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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Emmie stared at him, her heart thumping. What did he mean? She wanted to ask him but dared not. Suddenly she longed to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him so that he would know how much she cared for him. But such actions would be madness, a betrayal of Tom. She held herself in check, even as her heart thumped.

  She thanked him for the tea and called to Barny it was time for home. Rab thanked her for bringing the documents from Flora and Charles. The charged atmosphere of moments before dissolved into an awkward formality between them and Emmie swiftly left. Even so, she knew that by going there that day she had stepped over some invisible barrier from safety into danger and the unknown.

  Chapter 19

  1916

  The revolt against conscription brought new allies to the peace movement: trade unionists, chapelgoers and socialists who had hitherto supported the war. In January, as a Military Conscription Bill was being passed in the Commons, the Miners’ Union and the Labour Party voted heavily against any conscription. Britain had always relied on a volunteer army; conscription was the mark of despots. Even the Reverend Mr Attwater preached concern at such a development.

  ‘Far better for young men of strength and courage to go forward and fight for the nation’s salvation,’ he exhorted, ‘than to be forced against their will.’ But he added a severe caution against the unpatriotic. ‘Those who choose to belittle the sacrifice of our brave soldiers and sailors, or incite them to mutiny, are to be despised. The words of Artemis in the ungodly Blackton Messenger are unbefitting for a woman, if indeed they are written by one. I urge you, brothers and sisters, do not buy or read such vile treason.’

  Emmie was unnerved by such condemnation and hardly dared glance about, thinking her flushed face would give her away. Louise gave her a suspicious look but said nothing. She knew Emmie had stopped writing her column after war broke out and probably doubted she would dare write it now. Tom never suspected her.

  As renewed speculation as to Artemis’s identity grew, Emmie continued to write impassioned articles for the Messenger. The publication was reduced to a couple of pages fortnightly because of paper restrictions, but people were still buying it. Rab told her it would be safer to give her column to Helen to pass on to him, rather than be caught visiting Mannie’s. On two occasions, Rab’s room and workshop were raided by the police, but both times the small hand-press had been removed in time; once to the MacRaes’ outhouse and once to a friend of Mannie’s. Rab was tipped off by a young constable, Johnny Collier, who had attended Jonas’s socialist Sunday school, and all the police found to take away were a handful of pamphlets and unmarked essays.

  But after a spring assault on the Western Front by Germany, the mood turned belligerent again. Asquith denounced those who tried to start a peace debate, and striking leaders on the Clyde were arrested for halting armaments production.

  ‘I worked with some of those lads,’ Rab told Emmie when they managed to meet at China Street. They briefly discussed what should go in the next issue and Emmie brought news from the Runcies. The new Military Service Act was imminent.

  ‘The Quakers are talking of setting up a network to help those resisting conscription,’ she whispered, not wanting Helen to overhear and be implicated. ‘Safe houses - maybe get lads out the country to Canada or America.’

  Rab nodded. Emmie eyed him. ‘You’ll be one of the first to be called up, won’t you? As an unmarried man and no protected job.’

  ‘I’ll appeal for conscientious objection,’ Rab declared.

  ‘But you’re not religious,’ Emmie snorted.

  ‘Political conscience.’ Rab gave a wry smile.

  Emmie shook her head. ‘Reverend Charles is worried his father or Hauxley will sit on the tribunal and decide who goes. You wouldn’t stand a chance in front of them.’

  ‘Not on my own,’ Rab said with passion, ‘but I’ll not be the only one. If enough of us refuse to go, we can turn the tide.’

  Emmie was encouraged by his optimism.

  Two days later, Helen came rushing round to Emmie’s more agitated than she had ever seen her.

  ‘They set on him!’ she cried. ‘In Blackton - beat him up proper.’

  ‘Who?’ Emmie demanded, steering her into a chair.

  ‘Our Rab,’ Helen replied. ‘He went to hand out leaflets with two other lads.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ Emmie asked in fear.

  Helen nodded, gaining her breath back. ‘Lads brought him to ours. Told him to rest but he’s all in a state about you.’

  Emmie coloured. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Thinks the police might gan round to his and search. He’s worried they’ll find papers about you and the Messenger.’

