Regret to Inform You... (22 page)

It was Sparky Carey and his cart that took them from Rusfield with a large gathering of villagers waving farewell. A number of Union Jacks had suddenly appeared, most home-made, to be waved by the children. Arthur Windle went from man to man, shaking hands with each and giving a blessing. As he stopped and talked with Jack, the last of the six great friends, Arthur wished that he, too, was going with them. For the rest of his life, Abraham would remember his departing kiss from Grace; it caused a momentary doubt of what he was about to undertake.

In Steepleton there was a further health check, signing on and receipt of a basic food ration for the journey, then on to Paddington and Warminster. At each station a growing number of men, mainly young, joined them until there was little room left on the western-bound train. The reception at Warminster was swamped with large numbers of men each carrying bag, backpack or holiday case. The rough and tumble of over 1,000 men being moved in to regimental groups was clearly a challenge for the uniformed men, involving nearly one hundred of the Suffolks; the six Rusfield men managed to stay together.

Some London lads found Salisbury Plain frighteningly different to their home area, but to Jack it was not so different to his beloved Rusfield countryside; the emptiness and silence were just on a grander scale. The training immediately got underway and they were kept frenetically busy; the long marches each day carrying heavy packs were exhausting.
Blisters
became hardened skin and muscles toughened. Fred found the going harder than the other five, but their encouragement and his own determination got him through. After two weeks training they were adjudged ready to move on: Saturday, 22 August. It was a two-day march to Southampton and Jack was glad that his daily cycling from Rusfield to Steepleton had helped keep him fit. Most of the march was along roads, with the large contingent often having to move into the side as many vehicles were transferring provisions to the docks. The roads became more crowded as they got closer to their immediate destination.

Coming in sight of the great estuary, the number of ships amazed Jack. The whole place was alive with activity which at first seemed chaotic, yet must clearly have had a purpose. The vessel to which they were ordered was a passenger ship that had been taken out of a side dock just when its life expectancy had been thought to be over. Every square yard of the deck found men sitting and resting, most enjoying a welcome smoke.

Together again and along with some 2,000 others, the Rusfield six had embarked at nine o'clock on the Sunday evening. There were clearly many regular soldiers on board, their confidence and general know-how ill matched by the bewilderment and uncertainty of the recent volunteers. There was an all-round smartening up when a general, unnamed but recognised by his elaborate uniform, came on board. Anchors were lifted and the ship, without too much hesitation, got underway an hour after midnight; less than three weeks after war had been declared.

For Jack and his mates this was the first time they had been on a boat and all were glad the sea was smooth that night. The approach to the French port was slow due to the mass of ships and small boats that littered the port of Le Havre; it was late morning by the time they arrived at the French dockside. Directed to the nearby station, the men were relieved to learn
that
the next stage of their journey was by train. Word soon spread that their destination was Mons where they were to support a large contingent of regular soldiers who were struggling to delay the Germans on their advance through that part of northern France. The train journey was hot and most men had to stand, but it was preferable to marching. On arrival at the important railway junction at Cambrai, the troops were ordered out, given more equipment and ordered to line up ready to march. The distance to Mons was well under fifty miles and would have to be accomplished within two days, but this was never to be fully completed. Already a retreat from Mons was underway and it became increasingly uncertain where Jack and the new arrival of men would link up with the regular force.

Early on the second day of marching, Jack thought a thunderstorm was about to break the long, hot spell of weather.

‘That's thunder, isn't it?' Willy asked Jack who was marching on his left.

‘Funny thunder I'd call it. More like guns,' replied his mate.

It was mainly gunfire, but not entirely, that brought Jack out of his daydreaming. ‘Get up yer idle buggers. I said be ready when I ordered. You've rested long enough. Up on yer feet.' It had only been ten minutes rest so perhaps one's life, or at least much of it, could run before you when you were drowning. Jack jumped to his feet, picking up cap and rifle. His immediate thought was not of the next march, wherever that might be to, but the bloody fleas. He seemed to be itching all over as if the tormenting creatures, resting in the seams of his underclothes, had also heard the call to move.

