1914 (British Ace) (14 page)

I felt better knowing that
my sister was getting married and they were safe.  It had been kind of Lord Burscough to visit them.  I had always liked the young Lord Burscough.  I wondered if things would have been different if he had not left the regiment.

It spurred me on to get better. I spent every waking minute working on my leg. When the nurse made me stop I wrote a letter to mum and told her I had been wounded.  I knew she would have had a telegram but she would imagine the worst, I knew that. The next morning Robbie came to say goodbye.  His false hand would be ready in a month and he was going home until then.

“Tell mum I am not badly hurt will you?”

“Of course I will.”

“And one more thing, could you help me to my feet.  I want to try walking.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see if the nurses were watching. “You’ll get me shot.”

I laughed, “Why what can they do?  Stop your hand?”

He laughed. “All right but remember I only have one arm.”

I put my good leg on the floor and he held out his arm.  I put my left arm on his and then used my right to push me up. I slowly lowered my left leg to the floor.  It was a strange sensation as all the blood rushed to my foot.  My leg felt as though it was on fire. When my bare foot touched the cold tiles I put my right arm on Robbie’s shoulder.  As I put my weight on my left leg it felt as though someone was jabbing red hot needles into it. But it did not collapse.

“Let’s try walking.  You go backwards.”

He did so and I picked up my left leg and it moved forwards.  The hard part was when I put all my weight on to the injured limb.  It hurt so much that I thought I would cry but then it held.

Before I could take a second step the nurse had raced over.  “Sergeant Harsker! You could injure Trooper McGlashan.  I will help you when you are ready.”

Although there was anger in her voice there was none in her face and she smiled.  “Now off you go, Trooper McGlashan, and we’ll see you here in a month and you, Sergeant Harsker, back in bed.  You’ll need something on your feet and a stick before you can attempt to walk.”

They were good nurses at the hospital but it still took me over three weeks to master walking again. Every time I thought I could do it unaided I would trip or burst my wound. My prediction of a week was off by some measure. By the 18
th
of October, when I left, the hospital was filling up.  It would fill up even more a few days later in the aftermath of the Battle of Ypres. I only read about that horror but I could imagine it all too vividly.

I went home.

The ambulance took me to Warrington station.  The commanding officer had given me a railway warrant and a pass
to travel home. The railway warrant was for 2
nd
Class; the army treated me better than his lordship had. The colonel had addressed me more like a father than a soldier as he had handed them to me. “Your regiment no longer exists and you are free to continue your life if you wish, Sergeant Harsker.  However I have to say that your comrades who are here speak very highly of you.  This country needs warriors such as you. I know that you have suffered but we must all make sacrifices if this country and her Empire are to survive.”

I had thanked him and his words filled my head all the way to Burscough Station. I could not ride a horse into battle again
; I had nightmares still of Caesar’s dying eyes.  What was the alternative? Could I face the Germans as an infantryman?  I had been considered a good shot but the reason I had joined the Yeomanry was because of the speed of the horse and the swiftness of battle.  I had seen the infantry, well nicknamed, the foot sloggers as they trudged to war.  I had watched them walk across a field into the machine guns which harvested them like wheat. I shuddered as I walked across the platform at Lime Street Station where I had to change to catch my last train.  I could not do that. I lacked that kind of courage. A woman looked over and gave me a sympathetic look. She must have thought it was a war wound which made me shudder; it was a memory and they were slow to heal. The pass in my knapsack was freedom.  I did not need to be a soldier.

On the train to Burscough I found myself in a carriage with a husband and wife returning from a
Saturday shopping trip to the busy city.  He looked prosperous and his hands showed that he did not do manual labour. His neatly trimmed and waxed moustache spoke of many hours in front of a mirror and his clothes were tailored. A professional man I guessed or perhaps someone with an income. I estimated them to be in their late twenties. 

“On leave
, sergeant?”

“Yes sir, I am.
”

“Were you in France?”

“I was, sir.”

“Well when you return you must urge your fellows to show true British spirit.  It’s all very well for the French to retreat but we are British!
We do not want another debacle like Mons.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. My friends had all died and this man thought it was not enough.

His wife put her hand on his, “I am sure they did their best, my dear, besides there weren’t that many of them according to the paper.”

He nodded, “You may be right.  Well there are thousands volunteering now and it won’t be long before the
Hun are driven back.  We’ll show them who rules Europe!”

I closed my eyes.  I just wanted to get out of the train.  It would do no good to punch this idiot.  His wife asked, “Are you in pain, sergeant?  Were you wounded?”

I opened my eyes and saw real concern in the woman’s eyes. “I was wounded but there is no pain.” I looked at the man. “The men I left in Flanders feel no pain either; for they are all dead. They died for this country.”

I think the man realised then that I disliked his words and he brought up the newspaper to hide behind.  His wife flashed him an angry look. “Did you lose many of your friends?”

I nodded, “There were just two who survived. All the rest gave their life for the King.  I just hope the people at home recognise the sacrifice.”

She nodded.  “They will, believe me, they will.”

As I limped from the station at Burscough I realised that I was being harsh on the man.  I had read the newspapers whilst in hospital and they were full of disappointment that we were not thrashing the Germans. They were making it sound like a test match at cricket. All we needed to do was play with a straight bat and we would win. There was a belief that we were British, we ruled the waves and victory would inevitably follow. Everyone was being blamed as though we had a divine right to win on the battlefield. In my time in France I had never seen a newspaperman.  I suspect they got their news from the War Office. They would be speaking to staff versions of Lieutenant Ramsden; the kind who are never close to either fighting or danger. I shook my head to clear it.  I was home now and my priority was my family.  I had missed them.  When I was back in the cottage then life would make sense, once again.

