THOMAS’S INJURIES EARNED him a one-way ticket to Dover—and an honorable discharge. Two months after the detonation of the mines beneath Messines Ridge, he hobbled down the dirt road to his family home and prayed to find that his brother had returned during his absence. But James never returned home.
The Great War raged on for seventeen months after the Battle of Messines, and though the British military commended the tunnelers for the successful execution of their mission, they were not asked to repeat it. Tanks and planes were mobilized for the rest of the war, breaking up years of entrenched fighting and making the tunnelers obsolete. Some were sent home. Most were sent to the front lines.
Weeks after the Allies and Central Powers signed the Treaty of Versailles, the Sullivans received an official letter stating that James’s status had been changed from missing in action to killed in action. No details were provided, and no remains were recovered. Despite Thomas having escaped the tunnels of the Western Front, his mind remained trapped beneath no-man’s-land. At night, he could still hear the enemy clawing at the clay walls and feel the tremble of explosions quaking through the earth. When summer storms swept in from the North Sea and thunder cracked across the sky, Thomas scrambled for cover. His mum would find him huddled beneath the kitchen table, cradling his head and crying.
He never returned to the coal mines. The mine supervisor promised a job would be waiting for him when he was ready, but Thomas knew he’d never be ready, so when his leg healed, he walked to the docks of Admiralty Harbour to look for work. The owners of the various shipping companies were eager to hire war veterans, so Thomas spent the next two years working the docks, learning as much as he could about boats and the shipping business. Every morning, when his head and body ached with fatigue and his leg throbbed with pain, he remembered James and the dream they’d shared, and forced himself to get out of bed.
On Thomas’s seventeenth birthday, he pooled his dockworker’s earnings with his and James’s army wages and purchased his own boat. It was a small, battered vessel, but it was sturdy and had weathered many seasons on the Channel. Thomas hoped with some repairs it would weather several more.
It took months to ready the boat, but two years after the armistice was signed, Sullivan Brothers Shipping was ready to launch.
“That should do it,” Charlie said, putting a last stroke of red paint on the stern of the boat. “What do you think?”
The lettering matched perfectly with the company name painted in blue on the starboard side. “It looks great,” Thomas said, smiling at Charlie’s work.
A pleased blush tinted Charlie’s cheeks. “You like it?”
“You did a fine job, son,” Mr. Sullivan said, resting a reassuring hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
Charlie’s blush deepened. “Thank you, sir.”
A gust of November wind swept across the Channel. Mr. Sullivan blew into his cupped hands for warmth and then rubbed them together. “You boys couldn’t have planned to christen this boat in July?”
Ignoring the aching cold in his own hands, Thomas tightened the ropes mooring his boat to the dock. “If the Germans had surrendered earlier, we might have, but they didn’t, so it had to be today.” He glanced up at Charlie. “Two years from the day the war ended.”
Charlie smiled.
As they waited for the paint to dry, Charlie’s little brother, Henry, ran up the dock with Letitia, Charlotte, and Max trailing behind him. “We did it!” he exclaimed, pride spreading in a wide smile across his freckled face. “We passed out every flyer.”
“Well done,” Mr. Sullivan said, patting the boy’s head.
Thomas smiled. He’d been shocked to find Charlie and Henry on his doorstep a month after Frederick and Charlie had been discharged from the army. After Charlie explained that their father had been killed in a bar fight, the Sullivans had welcomed the brothers into their home without hesitation. Charlie found a job at St. Paul’s, where Father Clark taught him to read and write in exchange for help around the church, including painting, which Charlie loved. Two years later, it was as though Charlie and Henry had always been part of their family.
“Look who I found,” Mrs. Sullivan yelled from the end of the dock. Max let out an excited bark, scurried down the dock, and leaped into the waiting arms of a soldier with glasses and tidy black hair. A distinguished looking gentleman with a receding hairline and neatly trimmed gray mustache stood beside him.
“Max!” Frederick exclaimed, petting the terrier. Max licked his face, jumped down, ran two circles around his legs, and then sprinted back to Thomas.