T
WENTY-EIGHT

8 – 27 August 1914

Olivia Atkins was heartbroken. She was determined not to show her distress; somehow she must keep up the single appearance of pride in Jack going off to war. She was not alone in such feelings among the villagers waving off the six eighteen and nineteen-year-old lads; but maybe her grief cut deeper. Thoughts of her parents dying in the Coventry shop fire two decades earlier and of her husband being killed by lightning, ripped through her mind; to her, Jack was everything. Her love for him was overwhelming, but she hoped she had never smothered him, rather to encourage him to build his own life. How well he had done at school and then to work his way up in the bakery and now… Her sense of foreboding was almost overwhelming.

She looked around at the large number of friends gathered by the pond. Not only the parents, but the entire families of Abraham, Albert, Jammy, Willy and Fred's mother were there; the younger children laughing and waving their flags and messages of good luck. The crowd extended beyond relatives, for these six young men who had brought distinction to their school and village some six years previously, were again flying the flag for Rusfield. Some had wanted to accompany their sons to Steepleton, but it had been felt that the collective act of being together at the farewell in Rusfield was right.

Olivia
turned and put her arms round Liz Smith, for both were losing their only child; there were tears in the eyes of both. ‘I don't know what I'll do without him,' Liz said plaintively to her friend. ‘He used to be a real handful, but now he's wonderful the way he helps me out and mother will miss him terribly. He will be all right, won't he?' In truth Olivia could only give a faint smile. Her fears exactly, but she must show a strength of the kind that she knew her beloved son would want.

‘Liz, you must come round and have a cup of tea later this morning and whenever you feel down you must always feel able to call on me. We need to be able to comfort each other.' They looked an ill-matched pair; the stylish and beautiful Olivia, as well dressed as always, and the haggard, poorly clothed and prematurely aging Liz. But their likeness in feelings was greater than any superficial differences. Liz cuffed away her tears, smiled and moved quietly on.

As Olivia turned away from the distressed Liz, she almost bumped into one who was certainly not able to control her tears: Grace was sobbing. She kept trying to stop and replace her forlorn look with her usual gentle smile, but it was too hard. Olivia moved over to her, knowing that the departure of Abraham was heart-rending. Olivia knew that to Grace, now at the same age as when she had lost her parents, Abraham's departure to the unknown was unbearable. Both these young people had been carving out their own careers, together so much was promised; two fine young people deeply in love.

‘Grace, it's lovely to see you albeit on such an occasion as this. We must try to give strength to each other. How proud you must feel of Abraham, just as I do of Jack. Tell me, how is the teaching going?'

She hoped the question might take Grace away from their shared sadness. It was as if Grace realised this brave attempt of Olivia's to move on and she managed a smile. ‘It's going well, I love it. It's such a happy school in Wensfield and the children
are
so agreeable. As you know, I only started there in April, but the time has flown by.'

Although Olivia knew the answer to her next question, but keen to keep the conversation going for a little longer, she asked: ‘But Wensfield must be nearly four miles away; how do you manage that?'

‘Well, I've been using a bicycle which my dad got for me. It's fine in this weather and only takes me just over half an hour. I really quite like it although the track is a little rough in places.'

Olivia knew part of the track well. ‘But, in the winter when it's dark; surely you can't bicycle then?'

Grace smiled. ‘Well, Mrs Windle's parents, Mr and Mrs Brown, have said they have a spare room and I can stay there during the week. It's a most generous offer and I think that's what I will do. They are such nice people, not surprising when I think what a lovely lady Mrs Windle is.'

‘Indeed,' said Olivia, thinking of her dear friend Eleanor. ‘I'm really glad the teaching is going so well.'

‘Yes,' replied Grace, ‘it was so kind of Mr and Mrs Mansfield giving me the opportunity to train; now it's up to me.'

