Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) (26 page)

‘What’ve you done – shot the cat thinking it was a trench rat?’

‘No. Nothing so simple. At first it was just shock at seeing how much the kids have changed. Our Edward was about five inches taller and I felt a real sod seeing him going out on his job straight after school and at weekends. I don’t know where they would have been without him because he’s been bringing loads of end-of-the-day stuff home from the greengrocers where he works.’

‘It’s been very handy,’ agreed Liam. ‘Laura’s been giving Brig quite a bit of it, which has helped. And your Edward has been taking our Billy over to the railway sidings collecting coal that has fallen off the wagons. There’s a place near Oldfield Road that your Edward knows about where the trains always get stopped and it usually shakes a bit off. They take your Ben with them to dog out and watch for the nightwatchman or the police. I told our Billy, if he gets caught, to tell them that they are just tidying up.’

Edward laughed at the idea of a couple of little urchins, their faces, hands and clothes covered in coal dust, trying to convince a policeman that they were just keeping the place clean.

‘It was young Laura as well,’ he said, ‘She’d grown into a little lady while I’ve been away. She’s the spitting image of her mother at that age. She was just a little ‘un when we left and now she’s cleaning the house and cooking the meals. She wasn’t yet seven when I last saw her and now she’s ten going on twenty. And the young ones have changed so much. Even little Mary was running around and being a right little devil.’

Liam winced. ‘Oh. Sorry mate’ Edward said. ‘That was a bit thoughtless.’

‘It’s ok,’ Liam said quietly, ‘I’ve got my head sorted now. It was hard at first. Our house seemed full of empty spaces where Lizzie should be, and it just broke me up. I couldn’t cope with it. Everything was just going on as normal but she was missing.’

‘That must have been tough, mate. Your family have had the time to get used to it, perhaps, but you expected things to be just the same as when you left.’

‘Aye, I did. But it’s a bit more than that. Brig is just so controlled and calm about everything. I wanted to shout my bloody head off and batter something – for her as well as me. One night, the quiet was driving me mad. I started pounding the wall and yelling at Him upstairs.’

‘You must have frightened the life out of Florrie Hardcastle next door.’

‘Probably,’ Liam smiled. ‘It’s a good job that Brig came down and stopped me. Gave me a big cuddle. Said she was sorry she’d not talked about Lizzie but she didn’t know where to start. She told me how the poor little mite had suffered and that I wouldn’t have been able to do anything for her. She said that it was God’s will and that she is safe now with Him.’

‘She has a lot of faith, Bridget,’ Edward offered supportively. ‘It must be a big help in times like these.’

‘Yeh. She copes with things better than I ever could.’

‘Have you had a walk up to Weaste cemetery yet?’

‘Aye. Next morning,’ Liam answered, shuddering slightly as the memory came back. ‘Brig said that I had to go and see her – to put her to rest, like. It was hard, Eddie. When I saw her name on the stone I was wailing like an old widder woman.’

Edward tried to break the sombre mood of his friend. ‘The gravediggers probably thought it was the Liverpool train going through.’

‘Hmm. I perhaps should have gone down to the pub at the corner. They call it the ‘Widow’s Rest’.’

‘I’d have been there with you,’ said Edward morosely. ‘I spent half my time standing at the rails on Trafford Road corner talking to the lads off the Docks.’

‘Why?’ Liam queried, ‘Couldn’t you settle? Have you started prowling around like Ninepence Nellie waiting for a customer? You must be missing all the excitement we’ve been having in France.’

‘It’s the change in diet, more likely,’ retorted Edward. ‘I’ve not had any bully beef for over two weeks now.’

‘So why was you out resting the rails every day?’

‘I don’t know,’ Edward said hesitantly. ‘It was strange. I just didn’t feel as though I belonged. Not that they weren’t all welcoming and pleased to see me. I couldn’t have asked for better. I just felt a bit like a lodger. Laura even had to tell our Edward to give up my chair because that’s where he sits now.’

