Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  ‘I’m going to walk Anne home, Mum.’

  His mother nodded and gave Anne big hug.

  ‘I’m sorry for tonight,’ she said. ‘Please don’t be a stranger, you brighten up our house.’

  Anne was flattered by the comment, and at a loss for words. So she nodded and said her goodbyes.

  Outside, the mid-autumn evening was cool. There was a slight breeze as there always was in Liverpool, focused up the hills that surrounded the river Mersey. Stars were beginning to peek out from the heavens and only a few clouds darkened the already blackening sky.

  Joe took off his coat and wrapped it around Anne as they walked up the hill with slow steps.

  ‘I’m sorry about tonight,’ he said. ‘About my father and the awkwardness.’

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t need to apologise. Knowing how passionate you are, I could only imagine that your father would be the same. You both have very strong opinions. It’s just a shame that they seem to be polar opposites. I think it’s good for you to have someone to play devil’s advocate. It keeps you in your place.’

  She smiled a cheeky smile at him, and he forgot his seriousness, laughing.

  ‘I think you’re mocking me.’

  ‘Only slightly.’ She smiled again. ‘Your father isn’t entirely wrong, you know.’

  ‘I know. But I also know that I can’t condone taking life. No matter how well mannered others think it might be. We only have one life, and so many are being cut needlessly short.’

  ‘If you can’t take another man’s life, then you could always do something else to help. They’re always asking for stretcher-bearers, or medical orderlies. That way you would be helping people, not killing them.’

  He stopped dead in his tracks. She sensed his lack of motion and turned around.

  ‘What difference does it make?’ he said. ‘Whatever I do will condone and continue the war. It’s all part of the “war effort”. The best thing I can do is oppose it, then perhaps people will start to listen and understand that it’s wrong. Do we have to argue about this? I’ve had enough arguing for one evening.’

  ‘I’m not arguing, Joe. I’m just worried about you.’

  She started walking again, eager to get home before the night got too cold, and too dark. ‘Very soon they’re going to make everyone fight, and what will happen to you then? At least if you chose another path you would avoid that.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said as he followed. ‘I guess I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. There’s no use worrying about it now and spoiling the time we have together with arguments. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I keep telling you not to apologise, you don’t need to be sorry for anything. I’m an adult, I can argue with the best of them. Let’s just enjoy our time together, before the world explodes.’

  He turned her head to face him and kissed her. He thought she might resist, but instead she leaned into him and pulled him closer. He held her close for a few minutes, feeling her warmth against him and drowning in her scent. He wished he could hold on to that moment forever, but he knew that it wouldn’t last.

  Chapter 26

  The door to the estaminet jingled every time someone entered, and each time some of the soldiers inside would start at the noise, their eyes darting around for danger. George had got used to it, and for some unknown reason, its quaintness reminded him of home. The same couldn’t be said for the others. One man had once asked the owner to take down the bell, but the little couple that owned the place had just stared at him, uncomprehending. The soldiers in the cafe had laughed at him and told him to sit down. Instead he had left, rather than be humiliated. A little French went a long way out here, and not for the first time George wished he had bothered to learn some. Tom claimed he was fluent, but George was sure that every word out of his mouth was nonsense, and he had never heard him speak it to a Frenchman.

  Tom took a drag on his cigarette and blew smoke out in George’s direction, who tried hard not to cough. He still hadn’t got used to smoking, and the estaminet was heavy with it. Smoke hung around the ceiling like miniature clouds.

  ‘Ah, it’s good to be back in civilisation,’ Tom said, between bouts of smoking. For the first time in what seemed like months, his characteristic grin was plastered back on his face, and it made George smile to see it. He nodded his assent and took another swig of the pale Belgian beer. It was nothing like what they got at home, but it was pleasant. It had more kick to it than the beer back home, and he had seen more than one man drink too much of it in the short time they had spent in the town. Some of them had been late for training, with terrible hangovers, and the Sergeant-Majors hadn’t been best pleased. So far, George had managed to avoid punishment, and he now took each sip with care, trying not to drink the stuff like it was water.

