God's Sparrows

by Philip Child

  “All right, brother. Drink some more, then! Do you know about women? Much — much trouble for you there, my rye . You ain’t one of the tame ones and yet you ain’t free, neither. You’ll never be free like me.… You want to make something and do something, brother?”

  “And know something.”

  “Avali! ” Jobey nodded politely, a little drunk. “Drink, brother, drink.”

  “Somebody played me a dirty trick, Jobey, but I don’t care now.”

  “Stole your girl?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “No offence, pal.”

  “Jobey, should a man go to the war?”

  “You’re a thinkin’ of these here little white crosses.”

  But Dan stiffened. “No, no. Mustn’t talk about that. Settled. Can’t talk about going.… Would you go, Jobey?”

  “Why should I go? I ain’t got nothing to run away from, pal. I got all I want, an’ I’m free. Why should I want to go?”

  “I know. You whistle in the rain. But supposing you see other men go, supposing you see people you know going?”

  “This here war has nothing to do with the affairs of Egypt, pal. The good die young. Know why? ’Cos you don’t find many of ’em about. S’up me duvel, that’s true.… Maybe someday, when I’m drunk, I’ll go — for fun.”

  “Think I’m afraid to go, Jobey?”

  “No, you ain’t afraid. But you’ll never be free, pal. You’ll be good maybe, and maybe you’ll be happy sometimes, but you won’t have joy like me.”

  “Sad, very sad! Whatsha meaning-of-it-all , Jobey?”

  “It’s what’s in you, pal. Some folks is born with joy and not carin’ a damn, and some folks is meant to be good. It ain’t much use fightin’ agin yourself. For every man there’s sweet sleep at the end of a long road — that’s what we say.”

  Dan, more than a little drunk, murmured solemnly: ‘’S God’s truth.” And for the moment he thought it was.

  III

  Occasionally, Dan took Joanna to a tea dance at the Royal Wellington Hotel. She could not dance, but it was characteristic of her to enjoy watching others do the things she was not well enough to do herself. Dan went for her sake. Looking at men in uniform of his own years, who were insouciant and feverishly gay, he had always a numbing feeling that he belonged to no generation. His own had cast him out without relieving him of its mistakes; he knew he lacked the quiet balance of older men.

  He took Joanna one Saturday afternoon and unexpectedly discovered a throng of people within the hotel. They managed, with difficulty, to make their way to the tea room, only to find that not a single table was unoccupied. Dan said to his sister: “Wait here, Joanna. I’ll see whether they’ve put extra tables in the ballroom.”

  But Joanna had an invalid’s fear of being alone in a crowd, so they left the tea room together and turned down a corridor toward the ballroom. No sooner had they entered this corridor, however, when they found themselves caught in such a crowd going toward the ballroom that Dan gave up hope of getting a table there. When they tried to turn back, Joanna, because of her crutches, was unable to go against the tide of hurrying people. Forced in the same direction as the others, they came at last to the door of the great ballroom.

  Dan stood stock-still in dismay. Entering, he found himself in a narrow aisle kept clear by soldiers. On one side of this aisle stood a platform on which he mistily discerned a group of seated figures, many of them in khaki. On the other side stood a tightly packed mass of human beings with their eyes fixed upon the platform.

  It was the reception for the vice-chancellor which, until that moment, he had entirely forgotten. People behind him were impatiently urging him forward; there was nothing for it but to go in. The air was stifling, and once inside, the clatter of many voices confused Joanna and made her gasp, and she whispered urgently: “Can’t we get out, somehow?”

  At the end of the narrow lane made by the military was a door, in front of which stood a group of soldiers with swagger sticks tucked under their arms. Followed by Joanna, he made for this door and became a target for the impersonal gaze of four hundred people packed in like sardines. “This way please,” said an NCO, taking Dan’s arm, “You can’t stay in the lane, here.” Dan forged ahead.

