Tom walked steadily for nearly two hours and then knew he could go no further. He had made his way cross-country. The roads and lanes were crammed with troops and equipment moving both up to the front and away from it; a steady and rather confused traffic of marching men, limbers, double-decker buses packed with troops, ambulances, staff cars and occasional heavy artillery. Vehicles were going in both directions and it seemed to Tom far easier to stay off the roads, he could move more quickly and now the only thing his mind focused on was getting to Molly. There would be no meeting in Albert as originally planned, she would have no idea that she was coming, he must find her at the convent.
At last his legs refused to carry him further and he looked round for somewhere he could rest up for a while, just catch a couple of hours’ sleep. Amid the twisted tree stumps of what had once been a copse at the edge of a field, Tom could see the remains of some sort of building. Summoning up the last of his strength he plodded over to it. It was indeed a ruin, but the gaping hole in its back wall gave access to the welcome shelter of three walls and half a roof. Tom crawled inside, and found to his amazed delight that there were some wisps of straw strewn on the floor. It was damp and smelt of mould, but never had a bed seemed so welcoming. Raking it together with his fingers, he dragged the wet and smelly strands into the corner beneath the roof, and collapsed on to it, instantly asleep.
He woke hours later with the evening sun slanting in on his face, his body stiff and cold, his teeth chattering and his head pounding. For a moment he looked blankly around him and then the previous day flooded back to him, the mud and the blood, the shattered bodies and Sam Gordon dying in a shell-hole; Jimmy Cardle on his back, the nightmare journey with the ambulance.
Exhaustion claimed him and Tom lay back on the dank straw and tried to take in his surroundings. Three walls, jagged-edged where the stones had fallen away and sloping steeply were all that had sheltered him, with the remains of a thatched roof hanging precariously from broken rafters above him. The fourth wall had collapsed into a heap of rubble, beyond which Tom could see the sky, a gleaming, polished blue shot with the crimson and flame of sunset, stretching away into the distance. Somewhere beyond the rubbled wall he could hear a trill of birdsong, a sound that seemed to the bemused Tom completely alien… how could there be birds on a battlefield? For far away still playing out their thunder, he could hear the guns, the ever-present accompaniment to his life in the past weeks. He raised his head again, heaving himself up on to his elbow, but his head reeled with the effort of it, and he dropped back again closing his eyes. He could feel the last rays of the sun on his face, but it didn’t warm him, he felt chilled to the bone and his whole body seemed to be shaking, and yet he was covered in sweat.
Trying to concentrate on what he should do next, Tom realised that he was incredibly thirsty. His mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but had nothing to swallow with. Once he had recognised it, his thirst seemed to increase until it threatened to consume him. He had had nothing to eat or drink since dawn at the casualty station, and though he felt no hunger, his thirst dried his throat to a rasping ache. Water became his only concern, and again he made the effort to get up. He was in an animal shelter after all, maybe there was a trough somewhere, perhaps outside, or even a hollow in the rubble of stones where rain might have gathered. He dragged himself across the muddy floor towards the collapsed wall, and hauled himself up to peer over it. The country stretched away before him, flat fields, their emptiness only broken by occasional clumps of stunted trees, broken stone walls and tattered hedgerows. Beside the barn was a single tree, leafless and gnarled, and it was from the branches of this that the thrush was singing its evening song. Beneath it was a small wooden trough, its water oily-surfaced in the sun. With immense effort, Tom pulled himself to his feet and staggered across to the trough. At his movement the thrush flew away in alarm, but Tom’s whole being was focused on the water. He reached the trough and kneeling beside it, scooped the brackish water into his parched mouth. It tasted foul and he almost threw up, but after a moment he forced himself to drink a little more. Then he collapsed back against the tree and, closing his eyes, sleep claimed him once again.
“Aye, aye! What have we here?”
The guttural voice jerked Tom awake and he looked up to see two military policemen standing over him, each with a rifle in his hand.
One, with sergeant’s stripes on his arm asked, “What are you doing here, son?”
Tom stared up at him for a moment and then said, “I’m on my way to Albert.”
“Oh you are, are you? On your feet, man. Name and number?”
“Private 8523241 Thomas Carter, 1st Battalion, Belshire Light Infantry, Sarge.”
“Well, Private Carter, why are you here on your own and not with your regiment?”
“Don’t know where they are, Sergeant.”
The sergeant’s voice hardened a little as he said, “What do you mean, Carter? Don’t know where they are. You deserted, have you?”
“Course not!” Tom was stung by the suggestion. “I was sent to carry this bloke to the dressing station.”
“Ain’t no dressing station round here,” pointed out the sergeant.
“No. I know. Then I came down with an ambulance to the casualty clearing station. I’ve come from there.”
“Why didn’t you go back up with the ambulance?”
“I had to get to Albert,” said Tom. He wondered if he should say he had a leave pass. They wouldn’t believe him and he couldn’t produce it. It had disintegrated with Sam Gordon. Tom blinked hard to banish the vision of Sam Gordon and his leg in the shell-hole.
“Why Albert?” It was the other MP who spoke for the first time. “Why not back to the front to find your mates?”
“My mates are strung out on the wire in no-man’s-land,” Tom said bleakly. “My mates are blown to smithereens by Jerry shells. My mates are ripped to shreds by machine gun bullets. That’s why I can’t go back to my mates.”
“Afraid, are you?” asked the MP.
“Course I’m afraid, we’re all bloody afraid. Anyone who says he isn’t is lying.” He looked at the MP red caps and said, “You wouldn’t know. You weren’t there. There were others like you there, standing back ready to shoot any poor bloke who held back.”
It was the wrong thing to say and the sergeant said abruptly, “Well, you’re coming with us. You’re under arrest, Carter, for desertion.” He prodded Tom with his rifle barrel and said, “Start walking.”
Weak though he was, Tom fell in between the two policemen and was marched down a track that ran past the far side of his barn to a road beyond. In the distance he could see the buildings of Albert, the cupola of its basilica standing defiantly against the guns, topped by the golden Madonna still leaning out at right angles above the rubbled square below.
Tom was taken to a command post where the MPs passed him over to an officer.
“Private 8523241 Thomas Carter, 1st Belshires, sir. Trying to desert,” said the sergeant. “Hiding in a barn.”
The nightmare began. The officer, Major Gyles of the military police, looked at Tom, standing to attention before him, dishevelled, unshaven, his uniform filthy. He took in the red-rimmed eyes and the grey pallor of his skin and knew that the man in front of him was on the point of exhaustion.
“Well, Carter,” he kept his voice even, “what have you to say for yourself, man? Were you deserting your comrades?”
The major was a young man, with smooth dark hair and a neat moustache. His eyes, dark brown and deep set, probed Tom’s face as he asked the question.
“No sir,” Tom said. “Never, sir.”
“So why were you hiding in a barn?”
