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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  He touched her hair and she thought for a moment he would ruffle it. His smile was tender but brief.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I won’t go on the run. I’ll see this thing through, whatever the cost.’

  Emmie looked away, her eyes stinging with sudden tears. How foolish to think Rab would act in self-interest. He had never shirked any ordeal in his life and she doubted he ever would.

  They walked back to the docks with hardly another word. Flora came hurrying out to meet them, her face anxious.

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’ she told them. ‘The lists in today’s paper. Captain Arthur Hauxley - he’s missing.’

  Chapter 21

  The council chamber was busy all day, the corridors of the town hall thronged with those standing about waiting for their applications to be considered. All morning, the military service panel had heard cases in private from businessmen, public employees and solicitors asking for exemption on the grounds their business would be harmed. Four conscientious objectors were kept waiting until the late afternoon. The mayor was leading a panel of six men: the others being three councillors, a retired policeman and a representative from the military. Word came back that taking the place of the bereaved Hauxley was none other than Major Oliphant.

  Emmie saw Charles blanch at this. He had sent messages of condolence to his sister at Ongarfield, but heard nothing. They all knew that Major James would be merciless in the wake of his son-in-law’s probable death.

  The gallery was crowded with supporters of the men. Charles got up to speak on behalf of a young postman.

  ‘Laurie Bell has been a Sunday school teacher for five years. It is against all his Christian principles to kill his fellow men, whoever they are. He cannot, in all conscience, take part in any war.’

  The major glared at Charles in disgust.

  The mayor asked, ‘Mr Bell, you’re a postman taking wages from the public purse?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘So your conscience doesn’t stop you taking the pay of the Government that’s waging this war?’ the mayor asked in contempt.

  Charles interjected, ‘Without his wages he would starve.’

  Major Oliphant barked, ‘If his conscience is so keen then he should starve rather than do this work.’

  Charles faced his father. ‘His older brother went down on HMS Bayano. His family depend on those wages too.’

  ‘Then he should follow his older brother’s example,’ the major said waspishly, ‘and take his place in the ranks.’

  The panel conferred for barely a minute and refused the man exemption. Charles had a whispered conversation with Philip and withdrew. Philip supported the next applicant, but he too was turned down. The third, a Quaker, was refused total exemption but offered non-combatant duties.

  As Rab took his turn, Charles came back in with a group of men. Emmie’s heart leaped to see Jonas and some of his ILP friends. He nodded at her in encouragement. The chamber was full, the atmosphere suddenly charged.

  Rab stood up and raised his bearded face to the tribunal. He would speak for himself.

  ‘I’m a socialist and proud of it.’

  There were cheers of support from around the chamber. The mayor barked for quiet. Rab carried on.

  ‘I will have no part in a war that kills and maims my fellow comrades - men who are working for a better world for all humanity, no matter what their nationality. I belong to an international brotherhood and do not accept the boundaries that the imperialist rulers of Europe impose on us.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ someone shouted.

  ‘This war is being waged by militarists who are using it as an excuse to curb workers’ rights - our hard-won rights. They seek to control us in the factories and the mines …’

  There were louder cheers and clapping from all around the chamber.

  ‘I’ll not sit here and listen to this Red propaganda!’ the major exploded.

  The mayor raised his hand. ‘Any more noise from the public, I’ll clear the chamber. Get to the point, MacRae.’

  ‘I refuse to take any part in this war, or help in any way towards its prosecution,’ Rab said stoutly. ‘I ask the tribunal for absolute exemption on grounds of conscience.’

  A ripple of approval went through the crowd.

  ‘Are you a Christian?’ the retired policeman asked.

  ‘No, I’m a socialist and atheist.’

  ‘Then how can you claim conscientious objection?’

  ‘On political not religious grounds,’ Rab said calmly.

  ‘Exemption’s only allowed for strong religious or moral reasons,’ his questioner pointed out.

  ‘Socialist morals are the strongest kind,’ Rab quipped. ‘I’ll recite you the Socialist Ten Commandments if you like.’

  ‘He’s wasting our time!’ the major cried. ‘This man’s a born troublemaker - he’s well known for his sedition.’