“You made it!” Thomas said, striding forward to shake Frederick’s hand.
“Thomas, may I introduce my father, General Theodore Chamberlain?”
Thomas saluted General Chamberlain. “It is an honor to meet you, sir.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thomas,” Frederick’s father said. “My son has told me a great deal about you and your family.”
“I apologize for our tardiness,” Frederick said. “But as you well know, I’ve never had good luck with trains running on time.”
The boys chuckled at the memory of their first meeting on the transport train at Charing Cross station.
“Tardy or not,” Thomas said, “I’m glad you both could join us today.”
“We all are,” Mrs. Sullivan said, patting Frederick’s arm.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Frederick said. “We made a promise.”
Thomas smiled. “Yes, we did. How have you been?”
“Good. It took some persuasion on my father’s part and a sizable donation, but Eton let me return.”
His father cleared his throat and raised a warning eyebrow at his son. “Manners, Frederick.”
An ashamed blush warmed Frederick’s cheeks. “Sorry, sir.” He motioned to his Eton uniform. “I’ll graduate a year late, but at least I’ll graduate and be reinstated into the army.”
“The army would be lucky to have you again,” Thomas said.
“Thank you.” Frederick looked past Thomas to Charlie, who’d joined them along with Mr. Sullivan, Henry, and the twins. “How are you, Mouse?”
“I’m well. It’s good to see you, Frederick.”
Frederick shook his hand. “You too.”
“Come on,” Thomas said, leading him down the dock. “Let me show you the first vessel of Sullivan Brothers Shipping’s fleet.” While General Chamberlain and Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan became acquainted, Thomas and Charlie led Frederick over to the boat.
“King George!” Frederick exclaimed with a chuckle as he read the name painted on the stern. “You’re a man of your word, Thomas.”
“That he is!” a voice called out from behind them.
They turned to see George striding down the dock.
Frederick smiled. “If it isn’t the King of the Secret Soldiers himself.”
“Former king,” George corrected. “I abdicated my throne to become part owner of the newest shipping company in Dover. It promises to be the finest to sail the Channel.”
“I had heard rumors of your new venture,” Frederick said, extending his hand. “Congratulations, Shillings.”
George pulled him into a hug. “Thanks. How are you, Eton?”
“I can’t complain.”
“Of course you can,” George said with a teasing smile. “It’s your special skill.”
After Thomas and George christened their new boat, George announced he had something to show everyone.
“What is it?” asked Letitia, bouncing on her toes.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to come with me to find out.”
They followed George up a worn path leading to the cliffs of Dover. Max trotted along at Thomas’s heels. When Thomas reached the top, he stopped short.
Before him, in the spot where he and James had sat and dreamed about their futures, stood a white cross. A short inscription was carved into the stone.
JAMES M. SULLIVAN
LOVING SON AND BROTHER
1898–1917
Mrs. Sullivan let out a gasp and covered her mouth. Mr. Sullivan pulled her into an embrace, and Letitia and Charlotte fought back tears as they drew close to their parents.
Thomas didn’t speak. He stared at the memorial, his face void of expression.
After several seconds of silence, George shifted nervously in his place beside him.
“You did this?” Thomas asked.
“Well, yeah,” George said, wary of his friend’s reaction to his surprise. “I’ve been working on it for a while.”
When Thomas remained silent, staring at the memorial, George glanced over at Charlie, who shrugged.
“I won some money playing cards with a group of miners in town,” George continued. “Made enough to buy the marble. The chap who carves the gravestones for St. Paul’s cemetery agreed to carve and inscribe the memorial if I helped around his shop for a few months. I wanted it done before we launched King George. It’s quite heavy. Thankfully, Mr. Bartlett let me borrow a cart and pony from the mine to haul it up here. I got it in place just as Eton arrived.”
Without taking his eyes off the memorial, Thomas nodded.
“I just thought maybe you needed a place to visit your brother. You know, a place where James can watch over you as Sullivan Brothers Shipping sails the Channel.” He glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan and the twins. “Where he can watch over all of you.”