‘You’re right. But we’ve got to try to understand.’ Liam spoke thoughtfully. ‘It’s nearly three years that we’ve been away and we’ve all changed. We think that we have been to Hell and back but so, in a different way, have they. They’ve had to manage on next to nowt and bring the kids up as best they can. They’ve had the worry of keeping a roof over their heads and taking stuff into ‘three balls Isaac’s’ to pay the rent. The postman comes in the morning and they don’t know if it’s a letter from us telling them about sunny Egypt or if it’s a ‘KIA’ from our CO telling them that we’d fought like heroes but we’d snuffed it instantly. They’ve had to take charge Eddie. We’ve not been there to whitewash the backyard and to sweep the chimney. And we’ve not even been there to tip up a wage packet.’

‘Aye, you’re right. I’ve been a bit of an inconsiderate sod. But I didn’t know how to handle it.’

 ‘I wouldn’t have done either. But I was so messed up about Lizzie that it forced me and Brig together.’

The screeching brakes of the slowing train roused the pair from their torment. The first few signs announcing the name of the station passed in a blur before they had chance to read them but, as the speed reduced, they saw that they were easing their way slowly into Crewe station. Doors flew open then crashed to, people shouted and porters trundled trolleys stacked high with suitcases down the platform of the cavernous, steamy station. A rotund, red faced man with a black, peaked cap and a white, shiny patch on his waistcoat above the pocket that carried his fob-watch walked in a self-important gait down the platform. Liam established from him, after two consultations with the tightly embraced watch, that the train would not be departing for another thirty eight minutes.

He turned to Edward. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘If you think that you have made a cobblers of things at home, you can buy me a cup of tea and I will tell you about Big Charlie. He’s already back in France but he’s left a right bugger’s muddle behind him in Salford.’

‘Just give me ten minutes and I’ll be with you,’ Edward said as he walked towards the waiting room.

***

Liam told Edward that the police had generously waited whilst their friend finished his beer before removing him to the station to discuss things quietly. Next morning, the magistrate, showing only the faintest hint of a smile, had ordered that Big Charlie, in recognition of the circumstances of the case and the service that he, Big Charlie, had already rendered to the Country, should be put on the next available train and sent back to rejoin his battalion in France.

***

Railway Station

Crewe

18
^th
April 1917

My Darling,

I’m writing you a quick note before we carry on down to Folkestone for the boat because my head has been spinning all the way down here trying to think why things didn’t seem right between us whilst I’ve been home on leave. I suppose the problem was with me so I want to say that I am truly sorry if I have hurt you in any way.

Everything seemed so different even though it was basically just the same. It’s difficult to put my finger on it but I felt sometimes as though I didn’t belong any more. I felt as though there was a gulf between us and I couldn’t get to you and share things with you the same way. Even the kids seemed to treat me as though I was a stranger at times. And there was that time when I was asking Laura about her schooling and she said that she was taking her tests for the High School next year. I thought that it was right to encourage her and tell her that it would be good for her to go and you turned round and told her not to be wasting her time getting fancy ideas like that. Don’t we both want the best that we can for our kids?

I’m sorry if this is sounding a bit stupid and I should have talked about it when I was there but I just didn’t know, and still don’t, what has gone wrong. It just seemed hard to talk about things. I think that you must think that I have been up to something because I didn’t want to talk about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing but it’s nothing like that. There are things going on in this war that have no place in the home – not in ours, at least. I suppose that, perhaps, I am almost a bit ashamed of some of the stuff that goes on but it’s nothing against you. When this is all over with, it’s best to lock all these things away and throw the key in the bin.

I know that I kept going out a lot and that didn’t help but I just couldn’t settle. I felt like a lodger in my own house and at the same time it kept going round in my head that there was still a job to do out there that’s not finished yet.

I’m worried sick that something has changed and that you don’t want me in your life anymore. Now I am going away again and I should have got this sorted out before I left. But if that’s the case then it’s best that you just tell me so that I don’t keep making a fool of myself. I pray to God that things will be alright between us.

I’m sorry if I have hurt you in some way. You’ll have to forgive me for being just a clumsy soldier.