  ‘Where were you born?’ asked the mayor.

  ‘County Durham.’

  ‘So you are a native of England. Why won’t you fight for England?’

  ‘My country is the world,’ Rab cried dramatically. Then with a twitch of a smile added, ‘I just happen to be born in Gateshead.’

  Laughter came from the back.

  ‘Have you no loyalty to your country?’ Major James snapped.

  ‘My loyalty is to the international working class.’ Rab was stubborn. ‘To all those denied a proper life - those summoned to die in war for the very system of which they are the victims. So I’ll not kill German workers.’

  ‘But they’re fighting England,’ the retired inspector retorted. ‘Fighting you.’

  Rab raised a quizzical brow. ‘Think you must be mistaken. I don’t remember my name coming up in the German Reichstag.’

  The major thumped the table. ‘Your disloyalty is treasonable! A man who thinks so little of his country he puts the Hun first is beyond contempt.’

  ‘The Ninth Commandment,’ Rab recited. ‘“Do not think that he who loves his own country must hate and despise other nations or wish for war. That is the remnant of barbarism.”’ He glanced around him and caught Emmie’s eye. ‘I love the place where I live and the people I live among. No one has more passion for them than me.’ Turning back to face the major, he declared, ‘I will fight for these things, not with guns and bayonets, but with words and actions. I look for the day when we will all be free citizens of one country - the world - living together as brothers and sisters in peace.’ He smiled. ‘That’s the Socialist Tenth Commandment, by the way.’

  People jumped up, cheering and clapping.

  ‘Silence!’ the mayor shouted. Conferring quickly with the others, he stood up. ‘Mr MacRae, your claim is disallowed. You will report to barracks for duty as summoned. Clear the room.’

  There was uproar among his supporters and shouts of, ‘Shame!’ Jonas and his friends burst into a rendition of ‘The Red Flag’. They were jostled towards the door.

  Rab raised his voice above the din. ‘I do not recognise the right of this tribunal to judge my conscience or send me to war. Conscription is wrong!’ he shouted. ‘Introduce it, and a Kaiser or tsar is not far behind.’

  ‘Get him out!’ thundered the major.

  Two policemen manhandled Rab out of the room, still protesting he would appeal. Major James leaned over as he passed and hissed, ‘I’ll make sure you’re on a ship to France before any bloody appeal, you traitor!’

  Emmie and her friends hurried out after Rab, euphoric at his stirring speech.

  Jonas clapped his son on the back. ‘I’m proud of you, laddie. Couldn’t have put it any better. Keep your spirits up.’

  But as they dispersed into the drabness of the March afternoon, their mood deflated. Rab had lost his case. An appeal would just be a delaying tactic, for tribunals were filled by men who supported the war.

  Back at the Settlement, Flora rallied them. ‘We’ll appeal to the Central Tribunal in London. The NCF there can help put up a good case. This is
n’t over by any means.’

  But Rab’s military papers came the next day, ordering him to report to barracks in Newcastle.

  ‘I see the hand of my father in this,’ Charles said angrily. ‘To come so quickly…’

  Rab ignored the orders. As they waited tensely for him to be arrested, Emmie tried to change his mind.

  ‘Let the Runcies get you away from here,’ she pleaded. ‘You can help fight this war from abroad. And it’s one less man who they can force to do their wicked work.’

  His smile was strained. ‘They cannot force me to do anything.’ He took her hand. ‘Emmie, what you and the others do here is just as important. You can persuade the waverers to resist, encourage them to go to tribunal. You have no idea what a strength it was to me just to know you were sitting there in that courtroom, willing me on.’

  ‘But it didn’t do any good,’ Emmie said in frustration.

  ‘Aye, it did,’ Rab insisted, gripping her hand. ‘The memory will keep me strong when I’m gone from here.’

  The next day, a sergeant came to arrest him for failing to appear at the barracks. It was early morning and he hardly had time to hug his friends goodbye. Rab was bundled into a truck and taken away.

  Seeing how bereft Emmie was, Flora encouraged her to return to Crawdene and Barny.