“I wasn’t hiding, sir,” replied Tom. “I was resting up, before coming on to Albert.”
“Where had you come from?” asked Major Gyles. “Where is your regiment?”
“At the front, sir. Beaumont Hamel, sir.”
“So why aren’t you with them, Carter?”
“We went over, sir, on the first day. Most of my lot were blown away, sir.
“But you survived.” Major Gyles’s voice hardened. “How was that, Carter?”
“I was blown flat by a shell, sir. When I came round, I was half buried and I had to dig myself out. By the time I’d done that there wasn’t no attack any more.”
“So you just scuttled on back to the safety of your own lines.”
“No sir. It was getting dark by then. Stretcher bearers was coming out for the wounded. I found one bloke, Jimmy Cardle, in a shell-hole, both his legs broken. I carried him in, sir.”
“Back to your own unit.”
“No, sir. Everything was so confused out there, with the smoke and the shells and bodies everywhere. I didn’t know which way to go at first. I must have crawled round in a circle, because I saw Sid Johnson twice.”
“Sid Johnson?”
“A bloke from our unit, sir. He was dead in a hole, sir. I saw him and went on trying to get back and then I saw him again.”
“So what did you do then?”
“Followed a stretcher party, sir. That’s when I found Jimmy Cardle. I took him back to the trench. I kept shouting, ‘Bringing in wounded,’ so that they wouldn’t think we was Jerries, sir.”
“Who was in the trench?” asked the major. His face had relaxed a little as Tom told his story, but his gimlet eyes still bored into Tom.
“An officer, sir. A lieutenant.”
“What was his name?”
“Don’t know, sir.
“From your regiment?”
“No, sir, Irish I think, sir.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He told me to help a stretcher-bearer called Jones take Jimmy Cardle down to the dressing station. He gave me a shirt, sir and a tunic.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Mine was gone, sir, I was just in my shirt and that was in tatters.”
“So he gave you the tunic you have on now?”
“Yes, sir, and told me to find myself a tin hat.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, sir. We took Jimmy Cardle down to the dressing post.”
“Then what did you do?”
Tom thought for a moment and then said, “Jones disappeared…”
“Where did he go?”
“Don’t know, sir, back to the front-line trench, I suppose.”
“And why didn’t you go with him?”
“I went to the ambulance line, sir.”
The major looked puzzled. “Why on earth did you go there?”
“I had to get to Albert, sir. I helped take an ambulance down to the casualty clearing station.”
“Why did you think you had to get to Albert, Carter?” The hardness returned to the major’s voice. “Why didn’t you make every effort to rejoin your unit, or what was left of it?”
“I had a pass, sir.”
“A pass?”
“A compassionate leave pass, sir.”
“Leave!” The major was incredulous. “Leave, in the middle of the greatest battle of the war?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who gave you this ‘leave’?”
“Company commander, sir, Captain Hurst.”
“I don’t believe you, Carter,” Major Gyles said shortly. “If you have a pass, where is it? Show it to me.”
“I can’t, sir.”
“And why not?”
“I haven’t got it any more, sir. It was blown up.”
“Blown up? How very convenient.” The major eyed him thoughtfully. “How was it blown up?”
“We was crossing no man’s land when a shell fell behind us. I was blown flat on my face.”
“I thought you said you were buried by the shell,” snapped the major.
“Not the first one,” Tom said.
“Oh, I see, there were two shells,” said the major, sardonically.
“There was shells everywhere, sir,” Tom said. “I dived into a shell-hole for cover and I heard someone crying out.” Tom paused, but the major said nothing so he went on. “There was a lad there, had his leg blown off. His name was Sam Gordon.”
“One of yours?”
“Same battalion. I did what I could for him sir, put a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. He was shivering and I put my tunic round him while I went for help.”
“You left him and went for help.”
“Yes sir, I couldn’t do nothing more for him, sir. I left a marker so’s I could find him again.”
“What sort of marker?”
“There were two other blokes in the same hole, sir. They were dead. I took one of their rifles and stood it up with a piece of the lad’s shirt tied to it.”
“And then you went for help.”
“Yes sir, I’d just crawled away, when there was another shell. That was the one that buried me, sir.”
“Go on, Carter.”
“When I came round again, like I said, I was half buried and I had to dig myself out. I looked back to where I thought I’d left Sam Gordon. There weren’t nothing there. He’d been blown away. Probably same shell as got me.”
“What has all this to do with your leave pass?” asked Major Gyles abruptly.
“It was in the pocket of my tunic, sir. I’d left that round Sam Gordon.”
“So you have nothing to prove that you were given leave, in the middle of a battle, to come to Albert.”
“I only had leave after the battle was over,” said Tom.
“But it isn’t over,” the major pointed out quietly. “It’s hardly begun!” he thought for a moment and then asked, “What made this Captain Hurst give you compassionate leave, Carter? And why to come to Albert?”
“He gave me forty-eight hours, sir, to get married.” Even as he said it, Tom realised how thin this sounded.
“To get married?” The incredulity returned to Major Gyles’s voice. “To get married… in the middle of the big push. Who the hell is this Captain Hurst to even dream of considering such a thing?”
“There’s a girl, a nurse. We was getting married as soon as we could, only now she’s expecting, so I wanted to marry her before she went home to have the baby.” Tom’s voice trailed away as he gave his explanation.
Major Gyles looked at Tom for a long moment before he said, “So to get here to marry this girl, you deserted your king, you deserted your mates, you simply walked away from the battlefield and left them to do the fighting.”
“No, sir, it wasn’t like that, sir,” protested Tom. “I had a pass, sir. I had leave to come. I’d never have left otherwise.”
“And this girl, this nurse, does she know you’re coming?”
“I didn’t have a chance to tell her, sir. Captain Hurst only changed his mind just as we went up to the front.”
“Changed his mind? You mean he had refused you once?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What made him change his mind?”
“Don’t know, sir.” Tom had never been quite sure what had made Captain Hurst change his mind, but he assumed that it was the letter from Sarah. He didn’t think that would be well received as a reason now, so he simply said, “Don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know? You mean he just sent for you and said, ‘By the way Carter, I’ve decided to let you go and get married after all. Hope you’ll be very happy.’ ” Major Gyles’s sarcasm was heavy. “Good God, man, you must think I came down with the fairies.” He stared straight at Tom, drilling him with his eyes, as if trying to see what was written on his brain. Then he sighed. “You’re under arrest, Carter, for desertion in the face of the enemy. You will be held here while we try and verify your story, and then no doubt there’ll be a court martial. Take him away, Tucker.”
The sergeant marched him out of the room and round to a stone shed that had two cells in it. He gestured Tom into one without a word and then snapped the door shut, shooting the huge bolts behind him.