  The knot of soldiers stood between them and the door. “Will you let us pass, please?” Dan said. A pair of stupid eyes set in a beef-coloured face stared at him, took in his civvies and his young face and refused stolidly to budge an inch. A hatred of human beings in the mass flared up in the boy’s mind. Stupidly, inertly cruel like this fellow, crassly judging a man by appearances.

  “Will you let this lady pass!” he said savagely.

  The man started to say something, thought better of it, and moved aside unwillingly. Dan shouldered past him and put his hand on the doorknob.

  It was locked.

  He turned to meet a mocking grin from the soldier. “What’s the matter? ’Fraid you’ll hear something you don’t like? You stay and listen. It won’t do you no harm.”

  People had sifted in behind them, they were wedged in. “Lean against the door, Joanna.”

  “I’m all right,” murmured Joanna.

  The chairman was addressing the crowd. “And now,” said he, “we are to hear a message from one of Wellington’s best-known and most respected — most respected ” — he repeated the phrase a trifle belligerently — “citizens. Perhaps, ladies and gentlemen — our next mayor. Mr. James Elton.…”

  That prominent citizen rose slowly and impressively to his feet. Practised speaker though he was, it made him a little uneasy to discover that he felt no particular emotion. As he walked to the front of the platform, he looked curiously at the faces before him; some were antagonistic, the faces of the younger men were tense, a few were rapt. He did not really care very much what happened to these strangers; whether they stayed at home or went to France and were killed was a matter little likely to affect his digestion. On the whole he disliked young men in the mass: their raw enthusiasm contradicted a seasoned man’s view of things as they really are. Sentimental young donkeys! Still, one had to make a good showing. Fortunately, the absence of strong feeling was rather an advantage to a good speaker. A government bureau had sent material for recruiting speeches. Heavy toll — what man afraid to chance fate — all years of their life held in higher esteem — a firm clasp of the hand at meeting, a brighter smile at parting — if wounded, loving hands will nurse you — if fall, name always spoken with reverence as one who did duty for king and country — Be frank, earnest, hopeful — End on a cheering note. Something from Shakespeare to wind up with. He always relied on Shakespeare for the right emotional touch and he had looked up honour — death — England in a Shakespeare concordance.… He reeled off his speech easily, then delivered his peroration — a trifle too ringingly.

  “‘Come the three corners of the world in arms,

  And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue,

  If England to itself do rest but true.’

  And I will add — Canada!”

  A spatter of hand clapping rewarded Mr. Elton and he had started back to his seat when a young soldier with a wound stripe on his sleeve suddenly bobbed up at the foot of the platform.

  “Lemme alone,” said this veteran in a drunken voice, “I wanna speak to prospic — prospictive mayor of this city. Elton, you old bitch, what did you do in the Great War?

  “And what about your own son, Mister Elton, hey? … Why ain’t he serving his king and country? What about the loving hands to chuck him into a pit of quick lime same as the rest of us? What about that, hey?”

  The chairman was on his feet shouting at the top of his voice. Several military policemen pounced on the disturber and began to frogmarch him toward the door. He clutched wildly with his hands and pushed over a woman, who screamed.


  “Yuh mingy barstud!” he shouted. “What the hell does he care for England?”

  The storm quieted, and many older men, ashamed of their emotion, clapped Elton. The drunken soldier disappeared from the scene, spurlos versenkt. The chairman turned to the vice-chancellor , “Now’s your chance. Tell ’em the truth, old man; and make it simple.”