  ‘I’m just glad we didn’t have to wrestle for a billet again,’ he said.

  The town had afforded far more places to billet than the village they had been assigned to before, and they hadn’t seen any sign of the Londoners since their last encounter. Their section had been billeted in a disused warehouse, which the sappers had come in and prepared for use. For the first time in almost a year they had bunks to sleep in, and a healthy supply of rations. For the first time in months they had clean clothes, and they had managed to get rid of the lice. It had only been a few days since they had been brought out of the line, but it felt good.

  ‘You can say that again, George. I thought that bloody barn would be the death of me.’

  George couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s swearing. They’d both picked up some of the traits of soldiers, the language being one of them. ‘Good thing the Sergeant came along when he did, I say. Still, he’s gone and left us now. He thinks he’s too good for us, that one.’

  The officers and NCOs had their own estaminets further along the road, where they could socialise with men of their own rank and backgrounds. This one was for the rank and file, and if you didn’t already know when entering, you could tell from the smoke, the smell, and the bawdy singsong that went on in the corners – not to mention the run-down appearance and the peeling walls. In this town it was lucky that it still had a roof.

  George spared a thought for the poor couple that owned the place, who cowered behind their bar, scared witless of the British soldiers. At least they would be thankful for the income it brought them. On occasion French soldiers came in, and their faces lit up as if they were being saved, but the French were few and far between these days. They often found their own places to drink and relax and were often in different parts of the line.

  ‘You’re just jealous, Tom,’ George said, smiling at his friend to show he was joking. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be able to go up the road and drink with your people.’

  They both laughed and drank some more. George started to think that perhaps they were already drunker than they had thought. At least they weren’t singing yet, or worse. Some of the men from the section had got drunk and hitched lifts into Poperinge to see the sights. Word was that the main attractions were a number of choice brothels. There weren’t a lot of women left near the front line, and those that were had to work for their upkeep. It wasn’t something that George wanted to think about, and he didn’t doubt that the best women were kept for the officers. He couldn’t imagine the poor souls that provided their services for the men like him. He didn’t fancy trying to find a way back to his billet afterwards either.

  The door jingled again, taking George’s mind out of the gutter. As all eyes turned to the door, a man he recognised walked in, surrounded by a couple of other lads from a different regiment.

  George leaned over to Tom and poked his arm.

  ‘Ow, whaddya do that for?’ Tom slurred, his voice loud enough to be heard over the din.

  ‘Shh,’ George said. ‘That man that just walked in, I recognise him from somewhere, but I can’t place where.’

  ‘Him?’ Tom looked over, with bloodshot eyes. He took another drag of hi
s cigarette to calm himself. ‘’E’s from the one fifth. Look at his sleeve. Fine bunch of lads, but not as good as Adams’ Army. Hah.’

  George thought for a moment.

  ‘One fifth? Wasn’t that where Patrick and Harry ended up? Wonder if he knows them?’

  ‘Why don’t we find out?’

  Tom stood up before George could stop him by dragging his arm back down.

  ‘Hey, lads.’ He waved. ‘Why don’t ya come and join us? Plenty of room over here for a bunch o’ Scousers.’

  The three men looked at each other and shrugged. Picking up their glasses from the counter, they came and sat with Tom and George. George shuffled to the side as they sat down, giving them more room, but instead making it feel like an interrogation panel. He tried to shuffle his stool back without them noticing.

  ‘All right, lads,’ the obvious leader of the pack said. His long face had a pale complexion, made even paler by his black hair. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, as if telling you a secret. A scar went from the opposite side of his mouth up to his ear. ‘One for home?’ He raised a glass to emphasise the toast.

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Tom said, and took a long swig of his drink before the others could catch up. They all laughed together.