His eyes glistening with grief and gratitude, Mr. Sullivan nodded, but when Thomas still didn’t respond, George stepped closer to his friend and whispered. “I can take it down if you don’t like it.”
Thomas’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
A relieved smile spread across George’s face. “You’re welcome.” He then turned to Frederick. “Eton, didn’t you bring a surprise for the Sullivans too?”
“Yes.” Frederick stepped before Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. “My mother had hoped to join my father and me here today, but unfortunately she was called away to London. She did, however, ask me to extend her condolences for your loss and her appreciation for your family’s sacrifice.”
“Thank you, Frederick,” Mr. Sullivan said. “We are grateful for everything you and your family have done to try to find our James.”
Frederick pulled a thick envelope from his coat pocket. “Although the army was unable to recover your son, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, my father was able to learn what happened to him.”
Frederick’s words tore Thomas’s attention away from his brother’s memorial. “You know what happened to James?”
Frederick nodded and handed Mrs. Sullivan the envelope. “This contains the sworn testimonies of twelve Allied soldiers: six Brits, two Canadians, two Aussies, one Belgian, and one French, all of whom were held as prisoners of war with your son on the German front line.”
The envelope trembled in Mrs. Sullivan’s hand as silent sobs shook through her. Thomas reached out and took her other hand as Frederick continued.
“Each testimony states that your son’s actions early in the morning of June 7, 1917, saved the lives of all twelve prisoners of war.”
General Chamberlain stepped beside his son and addressed Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. “When Frederick told me of George’s plans to present you with this memorial, I asked if I might join him today to meet your family.” He took a small box from his coat pocket. “Over the last two years, I have had the privilege to meet the families of many of Britain’s most courageous soldiers. Men who, like your son James, gave everything on the fields of battle to protect crown and country.” He opened the box and took out a medal. A square bronze cross hung suspended from a wine-red ribbon and bronze bar. The cross bore the image of a crown and a lion, along with the words For Valor.
“On behalf of King George the Fifth and the British Army, I am honored to present to you the Victoria Cross, for acts of gallantry and extreme bravery performed under enemy fire by your son, James M. Sullivan.”
Mr. Sullivan took the medal. “Thank you, General Chamberlain.” He then handed the medal to his wife, who showed it to the twins.
After everyone had seen the medal, Charlie placed a small hand-carved wooden frame holding a painting he’d made of James against the base of the marble cross and recited two verses from the poem “For the Fallen” that Father Clark had helped him memorize for the occasion.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Following the recitation of the poem, Mr. Sullivan took out his tin whistle to play his eldest son’s favorite song. His breath, weakened by decades in the mines and tight with emotion, drew out shaky notes. When he could no longer play, George put a hand on his shoulder and sang. His voice wasn’t as deep or rich as James’s had been, and he missed the key on many notes, but the lyrics had never meant more to Thomas.
Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
From glen to glen and down the mountain side.
The summer’s gone and all the roses falling.
’Tis you, ’tis you must go, and I must bide.
Thomas and the others joined George for the remaining verses, and as the last mournful note echoed over the cliff, the four secret soldiers stepped up to the memorial and saluted their fallen brother before joining the Sullivans, Henry, and General Chamberlain as they made their way back down the path.
“Are you coming?” George asked when he noticed Thomas lingering by the cross.
“In a minute. There’s something I have to do.”
George nodded. “Take your time. We’ll wait for you at home.” He patted his leg for Max to follow. The terrier trotted after George, stopping several times to glance back at Thomas before disappearing below the hill’s slope.
After several minutes of standing before his brother’s memorial, uncertain what to say, Thomas removed his necklace and looped it over the top of the cross. The saints medals hung below the carved letters of James’s name. Tears blurred Thomas’s vision as he placed his hand on the marble. “I miss you, James. So much.” He ran his fingers over the inscription, pausing over the word brother. “I promise I’ll always remember you, and I know you’ll always watch over me.”
Giving the memorial a final salute, he had just turned to join his family and friends when a brisk wind swirled across the cliff top, nipping at his clothes and tousling his hair. With a smile, Thomas patted down his cowlicks and wiped away his tears.
“It’s what brothers do.”