THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Flora brought her tea while she read on, poring over copies of other suffragist newspapers that called for women to organise for peace. One advocated a Women’s Peace Expeditionary Force to go to the front and place themselves between the two armies, unarmed and carrying white banners with doves. Emmie’s heart quickened.

  ‘I thought the suffrage movement was backing the war,’ she questioned.

  ‘Not all, by any means,’ Flora encouraged. ‘There are many like us on both sides who want negotiation and peace before this escalates.’

  ‘I’ve been so confused about it all,’ Emmie admitted. ‘Frightened of speaking up - there’s such a hunger for winning at all costs in the village.’

  Flora reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘I know how difficult it must be for you, but you are not alone, surely? The MacRaes and their friends are not afraid to speak out, I bet.’

  Emmie met Flora’s encouraging look. ‘Can I take some of these articles?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Flora smiled, ‘as many as you want.’

  Emmie smuggled the pamphlets home in the lining of her coat, not quite knowing what to do with them. She hid them under the mattress.

  That Saturday afternoon, Tom insisted they went to watch the parade of Northumberland Fusiliers through Blackton.

  ‘Be a canny sight for Barny,’ he said, ‘and you like the bands. Louise and Sam are ganin’ too.’

  Emmie was encouraged that Sam would be coming with them; he was so subdued of late.

  A platform had been erected outside the mine offices, and jugs of beer were provided from the public house opposite. Red, white and blue bunting was strung across the street and there was a festive air about the large crowd that had gathered to listen to the band and hear the speeches. As they approached, Emmie strained to catch the speaker’s words. With a jolt she realised it was Miss Sophie under the huge-brimmed hat.

  ‘. .. and my husband sends encouraging news from France - they have stopped the German advance in its tracks. Morale is very high. But we need more men now. How glorious it will be for those brave men who are there to bring us victory - what tales they will have to tell. I ask you to join the finest regiment in the land and serve under my dear courageous husband. Wives and mothers, I appeal to you. Don’t be selfish - let your men go. Onwards to victory!’

  There was a burst of applause and the band struck up ‘The British Grenadiers’. A queue began to form at the open-air recruitment table.

  ‘Haway,’ Sam nudged Tom, ‘let’s have a glass of Oliphant’s free beer.’

  Tom hesitated then shook his head. ‘You gan. Barny wants to see the carthorses up the lane.’

  Sam ignored Louise’s disapproving look and sauntered off. The others wandered up the lane, Tom and Emmie swinging Barny between them. Louise looked on enviously as Barny chattered about the horses and they watched the field hands bending over rows of cabbages.

  Suddenly, she announced, ‘I’m ganin’ home,’ and stalked off.

  Emmie said quickly to Tom, ‘I’ll gan after her.’

  Louise brushed aside Emmie’s concern and hurriedly looked for Sam. But he had found friends among the drinkers and refused to leave.

  ‘We’ll be late for tea,’ Louise said tersely.

  ‘You gan on.’ Sam waved her away.

  ‘Don’t think you can come home stinking of beer,’ his wife scolded. ‘Me father will have some’at to say if you do.’

  ‘The old bugger’s always got some’at to say,’ Sam snorted, setting his friends laughing.

  Louise reddened. ‘Please, Sam, come home.’

  But one of his workmates said, ‘Leave the lad alone - it’s not every day we get owt for free out of Oliphant.’

  Louise grew angry. ‘Well you can stop at your mam’s the night if you drink any more.’

  Sam’s mates nudged him and made ribald comments.

  Louise turned abruptly and marched off, Emmie hurrying after her.

  ‘He’ll not stay long,’ Emmie tried to reassure. ‘Just having a bit crack at Oliphant’s expense.’

  ‘He can stay as long as he wants,’ Louise said crossly. ‘I’ll not stop him making a fool of himself with the drink.’

  ‘Is everything all right between you?’ Emmie asked, slipping an arm through her friend’s.

  Louise was suddenly tearful and shook her head. ‘He hardly speaks these days. Takes himself off whenever he’s not at work. Don’t know where - or who he’s with. Might have a fancy woman, for all I know.’

  ‘Not Sam!’ Emmie protested.

  ‘He’s sick of living at Father’s,’ Louise sniffed, ‘but won’t do owt about finding our own place. If only he had a better job at the pit like our Tom.’