It is strange but the fields
at home looked greener.  It was autumn but many of the fields in Flanders had been churned up by boots and hooves.  Here they were green and the leaves, undamaged by bullets, were still on the trees. This was a different world from France and Flanders. It was as though I had crossed a continent and not just the English Channel. The journey to the cottage took longer than it should have as everyone on the estate and in the village wanted to speak with me. They had all seen Robbie and had been anticipating my return.  I had no idea what stories my friend had been telling but they all looked at me with something approaching awe.

“Your mam will be glad to see you!”

“They must feed you well in the army or you are still growing!”

“You showed them Huns what a lad from Lancashire can do!”

And so it went on until I became weary.  I just wanted to enter the cottage and close the door. Mum was waiting for me with our Alice.  I worked out that the others would still be working, even though it was Saturday afternoon. Mum threw her arms around me and began sobbing.  She kept saying, over and over, “Our Bill, eeh, our Bill!” I felt Alice stroking my back, much as one might do with a sick child. It was comforting but I felt foolish.  I was now healed.

Eventually I disentangled myself and said, “Let’s go in mum.  I am dying to be inside the cottage again.”

“Of course, Alice, make a pot of tea for your brother.”

I knew the kettle would have been on.  It was always on the fire just waiting for such a command. The cottage seemed tiny
now that I had been away for some time.  I wondered how we had all fitted in such a cramped space.  I went to sit on the stool by the fire but mum pointed to dad’s seat. “No, you sit there.”

I was shocked.  No one sat in dad’s seat. “But that is dad’s place!”

“He won’t mind son.” She stood back and looked at me.  “Well, you look well. Where did they wound you?  Young Robert told us.”

I pointed to my left arm, “In the arm and here.”
I pointed to the top of my leg.

“Are you all better now son? Are you out of the army?”

I avoided the second question. “The doctors passed me fit.  They say another two weeks of convalescence and then I will be fit for anything.” Alice handed me my tea and a piece of parkin. “My favourite!”

My mother and sister looked happy and I
certainly was.  This was normality and it felt wonderful.

Alice put some bread on the toasting fork, “I’ll make you some toast too.”

The thought of hot toast cooked by the fire, dripping with butter made my mouth water. I sipped the tea and bit into the moist and spicy parkin; it took me back to the days before the war when everything was much simpler.

Alice went to take my knapsack.  “No, Alice, I’ll look after that.” By way of apology I said, “It has my travel documents in there and I need to keep them safe.” I didn’t want my sister seeing the Luger which still nestled in the bottom of my bag beneath my gas mask.
It would be harsh reminder of the war.

The door burst open and Albert stood there.  He looked taller somehow.  “I ran all the way when I heard you
were back.  Dad, Sarah and Kath are coming.  Show me your wounds!”

Mother was shocked, “Albert Harsker! You get yourself washed up and stop bothering your brother! I’ve never heard the like.”

I winked at his crestfallen face and whispered, “I’ll show you later.”

Dad came through the door next and I saw his eyes filling. He didn’t say anything but threw his arms around me and just held me.

“I’m glad to be home, dad.”

His voice, heavy with emotion whispered, “I’m bloody glad to see you, too
, son.” He never swore and was a mark of his feelings.

I heard Sarah say, “Come on you two. Let me see the hero.”

Dad stepped aside and Sarah embraced me. “Congratulations our Sarah.  When is the big day?”

“You timed it well our Bill.  Next Saturday. It will be good to have you there.”

Our Kath threw her arms around me and planted a huge kiss on my cheek.  I thought she was going to crush me.  “My big brother, the hero! I’m right proud of you, our Bill.”

“Right Bill, get your bag upstairs and then we’ll have tea. I’ve made a nice cow heel stew and potato cakes.”

I almost leapt upstairs.  They were my two favourite things and we never had them together.  It was a treat just for me. They were spoiling me. Once in the old room I had shared with my brothers I put the knapsack on the shelf above my bed.  My old clothes were still there.  I decided to get out of my uniform.

I had just taken my trousers off when Albert burst into the room. I was slightly embarrassed and annoyed.  “Have you never heard of
knocking?”

The shout was a sergeant’s shout which I regretted the minute it left my mouth.  He looked as though I had slapped him. He turned to leave, “Sorry Bill. I…”

“Come in you daft bugger! I didn’t mean owt.  This is your room after all.  You just took me by surprise.  I thought it was our Alice.”

He shut the door and stared at the scar on my thigh.  It was no longer angry but it was a big scar. He moved his hand towards it as though to touch and then thought better of it. “Did it hurt?”

“That’s a daft question; what do you think?”

I had taken my jacket off and he saw the wound on my arm.  It was less dramatic but the scar was still there. I tried to change the subject. “How is the driving going?”

“Robbie McGlashan told us that Caesar was killed.” He meant nothing by it but I had hidden that memory and suddenly it was there again.  I relived the moment that brave beast had stumbled to his death.  I felt the tears spring into my eyes and saw the shock on Albert’s face.  “Eeh I am sorry Bill. I know how much you loved that horse.”

His words gave me the chance to recover my composure and begin to dress myself.  “Aye, he was a grand horse.”

“When do you go back?”

I shook my head and laughed, “Do you mind if I
come home first?”

“Sorry.”
He sat on his own bed. “As soon as I am old enough I am enlisting.  Our Tom and John have both joined up. They are in a Pals Battalion.”