The Wood Beyond (43 page)

'Nobody, of course, thought to tell him this on the spot,' snapped Pascoe.

'That's not the way the army works, I'm afraid,' said Studholme with genuine regret. 'Proper channels are the thing. Presumably he went off thinking they were going to rubber-stamp his return to the Front and decided he'd had enough. Technically, as I say, he was still in the army till he received his official discharge. But no regiment likes to have desertions in its records and in this case to haul a chap back to try him on a capital offence when it had been decided he wasn't fit to fight anyway would have offended natural justice. So his discharge was quietly and quickly processed at the depot, which was here in Leeds, and the fact that he went AWOL for his last couple of weeks of service gently passed over.'

'Well, I'm so glad another Pascoe's name wasn't allowed to besmirch your precious records,' said Pascoe bitterly. 'Let's get back to your father, shall we?'

'Of course. The next entry begins:
I should never have written "But no one's asking me!" They just have, or rather, they've just told me, because naturally there's no saying no in such matters. I'm to be Pascoe's Friend. The CO told me it was a nasty job but he knew I'd do my best. Evenlode said that on the contrary it was a cushy number, the verdict was in no doubt, so all it meant was I spent a couple of days out of the line, keeping myself warm and dry and killing lice. I said, that must mean it's cushy for you, too, rather sarcastic. But he missed my point, saying, oh yes, it's killing that one big louse that I'll particularly enjoy. He really is a nasty piece of work.'

He paused again and said to Ellie, 'Refill. Do help yourself.'

'Gosh, have I drunk it? Thanks, I will.'

She did. Pascoe said, 'So what does your father say about the trial?'

'Well, before that he writes about his difficulty in getting Pascoe to talk about his defence:
He really doesn't seem to grasp the danger he's in. He admits freely he struck Grindal but says it was only to disable him from harming himself by continuing to advance in a dazed state, and then he describes leading the remnant of his platoon back to the jump-off point as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world to do. All he seems to have any regret about is being rude to a staff officer, and the reason he regrets this is that there's no point in losing your rag with dumb animals, which is unlikely to endear him to the court. Though on second thoughts, if they are all line officers, they may well take his point!'

The major permitted himself a smile as he read this and Pascoe said, 'How comforting that your father didn't lose his sense of humour in face of someone else's adversity.'

'Peter, for heaven's sake,' said Ellie.

'No, my fault, I'm sorry, Mr Pascoe, this must be very painful for you. There's little more. He records that Sergeant Pascoe is clearly relying on the testimony of Lieutenant Grindal and of the members of his platoon to clear him, or at least reduce his punishment to loss of stripes. He regrets that his efforts to cross-question witnesses, in particular Private Doyle, are unproductive and cut short by the president. He tries to object to the admission of Grindal's written testimony because it didn't afford opportunity for cross-examination, but is told that these Chancery Lane tactics are entirely out of place here . . .'

'There's none of this in the trial record!' protested Pascoe.

The major's eye lit up with interest.

'You've seen it, have you?' he enquired.

Ellie bared her teeth at her husband, and said firmly to Studholme, 'No, he hasn't. But we did get an unofficial digest from an influential friend, one condition of which was complete confidentiality.'

'My lips are sealed,' said Studholme. 'I know how these things work. Mr Pascoe, I can understand your feelings about my father's ineffectiveness. I shan't bore you with the details, but please believe me, he agonizes at some length about your great-grandfather's fate and despite knowing in his rational mind that there was nothing he could do to alter it, he felt, and continued to feel till the end of his days, I believe, guilty that he should have played any part in it.'

Pascoe refused to catch Ellie's eye and said nothing.

Studholme sighed and went on, 'You will be relieved to hear my father had nothing to do with the actual execution, so I am spared the macabre task of reading out a description. He did however see Sergeant Pascoe the day before, when he took on himself the task of bearing the news that there was no hope of mercy and the sentence was to be carried out the following morning.'

He put down the book to take a sip of whisky, then picked it up again and began reading.