The cell contained nothing but a camp cot and a bucket. It had one high window open to the air, but barred against escape, and the sturdy wooden door. Tom threw himself down on the cot and buried his head in despair.
Surely, surely, he thought, as he lay there in the grip of panic, they’ll believe me. Surely Captain Hurst will tell them that he gave me a pass… but suppose he doesn’t.
It was clear to Tom from Major Gyles’s reaction that it should never have been given.
Captain Hurst’ll be in deep shit for this, Tom thought, and so am I. And what about Molly? What’ll happen to her now? I’ll never get to see her now, let alone marry her.
Sergeant Tucker appeared some hours later with a bucket of hot water, a minuscule piece of soap and some clean kit.
“Get yourself shaved and swilled down, Carter,” he said, and handed Tom a razor. He stood and watched as Tom stripped off the remains of his filthy clothes and dunked his head in the bucket. The soap was a luxury he hadn’t had for some time, and ignoring the rigidly alert sergeant beside him, Tom scrubbed himself from top to bottom, finishing with his hair and then picking up the razor. At once the sergeant moved towards him, but Tom managed to produce a lather on his face with the last scrape of soap and began to shave in the dregs of the water left in the bucket. Being shaved, clean and in the luxury of clean clothes was the most wonderful boost to Tom’s morale. He turned to the sergeant and asked, “What happens now, Sarge?”
“You go back in your cell, chum,” came the laconic reply. “Fall in.”
Tom was marched back to the cell, and the door closed with its echoing boom. It was a sound that Tom was to get used to over the next ten days. He was kept locked up almost all day, let out for exercise under guard, he was marched round and round a small courtyard for half an hour and then returned to his solitary confinement.
He had been allowed to write one letter, and in it he tried to tell Molly what had happened without alarming her. He didn’t know if she knew what he knew only too well; if he were found guilty of desertion, at best he’d get penal servitude and at worst he’d be shot.
10th July
My darling Molly
I am writing to you from near the town where we were going to meet, where I am under arrest at present. Sarah’s brother did give me a pass in the end, but I lost it in the battle, and so until they find out from him for sure I have to stay here. I am well treated and have exercise, but the rest of the day is a bit boring. But it won’t be for long, I am sure. It does mean that I shan’t be able to come to you as we’d hoped. You must go home, my darling girl, and I will come and find you as soon as I can. Look after our baby, it will probably be more than a baby by the time I see it. What will you call it I wonder? Choose whatever name you like best. I don’t know if I will get letters here, but write to me if you can and tell me what plans you have made for your journey and let me know when you are safely home.
I love you, my Molly.
Tom
Each day when Sergeant Tucker came in with his food, Tom would ask, “Any news yet?”
Tucker would shake his head. “It’s chaos out there,” he said once, but he wouldn’t say any more.
At the end of the ten days Tucker came for him and marched him back into the house where he’d first seen Major Gyles. The major was there again, but this time there was a colonel with him. Both men sat behind a table and Tom stood to attention in front of them. The colonel was older than the major, his hair greying at the temples, his face deeply etched with lines, but his bearing was erect and his grey eyes surveyed Tom coldly.
“Carter,” he said.
“Yes, sir. Private 8523241 Thomas Carter, 1st Battalion, Belshire Light Infantry.”
“I am Colonel Bridger, and I am here from Brigade. We have looked into your case, Carter and it has been decided that you shall be tried by court martial. Your story seems to me to be completely preposterous, but it will be tested by the court which will convene tomorrow at ten o’clock here.”
He looked at Tom’s stunned face and added, “You will be assigned a Prisoner’s Friend. He will come to see you this afternoon so that you can prepare your defence… if you have one.” His tone made it clear to Tom and the others in the room, that he didn’t consider there was a defence. “Right, Sergeant, carry on.”
Sergeant Tucker snapped out the order to move but Tom stood his ground for a moment and said, “Please sir, may I ask if there is any news from Captain Hurst?”
The colonel looked surprised at being addressed, but he said mildly, “No, Carter, nor will there be. He was killed almost immediately, leading his men over. Doing his duty to the end.” He paused and then added, “But perhaps you already knew that, Carter. Perhaps you saw him fall while you were hiding in your shell-hole. You’d know it would be safe to use his name then, wouldn’t you? Know that he couldn’t refute your lies.”
Tom started to speak again, to cry out against such a suggestion, but the colonel snapped, “Enough, Carter. Take him away.”
Tucker marched him back to the cell and then said almost sympathetically, “It doesn’t do no good to argue with them, Carter. Keep that for the court. There’ll be someone to see you later, I expect.”
Lieutenant Hill came into the cell later that afternoon. He brought a chair with him and when he was seated, he took a notepad and pencil from his pocket.
“Now then, Carter,” he began, “I’ve been sent to you as Prisoner’s Friend. We have to make out some sort of case in court, so what’s it to be?”
Tom told him as simply as he could what had happened and how he came to be in the position he was. When he’d finished Lieutenant Hill said, “And you say this Captain Hurst has since been killed and can’t speak up on your behalf.”
“The colonel told me so this morning,” Tom said dismally.
“Who else did you tell that you’d been promised leave?” asked Lieutenant Hill.
“No one,” Tom replied. “Captain Hurst said it was compassionate leave, but that no one else was to know. I gave him my word.”
Tom wished now that he hadn’t kept his word so rigorously to Captain Hurst. If only he had mentioned the promised leave to Cookie, he could have corroborated his story. “He said no one else was to know,” Tom said again.
“I can well understand that,” muttered Lieutenant Hill. “What I can’t understand is him giving it to you at all. You realise the court isn’t very likely to believe you? What else have you to say about it? You say no one else knew?”
“No one, sir,” began Tom and then said, “except Captain Hurst did say he was going to write to his sister about it.”
“His sister!” the young lieutenant was incredulous. “Why on earth would he write to his sister about it?”
“I don’t know if he did,” Tom said wearily. “He said he was going to, but we moved up to the front so soon after, he may not have done.”
“But why would he tell his sister?” Hill asked again.
“Because she was nursing with Molly. I told you it was a nurse at the convent hospital where I was sent when I was wounded. Captain Hurst’s sister is her friend.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Hill frowning, “this officer’s sister is a friend of the girl you, Private Carter, have made pregnant.”
“Of the girl I’m going to marry,” Tom said steadfastly. “Molly was her maid…”
“Ah, light dawns,” said Hill. “You’ve got the family retainer into trouble.”
“You don’t understand,” Tom said. “At home Molly is the maid, but out here they are equals. They’re doing the same job.”
“May be you think they are, but I doubt if Hurst’s sister sees this girl as her equal. That would be most unlikely.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Still, that is neither here nor there. We can’t involve them in this.”
“Surely you can ask her if she had a letter from him?” Tom said.
“Carter,” Hill said wearily, “she’s not here. We can’t ask her. The court martial is tomorrow. The prosecution will bring its witnesses and we have to make our defence, then it’s up to the court.”