  Emmie’s stomach churned. She fetched Helen a cup of water, thinking quickly.

  ‘You take Barny to yours and I’ll gan round to Mannie’s,’ she instructed.

  She left before Helen and dashed to India Street. Mannie was there, clay pipe clenched unlit between his teeth. He took out the pipe and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

  ‘Had the press moved already,’ he wheezed.

  ‘I need to search his room.’ Emmie blushed. ‘I left some papers.’

  He nodded for her to go ahead. Inside, she quickly rummaged through the piles of old newspaper and printed sheets. What she really wanted to find were the lists of names and addresses of the local NCF. She hesitated, then began to search his chest of drawers, finding nothing but well-worn clothes and sheet music. She looked among his books, under the bed, in the kitchen cupboard.

  ‘Don’t be long, lass,’ Mannie warned from the door. ‘Coppers could be here any minute, or that mob from Blackton.’

  Where would he keep such secret papers? Emmie thought frantically. A sudden thought made her go back to the bed with its tartan rug and lift the mattress. There was the familiar brown envelope. She snatched it and stuffed it into her coat. On the spur of the moment, she seized the pile of leaflets from the table and stuffed them in a canvas bag that hung on the back of the door. She paused as she left.

  ‘Will this get you into trouble too?’

  Mannie gave a wheezy laugh. ‘What can they do to an old gadgy like me, eh? Me hearin’ will be twice as bad if they come asking questions,’ he chortled.

  ‘Ta, Mannie, you’re a good man,’ she smiled.

  ‘Take care, lass,’ he smiled back, propelling her out of the door. As she dashed across the yard, he locked Rab’s door behind them and shuffled off.

  Some instinct made Emmie go home first and hide the documents. She wrapped them in a towel and put them under Barny’s mattress on the low cot bed. Tom would never come across them there. Then she hurried round to China Street.

  Emmie’s first sight of Rab’s battered face made her feel faint. He was hardly recognisable, his left eye closed and weeping, dried blood around his cut and swollen lips. He was hunched in a chair by the fire, nursing his arm and bruised ribs. Barny was sitting at his feet, staring.

  ‘Rab talking funny,’ Barny said, leaping up to greet her.

  Emmie swallowed. ‘Oh, Rab!’ She went forward and put a tentative hand to his face. He winced and she quickly withdrew.

  ‘Not - bad - as - looks.’ He tried to smile.

  ‘Don’t try to talk,’ Emmie said in concern.

  ‘That’ll be difficult,’ Helen said drily, once again in charge of the situation. ‘You shouldn’t stay, pet. Police are bound to come - best they don’t find you here.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to hide,’ Emmie said stoutly, ‘and they’ll find nowt at Mannie’s of any interest.’

  Rab spoke with difficulty. ‘Good - man. But - wha’ ‘bout lists?’ His look was urgent.

  Emmie reassured him. ‘They’re safe - I found them.’ She looked at him pityingly. ‘Who did this to you?’

  Rab shrugged. Helen spoke for him. ‘Lads said they were ready for him, like it was all organised. Didn’t have a chance to start handing out leaflets. I think Oliphant’s stirring up trouble ’cos conscription’s
that unpopular.’

  Rab nodded. ‘Frightened - it’ll spread - to - pits. Strikes …’

  ‘What will they do to you?’ Emmie asked in dread.

  Helen answered again. ‘They’ll try and charge him for handing out leaflets, but they won’t find any. His marras burned them before the police got there.’

  There was an abrupt hammering on the door. The women looked round nervously. Helen went to answer it.

  ‘Mrs MacRae?’ said a craggy-faced police sergeant.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I’m Sergeant Graham. Is your son here? Rab MacRae. We’d like a few words.’

  ‘He’s in no fit state,’ Helen said brusquely. ‘The lad can hardly talk.’

  The sergeant pushed past her, followed by an embarrassed Constable Collier, who nodded at Helen.

  ‘Rab MacRae,’ Sergeant Graham growled, as he spotted Rab by the fire, ‘you’re to come with me for questioning.’

  ‘He’s not ganin’ anywhere,’ Helen said in fury.

  The police officer ignored her. ‘You can walk, can’t you?’ he demanded.

  Rab struggled to his feet. Johnny Collier went quickly to support him. Emmie stepped up to the sergeant.