'The sergeant gave me a letter to his wife which he asked me to post. I said I would. Then after a little hesitation he produced a book consisting of several sheets of paper roughly sewn together between covers made from squares of rubber from an old groundsheet. This, he said, was a journal he'd been keeping. There'd been another book from the start of the war which he'd left at home on his last leave, thinking that either he'd be able to use it to recall these years for himself in later life, or if he fell, it would be a record for his family. But he is uncertain whether he should ask for these later leaves to be sent home also, because of the tragic material they contain. He asked me if I would take it and, when I had time, read it, then send it to his wife or not at my discretion. It was not a task I wanted, but equally it wasn't one I could refuse. Then we shook hands and he thanked me most courteously for what he called my kindness and help, and I left and walked around in the dark by myself for an hour or more for shame of being caught weeping'

Studholme put the book down and removed his glasses.

'There is a note added at a later date in which he says that he has read the journal with some difficulty and decided after much thought that Pascoe was right to be reluctant to have it passed on to his wife. He concludes,
There is little in here to heal and much to keep old wounds raw. RIP.'

'So what did he do with it then? Burn it?' demanded Pascoe.

'No, Mr Pascoe, it is here.'

He put his hand into the bureau drawer and produced a volume of the same surface dimensions as the one Pascoe had received from Ada, though much slimmer.

'I have glanced at it. It is difficult as my father implied, but what little I have managed to interpret seems to confirm he may have been right in his decision. But that was eighty years ago. Before you condemn him for interference, read it yourself and see if you would have wished him to act differently.'

He handed the book over. Pascoe took it. It felt cold and clammy and the lights in the room seemed to dim as he recollected the circumstances in which his great-grandfather had last touched this volume.

Studholme went on, 'Perhaps we can talk again when the perspectives are still longer. Mrs Pascoe, it's been a pleasure meeting you again.'

'For me too,' said Ellie. 'I'd like to look round your museum some time.'

'I look forward to being your guide.'

They went down the stairs. At the door, Ellie dug a line-out jumper's elbow into Pascoe's ribs and he said, Thanks, major. You've been very . . . well, thanks anyway.'

'I'm sorry,' said Studholme. 'I really am.'

'Me too,' said Peter Pascoe.

xvii

It was two o'clock in the morning before Pascoe succeeded in reaching the end of the sergeant's journal. Haste of composition, agitation of spirit and the fading of age had rendered much of the writing almost illegible, but again and again as it seemed he had reached an impasse, his mind found the way; almost, he might have said had he been a superstitious man, heard a voice speaking the obscure words and phrases out loud.

Ellie during all this time offered no reproach about the lateness of the hour, no comment upon the wisdom of the proceedings, but simply brought cups of strong coffee at regular intervals, and otherwise sat curled up on the sofa with a book which only later did he realize was the history of the Great War that Studholme had loaned him.

'OK,' he said finally. 'You want to hear it?'

'I haven't sat up half the night in hope of hearing the nightingale,' she replied. 'But perhaps you can edit?'

'Of course. It's the assault in Polygon Wood that's central. Here's what he wrote afterwards, when he'd been arrested, but well before he admits to himself what serious crap he was in.'

He coughed, recognized the echo of Studholme's introit, and forced himself to use his normal everyday tone as he started reading.

'Gertie finally snapped today - Id seen the signs from the moment we were told of our place in the line - he were talking all the time and making jokes that werent near funny - and reminding me of the old days when I were a lad and him a nipper. Bit different from Wanwood - he kept saying - Remember those trees - thought they touched the sky like it says in the poem - not that you could see the sky - so many branches and
leaves all moving in the wind it was like being on the bed of the sea with all that green surging overhead. That was one of your games remember? You were always good at inventing games to keep me amused.