“Who are their witnesses?”
“The MPs who found you hiding in the barn…”
“I was not hiding,” protested Tom.
“So, you tell them that tomorrow. You tell them what you were doing when they found you. Then there will be Major Gyles, who interviewed you on the first day. He will also answer the questions about Captain Hurst. It is no good trying to drag his sister into this, it won’t make any difference. The thing is, Carter, you were absent from your unit without leave, and that’s desertion. All we can do is try and make them see that you thought you had good reason to go.”
“But I didn’t desert,” cried Tom. “I was going back. I had a forty-eight hour pass, and then I was going back.”
“So you say,” agreed Lieutenant Hill, “but they’ve only your word for it, so it’s up to you to try and convince them. I’ve asked around, and the best way seems to be to put you on oath and then let you tell your own story. They may ask you questions, but you can answer in your own words and try to make them believe you.”
Tom stared at him bleakly. “Is that all?” he asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“Can I ask you something, sir? Have you been a Prisoner’s Friend before?” asked Tom.
Lieutenant Hill looked uncomfortable. “No, Carter, I can’t say that I have. It’s not a popular job, you know. No one wants to do it, but,” he added in a rallying tone, “since I am doing it, I will do my very best for you.” He pocketed the notebook in which he had jotted notes of what Tom had told him. “After you have spoken, I can sum up your defence, and then it’ll be up to the court.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and then once again the boom of the heavy door cut him off from the world outside.
Tom slept hardly at all that night. His brain churned over and over what he might say to the court in the morning and how best he might say it. From what Lieutenant Hill said it appeared that his being away from his unit would be construed as desertion, whatever he told them. The fact that he had come down from the front line thinking he had permission to do so, would not be believed, or even if it were, would not count as a defence. He watched the grey fingers of dawn creep through the bars of his window, and felt grey fingers of despair creeping with them.
Sergeant Tucker brought him some breakfast, but Tom was not hungry and he ate none of it, just drank the mug of strong tea that went with it. He was given hot water to wash and shave in and then Tucker came back to fetch him.
The court martial had been convened in the main room of HQ. It was in a villa just outside the town. Lieutenant Hill was waiting as Tom was marched up between two MPs. He said hastily, “Colonel Bridger is presiding, with Captain James and Captain Howard. They’re all right, but the colonel is another matter altogether.” He looked Tom over and went on, “We’ll be on one side of the room and the prosecutor, that’s Major Pilton, will be on the other. Don’t speak unless you are spoken to. Understand? Don’t interrupt. Your turn to speak will come.”
Together they went into the room where a table was laid out with paper and pencils, pens, ink and a blotter for each of the tribunal. There was a small table on the right hand side, and next to this sat the prosecutor, Major Pilton. Hill led Tom to the other side where there was one chair and another small table. “Stand there,” he said, indicating the space behind table, and as Tom did so, Hill sat down on the chair, putting his papers on the table beside him. At the back of the room were the two military policemen who had arrested him, and Major Gyles.
The sun streamed in through the floor length windows behind the main table, and as he waited for the tribunal to make its appearance, Tom found himself watching the motes of dust dancing in the shaft of sun. Just so had they danced on summer mornings through the dining-room windows of the London orphanage. Tom found himself with a vision of that old Victorian hall, with its pitted panelling and pock-marked tables, which was so vivid that suddenly it was the small court room, painted a cold and clinical white, which seemed unreal. Only by concentrating on the frivolous dance of the dust in the sunshine did Tom keep from trying to push his way from the room to find the real world outside.
The door swung open and the officers making up the tribunal strode in and sat down behind the table, followed by two more military police, who took up their positions on either side of the door.
Colonel Bridger announced his name and then the names of the officers on either side of him. The prosecutor announced himself as Major Pilton, and then Lieutenant Hill, in a rather hesitant voice, gave his name and said that he appeared as Prisoner’s Friend.
“Stand forward, prisoner, and state your name, rank and number.”
Tom did so, and then the colonel turned back to Major Pilton. “Read the offences that this man is charged with,” he ordered. The prosecutor stood up.
“Private 8523241 Thomas Carter of the 1st Battalion, Belshire Light Infantry is charged on two counts as follow:
1. That on the night of 1st July 1916, when on active service he did, without leave, absent himself from the front line trenches near Beaumont Hamel and remained absent until he was found outside the town of Albert on the morning of 3rd July.
2. That on the night of 1st July 1916, when on active service, he did desert His Majesty’s service.”
“Guilty or not guilty?” the colonel demanded, staring at Tom.
“Not guilty, sir,” Tom said. He managed to keep his voice steady, but his insides were churning and he had to keep his hands rigidly at his side to stop them from shaking.
“Carry on, Major,” the colonel directed.
“Private Thomas Carter was part of a unit that took part in the attack by the 29th Division on the enemy line at Beaumont Hamel on 1st July. He attacked with his unit through no-man’s-land, and was seen to advance in line with the rest of his comrades. As the attacking force advanced he disappeared and was not seen again. The next time he was seen was at the forward dressing post in the support trenches when he joined Private John Gerard as an ambulance driver and took a horse ambulance back from the lines to the casualty clearing station at Hebecourt. There he had some food with Gerard and then while Gerard was at the latrines, he disappeared again. He did not ride back up to the lines with Gerard, who having searched for him before leaving and been unable to find him, returned to the forward dressing post alone.
“No officer had directed him to the ambulances, no order had been given to him to accompany Gerard to the clearing station. When he appeared beside the ambulance which was preparing to leave, Gerard says he asked if Carter was Henderson’s replacement.” The major glanced across at the colonel, explaining, “Henderson had been Gerard’s co-driver who had been wounded in the shoulder on their last trip. The accused said that he was. Gerard accepted this and Carter joined him on the ambulance. When Gerard reported back to his own officer, Captain Hicks, he discovered no one had sent this man to be his co-driver, and subsequently he has driven with another man to replace the injured Henderson.”
Lieutenant Hill got to his feet and asked tentatively, “May I ask, sir, if this Private Gerard will be appearing as a witness?”
Colonel Bridger looked annoyed at the interruption and snapped, “Your time for questions will come, Lieutenant.”
However, Major Pilton said, “No, Lieutenant, he won’t. He can’t be spared, his work is particularly vital at this time, as you can imagine. His statement has been taken.” The major looked down at his papers again. “From the time the accused left the casualty station at Hebecourt until he was found by the arresting officers, he was absent without leave, and had made no attempt to report himself for duty anywhere.”
“Call your witnesses, Major,” said Colonel Bridger.
The two military policemen were called, and each gave the same version of events as the other. They had been on patrol in the area outside Albert and had found Private Carter hiding in a barn.
When allowed to cross examine, Lieutenant Hill asked Sergeant Tucker, “What made you think that Private Carter was hiding?”