  ‘We’ll send word if we hear anything. You should be with your family.’

  ‘But you need help here,’ Emmie protested half-heartedly.

  ‘You can come back soon,’ Flora suggested. ‘Bring Barny too. We’ll keep pressing for Rab’s appeal.’

  Emmie returned to Crawdene. When Barny rushed to the door at sight of her and threw himself into her arms, the soreness in Emmie’s heart eased. She clutched the boy to her fiercely and covered him in kisses.

  ‘By heck, I’ve missed you! I’m not letting you out me sight again,’ she promised.

  Chapter 22

  Rab spent a night in a punishment cell, sleeping on a stone shelf, then was moved to a large cellar with other prisoners, all sharing a wooden stage as a bed. He recognised the young postman, Laurie Bell, from the tribunal, looking pale and frightened.

  The other prisoners abused them. ‘Another conchie. Bloody cowards!’

  At night, they crowded around the two of them while one prisoner baited them.

  ‘Makes me sick, the pair of you. I’m not sharing a bed with scum like you.’ He punched Laurie in the stomach.

  Rab put himself between them. ‘Leave the lad alone, he’s doing you no harm.’

  ‘No harm? It’s filth like him would have us overrun by Germans,’ the prisoner spat at him. ‘Hope they shoot you bastards.’

  The other men grew belligerent too, until the sergeant came in and ordered them all to lie down. They refused to let Rab and Laurie sleep on the communal mattress and they curled up as best they could on the cold stone floor.

  Rab put an arm about the younger man and whispered, ‘Courage, brother.’

  In the morning, an officer marched in and ordered them to attention. They all jumped up, apart from Rab.

  ‘Fall in, man, you’re in the army now,’ the officer barked.

  Rab continued to sit on the floor. Laurie hovered beside him, wondering what to do. The other prisoners watched with interest.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rab said calmly, ‘but I’m not ganin’ to obey any military orders. I’m a conscientious objector.’

  There was a stunned silence, then Laurie sat down beside him. ‘Me neither,’ he muttered.

  The officer looked at them in dismay. After an embarrassed pause, he cleared his throat. ‘It’s back in the punishment cells for you - bread and water rations.’ He turned and abruptly left.

  One of the prisoners burst out laughing. ‘By heck, did you see his face? Never seen anything like it.’ He went over and offered Rab a swig of tea.

  The tension dissolved and some of the men began to ask Rab about his opinions. Even the ringleader grudgingly admitted, ‘Not such a yellow-belly after all. You’ll be for it now, mind.’

  In the middle of the discussion, the sergeant and a private returned and hauled Rab and Laurie off to the cells. After two days of refusing to put on uniform, undergo medicals or obey any orders, they were shoved into a van and taken to the railway station under armed guard.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Laurie asked nervously. He was paler than ever after two nights in the cold cell. He had kept Rab awake with singing hymns to lift his spirits.

  No one would answer his question as they were locked into a goods van among crates of live chickens. After two hours on the jolting train, they were joined by others. Squeezed into the cramped carriage, they swapped stories. These other men were COs from the barracks at Richmond in Yorkshire. They were being taken south, but no one knew where.

  The train journey seemed endless. Somewhere, after dark, they stopped and the chickens were unloaded. The men waited around on the chilly platform and then were transferred on to another train. Their guards ignored their attempts to chat. Eventually, the next day, tired and hungry, they disembarked at a busy station and were marched through the town. There were more than two dozen of them.

  One man lifted his head and said, ‘I can smell the sea.’

  For the first time, Rab felt a real stab of unease. Major Oliphant’s threat came back to him. I’ll make sure you’re on a ship to France before any bloody appeal.

  But, he puzzled, why would they be rushing a group of untrained COs straight to the Western Front? They would be more hindrance than help. More likely they were on their way to some work camp.

  They were taken to a makeshift barracks, once a school, and given a blanket each out of which to make a bed. They were largely left to fend for themselves. Over several days they were joined by a trickle of others until there were nearly forty in all. Rab recognised an older man, a miner from Chopwell who was in the ILP. He felt heartened just to hear the familiar accent.