  ‘It’ll come in time,’ Emmie encouraged.

  ‘No it won’t.’ Louise refused to be comforted. ‘He’ll find another lass - someone who can give him bairns - then he’ll leave me.’

  Emmie threw her arms about her friend. ‘Sam’s not like that.’

  ‘I thought he was different,’ Louise sobbed, ‘but he’s just like the other MacRaes underneath - a bucketful o’ trouble.’

  Halfway home, Tom caught them up with Barny on his shoulders. Louise said quickly, ‘Don’t tell our Tom what I’ve said.’

  Emmie threw Tom a warning look. ‘Sam’s coming on later.’

  ‘Aye,’ Tom grunted, ‘saw him drinking for England.’

  Darkness had fallen by the time Sam came home, singing at the top of his voice and supported by two workmates. Emmie and Tom were still at the house in Denmark Street, waiting tensely for Sam’s return.

  Barnabas went to the door, his look thunderous.

  ‘Get in here quick,’ he ordered. Tom hurried to help his brother-in-law over the step. Once inside, Barnabas berated him.

  ‘You’re a disgrace,’ he said contemptuously, ‘smelling like a brewery.’

  Sam laughed and swayed in front of him.

  ‘I’ve a good mind to put you out the house until you see the error of your ways,’ his father-in-law lectured. ‘MacRae might accept such behaviour but I won’t.’

  This made Sam laugh hysterically. Tom steered him into a seat while Emmie rocked a fretful Barny, the boy alarmed by the raised voices. Louise would not look at her husband.

  Barnabas continued, ‘If I catch you drinking again, you’re out.’

  Sam pushed Tom away and struggled to his feet again.

  ‘Can’t tell me what to do any more, you old bastard,’ Sam sneered.

  ‘Sam!’ Louise gasped.

  He faced her. ‘I’m leavin’. Had enough of your da ganin’ on ‘bout the bloody army. Joined up. That should please yer all.’

  They stared at him in shock. No one said a word. Then Louise covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

  Chapter 17

  Emmie thought Sam would change his mind once he’d sobered up, but he did not. The outrage of the MacRaes only seemed to harden his resolve.

  ‘Bloody class traitor!’ Rab accused, almost coming to blows.

  ‘Stuff your class war,’ Sam sneered. ‘I’m doing me bit for me country.’

  ‘You’re running away from the Currans, more like,’ Rab scoffed.

  ‘You callin’ me a coward?’ Sam came at his brother menacingly.

  ‘No, just a capitalist puppet,’ Rab answered, squaring up to him. ‘Sawdust for brains.’

  Helen barged her way between them. ‘Stop it, the pair of you. What’s come over you lads?’ She appealed to her second son. ‘Have you thought what you’re doing, Sam, really thought on it?’

  ‘Aye, I have,’ Sam answered stubbornly.

  Rab glared. ‘Just remember when you’re sticking your bayonet in some poor German conscript - he’s probably a socialist comrade.’

  ‘The only comrades I care about are me marras - and the lads I’m joining up with,’ Sam shouted as he stormed out.

  To Helen’s distress, Sam did not visit again before he left. Jonas pretended
not to care. His son was a grown man and was free to make his own mistakes. Peter drove them to distraction with descriptions of the battlefield, repeating what Mr Speed read to him daily from his patriotic newspaper. Peter was full of excitement at his brother going off to war and perplexed by his father’s stormy refusal to talk about it.

  Helen pressed a small package on Emmie and asked her to take it round to Sam.

  ‘It’s only a piece of tiffin - his favourite - and an extra pair of socks,’ she said. ‘Tell him to take care of hissel’.’

  The atmosphere at the Currans’ was strained. Outwardly, Barnabas boasted about his brave son-in-law, but at home the bitterness over Sam’s drunken words sullied the days before departure. As Tom was at work, Louise asked Emmie to go with her to see Sam off at the station. An open wagon was bedecked in bunting to take the four new recruits down to Newcastle with their families. The young men were all members of the Chapel; Mr Attwater sent them off with a blessing on a blustery October morning and the colliery band led them through the village, neighbours turning out to wave them away. The atmosphere was so jolly that Emmie had to remind herself the men were going off to war, not the gala.