“Stands to reason,” replied Tucker. “We see it from time to time. A bloke goes AWOL and slinks off among the farms trying to get food from the French there.”
“Was Private Carter at a farm?”
“No, sir, in a derelict barn… so that he wouldn’t be seen, sir.”
“Seen by whom?” asked Hill, but before Tucker could answer Colonel Bridger snapped, “I think the sergeant has already answered your question, Lieutenant. He said the man was in hiding from the army.”
“Excuse me sir,” replied Lieutenant Hill bravely, “but I don’t think he said that exactly…”
“It is what he meant,” said the colonel. “Have you any other questions for this man?” His tone implied that there should not be, but Lieutenant Hill said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He turned back to Tucker. “Did the accused try to run away when he saw you?”
“No, sir. He seemed exhausted. Unsteady on his feet, like.”
The next witness was Major Gyles, who briefly described the conversation he had had with Tom when he had been brought in.
“Did you believe his story?” enquired Major Pilton.
“No, not really,” Gyles replied.
“So you had him locked up while you made some enquiries?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what was the result of those enquiries?” asked the prosecutor.
“He said he had been given a forty-eight-hour leave pass on compassionate grounds by his company commander, Captain Frederick Hurst.”
“And does Captain Hurst confirm this?”
“No. I’m afraid Captain Hurst was killed as he led his men into the battle on 1st July.”
“You found no one else who was able to confirm this… leave pass?” He spoke the last two words as if they left a nasty taste in his mouth.
“No, sir. Though it has to be said that there are very few of Captain Hurst’s company left. Those that did return to the lines safely have been reassigned to other units.”
“So there is no one to corroborate what the accused says?”
“No, sir.”
The men at the table made copious notes; indeed Colonel Bridger seemed to be writing everything down verbatim, and kept asking Major Pilton to wait while he did so.
When at last it was Lieutenant Hill’s turn to ask questions of Major Gyles he said, “Were attempts made to contact some of the survivors of Private Carter’s unit?”
“It is very difficult to locate individuals in the present state of affairs,” the major replied evasively.
“So there is no one to say that Captain Hurst did not give the accused a pass to return to Albert immediately after the attack.”
“It is so unlikely as to be almost impossible,” replied Major Gyles. “This is the biggest push of the war. No officer is going to hand out leave, compassionate or otherwise.”
Lieutenant Hill knew he was going to get no further with this, and he was well aware that the colonel was eyeing him with distaste.
“The accused says that he brought in a wounded man, Jimmy Cardle, into a part of the line that he did not recognise. Have you been able to find this man Cardle?”
“He subsequently died of his wounds.”
“And the officer in the trench who gave Carter a shirt and service tunic to replace the one he had left on the wounded man, Sam Gordon?”
“We have not been able to trace any officer who remembers doing this.”
“It is possible,” Lieutenant Hill suggested, “that he too has since been killed.”
“This is pure supposition,” interrupted Colonel Bridger. “Have you any other relevant questions?”
Lieutenant Hill could see that any more questioning was going to do more harm than good, so he said, “No, sir. I’d like the prisoner to give evidence on his own behalf.”
Tom was sworn in and then Lieutenant Hill asked him to explain exactly what had happened in his own words. As he went through it all again, he noticed that the colonel had stopped taking notes and was sitting back in his chair staring at him with his cold grey eyes.
Major Pilton stopped him at one stage and said, casually, “You say that this pass was not with immediate effect? It did not start at once?”
“No, sir,” said Tom. “Captain Hurst said that I could not go until after the attack. He said he didn’t know when it would be, but very soon. He said that when it was over I could be released for forty-eight hours… to get married.” It sounded weak even to his own ears, but Tom went on, “I am an orphanage boy, sir. Never knew my parents. I didn’t want my child to grow up without my name to protect him. Molly and me was going to get married anyway, but I wanted us to be before Molly went home.”
“So,” Major Pilton ignored all that Tom had said, “so your pass was not with effect until the attack was over.”
“No, sir.”
“It is still not over, Carter. The attack has continued ever since the morning you went over the top.”
“Lieutenant Hurst had dated it for the 8th July, sir.”
“Why would he do that, I wonder?” said the prosecutor.
“Because he thought the battle would be over by then, sir. He thought we’d be through the German lines and well dug in, sir, and he would spare me for a couple of days.”
Too many people had believed the same thing and been proved disastrously wrong for this to be a comfortable thought for the major, so he ignored Tom’s answer and continued, “So that was the date on the pass?”
“ Yes, sir. The 8th July, sir.”
“According to what we’ve heard, you were arrested on the morning of the 3rd July.” He paused and then went on softly, “Your leave, if you had leave, did not begin by your own admission until 8th July. Therefore I put it to you that you were Absent Without Leave. You had deserted your comrades, you had deserted your King whilst on Active Service.” A long silence followed his words and then he sat down.
Lieutenant Hill remained seated. He knew he could do no more.
Colonel Bridger got to his feet. “The court will retire and consider its verdict.” Everyone stood rigidly at attention while the tribunal left the room.
“You will wait here, Carter,” ordered Major Pilton, and then having instructed the two military policemen who had remained on either side of the door to guard the prisoner, he left the room, followed by Major Gyles.
Lieutenant Hill looked at Tom. “I did my best for you, Carter, but I think you just condemned yourself.”
“What happens now?” asked Tom fearfully.
“Now they decide whether you are guilty or not. If not, you will be released at once and returned to your regiment. If guilty, they’ll want to know more about you and your character.” He got to his feet and followed the other two officers out of the room, disliking the job he’d had to do, feeling that he hadn’t done it very well and angry that he’d been asked to do it in the first place.
It was half an hour before the officers returned to the courtroom. Tom had spent the time slumped in a chair with one military policeman by the open window, the other beside the door. When the officers came back in Sergeant Tucker rasped out, “Prisoner, attention!”
Tom leapt to his feet and stood to attention as the two majors and Lieutenant Hill took their places, followed almost immediately by the tribunal.
When everyone was in place, Colonel Bridger looked slowly round the room, before he said, “Private Carter, we have listened very carefully to all the evidence in this regrettable affair, both against you and in your defence. However, at present the court has no findings to announce.” He looked across at Major Pilton. “What is known about this man, Major? Do we have anything from his commanding officer?”
