kin or by attachment to make this conduct correct, especially in public. It felt vaguely improper, but she wasn’t quite sure how to disentangle herself, and indeed whether it would now be rude to do so. At that moment the bus arrived, and by her feeling of swift disappointment Maggie realized that she did not particularly want to relinquish her hold of Francis’s arm.

  Later that night, when she recalled their conversation, Maggie knew that her response at the bus stop had been genuine. She did not in any way consider Francis a coward. It seemed to her a brave thing for him to do, to refuse to enlist knowing that he would be called upon to explain it, be misjudged by others, and even jeered at by strangers. She felt confused. Her brother had gone off to fight for King and Country. She was proud of him, and agreed with her father when he said that Britain had a duty to use her might and strength to help her Allies. Small countries like Belgium needed protection from greedy powers who would take away their land and freedom. And yet, Francis might be right when he said that it was a colossal waste of money and lives.

  It must be tremendously difficult for him. Word would leak out and the villagers would begin to talk. It had always been accepted that he was waiting for his commission, but now he would become the target of gossip. They would say that his position had made it easier for him to get an exemption. This was true, and yet that had not been of his choosing. Indeed, the method of obtaining the exemption had effectively disempowered him of his own protest. Obviously his mother was concerned about his position as a non-combatant, and had discussed with a relative, Major Grant, the best way to deal with it. Maggie doubted if Francis discussed his feelings even with Charlotte. He knew of his sister’s attachment to John Malcolm, and was sensitive enough to see that it would be inappropriate of him to condemn the War as John Malcolm was now on his way to the Front. By his remark today she was sure that Francis had found little sympathy elsewhere. He had mentioned his other friends not defending him. And as this thought entered her head Maggie realized with slight surprise that Francis looked upon her as a friend.

  Chapter 13

  CHARLOTTE SNATCHED UP the letter from the hall table. She began to open it and then stopped. Her mother was about the house somewhere, and Charlotte knew that she would think that she was perfectly entitled to read any mail that her daughter received. She might in fact deem it more proper that she read it first. Charlotte decided to walk down to the bridge. It was there that John Malcolm had met her and Francis when he had run so hard to catch up with her on the day of their first walk alone together. It was there that they had said goodbye to each other. She would go there where she could be private. Charlotte tucked the letter in the pocket of her dress, slipped quietly from the house, and hurried down the drive. When she reached the bridge she settled herself on the parapet and tore the envelope open. John Malcolm’s last letter had said that he was soon to be sent out in a draft to join the regiment’s 1st Battalion, so this must have been written from somewhere across the Channel.

  he began. Charlotte hugged the letter to her. She loved his special name for her. No-one, not even Francis, had ever called her that. It was special from him to her.

  Charlotte raised her head from reading for a moment. John Malcolm was in France! He was actually there! She knew that he would be so thrilled to be going to the Front with his battalion that part of her shared his excitement.

  He finished by telling her
not to worry about him, and that he thought about her every day.

  Charlotte adored John Malcolm’s letters to her. There was nothing at all shocking in them, but there was an almost illicit thrill in her receiving letters from a soldier at the Front, his occasional misspelled words making them even more endearing to her. She had begun to reread parts of the letter when she heard footsteps on the bridge, and looked up. It was Margaret Dundas. Charlotte was so happy, she felt that everyone else should be happy too. She gave John Malcolm’s sister a bright smile.

  Maggie nodded in reply. ‘A pleasant evening,’ she said. She did not add the word ‘miss’ at the end, as her father or mother would have done, thinking, I refuse to greet this girl in this way, because she has wealth and position.

  Charlotte jumped down. ‘Yes it is,’ she agreed happily. ‘It is a very pleasant evening.’ She waved her letter at Maggie. ‘John Malcolm writes that he is in France! Isn’t it exciting!’

  Maggie saw the letter in Charlotte’s hand. It seemed bulkier than those they received at home. Her brother was writing longer letters to Charlotte than to his own family! A little twist of jealousy entered Maggie’s mood. It would seem that John Malcolm had more to say to Charlotte than to his own sister. ‘Yes, we know that,’ she said brusquely. ‘He has written to tell us.’

  Charlotte appeared not to notice anything offputting in Maggie’s manner. ‘Are you going to the farm?’ she asked, and as Maggie nodded, she went on, ‘May I walk with you part of the way?’

  Maggie smiled a tight smile and said yes. I can’t very well say ‘no, go away’, she thought to herself, which is what she would have liked to have done.

  By the time Charlotte had said goodbye at the end of the avenue to the big house Maggie was in a thorough ill humour. She had begun her own walk in a mood of resentment and Charlotte chattering on about John Malcolm’s letter only made her worse. It was really Alex’s fault that she was so out of sorts, she decided as she returned home. When she next saw him she would clip his ear. She had been required to walk out the mile or so to the farm with the milk order because he had run off somewhere with his pals to play football.