  As they passed the end of China Street, Sam glanced round. Emmie had hoped the parcel might have prompted him to go to see his mother, but it had not. If he regretted that now, his expression gave nothing away. Then, as they trundled past the Co-operative Hall, there were Helen and Peter, standing among a small band of Guild women. They had bunches of chrysanthemums and roses. Peter stood waving a red flag in excitement and shouting his brother’s name.

  Someone laughed, ‘Look, the communists have come out to see you, MacRae.’

  Sam stared in astonishment as the wagon drew closer and the women threw flowers to the men and their loved ones.

  ‘Peter! Mam!’ Sam cried, standing up in the open carriage.

  His mother rushed forward, thrusting a white rose at him. ‘Don’t do anything daft. Come back safe, me bonny lad!’

  Sam seized the rose as they passed. ‘Me dad’ll gan light when he finds his best roses chopped,’ he shouted.

  ‘Not for you he won’t,’ Helen cried, a hand stretched up in farewell.

  Sam grinned and waved back. ‘Tell him ta-ra from me - and to that bugger Rab!’

  Peter ran behind the wagon all the way down the main street, shouting goodbyes, his flag snapping in the wind. Sam laughed and impulsively threw his cap to his brother.

  ‘Wear it for me, Peter lad. I’ll not need it now.’

  Peter stopped to pick it up and put it on over his own. The wagon pulled away and plunged down the hill out of sight.

  Barny clung to the side and babbled happily about horses as others made frantic conversation. Emmie saw Sam reach for Louise’s hand. He sat holding it as they jostled down the rutted road. Emmie saw tears start in her friend’s eyes and looked away, her throat constricting. When they reached the bridge over the River Tyne, she was distracted by Barny’s squeals of interest and the gasps of excitement from the travellers, some of whom had never been to Newcastle before.

  Central Station was cavernous and echoing. The platforms were a noisy confusion of soldiers embarking with kitbags, and new recruits in their Sunday best, clutching homespun packages in brown paper. Emmie held tight to Barny as they searched for the right train, the small boy round-eyed at his surroundings.

  ‘Write and tell me what camp’s like,’ Louise urged, as they congregated by the barrier.

  ‘Aye,’ Sam promised. ‘We’ll not be off to France till they teach us a trick or two. Be dull as ditch water.’

  Emmie hugged him briefly. ‘Take care, won’t you?’

  He nodded and winked, swinging Barny up into his arms and tickling him. He handed him over.

  ‘Tell Mam I’m wearing the socks - and sorry I didn’t come round,’ he said bashfully.

  Emmie nodded, smiled and stepped back to allow Louise the final minutes alone with him. Her friend clung to Sam.

  ‘I wish you weren’t ganin’,’ Louise said, her face crumpling.

  ‘If I don’t, it’ll all be over and I’ll miss me chance to be a hero,’ Sam joked.

  ‘Heroes can dig coal, an’ all. Working canny hard at the pit would be helping win the war just as much. You know nowt about soldiering,’ Louise despaired.

  Sam gave her a wistful smile. ‘I’m doing this ‘cos I want you to be proud of me, Lou. I don’t want to be second best to your da any more.’

  Louise looked at him in exasperation. ‘Oh Sam!’

  She flung her arms around his neck and they hugged each other tight. Too soon, the men were being ordered aboard and Sam had to pull away from his sobbing wife. He looked beseechingly at Emmie. Clutching Barny in the press of people, Emmie pushed to Louise’s side and took her arm.

  ‘Let him gan, Lou,’ she said gently.

  She stood supporting Louise as the train shunted forward and the waving men were enveloped in a waft of steam. Moments later they were gone and the crowds of well-wishers ebbed back. The return journey was subdued; one or two cried quietly, a baby wailed, Barny was fretful. Louise sat, pale and rigid, not saying a word.

  ***

  The following weeks were quiet ones, Louise’s initial anxiety lessening with news from Sam that camp was cold but the food plentiful. There was no word of his being sent to France and there was little news of any action at the front. The worst losses were at sea, among merchant ships carrying supplies to Britain.

  When Emmie visited the MacRaes, they put on a brave face about Sam’s going. But Helen confided nearer Christmas, ‘It’s like the lamps are dimmer without him. And Rab doesn’t laugh as much.’