“Colonel Johnson was unable to attend, sir, however he sent this statement to be read in court.” The major took a sheet of paper from his table and read, “ ‘Private Thomas Carter volunteered in October 1914 and has served with B company of this battalion since he was posted here in May 1915. He has been a trusted soldier, used on several occasions as part of a raiding party because of his courage and reliability. On one occasion he brought in a comrade who had been wounded on such a raid, when he was already wounded himself. He was not sent home, but this resulted in a stay in hospital here in France. Once he was pronounced fit for duty he returned to his battalion and continued to serve willingly. He was granted seventy-two hours’ local leave in March from which he returned promptly. I have not come into personal contact with Private Carter, but this report is based on information both from his service record and from officers under whom he has served. Unfortunately nearly all the officers and NCOs by whom he was best known have recently been killed in action, and so there is no close, first-hand knowledge of him. Private Carter appears to have been a brave and loyal soldier. It is a great shock to hear of the very serious charges laid against him now.’ It is signed, James Johnson, Lieutenant Colonel. 1st Belshire Light Infantry.”
“No other evidence as to this man’s character?” asked Colonel Bridger.
“No, sir.”
“Lieutenant Hill, have you anything more to say on the prisoner’s behalf?”
The young officer stood up and cleared his throat nervously, “Just to say, sir, that this evidence of good character from Colonel Johnson, seems to bear out some of the things the accused said, sir. He has been wounded himself in the service of the king, he has rescued at least one, he says two, wounded men from no-man’s-land. He is not a coward, sir, he has never run away from his duty before. I suggest to you, sir that he did not do so wilfully this time, but under the misapprehension that he had leave to come to Albert for forty-eight hours, leave given even at this desperate time, compassionate leave, because it was a family matter. Private Carter had no intention of remaining at large, sir, and once he had married his fiancée, he would have returned to his unit immediately. I ask you sir, to take all this into consideration when coming to your sentence, sir.” Lieutenant Hill sat down again and Colonel Bridger turned to Tom.
“Well, Carter, have you anything to say for yourself?”
Tom said, “Yes, sir, please sir.” He drew a deep breath. He knew as he had not been declared Not Guilty that they had found him guilty, but he also knew he had not yet been sentenced. “Everything I have told you is true. If you must find me guilty, sir, I beg you to find me guilty of being absent without leave. I didn’t desert, sir.” Tom spoke earnestly, his eyes fixed on the colonel. “I wouldn’t never desert my mates. I wouldn’t never desert my king. I joined up as soon as I could to do my bit, like, and I wouldn’t give up, sir, not till the war is over. I rescued my mate, Harry, and he died. I brought in Jimmy Cardle and he died. If nothing else I owe them Germans for them, sir. I didn’t desert.”
The colonel listened impassively to Tom’s outburst and then said, “The proceedings in open court are terminated.”
Tom was marched back to the cell where he had been kept before, and Lieutenant Hill came to see him once more.
“I’m afraid they’ve found you guilty,” he said. “I hope what your CO said about you will work in your favour. You’ll be kept here until sentence is decided and confirmed.”
Tom looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Are they going to shoot me?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Carter,” the lieutenant replied.
It was another ten days before Tom heard the sentence of the court. Those days had passed exactly as the ones before the court martial. He thought of Molly, wondering continually where she was and what had happened to her. He had not heard from her for three weeks and he was desperate for news of her. She must have gone home to England, Tom decided. His letter would be following her, forwarded by Sarah. Surely she would write as soon as she could? Each day he hoped for mail, but each day he was disappointed. He wrote again himself, but he said almost nothing about his predicament. There was no need to worry her yet, so he simply told her how much he loved her and how, when the war was over, he, she and the baby would be the most wonderful family. He had no news about the progress of the battle, still grinding on after the initial push. He could hear the guns, still pounding away at distant targets, but he knew nothing of the gains and losses sustained on the ground beneath the exploding shells and vicious shrapnel.
The military police who guarded him were taciturn and seldom answered any of his questions with more than a grunt. Sergeant Tucker was a little more forthcoming. “It’s hell out there,” he said, “and we ain’t getting nowhere.”
At last Tucker came in one afternoon, bringing a bucket of warm water with him. He said, “Hot water, Carter, get scrubbed up. You’re going to HQ.”
With dread in his heart, Tom duly washed and shaved. If he was going to HQ then it must mean that his sentence was about to be promulgated. He was marched over to the villa and made to wait in the room where the court martial had been held. As before two MPs waited with him until the door opened and the adjutant, Major Rawlins, came in, followed by an RAMC captain and the young battalion chaplain, wearing a dog collar with his uniform.
Tom stood to attention and the adjutant looked him up and down. The major was a good-looking man in a craggy sort of way, though his face was pale and drawn, with wide-set eyes of a chocolate brown and framed with crisp, dark hair. The chocolate eyes surveyed Tom now.
“Private 8523241 Thomas Carter, I have to tell you that the court martial convened to hear the case of your desertion from the ranks, has after hearing all the facts, found you guilty as charged. Desertion is a despicable crime, leaving your fellows to take up your slack. It is the sentence of the court that you should be taken out before a squad of your comrades and shot. This sentence has been referred to officers at every level and has finally been confirmed by the Commander in Chief himself. Mitigating circumstances have been considered, but none have been found sufficient to commute the sentence. I speak for all the 1st Belshires when I say that we are ashamed that one of our number should have so failed his friends, his regiment and his king. The sentence will be carried out tomorrow morning at first light.”
Tom felt the strength drain out of him like water through a colander. His head spun and his knees felt like jelly. He stared at the pale, craggy face and knew that all colour had drained from his own. He reached for the back of the chair beside him and, gripping it, managed to remain on his feet.
“You will remain here over night. If you require the services of a padre, Lieutenant Smalley will stay with you.”
Tom found his voice and said huskily, “The Colonel wrote in his report that I was a loyal and courageous soldier, sir. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“It means that it is a great pity that you degenerated into a deserter, Carter, and left your comrades in the lurch,” the adjutant replied, and after one more piercing look, he turned on his heel and left the room.
The RAMC captain said gruffly, “You’d better sit down, Carter.”
Tom slumped onto the chair and buried his head in his hands. Tears started in his eyes and he gave a sob. His life, which he had risked so willingly in the front line over the months he had been there, was now to be taken from him. His death was not to be in the service of his king and country, for a just and noble cause, but an ignominious death, dealt out by his own comrades. These thoughts came to him in a jumble and confusion, forcing their way into his numbed brain, but his over-riding thoughts were for Molly. She would never marry him now. Their child would never know its father, would believe him to be a coward and deserter. He’d never had a family, and now he never would.
“Oh Molly,” he moaned in his misery. “Oh Molly!”
He felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the concerned face of the young padre.
“I’ll leave you to it, Padre,” said the MO. “I’ll come back if you need me.”
“There’s a room for you upstairs,” the padre said quietly. “Take Private Carter up,” he ordered the two MPs who still stood by the door.
