Together they picked him up off the gurney, and for some reason his body straightening up helped ease the coughs and the pressure on his chest. He gulped down some air, before they started moving. He saw a patina of concern cross the doctor’s features, and he watched as they dragged Joe away in the same way they had brought him in. It struck Joe as at odds with the doctor’s behaviour.
‘ Help!’ he wanted to shout. He was screaming within himself at a world that wouldn’t listen, banging in frustration at the edge of consciousness. Why wouldn’t anyone help? The doctor alone had the power to help Joe, but perhaps the prisoners weren’t the only ones trapped in the prison against their will.
They dragged him back out onto the gantry again, in the direction of his cell. The clanking of his boots against the metal flooring was comforting, like the clacking of a train against its rails.
He saw the small group of conscientious objectors going about their work, stitching together the sacking that would end up as sandbags. He was glad he had refused that work, but he didn’t condemn the others for it. They looked up as he passed and one of the men dropped his bag and needle, clutching a hand to his mouth. The others were just as shocked at Joe’s appearance, but then they were gone as they passed outside Joe’s field of vision.
He was almost thrown back into his cell, as the warders dropped him onto his hard pallet and retreated, locking the door behind them with a clang. He didn’t notice the pain of being dropped, over the other pains in his body screaming for attention.
He knew something was wrong. The feeding hadn’t gone as they had planned. He was still in so much pain, and his weak body wasn’t fighting anymore. His chest felt like it was encased in a vice, and he couldn’t breathe. Each breath was a shallow wheeze that caused more stabs of pain in his chest. It was like the feeling of needing to burp, and not being able to, but much more extreme. His lungs burnt with each breath, as he imagined a heavy smoker might feel.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. His vision had darkened, and even though he knew it was day it felt like night. His body wanted him to sleep and his eyelids became heavy with lethargy. He would never have dared sleep so much in his life before the prison. But it was all he had now. The prison and his objection had reduced him to this. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be immersed in the pain.
He knew then that he was dying. He hoped it was just melancholy, but his body betrayed the lie. Something had gone horribly wrong.
All was darkness.
1923
Acknowledgements
First I would like to thank my parents, without their love and support I would not have had the opportunity to write this novel, or be the person I am. I cannot thank them enough. Then I would like to thank my lovely editor Hannah Smith, Nia Beynon and everyone at HQ Digital/HarperCollins, who have been so welcoming and encouraging, and for having faith in this story; my tutors James Friel and Jeff Young on the MA in Writing at Liverpool John Moores University for everything they taught me, and giving me the confidence to write this novel; Rob Knipe, Laura Bennett, Reece Dinn, John Warner, Brett Janes and Adam Waller for reading early drafts and offering improvements; Carl Hellicar, for lending me piles of books about the First World War, and using his wealth of knowledge to make great suggestions; the staff at the Liverpool Central Library for showing me how to use the microfilm viewer and tolerating my presence during hours and hours of reading them; the staff at Caffé Nero Liverpool One for keeping me caffeinated; and everyone else who contributed in any small way, I’m eternally grateful. Thank you all so much.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading. I hope it meant as much to you as it did to me.
Ever since visiting the battlefields of Ypres and Northern France as an almost-teenager, I felt the need to write this story. Sitting in trenches that somehow still existed after almost a hundred years, and unexpectedly seeing several instances of my surname on the memorial at Thiepval, I couldn’t help but think of all the men that had fought and died there. There was a special feeling about those places, and it was overflowing with potential stories. The journey also included the last total eclipse of the sun seen in this part of Europe. To say the trip was special is an understatement.
It wasn’t until years later, while studying for my MA in Writing, that I gained the confidence to write the story. The more I researched, the more I realised how closely linked to the First World War the city of Liverpool was. Not only did many regiments leave from this very city to fight on the Western Front, and further afield, but many of the war’s Conscientious Objectors were imprisoned locally in Walton Prison.
The story of the Great War will never not be poignant, but I hope that by telling these stories we can learn from the lessons of our past.
Reviews mean so much to writers, I would be grateful if you could spare time to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads, and feel free to follow me on Twitter @MikeHollows
Thank you for reading.
Lest we forget.
Michael
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book – we hope you enjoyed it! If you did, we’d be so appreciative if you left a review.
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Goodbye for Now Page 39