  The vice-chancellor held the young men in his hand from the first moment; they could tell he believed what he said: he had been in France; he had a right to speak. “Men, they need soldiers in France to take the place of men like me, and of better men than me who have fallen. I won’t tell you a lot of bunk that you know isn’t true. I once heard a man say on a recruiting platform that the uniform is attractive and will undoubtedly fetch the ladies. Maybe he was right, but I knew at once he was trying to fool young fellows with dirty, lying half-truths . I’ll tell you what you’re in for if you take the uniform. You’re in for mud and lice and foul stenches and disgust and fear till you wonder if you’re going mad. You’re in for killing men you’ve never seen before, and wounds maybe, and maybe death hanging out on the barbed wire till you’re blue in the face and the flies and the rats get you. Don’t let the death and glory boys fool you — that’s what you’re in for. But in your hearts you know that. Remembered with reverence if you fall? — I don’t know whether you will be; four or five million corpses will be a lot of people to remember.… And I won’t tell you why you ought to go — you know that. But I will tell you this” — the vice-chancellor straightened up and took every face in the room squarely into his eyes — “if you don’t go, that’s something you’ll remember all the days of your life. There isn’t one man of you here at this moment who isn’t asking himself a question — I know, I’ve asked myself that question, too; deep in your hearts you are all wondering, ‘Would I be man enough to take that step over the top into no man’s land when the barrage comes down and I’ve got nothing between me and death but my naked soul?’ Men, there’s only one way to answer that question. Are you afraid to go and find out? ”

  Were they afraid? The question touched a hidden truth in them and it froze the great room to the stillness of a heartbeat. The bugler stood at attention and blew one of the bugle calls of the British Army that men heard everywhere in those days. In barracks, on troopships, in bell tents or Flanders plains, or borne on the still air from a distance.

  Fall in A,

  Fall in B,

  Fall in every company.

  Emotion, large and unreasoning, took them by the throats and drew them together with invisible bonds. The flag beckoned — to what? To wounds, perhaps, to death. Terrible and beautiful. Desire to throw oneself on the spear of fate and try its smart seized them. Could one remain inert and spiritless when other men marched, one’s friends, one’s nearest of kin and best admired? Dare I enlist?

  Dan gasped and sweat stood on his forehead. Joanna swayed toward him. Her face was drawn and she looked ill. “Come on, Jo,” he said harshly. He forced a way for her through the crowd.

  Outside it was cool and the setting sun flaunted an oriflamme on the horizon, but Dan could not look up. They took a streetcar to Galinée Street and walked slowly up it toward Ardentinny. Joanna had not dared to break into his thoughts, but at last she caught his eye and he muttered:

  “And now Eustace Elton —”

  “But, Dan, how do you know —”

  “Oh, his father will make him go.… We used to think him a milksop.”

  After that she was silent for so long that he glanced sideways and saw that her face was puckered like a child’s. She caught his glance and began to weep, tossing her head helplessly at her inability to stop.

  “What is it, Jo?”

  “Nothing,” she choked. “It’s just — I want to do something and I’m such a coward.”

  “Do what?”

  She wiped her eyes and smiled at him. “I’m all right now. Sometimes the meaning of things suddenly comes home to you. There’s something we’ve got to talk about, Dan. It’s something that has come between us. We’ve both felt it for a long time.”

  Dan was puzzled and alarmed. What could she mean?

  “Dan, if it weren’t for me you’d be at the front now.” She was looking at him with luminous intensity. “No. Don’t answer. I know. I could see your expression at the meeting while — while that man was speaking.”

  He pulled himself together and stammered: “No. Why, no! Of course not! … Why, that’s absurd. You know what Father thinks, Joanna. I am backing him up to the hilt.”

  Tranquilly, she ignored his protestation. “I’ve always known why you didn’t go. I love you too much not to.… I’ve been selfish, Dan. I didn’t want you to go. You don’t agree with Father’s opinion. And neither do I.”

  He gazed at her in amazement, suddenly discovering in her a stranger. This from Joanna! She had a private life of her own, with a vengeance.

  “You must go, Dan. I’m sending you. I believe you should go.”

  A wild hope made his heart leap. Freedom to go honourably and with a clear conscience after all these miserable months! He muttered hoarsely:

  “Can’t be done, Joanna.… I’m all right as long as they fight me. It makes me stubborn.”