  ‘I’ve been talking to that young ‘un.’ The miner nodded at one of the guards. ‘He let slip there’s a ship waiting for us. But there’s been an outbreak of measles among the crew. That’s why we’re not already on our way to France.’

  ‘What are they up to?’ Rab asked.

  The other man looked troubled. ‘I think they want to make an example of us, that’s what. If we disobey orders here in England, the worst they can do is chuck us in solitary. Over there, you get shot.’

  Rab stared at him. But why was he so shocked? They were living under virtual military rule, every area of their lives ordered by the State and subject to draconian powers.

  Rab answered with a grim smile, ‘Well, we must have got them worried if they’re ganin’ to this much trouble to get rid of us, eh?’

  ‘We need to get the word out,’ his friend urged, ‘before we sail.’

  ***

  Charles and Flora first read the rumours in the Manchester Guardian. A group of COs were being sent hastily to the front by the War Office. The only explanation could be that they were to be court-martialled for refusing to carry out orders, and executed.

  ‘Rab could be one of them,’ Flora cried. ‘We have no idea where they’ve taken him. No way of finding out!’

  Charles said quietly, ‘Maybe there is.’

  He left for Blackton Heights that morning on Flora’s bicycle. He had to dismount for the final mile, uphill to his old home, panting with the effort. The sight of thousands of daffodils bending in the breeze all the way up the drive gave him a surge of unexpected pleasure. He had forgotten the beauty of this place.

  It was the cook who answered the door, flustered at the sight of him and the rusty bicycle.

  ‘Half the staff has left, Master Charles. Major’s out on business. Is it Ma’am you want to see? Miss Sophie’s here too. Terrible about the captain.’

  Charles nodded. ‘I’ll see myself up, Mrs Drake.’

  Knocking on his mother’s door, Charles let himself in quietly. His mother was sewing by the window; Sophie was j
iggling a solid baby on her knee. The women were dressed in black.

  They looked at him as if he were a ghost. His mother dropped her sewing.

  ‘Charles, dearest…’ She held out her arms.

  Sophie clutched her infant, and eyed him coldly as he kissed their mother. She turned her cheek away when he tried to greet her too.

  ‘And this is young Arthur?’ Charles smiled. ‘What a splendid boy.’ He tickled the baby’s chin. ‘I’m so sorry about his father, Sophie,’ he added. ‘I pray for you and the boy daily.’

  ‘I don’t want your prayers, Charles,’ she said bitterly, ‘or your pity.’ Their mother murmured an admonishment but Sophie ignored her. ‘Why are you here? Begging on behalf of your precious conchies?’

  Charles flinched. ‘Just one, actually. Rab MacRae.’

  He saw the colour rise in his sister’s cheeks. ‘Finally got the call-up, has he?’

  ‘He may be one of several dozen being sent illegally to France,’ Charles said. ‘His appeal is still pending, yet the military have arrested him. I think Papa has something to do with it.’

  Sophie jiggled her baby more vigorously. ‘Good job too. Men like him should be made to do their bit for their country.’

  ‘Not against their conscience,’ Charles said quietly.

  ‘Poppycock!’ Sophie shouted. The baby began to cry.

  Charles held out his arms. ‘May I take him?’ he smiled.

  Sophie hesitated, and then handed over the whimpering boy. Charles walked up and down, crooning and chatting to his nephew. Sophie watched them, realising with a pang that her brother was never likely to be a father.

  ‘Why do you think Papa would know where Rab MacRae is?’ she asked.

  Charles stopped and looked at her. ‘Because he was on Rab’s tribunal - made sure he was refused even non-combatant duties. Not that Rab would have accepted those either.’

  ‘No,’ Sophie agreed, allowing herself a rueful smile.

  ‘Papa threatened Rab at the tribunal that he would get him to France before any appeal. I think his life is in great danger - and Papa is responsible. If we can at least find out where they are being held, we can stop them being shipped. Once they get to France, it may be out of anyone’s hands.’ He looked appealingly at his sister. ‘You could ask for me. You’re the only one he ever listens to.’