  ‘Name’s Edward. I haven’t seen you lads in here before.’ He shook both their hands, introducing the other two men as Stan and Bill Flannigan, brothers. On closer inspection they looked remarkably alike, not quite twins, but close enough to know that they were related. Except one of them had a heavy, broken, boxer’s nose. Going by his broken-toothed smile, he wasn’t afraid of a fight.

  George wondered at the consequences of two brothers signing up at the same time. Would he and Joe have fought well together, if things had been different? He very much doubted they’d be sat at the same table enjoying a pint together with strangers.

  ‘We only got up here the day before yesterday,’ George said before introducing himself and Tom. ‘Took us some time to get our bearings.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you Rifles were out here. Thought you were still back home. We’ve been out here since February. We were freezing our arses off back then, I don’t mind telling you, but it’s even worse now. This winter is gonna be bloody terrible.’

  ‘I fuckin’ hate winter,’ Stan added and the others laughed at the obvious in-joke between them.

  ‘We must have come out here only a few days after your mob then,’ George said, trying to be a part of the conversation, whilst wanting to steer it in the direction he intended.

  ‘A couple of our mates were serving with you.’ Tom jumped straight in, in his drunken state lacking the tact the George was trying to employ.

  ‘Oh right,’ Edward said. ‘Well, we are the best battalion in the entire bloody army.’ They laughed again, still good-natured despite the provocative statement.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, lad.’ Tom grinned back at them, enjoying the banter that they had been missing in their time in the trench. It was almost as good as having Patrick and Harry there, but it wasn’t quite the real thing.

  ‘I fought with some of your lads at Loos,’ George said and regretted it. The faces of Edward and the Flannigans dropped to their drinks, the good-natured conversation dissolving.

  ‘Aye, that was a bad one,’ Edward said after a long, awkward silence. ‘We lost a lot of good lads in that one. The Hun took a heavy toll, for sure.’ The three of them took another drink and Edward sighed. ‘No doubt we’ll be back down the line again soon, and back into the shit.’

  Edward drained the last of his drink and waved the young waitress over. She wasn’t much more than a teenager, and, George guessed, the owner’s daughter, but still many of the men eyed her with lust. Her blonde hair ran in ringlets down her shoulders, and she had wide, scared eyes. The owner of the estaminet looked over at his daughter, and a frown crossed his features, before another soldier at the bar took his attention.

  ‘Five more beers, s’il vous plaît,’ Edward said, his eyes still on the table. ‘Or whatever you call them here.’

  He didn’t speak again until she returned with the glasses of smooth blond liquid, frothing just at the top.

  ‘Let’s drink to better times, lads. Soon, we go back into the line, but now, we drink!’

  He beamed at George and Tom, then pressed the glass to his lips. He purred in enjoyment at the taste of the beer, overdoing it slightly and letting some drip down his cheeks, which he wiped off with the sleeve of his smock.

  Tom wouldn’t be appeased. He had gained focus in the conversation and the topic brought him to the edge of sobriety.

  ‘Do you know anything about our mates, lad?’ he asked. ‘Paddy and Harry. Have you seen them about? Know anything about them? You must have seen them.’

  Edward and the others stared with blank expressions; no recognition crossed their faces, and once again they just looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Sorry, lad. Those names don’t ring a bell.’

  ‘Sorry,’ George said. ‘Their surnames are O’Brien and Williams, both privates as far as we know.’

  Edward slowly put down his fresh glass and looked at the Flannigans, then down at his glass. He took a long drink, refusing to meet George’s eyes.

  ‘Old friends of yours, were they?’ Edward said at length.

  George nodded, noticing Edward’s use of past tense for his friends. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m sorry, lads.’ Edward looked to the Flannigans for support, but none was forthcoming. ‘Paddy was it? Private O’Brien got it up around Ypres during the summer. I wasn’t there at the time, but you hear things, ya know? He never came back from a raid. Most of his section did, but said that they hadn’t seen him on the way back. Your other friend, Harry? He went pretty mad. Was desperate to go out and find the other lad, the Sergeant had to stop him and hold him back.’