  “I know. It’s when you have to fight yourself. I’ve had to fight myself, too, but that’s all over now.”

  “I couldn’t, Jo. I shouldn’t respect myself if I did. Who would look after you if Mother and Father —”

  She hushed him with the pressure of her hand on his arm. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Dan, that I’ve got a soul to save, too. Why should men be the only ones to sacrifice anything for their country? If I want to risk my security — and that’s the only thing I can risk — why haven’t I the right to? People have always done things for me. I couldn’t live if I didn’t think I could make my sacrifices, too. I’m not afraid.”

  “It would break Father’s heart. I simply couldn’t tell him.”

  “No, it won’t, Dan. You see, I told him you wanted to go; I think he’d known it for a long time. He’ll let you make your own choice, Dan; that is what he is doing.… Don’t walk so fast, dear. I can’t keep up.”

  “Sorry, Jo! Let’s sit here for a minute.” Then was an old stone horse trough at the curb. Joanna sat on the edge dabbling her fingers in the water. “Do you know what I’m thinking? That I’m happy! Do you love me, Dan?” Not for years had she asked him that in the old, childish way.

  “I love you, Joanna! And you’re the best, the most understanding sister a man’s ever had.”

  A sudden sinking of her heart oppressed her and she almost sighed.… It was easy enough to deceive Daniel. The phrase “sacrifice for one’s country” had little meaning for her. Martyred Belgium, embattled Britain, were merely ideas; her family was her country — an invalid’s world. But men, she knew, had feelings and loyalties that were different from her own, and you had to help your menfolk and make them happy somehow. You can’t live only for yourself .… “I’ll send you parcels, Dan. I know what you like to eat, don’t I!”

  “If I can manage it, I’ll get into the battery with Uncle Charles.”

  “And with Alastair.”

  “Yes.”

  “It will be nice being with Uncle Charles.”

  Joanna shivered and stood up. “Let’s go in now. It’s cold.”

  Dan said absently: “You know, Joanna, Quentin wrote me a letter congratulating me on being a pacifist! I’ve never had the heart to answer it until now.”

  In the glow of his new determination, he began mentally to draft a reply to Quentin. To do that was a symbol of his own singlemindedness at last.… First tell Quentin that the way is clear for me to go honourably. And tell him I think he’s wrong. Tell him I think he ought to stick to it. A man ought to hold his hand to the plough. And tell him for God’s sake not to do
it — that he’d hate himself if he did, as I hated myself.

  Pictures

  I would paint a picture

  Ere I die;

  I would tint at shifting clouds

  Upon the sky.

  The clouds are vanishing, to form

  Some other way.

  But it was thus I painted

  In my day.

  Weaving clouds upon the sky

  Who rack and swirl and rend,

  You dissolve — and I must die,

  In the end.

  (From Quentin’s Notebook)

  PART III

  The Sickle

  Chapter VII

  I

  For a night and a day the train carrying reinforcement drafts had been crawling toward the front at the average rate of one and a half miles an hour. For Dan Thatcher, a romantic youth untarnished by battle, even the third-class coach, whose upholstery had long since given up the unequal struggle with thousands of khaki breeches, dramatized the war; to him and to seven other raw subalterns, the coach whispered in excited black letters under the windows: “Taisez-vous! Méfiez-vous! Les oreilles ennemies vous écoutent. ”

  The train meandered through the outskirts of Amiens and turned north. Presently, they came to a mound of bricks on the bluff overlooking a splintered copse and a marsh, pockmarked and full of scummy water, sown with rusty, unkempt barbed wire. A subaltern with a jolly, round, mocking face, glanced at Dan quizzically. “That, my lad, is Thiepval. I was there in 1916.”

  “The Somme battlefield!”

  “Ah, callow youth! Before the battle it was a village of ninety houses. My division lost five thousand men there on a single summer’s day. You think it’s romantic, what? ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ what?”

  Less than a year ago, but already it was as if one said, “The windy plains of Troy.”