'Id best see what I can manage today then sir - I said. And I did try. I think his main fear to start with was that hed be too afraid to move - that when the command came to go forward and we all rose up and climbed out of our hole his legs wouldnt raise him and hed simply be left lying there for all to see and mock at. So I fed him rum - his ration my ration and a bit more besides till if hed had much more he wouldnt have been able to move for being stotious let alone being feart. It worked and when the signal came I gave him a bit of a lift - then he was up and off like someone on the cover of the Boys Own - waving his pistol and yelling like he were going to clear Jerry out of Polygon single handed.

'Didnt last of course - couldnt - I were hoping maybe hed get a friendly Blighty - bullet through his shoulder - bit of shrapnel in his leg - anything to knock him over and give him an excuse to lie there - but he seemed charmed - and while rest of us were creeping forward bent double - or going down never to creep again - he were prancing around like a lad on a football field yelling at us to keep up with him.

'In old days it might have been all right - quick charge on foot or horseback - scatter the enemy - all over in half an hour or so. Bet that many a man won his medal half seas over. But this lot goes on forever - and gets nowhere. Hour - two hours - all fucking day - you look around and where youve got to looks no different from where you set off from - same holes - same mud - same pathetic stumps - same bodies - same stench - same endless hopeless senseless sameness.

'Rum wears off - mind starts working again - realize that not all the courage nor all the cleverness in the world can save you now - blind chance - long odds - and if you do make it through this day nothing to look forward to but another and
another and another. Gertie slowed then stopped - still with charmed life - rest of platoon badly hit - all around men Id known and some Id loved dead and dying - but Gertie untouched - except inside - I was close - saw his face as he turned - saw the horror and the terror there - all right if hed just collapsed maybe - could always say knocked over by shell blast - but I saw him start to run.

'Run? No running possible in that mud - floundering like weary swimmer close enough to bank to stand up - but definitely going back - no question if he met another officer what he was doing - hed even tell them what he was doing - hed hit them if they tried to stop him - and if he were seen by someone like Evenlode who hates his guts that ud be the end for him - cashiered - disgraced - maybe worse though they
dont
shoot so many officers.

'He were moving away from me and I might never have caught him - then shell blast threw up a wall of mud in his path and turned him towards me. I hit him. Down he went. Couldnt leave him there - likely hed turn over into mud and drown - or recover and set off back again. I went to others in platoon - not many - said lieutenant were hit and we had orders to withdraw - they wanted to believe me - nobody asked questions - I told them to give me a hand with Gertie - off we went back - passed through next wave of attack - nobody said anything and I thought - good luck! Back at jump off point I told others to wait. Gertie was able to stumble along with a bit of help now and I took him back to Aid Post - sat there for a bit to get my wind - then I gave smart answer to staff officer. That were silly. Sensitive souls staff officers. Put me under arrest for insubordination. Stupid sod doesnt realize what a favour hes doing me keeping me back here out of line. Maybe I should have started being insubordinate a long time back!

'Not funny. Try to smile and feel happy but all I can think of is all my mates - all the fellows I lived with and should have looked after - lying dead and dying broken and bleeding out there in Polygon Wood. Thats where I ought to be not here comfy and safe - out there in Polygon Wood. '

Pascoe stopped reading and Ellie said, 'Did he really think he was safe?'

'Why do you ask?'

'It's just the way he describes things, the black hopelessness of it all; he tries to put it off on Grindal - and don't misunderstand me, I believe every word he says about Grindal - but these are his own feelings he's describing, aren't they?'

'Oh yes,' said Pascoe passionately. 'No doubt of that. No doubt whatsoever.'

Ellie gave him a puzzled look then went on, 'And in taking care of Gertie, which I'm sure he did, he also takes care of himself. All the time I get this feeling that he's using Gertie somehow to externalize his own fears, and he ends up trying to persuade himself that having got Gertie back safe somehow guarantees his own safety. He must have known, surely, that with a battle raging, you didn't get locked up away from the action for a simple act of insubordination.'

'Sharp little thing aren't you?' said Pascoe. 'You're dead right. He knows that. But he doesn't want to let himself know it. He's so much like me, Ellie. I see myself in him all the time, all his fears and failings, all his little tricks to try and get by. He's so much like me.'