  Emmie had seen nothing of Rab for months. She had made herself keep away from Mannie’s after Tom’s jealousy over Barny and his suspicions about her. She had never even been to explain why she had given up writing her column. She had just stopped visiting.

  ‘How’s Rab managing?’ Emmie asked tentatively.

  ‘Has to be careful with the Messenger,’ Helen replied. ‘Police gave him a friendly warning that he can’t write anything that’ll put folk off enlistin’. But it’s still sellin’ and he’s doing his teaching. Keeps full of busy.’

  Lists of casualties from the front began to grow. The son of a deputy, two doors from the Currans, was killed in action. A cousin of Mr Speed, the grocer, died of dysentery in Egypt.

  Just before Christmas, Emmie went to visit the Settlement and found Flora and Mabel full of talk about the newly formed No Conscription Fellowship.

  ‘One day soon the war machine will run out of willing volunteers,’ Flora predicted. ‘That’s when they’ll force men to join up.’

  Emmie was alarmed. ‘But they can’t do that.’

  ‘They can do anything, my dear,’ Mabel sniffled, full of cold. ‘They have given themselves great emergency powers.’

  ‘We have to nip any such ideas in the bud,’ Flora said, ‘get the matter raised in Parliament.’

  Emmie thought such work beyond her, but she wanted to help in some way. Daily, the Settlement was full of needy families whose men were seeking work or gone to war. The children especially needed winter clothes. Emmie went to Helen and the Guild for help. Over the winter, they knitted, sewed, patched old clothes and cut them down to size. Once a week, Emmie got a lift with Peter on the grocery cart and took them down to the Settlement.

  Tom tolerated these trips, boasting to his friends that she was doing something patriotic. She knew he missed Sam’s companionship and their trips to the club on Friday nights. But Tom had grown affectionate and attentive again, and she enjoyed their evenings together with Barny by their own fireside.

  ‘What would you do if they brought in conscription?’ Emmie asked him once.

  Tom shrugged. ‘I’d have to gan, I suppose. But it won’t happen for pitmen -job’s too important.’

  ‘Good,’ Emmie said. ‘Barny needs his dad. I’m glad you’re more home-loving than Sam.’

 
Tom bristled. ‘It’s not that I’m scared of fightin’. Us lads are graftin’ harder than Sam in his cushy camp. He’s on a bloody holiday by the sounds of it.’

  Emmie let him have the last word and never mentioned conscription again.

  Spring came with the dark news of heavy fighting at the front. For the first time they began to read about deadly gas attacks, of massive casualties and numbers of missing. On a visit to the Settlement, Emmie found Flora preparing to travel. Women across Europe were forming an international league for peace and were planning to meet in The Hague in late April. The national press were up in arms, denouncing them as traitors and Hun-lovers. The Government had refused them travel permits.

  ‘I’ve just heard that a handful of us are to be allowed to go,’ Flora said excitedly. ‘There’s rumour of a ship ready to take us from Tilbury docks.’

  ‘Won’t it be dangerous?’ Emmie asked in alarm.

  ‘There are scores of women from all over the Continent making far riskier journeys and dozens sailing from America.’ Flora was buoyant. ‘We won’t be stopped.’

  Not for the first time Emmie admired the older woman’s stubborn courage and optimism. After the huge losses at Ypres, the planned congress was deeply unpopular with the general public, yet there was local support that stopped the Settlement being a target for window-smashing. Flora was convinced there were large, silent numbers who were sympathetic to the women’s peace campaign but dared not speak out.

  Emmie kept from Tom that the doctor was so deeply involved in the conference. He would see it as women interfering where they should not. His father would call them ungodly and treacherous. But the next time she visited Gateshead, Flora had returned frustrated. The Government had abruptly closed all the North Sea ports, preventing the women from travelling.

  ‘The conference is still going ahead,’ she said defiantly. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see what comes of it.’

  There were no reports in the daily newspapers, and Emmie would not have heard about the plans to send women envoys to lobby for peace if it had not been for her friends at the Settlement. Flora went off to attend a meeting in London in mid-May to hear all about the conference. Emmie was filled with a new restlessness at the thought of what the women might achieve - a swift end to the fighting and rising death toll. If only she could be a part of it. Already, there were rumours of conscription being introduced, just as Flora had feared. Sam’s last postcard to Louise said they were due to be shipped to France within the month. Anxiety among the Currans and MacRaes grew.