  ‘And what about arresting the thugs who left him like this?’ she accused. ‘Thought you were supposed to stop fighting, not stand by and let it happen!’

  He gave her a dismissive look. ‘Who are yon?’

  ‘A friend,’ she glared.

  ‘You’ve too big a gob for your own good, missus. I can bring you in too for obstructing an officer.’

  Helen swiftly pulled Emmie back. Barny rushed to his mother and clung on to her skirt.

  ‘Are you hiding any printing machinery?’ Graham demanded. Helen shook her head, but he sent Collier to search. The young constable returned with nothing. Graham ordered him to get Rab out of the house.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ Helen cried.

  The sergeant ignored her and marched out of the cottage.

  Rab put out a hand as he passed and gave a swollen smile.

  Collier said in a low voice, ‘I’ll make sure the doctor looks him over, Mrs MacRae. Don’t worry. It’s just a few questions.’

  Emmie watched speechless as Rab was led away down the lane to the police station.

  ‘Don’t know that man Graham,’ Helen fretted, ‘he’s new round here. But Johnny Collier’s a good lad.’

  The women stayed together until early afternoon, when a drawn-faced Mannie appeared.

  ‘They’ve been and searched his room,’ the old man said, ‘turned it upside down. Best if the lad stays here a while.’

  ‘They’ve no right!’ Helen was indignant.

  ‘Tore up his sheet music,’ Mannie said, shaking his head.

  Emmie was aghast. ‘They never did?’

  ‘Aye, all of it,’ the old man sighed. ‘But they found nowt to arrest him for. They’ll have to release him.’

  ‘He’ll have to stop the Messenger,’ Helen said in agitation. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  Emmie felt the anger that had knotted her stomach all day rise up and choke her. What had become of their village that idealists like Rab could be beaten up, hounded from his home, forbidden to tell the truth about the war? All free speech was being snuffed out. Well, they might silence him, but they could not silence them all.

  Emmie could bear inaction no longer. She took Barny by the hand and abruptly left. Storming back home, she pulled the bag of leaflets from their hiding place.

  ‘Haway, Barny,’ she said grimly, ‘we’ll tell this village what’s ganin’ on under their noses!’

  Together they hurried down to the main street, handing out leaflets to everyone they met. They went into the co-operative store and left a pile on the counter.

  ‘Read the truth - the Government are hiding the real number of dead,’ Emmie told the startled queue of shoppers. ‘They won’t stop till they’ve bled our country dry of men. And for what? To keep their own kind in power and keep the working class in their place. Resist conscription - don’t let them take away your husbands and sons. Join the No Conscription Fellowship before it’s too late!’

  Emmie hurried around the village in the chilly March breeze, thrusting leaflets at young and old. She stood with Barny outside her old school and told the children to take a leaflet home to their parents. The caretaker rushed out and shook his fist, telling her to get on home. Barny grew fretful, but Emmie reassured him.

  ‘We have to tell the men to stop fighting. Just a few more minutes, pet.’

  She hoisted him on to her back and laboured up the hill to the pit gates. Already men for the back shift were beginning to straggle in for work. They took her leaflets in surprise.

  ‘Read them, please,’ Emmie pleaded. ‘One of your marras got beaten up by Oliphant’s lackeys for trying to give these out. Rab MacRae.’

  One man spat at her feet. ‘He deserves owt he gets - bloody Hun-lover.’

  Emmie faced him. ‘Better to be friends with the working man in Germany, than doing the dirty work for the ruling classes here. Divide and rule, that’s their game, to stop us ever coming together to improve our lot. If more people thought about their comrades in different countries, there would be no war.’

  He swore at her and pushed her back. Barny clung on in fright.

  ‘Haway, don’t touch the lass,’ another chided. ‘You’re Curran’s missus, aren’t you? Better scarper ‘fore he hears of it.’

  But Emmie carried on until the under-manager came out and shouted, ‘I’ve called for the police. Get off home, woman, unless you want to be arrested.’

  Emmie flung a leaflet at him. ‘Give this to Major Oliphant,’ she cried.

  Many took her leaflets, only a few grinding them under their boots. Within minutes, Johnny Collier was panting up the hill.