  Edward sighed.

  ‘All the fight went out of him after that. He didn’t speak to anyone and kept himself to himself. He was blown up along with half his section at Loos, it was a wonder we got any of them out of there, they were pretty roughed up. Look, I’m sorry, lads. I truly am.’

  Tom put his head in his hands, covering his eyes. George wanted to put out a hand to console him but knew it wouldn’t help. He wanted someone to do the same for him, but also knew that it wouldn’t take the pain away. They had lost their friends, and hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. It felt like he had been shot through the heart. Butterflies flew around in his stomach, and he felt sick. It was his and Tom’s fault that they had signed up. They had died, but Tom and George were still here. It seemed unfair somehow, and he wished he could do something now to have made them stay at home. They didn’t have to come, they signed up to be with their mates and they hadn’t even been assigned to the same regiment.

  Tom stood up with a dragging of wood on the floor, and the chair fell backwards. He didn’t try to catch it, just let it fall. He walked away from the table without saying anything, whilst fumbling to light a cigarette. The door jingled again, as he wrenched it open and walked out.

  George was unsure what to say. ‘Sorry,’ was all he could manage, as he too got up and crossed the room. The cold hit him as he opened the door, and he pulled his greatcoat around him. It was trying to snow, small specks of white floating around in the air, but never quite seeming to make the ground. He searched for Tom in the darkness. There was no electric lighting. He saw his silhouette walking down the main road already several paces ahead of him.

  ‘Tom,’ he shouted. ‘Tom, wait for me.’

  The figure didn’t stop, but he was sure it was Tom; there was no one else around. No one but a soldier would dare venturing out in the darkness and the cold, and the rest of them were drinking their night away in the estaminets.

  He ran to catch up with Tom. Once, the exertion would have left him out of breath, but after months of training he was fit enough that it was little effort. He reached out to Tom’s shoulder to drag him back
and stop him, but Tom shrugged him off.

  ‘Leave me, George.’ He kept on walking. ‘I just want some time to myself, all right? Just some time.’

  George stopped, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t seen Tom like this before. The change in character scared him. He didn’t want to leave Tom alone in the dark, but at least he was walking back in the direction of their billet. He was left with the choice of going back to the estaminet or going back to the billet himself. The hour was quite late, and he was getting tired, although it felt good to be free from army life if only for a few hours. He stood there in indecision, his head moving from side to side, up and down the street as the snow fell, as Tom’s silhouette disappeared off into the distance.

  He didn’t much fancy going back to the estaminet and explaining to Edward and the others what had happened. He had only just met them and knew it would be awkward; in fact he hoped that he never saw them again. On second thoughts, he had had enough to drink. He didn’t like the prospect of waking up at reveille for another training session for the next big push with a splitting hangover. An early night might do him some good.

  So, he would have to follow Tom, even though he had asked to be left alone. George would leave him alone, following at a safe distance. At least that way he could make sure that Tom made it back to the billet.

  *

  George ducked under the wooden joist to get to where a small parapet was cut out from the firing step, having just come back from the latrine. He could still smell the stench on him. The on-duty soldiers often used the parapet as a space to get out of the rain, and today was no different. Except this time, it was the threat of snow sticking to your face and reducing your body temperature down to a dangerous degree. Tom was already huddled there with his coat wrapped under him and his knees brought up to his chest. George handed him a brew, which Tom took, nodding at him and saying nothing, before sitting down next to his friend. Tom hadn’t said much to George in the few days since the estaminet, except for the odd ‘good morning’, and other pleasantries. Tom hadn’t been cold towards George; he just didn’t seem to have too much to say at the moment. Speaking of cold, it was too cold to speak now, and George didn’t dare open his mouth in case his teeth began chattering again.