I love you so much I cannot tell you,

Eddie

Chapter 13

Epehy, France May 1917

Edward stared disconsolately out at the strangely beautiful landscape in front of him and pulled deeply and frequently on the cigarette that he held. The sun was now shining and the days were hot. The warm weather had raised the spirits of most of the soldiers, helping them to shake off the debilitating lethargy resulting from the long period of heavy rain. The fields were still fractured and the villages still crumbled but they had been able to carry out much essential repair work to roads, bridges and rail links and this was greatly appreciated by the locals.

The sun-baked earth around the rim of the shell craters was almost dazzlingly white and formed an exotic, sinewy pattern that snaked through the fields. Blossom was shining defiantly on the remaining half of a riven tree and vegetation was thrusting bravely through the battered ground all round the craters. Within the mouths of the gaping holes, tufts of weeds and previous crops made vivid splashes amidst the grey earth but Edward knew that this was a gross parody. From his position on the firing step he could see decaying limbs protruding from the soil. In one crater he could see a detached head, an eerie smile crossing its face as the hot sun dried the unnourished skin.

Across the fields, the trees in the woods had been stripped of their branches and stood in naked defiance, erect and proud, like darkened chimneys in a mill town landscape. A zig-zag trench cut into the ground in front of the woods hid the waiting and watching enemy soldiers.

On most nights they went out on patrols around this no-man’s land to repair damage done to the wire barricades by enemy shelling and to gather information about the activities of the German troops. One night they had gone within yards of the opposition trenches and had lobbed in grenades in the hope of silencing a troublesome trench mortar. On other occasions small groups went out to attack a German trench position and to attempt to bring back some live prisoners. Many times, on these patrols, Edward had seen that these gaping holes carried the grim relics of this horrendous war. Lying in the mud at the bottom he had often seen the bodies of both British and German soldiers, grotesquely intertwined like executed lovers. His stomach had heaved when he had seen the rats tearing at the rotting flesh. On some trips they had managed to rescue wounded comrades who they had found lying helpless as rats chewed on their still living bodies. At other times the bayonet had been the only relief that they could offer.

He listened to a cuckoo calling in the shredded remains of the distant woods and wondered how it had managed to survive the bombardments that had devastated the area over the last couple of years.

He was still deeply troubled about his relationship with Laura and thought constantly about why things had suddenly seemed to go so wrong. He had now talked to a number of his friends who had also just come back from leave and they mostly had experienced similar difficulties. His anguish was deepened, however, by the fact that he had not yet had a reply to the note that he had eventually posted to her from Folkestone. Each day that went by without a letter confirmed even more deeply his worst fear.  Laura’s feelings for him had changed.

His mind had already started developing scenarios in which he could try to repair this damage, but the problem was that he still barely understood how it had occurred. Now he was also worrying about whether he had been right to accept the promotion to Lance Corporal that had been offered to him that morning. When he had been told to report to the headquarters office set up in a nearby chateau he had braced himself for bad news. That’s all you ever got, bad news. There was never anything good to tell you when you went up to HQ. It was either that something had gone wrong at home or it was an army matter and that was never pleasant. He remembered how some soldiers from another Battalion had been called to the office only to be told that they were to form a firing squad for a deserter. It was a Northern lad who’d fought bravely for two years but after enduring the carnage of the Somme his nerve had finally cracked and he walked off to go home to his Mam. He was picked up three days later, half starved and delirious.

After his execution feelings had run high amongst the lower ranks of the British soldiers. There was overwhelming sympathy for the accused man and none at all for his accusers. The sentiments expressed were shared by all of them. These same people, who conducted the war from a very safe distance behind the front line, now also acted as the judge and jury. If that’s what they wanted to do then they should fire the bullets themselves. Instead they were putting the shame and the guilt on to ordinary working class blokes. When it’s their own kind that crack up they’re looked after. Look at those who are drinking whisky from the minute they get up and you see nothing of them when there’s any action. People like that bastard Fforbes-Fosdyke who, in a drunken state, had forgotten to take his foot out of the stirrup when he dismounted from his horse. They get a Blighty so they can go and convalesce in some posh hospital and have those toffee-nosed nurses wiping their brows and feeding them grapes. When it’s one of ours that cracks we get ordered to shoot the poor sod.