Tom was led upstairs to a small room which was furnished with a bed, two chairs and a table. The windows were small and looked out on to the courtyard below and then to the flat country beyond. The padre followed him inside and so did the two MPs, then the door was locked behind them. The guards stood, one at the door, one at the window as they had downstairs. Tom flung himself face down on the bed and the padre sat down on one of the chairs. There was no sound in the room except for Tom’s heavy breathing as he fought to control the panic inside him. He was condemned to death. He was going to die. He was going to be led outside, blindfolded and shot. He had been paraded once, early on, for an execution. The man, only a young lad, had been half dragged, half carried from his prison and tied on a chair. The terror in the boy’s eyes before they had been blindfolded was etched on Tom’s mind. They had been forced to watch as the signal was given and the firing squad raised their rifles and fired. The man slumped forward and the chair had toppled over. Every man there had felt sick at the sight, standing to attention, not allowed to move until the medical officer had confirmed that the man was dead. Now this terrifying end was to be his. Another sob escaped him. A childish scream echoed through his brain. It’s not fair! It’s not fair!
The padre rested his hand on Tom’s shoulder and said quietly, “I’m going to stay with you, Carter, you aren’t alone. If you want to talk, we will, if not, it doesn’t matter, I’ll still be here.”
Tom lay on the bed with his face pressed into the blanket. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. Thoughts brought to mind images too painful to contemplate; the memory of the other execution, the thought of Molly, laughing up at him, her arms twined round his neck. A groan escaped him and his fingers tightened into fists. Abruptly he swung his feet round to the floor and immediately the two guards, who both carried rifles with bayonet fixed, took a step forward to forestall any unwise break for freedom or violence upon the padre.
Lieutenant Smalley looked up and his eyes met Tom’s level gaze.
“I’m going to die tomorrow,” Tom said. “Aren’t I?”
“Yes,” the padre agreed. “I’m afraid you are.”
“Then there’s things I’ve got to get sorted out,” Tom said. “Will you help me?”
“I will do anything I can for you,” Smalley replied. He looked across at the two military policemen who had relaxed again at the sound of reasonable talk.
“Will you men wait outside?” Smalley said to them, but the corporal said, “Sorry sir, orders not to leave the room, sir.”
The padre sighed. “I’m afraid everything you say will be overheard,” he said to Tom.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Tom. “Nothing matters except that I get things sorted out. It’s my girl, Molly.”
Slowly and in great detail, Tom told the padre about his life. He left out nothing; he wanted this man at least to understand why he had done what he had. He told him about the orphanage. “Not a bad place as they go,” he said. “We was fed and clothed and sent to school. If they could they helped us find a trade, some of the lads was apprenticed, but most of us went into factories and that.” He told him about meeting up with Harry Cook when working in the docks at Belmouth, and how they’d joined up together. He spoke of their life in the same platoon, of the raid when they’d been wounded, of how and where Harry had died.
“Molly was his cousin. She was there in the hospital nursing and, lo and behold, her cousin Harry turns up. He had to have his leg off and then he died.” He went on to tell the padre how he and Molly became friends and then fell in love. “She’s the most beautiful girl,” Tom said. He was surprised that he could talk about her so easily to this man that he hardly knew, but the chaplain knew how to listen and his quiet manner encouraged Tom to trust him and speak of Molly as he would have to no other man. The guards in the room were forgotten as Tom poured out all he felt for Molly. He told of his March leave and the afternoon spent in the little stone barn.
“I know we shouldn’t have,” he said, “I know you’ll say what we did was wrong, but it could have been our only time together.” He gave a harsh laugh: “It was our only time together.” He put his face in his hands again and the padre said softly, “I’m not here to judge you, Tom.”
“No,” Tom said bitterly. “That’s been done already.” Silence slipped round them and Smalley didn’t break it. He wanted Tom to continue to talk, to sort things out in his mind.
“I’ve never had a family, and Molly and me was going to be a family. I had no name except what someone chose for me. I wanted my son, or daughter, to have a name. It was important to me.” He went on talking, telling the chaplain about asking Captain Hurst for leave.
“He said no straight off, but then he had a letter from his sister, she was nursing with Molly, and asked him to do something for us if he could before Molly had to go home in disgrace.”
“Wait a minute,” Smalley said. “You’re telling me that his sister knew about this leave pass?”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know if she knew he gave it me, but she did ask him to and he said he was going to write to her.”
“Did you tell the court this?” asked Smalley. “That he might have told his sister about the pass?”
“I told Lieutenant Hill,” said Tom, “but he said it wouldn’t make no difference. She wasn’t here to say if she knew, and anyway we didn’t know that she did.”
The chaplain frowned, but simply said, “Go on.” So Tom went on, telling of every event until his final arrest by Sergeant Tucker in the ruined barn.
“But how were you going to let Molly know you were there?” asked the chaplain.
“I was going to go to the convent,” Tom said. “It weren’t any use going to Albert. But to find St Croix I had to get to Albert first.”
There was a bang on the door and the corporal unlocked it to let in a soldier with a mess tin of dark tea and some bread and jam in another.
The padre said, “Do you smoke, Carter?” Tom said that he did. “So do I,” said the padre. “I’ll go and get us some cigarettes.”
He disappeared from the room, leaving Tom to drink the tea and pick at the bread and jam. Once outside the chaplain hurried down the stairs and went looking, not for a packet of Woodbines, but for the adjutant. He finally ran Major Rawlins to earth in the mess, with a glass of whisky in his hand.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I think you should postpone Carter’s execution.”
The major put down his glass and said, “Postpone it? Why on earth should I do that?”
“There’s some new evidence, evidence that didn’t come out at the trial,” explained Smalley, and he told the adjutant what Tom had told him.
“That is irrelevant,” snapped the major.
“I’d have thought it had great relevance, sir,” Smalley said bravely. “It could prove that the man had a pass and so was not absent without leave.”
“Whether the pass was issued or not is irrelevant,” said the major brusquely. “The man was away from his unit when on active service. His pass, if he ever had one, was by his own admission, dated for 8th July. He was arrested on 3rd July, therefore he was absent without leave.”
“But might not the existence of a pass make a difference to his sentence?” Lieutenant Smalley persisted, despite the look of anger on his senior officer’s face. “It would mean he didn’t intend to desert. Mightn’t his sentence be commuted in such a circumstance?”
“Lieutenant Smalley, this man’s sentence has been confirmed at the very highest level. The only officer who suggested that the sentence should be commuted is Colonel Johnson, who doesn’t even know the man.”
“He’s his commanding officer,” Smalley said.
“Exactly,” said Rawlins. “Can’t possibly know every man in the battalion. Far better to listen to those who knew him properly. Anyway, the sentence is confirmed by Haig himself, so it’s too late to be trying to change it now.” Seeing the look on the chaplain’s face he said, “Look, Smalley, I know it’s different for you, being a man of the cloth, you see things differently, but I’m just a common soldier, and this man left his mates and set off on his own, for purposes of his own, while they were still under fire. I have no time for men like that. The execution will go ahead tomorrow morning as planned.”
“The woman who he was hoping to marry is at the convent hospital at St Croix,” Smalley said. “I could ride over there and fetch her.”