  ‘Emmie,’ he said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve got to stop.’ He took her by the elbow and steered her away. ‘Haway, Barny, time to go home.’

  Emmie was still riled up and shook him off. ‘What have you done with Rab?’

  ‘Sergeant let him go,’ Johnny said. She gave a sigh of relief, but he cautioned, ‘He’s being watched. Tell him to be careful. There are those who want to see him inside. And you, Emmie, this is just a warning,’ he told her, ‘but if we catch you leafleting again, we’ll have to arrest you. Do you understand?’

  She nodded, picking up Barny. Suddenly, a voice bellowed behind them. She turned to see Tom striding towards them, filthy from the pit. Her heart thumped in fright.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he cried, shaking a leaflet at her. He was livid. ‘You been giving these out? What the bloody hell for? What’s the bairn doing here?’

  Barny clutched his mother, wide-eyed at the shouting.

  ‘Don’t scare him,’ Emmie said as calmly as possible.

  Tom grabbed Barny from her. ‘Give him here. You’re not fit—’

  ‘Steady, Tom,’ Johnny said, trying to intervene.

  ‘Bugger off, Collier,’ Tom snapped. ‘I’ll deal with me own wife.’ He pushed Emmie ahead of him, a wailing Barny pinned under his arm.

  The constable stood back, unsure what to do. Emmie tried to placate Tom.

  ‘Put the lad down, Tom,’ she pleaded. ‘He can walk between us.’

  But Tom strode off ahead, the captive Barny kicking his legs and wailing in bewilderment. Emmie hurried after them, trying to reassure the boy, not caring about the gawping onlookers. When they got home, Tom put Barny down and turned on her.

  ‘You’ve made a fool of me in front of all me marras,’ he raged, shoving her backwards. He raised his arm and punched her in the face. Emmie howled in pain and shock. ‘You’re a disgrace to the Currans. Where d’you get them leaflets?’ He seized her by the hair. ‘Tell me!’

  Emmie screamed, ‘Let go!’

  He dragged her around the room. ‘Them yellow-bellies at the Settlement, eh? Or bloody MacRaes? I’ll beat it out of yer!’

 
Emmie cried, ‘Doesn’t matter where — I’d do it again.’ She swivelled round and bit the hand that tore her hair. ‘Anything to stop this war!’ she gasped.

  Tom was maddened. He cursed her and threw her away from him. She fell and hit her head on the fender. Barny howled.

  ‘Mammy, Mammy!’

  Dazed, Emmie struggled to sit up, bracing herself for further attack. Barny ran to crouch beside her. She clung to him. Tom stopped, his belt half unbuckled. She looked at him in horror. Abruptly, Tom turned on his heels and stormed out, leaving the back door banging in the wind.

  Emmie sat shaking, gritting her teeth against the sob in her throat. Barny cried in her arms. She tried to calm him. For a long time she huddled on the hearth, waiting for Tom’s return, wondering if she should take Barny and escape to the MacRaes. But they had enough trouble on their hands; she must stand up for herself.

  Wincing at the pain in her cheek, she hauled herself up and forced herself to set about preparing tea. Numbly, she heated water for Tom’s bath and made a vegetable soup. She scrambled an egg and fed it to Barny, talking to him softly, ignoring the ache in her jaw. The daylight waned and still her husband did not come back. She put Barny to bed.

  After dark, Tom came in at the door and hung up his cap. He was washed and wearing old clothes of Sam’s, Emmie noticed with a pang. Neither said a word. He watched her serve the dried-up soup, but did not come to the table. No doubt he had eaten at his mother’s. She sat alone and forced down a mouthful, then another.

  ‘Is it true?’ he asked at last.

  Emmie put down her spoon and faced him. He reddened at the sight of her swollen cheek. ‘Is what true?’

  ‘You’re Artemis?’ Tom demanded. ‘Louise said it was you. Said it was common knowledge.’

  Emmie nodded.

  ‘We’re the talk of the village, you’ll be pleased to know,’ he said bitterly. ‘Tom Curran and his conchie wife. I’m a laughing stock. Me father says if it was his wife, he’d take a belt to you.’

  ‘The Curran way,’ Emmie said in disdain, ‘and what good does that do? Never changed anything you did as a lad.’