––––––––
If there was ever a time to feel nervous, thought Guy, fiddling with the straps of his haversack, this was it. The horse-drawn taxi ride seemed to take an age reaching Charing Cross, while his mind spun constantly with excitement and anticipation. They’d all sat in silence; his father, sporting a black suit, chumping on his pipe, wore an expression of resolute self-restraint, his mother and Mary one of foreboding. Only Jack, his brother, seemed to be relishing Guy’s coming adventure.
And now, they stood together on the heaving concourse at Victoria Station, surrounded by a dense throng of khaki, as men, laden with packs and rifles, jostled for space. Mary gripped Guy’s hand. Jack had taken his rifle.
‘You’d better not get too used to holding one of those,’ said his mother. ‘One son at war is enough.’
‘One day, Mother, one day,’ said Jack.
Guy looked at his mother, her eyes puffed up, clasping her handkerchief. ‘Mother, please...’
‘Oh, Guy, you’re not going to tell me not to cry, are you?’
‘I think he is, Mother,’ said Jack.
‘And am I the only one?’
‘Edith, keep your voice down,’ said Arthur, Guy’s father.
‘She’s right, though: everywhere you look, mothers in tears,’ said Jack.
‘And girlfriends,’ added Mary, squeezing his hand, ‘especially this one.’ How pale she looked, thought Guy, but still attractive with her long auburn hair.
‘Wait,’ said Jack. ‘Is this the time we leave you two alone?’
‘Yes,’ said Edith, ‘there’s a canteen here somewhere, rumoured to brew the strongest cup of tea in London. I could do with one.’
‘And I think I can see it,’ said Jack. ‘Do you two want one? No? Follow me then, dear parents.’
Guy and Mary watched them make their way through the crowds, Jack proudly bearing Guy’s rifle. ‘How does he do it?’ she asked.
‘What, the perpetual cheeriness? That’s Jack for you. And you,’ he said, bringing her into his embrace, ‘how will you remain cheery?’
She pushed up his cap and giggled. ‘By remembering last night; that might help, don’t you think?’
Guy guffawed. ‘It most certainly will.’ His hand, delicately around her waist, squeezed her buttock through the layers of her dress.
‘Guy Searight!’ She lent up and kissed him, ‘you take advantage of me.’
‘Not nearly enough.’
‘Oh, Guy, what am I going to do without you?’
‘Wait for me. Will you wait for me?’
‘You know I will.’ They embraced, oblivious to the noise around them, one couple among many, shedding their usual inhibitions, kissing in public, unwilling, unable to let one another go. ‘Look at all these girls,’ said Mary, ‘kissing their boys goodbye. You’d think we could form a club and give each other comfort. But we won’t; we’ll all go home alone to cry and count the days till you all come home again.’
‘At least you have your sister with you, and your job,’
‘As if life in a bakery is so exciting.’
‘And you’ll have your mother to look after. I hope... I wish her well.’
‘Ma? Oh, Guy, it’s going to be so difficult looking after her when all I’ll want to do is think of you.’
‘Please, Mary, don’t put your life on hold for me.’
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to do so for anyone else. Will you write to me?’
‘I said I would; you know I will.’
She ran her finger down his lapel. ‘You look so handsome in your uniform. I shall miss you; God, how I’ll miss you.’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘You don’t know that. How can you say that?’
‘It can’t go on forever.’
‘It’s gone on long enough already. You won’t... when you’re out there, I mean, those French girls...’
‘They’re meant to be very pretty.’
She thumped him playfully in the chest. ‘Please, Guy, don’t joke at a time like this.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Anyway, here they come.’
‘With their tea. Never thought I’d see the day – my mother with a mug of tea in public. How standards are slipping.’
He could hear his mother berating his father; ‘Black? I ask you, Arthur, what made you wear black, for goodness’ sake, hardly the appropriate.... Ah, here we are. Guy, Mary, what a picture you make.’
‘Love’s young dream,’ chirped Jack.
‘Did you say platform eight, Guy?’ asked his father. ‘They’re congregating.’
Guy glanced up at the station clock. ‘Blast, I’d better go.’
‘No,’ gasped Mary, ‘not yet.’
‘I can’t be late.’
‘Your sergeant will have your guts for garters,’ said Jack, offering back Guy his rifle.
‘Exactly.’ He swooped up his pack and pulled down his cap. ‘Well, this is it. You might as well follow me to the barrier at least.’
Holding his rifle in one hand, and Mary’s hand in the other, Guy led the way through the mass and noise of men and families, the scene of so many emotional farewells, towards platform eight.
The train waiting there, many carriages long, let rip a puff of steam as men Guy recognised from training climbed aboard. Silently, he hugged his mother, kissing her on her cheek, now wet with her tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you?’
‘For everything.’
‘You have nothing...’ Unable to continue, she reached for her handkerchief.
He turned to Jack. ‘Look after them all, won’t you,’ he said, embracing him.
‘Of course I will. And you, brother, look after yourself. Come back soon, as soon as you can.’
His father shook his hand firmly, desperately trying to suppress the emotion in his Edwardian heart. ‘We’re all very proud of you, son.’ Guy smelt the familiar pipe tobacco on his breath. The same height as Guy, he had a dark beard, flecked with grey, his thinning hair was greased back and he wore a small rounded pair of glasses.
Finally, he took Mary in his arms and hugged her. ‘I love you,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I love you too.’
Beyond the barrier, he knew they were watching him as he made his way towards the train, gradually disappearing into the sea of khaki. The platoon’s sergeant was shouting, urging the stragglers to board. Around him, the sound of boots running along the platform, doors slamming shut. Finally, with all men and packs on board and the train doors shut, the conductor blew his whistle and waved his flag. The men fought for space along the platform side of the carriages, pulling down windows to lean out of, to catch a last glimpse of their loved ones as the train, emitting billows of steam, slowly pulled out of the station. Sandwiched between two others, Guy craned out the window. He saw them briefly – Mary skipping up and down, waving frantically, Jack and his parents beside her. He waved back until he lost sight of them.
In a state of numbness, he took a seat. Everywhere men, like himself, in uniform. As the train picked up speed, they settled down in their seats and sat in silence – no one was ready to talk yet. He had re-joined the company of men, an environment he’d experienced in training, and one which, for all their individual merits, he deeply disliked.
*
As the train sped through Kent and towards Dover, Guy closed his eyes and thought of his parents and the home that awaited their return from Victoria, as cold and empty as their hearts. He thought of Mary having to cope with an ailing mother and a sullen sister. But most of all his thoughts turned to Jack. He was alarmed by Jack’s determination to join up. He may not yet have experienced life at the front, but Guy feared for his brother’s temperament. They were different in personality. Guy was, in every way, the older brother – strong and forthright, a boy imbued with a determined sense of responsibility from the moment Jack was born. While Guy was thoughtful, conventional and studious, Jack had always been extrovert, rebellious and given to horseplay and jokes, but he was also small, and it made for a dangerous combination. Teased as a weakling at school, Jack kicked back at his tormentors with his sharp wit, but sometimes his tongue took him too far, and often Guy had had to come to his younger brother’s rescue. How would Jack fare in the trenches? Guy shuddered at the thought.
He just hoped that the war, already almost a year old, would be over soon enough to spare his brother the ordeal of finding out.