“Fetch her?” Rawlins was incredulous. “Whatever for? To watch him die?”
“No, sir. I could marry them. The prisoner would still be shot, but his wife and child would be protected by his name.”
“No protection at all, I’d have thought, in the circumstances,” snapped Rawlins. “Anyway the idea is preposterous. I suggest you go back to the prisoner and do what you’re supposed to. And remember, the man’s a deserter.”
Smalley returned to the upstairs room with cigarettes and a pad and pencil. The guards had been changed, and the new men remained in silent attendance by the door and window. Tom was sitting at the table staring out of the window at the evening sky. He watched a flight of birds, homing to roost, silhouetted against the red sky, and knew with a lurch that shook him to his core, that he would never see the sun set again.
Smalley brought an oil lamp to the table and put the pencil and paper beside Tom. Then he lit a cigarette and passed the packet to Tom.
“I thought you’d want to write to Molly,” he said quietly. He wanted to offer Tom some spiritual comfort, but he knew there could be none of that until the practicalities were sorted out.
Tom had dragged his eyes away from the window and lit a cigarette. “Thanks,” he said and picking up the pencil, began to write
My darling Molly
This will be the last letter you get from me. I was arrested and have now been court-martialled for desertion. I did not desert, Captain Hurst gave me compassionate leave to come, but he is dead and there is no one who knows I had the pass. Almost all my unit were killed. You’ll have heard now about the battle. I am sure the convent has been flooded out with wounded, but I hope you aren’t still there. They have now passed sentence on me and tomorrow morning I’m to be shot. My darling girl, I shall not be with you as we had planned. Our baby will not have a dad, but don’t let him grow up thinking his dad was a coward who ran away from the fighting, and left his mates to do the dirty work. If I had died on the battlefield I would think my life well lost in a good cause, but to die as I will have to tomorrow breaks my heart. The battalion padre, Lieutenant Smalley, is with me and trying to be of comfort. I feel none, but at least I can trust him to send you all that I have. I have left everything to you, Molly. It is not a lot, but there should be some pay to come, and everything that was sent back from the line for safe keeping during the attack.
Remember me with love, my darling girl, but go on with your life and the life of our son… or daughter. I hope the baby is a girl and will be as beautiful as you. Kiss her for me. When I stand out there tomorrow I am supposed to commend my soul to God, but I promise you, all my thoughts will be of you.
Goodbye my dearest girl,
Tom
When he had finished the letter there were tears in Tom’s eyes. He folded the letter and handed it to Smalley. “It’ll have to be censored, I suppose,” he said, “and I haven’t got an envelope.”
“Write down the address and I will make sure it and everything else is sent on to her.”
Tom got out his pay book where he had written on the back long ago he left all his worldly goods and any money owed to him, to Miss Molly Day of Valley Farm, Charlton Ambrose, Belshire. He handed it to the chaplain. “I shan’t be needing this any more,” he said.
The night was long. Smalley suggested that they might pray together, and to please him, Tom agreed, though he said, “I don’t have any faith in God, you know. If there was any sort of God, he wouldn’t allow all this killing and pain. If you want to pray, pray for my Molly and the baby. She’s the one that needs help now.”
So the padre prayed for Molly and her unborn child, and then moved quietly on to pray for Tom as well. Tom didn’t stop him, but he found little comfort in the words. Smalley got out a bible from his pocket and opened it at the psalms and read Psalm 23 aloud. Tom let the words flow over him. He was in the valley of the shadow of death all right, he thought tiredly, and tomorrow he’d be out of it, dead, gone and buried.
“Where will I be buried?” he asked suddenly, breaking in to the reading.
The padre looked startled, but then said, “In the cemetery just over the hill. You will not be alone, you will be buried among your comrades and receive a Christian burial, I promise you.”
Tom nodded slowly, and as he said no more, the chaplain went on with his reading, moving on to Psalm 121. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills…”
The summer night was short, and just before the sun crept over the horizon, the MO came into the room with some food, hot strong tea and a large measure of rum.
Tom was lying on the bed, his hands behind his head, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
“Some food, for you, Carter,” he said, “but you may prefer this.” He handed Tom the rum, then he turned to the chaplain, “I’ll be with them when they come. I suggest you get that down him.”
Tom could see no point in eating the food that had come, bread and butter and some ham, but he tipped the rum into the tea and drank the lot straight down. He went and stood by the window and watched the colour steal back into the courtyard below. He could hear the tramp of marching feet and turned abruptly from the window. He knew only too well who was marching at this time in the morning and why. He turned to the chaplain and asked, “What date is it, today?”
Smalley replied, “1st of August.”
Tom gave a harsh laugh. “It’s my birthday,” he said. “I’m twenty-three today.”
The door opened and the adjutant came in. “It’s time to go,” he said.
Tom rubbed his eyes as if banishing sleep and then fell in between the two new military policemen who had come with him. Outside the Assistant Provost Marshal was waiting. With military policemen in front and behind, Tom was marched down the lane, away from HQ to a ruined house half a mile away. All round him were the sounds and scents of a summer morning. As he walked he felt more alive than he ever had before, and his eyes drank in the gleam of the sun on the grasses, the sparkle of dew on a spider’s web and the piercing sound of a lark as it soared high above them, and he thought of Molly. Tom knew the padre was only a step behind and he was glad he was there; behind him were the doctor and the other officers. Their feet tramped on the stony track as the procession approached the execution ground. Ahead, Tom could see men formed up in three sides of a square. They halted a short way off, and the adjutant went forward and read out the charges against Private Thomas Carter and then the sentence. The men stood stiff and straight as they heard it. They made no sound as the lark, oblivious, trilled on above them. The doctor then stepped up to put a blindfold over Tom’s eyes. The last thing Tom saw was the grey face of Tony Cook staring bleakly at him from the ranks.
He was led forward and tied to a stake on the fourth side of the square. Now the moment had come, Tom felt a strange calm come over him. It was almost as if he were watching the whole thing from outside. He felt someone pin something on to his chest and knew it was a piece of white cloth to mark his heart for the firing squad. He could hear the padre saying prayers in a soft voice close beside him, and though he could not see the signal given by the Assistant Provost Marshal, he felt the padre move aside and knew it was time. Behind the blindfold, he conjured up a vision of Molly’s face, her eyes laughing into his, and the world exploded in a volley of rifle fire.
Lieutenant Smalley returned to HQ from the burial and met a harassed looking corporal. “Ah, there you are sir,” said the man. “I think I ought to give this to you, sir.” He looked awkwardly at an envelope in his hand. “A letter for Carter, sir.”
Smalley took the letter and said, “Thank you, Corporal. I’ll see it’s sent home with his other things.”
He took the letter and the letter which Tom had written to Molly and saddling his horse, rode the ten miles to St Croix.