Even as Grace and Olivia were trying to console each other, so Eleanor and Arthur Windle were talking with Jammy's mother, Eliza Carey. Left without her husband, who had driven the six lads in to Steepleton, she too was anxious for the future. ‘It's strange really,' said the beanpole-thin Eliza. ‘Just to think that James had been away for nearly three years, then got work at Sir Lancelot's place near Steepleton so he could come back home and now he's off again. Mind you, we are proud of him as I'm sure we all are.'

And it was pride and excitement that were the overriding feelings of the villagers as, a few at a time, they dispersed and returned to more mundane tasks. The feelings of anxiety and even fear among the loved ones of the six men, who would
now
have reached Steepleton, was exceeded by the number of other villagers who simply glowed with pride.

It was the same sense of pride, albeit with a nagging feeling of deep anxiety for Jack and his mates that had settled upon Reverend Arthur Windle. Two weeks on from the departure of the young men, he had learnt from Eleanor, whose depth of village knowledge never ceased to astound him, that five more villagers had signed up, and that two of Abraham's colleagues at Spinney Farm, Tommy Bruce and Bob Bacon, were thinking about it. How that would leave Jack Mansfield at Spinney Farm, Arthur could not imagine: not least for harvesting. He could only hope the new machinery would cope.

Overwhelmingly, Arthur knew it was right that villagers were responding to the call to arms. His belief in the country's pre-eminence among nations and the rightness of the Empire, which had brought stability to a quarter of the world, was the basis of this strongly-held view and he knew his father would be sharing the same sentiment. He had made sure the service on the day after the lads' departure had included prayers for the young men and the theme had been one of the whole village pledging support to King and country. It was good that St Mary's had been full as he led everyone in the common cause of Christian right. The chosen hymns well reflected the nation's spirit of the time.

More recently, he was grateful to Major de Maine who had offered to talk to villagers on the coming Thursday, 27 August. He recalled his conversation with the owner of the manor. ‘Vicar, I believe it is important that everyone understands just what is at stake and how we must all pull hard together. I have a suggestion to make.'

‘So, Major, what do you have in mind? Please tell me.'

The major replaced his cup on the table and bristled with quiet excitement. ‘Well, I have made a large map of Europe; actually it's taken me quite a long time. One of the problems
is
that not too many people in the village seem to have a clear idea of where the different countries are, nor on which side they are all on. With the help of this map I can explain what the situation is all about and how it is that our country, as well as France and the whole Empire, is threatened by the enemy. If people understand this I am sure it will make a difference. I see one newspaper said that the war will be over by Christmas, but I don't believe that at all.'

‘I agree with you, Major. It's important we each do what we can at this time.' Arthur thanked the major and it was agreed the meeting be organised for the next Thursday. After talking about the little news that was coming through from France and Belgium, the Major departed for his stroll back to the manor.

Arthur knew that Eleanor was helping at the reading room as some new books had been donated and shelves needed reorganising. Jack Mansfield had kindly organised for a newspaper to be placed in there each day which Peter brought in from Steepleton along with the post. The newspaper was the main source of news from Europe and was avidly read by a number of villagers.

With Eleanor out for an hour or so, it was a good time for Arthur to catch up on some reading. He was much troubled by the degree to which he should use the pulpit to encourage the men to volunteer. His natural feeling was to make strong appeals, but certainly Eleanor had spoken out against this. ‘Arthur,' she said in her ever-loving, but nonetheless determined style, ‘God has to be neutral in wartime. Surely his love goes towards the men who are in danger on either side. We are not living in Old Testament times, so please think carefully before you start preaching for volunteers. And didn't you tell me that our Member of Parliament is soon coming to the village to do just that?'

Arthur did not quite know what to do, but he was certainly going to ponder Eleanor's words. In the meantime he knew
that
his latest copy of the
Church Times
waited his attention. Picking it up from his untidy desk, Arthur read the Bishop of Durham's emotional statement to the county's light infantry about the “holiness of patriotism”. How far should he use the pulpit for rallying the people? Arthur wondered.