Ghost Soldier Read online

  ‘Good idea,’ said Rob, marvelling again at how smart his little sister was.

  Farmer Gordon was still speaking to the engine driver and the fireman, so Rob pretended to help Millie while listening to their conversation.

  ‘I recall my own father telling me that the royal train stopped here to take on water,’ Farmer Gordon was saying. ‘There’s a piping system close by.’ He pointed to the edge of the track. ‘A couple of your railway workers will be able to fix that up again. It’s been neglected because the passenger trains make the gradient with no bother.’

  ‘This engine’s been pulling all the way from Folkestone.’

  ‘Aye, and it’s a fair length. But I’ll warrant you’ll not have so much again. If the big engagements are over, our boys will have sent them packing. It’ll be mopping-up operations until the end of the year.’

  The driver shook his head. ‘Ours is not the only train. There’s ones going to all the big cities. They’ll be others coming this way, maybe with even more carriages. Our lads are suffering heavy losses.’

  Mr Gordon raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s not the word we’re getting. Newspapers say we’re making advances.’

  ‘The German Army has dug in and their defences are better than ours. Any of the more experienced lads will tell you.’ The train driver lowered his voice. ‘They say it’s treason to talk that way – but unless we know, how can we defend ourselves? The enemy have burrowed deep into the earth and built bunkers made of solid concrete. They hide there until the shelling stops, and our boys go forward thinking there will be no resistance. That’s when the Hun comes out with his machine guns at the ready.’

  ‘One big push, that’s what we thought. One more big push and it would be over.’

  ‘We’ve given them more than one big push and they don’t budge. A mile into no-man’s-land, and then we’re driven back. That’s how it seems to be going. It’ll be a few more years yet,’ said the driver, ‘unless the Americans come in.’

  ‘We thought it was nearing the end,’ said Farmer Gordon. ‘You reckon there will be another hospital train soon after this one?’

  ‘With what’s going on over there, there will be trains coming through here every other week.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROB PICKED A switch from a nearby tree to help Farmer Gordon guide his cows to the milking shed. Nell moved to prevent one wandering off round the side of the farmhouse.

  ‘She’s a capable dog, your Nell,’ said the farmer.

  ‘She is that,’ Rob said proudly.

  ‘And her litter must be weaned. Those pups will fetch a good price, so yer mam will have some extra money coming in.’

  Rob wasn’t happy that Nell’s pups would have to be sold. But he was old enough to understand it had to happen. He thought of the smallest pup, the one he’d given Millie. At least they would have that one to keep.

  Millie leaned her head against the side of the first cow as the farmer settled himself on a low stool.

  ‘No word of yer dad?’ he asked.

  Rob shook his head.

  ‘Aye, well, ye never know.’ He squirted the warm milk into the pail. ‘Go on into the house,’ he said. ‘Mrs Gordon has some scones left over from last night. Better you get them than those greedy ducks of mine.’

  Millie and Rob went across the yard and peered over the half-door to see Mrs Gordon energetically kneading a lump of dough. She caught sight of them and smiled.

  ‘Mr Gordon said to call by—’ Rob stopped, not wanting to mention the scones.

  ‘Come in.’ Mrs Gordon beckoned to them. ‘Come in.’ She observed them shrewdly. ‘Oh my, look at that porridge pot of mine. Overflowing as always. I never get the measures right since my lass got married and moved away. Let me put some out for you to sup up.’ She scooped dollops of porridge into bowls and poured fresh milk on top.

  Millie didn’t hesitate. Taking a spoon from the kitchen drawer, she sat herself upon a chair and began to eat.

  ‘What else have I got here?’ Mrs Gordon bustled about her kitchen. ‘Oh, there’s my baking trays from yesterday. I always make too much. Ye’d be doing me a favour by eating these, so ye would. Our ducks are sick of my scones.’

  ‘I can leave you some sandwiches spread with my mummy’s plum jam,’ Millie offered.

  ‘Fair exchange!’ Mrs Gordon clapped her hands. ‘Although I think I’m taking advantage of you, Millie Gowrie. Your mother’s plum jam is famed on both sides of the Border.’ She glanced at them as she spread thick butter on the scones. ‘How is your mother doing, then?’

  Millie kept her head bent over her bowl.

  ‘Fine,’ Rob said. ‘She’s fine.’

  Mrs Gordon smiled cheerfully at them. ‘That’s the spirit,’ she said. ‘Oh, look, take the rest of these. Sam and I will never eat them.’ She dropped the rest of the scones into Millie’s basket. ‘That’ll do you for your school piece today.’

  Rob gobbled the remainder of his porridge. ‘We need to go now, thank you.’ If they didn’t leave soon, Mrs Gordon would empty her whole larder into Millie’s basket.

  ‘Mind and tell your mum I was asking for her. Don’t forget.’

  ‘We will,’ Millie said. ‘And thank you very much.’

  They returned over the fields at a slower pace, Rob carrying a small churn full of fresh milk, which was his regular morning errand to Glebe Farm. With the sun over the horizon they could see smoke rising in slow columns from the chimneys of houses and farmsteads. It looked so ordinary and peaceful that it was hard to believe that, not so far away across the English Channel, a war was being fought.

  Rob’s friend Kenneth brought his dad’s copy of the War Illustrated magazine into school after his dad had finished reading it. All the boys pored over it to look at the pictures. The cover of the recent edition had a photo of a soldier comforting his horse as shells exploded around them. The reporter had been at the Battle of the Somme. He had said that the British Army was advancing. Rob recalled the actual phrase: Losses count for nothing. We are advancing.

  But this wasn’t what was really happening. The driver of the hospital train and Jack Otterby and Nurse Ethel Evans were saying something completely different. And the soldier, Private Ames, had closed his eyes tight shut because he couldn’t bear to see what was happening. Nurse Evans said he’d been on the battlefields of the Somme. The Somme . . . That was the river Rob’s father had mentioned in his letters.

  His dad had written of his pride in being part of a parade – of seeing a general on his horse, taking the salute as the battalion marched past, singing. He’d told of the camaraderie of the men, sharing food sent from home when rations were low; of the games of cricket and football; of the sense of devotion to a just cause. Their undying resolve to defend the Belgian villagers who, despite having very little, gave the soldiers everything they could. He described seeing the French cuirassiers one morning, jangling along the road, glittering in their steel breastplates and high plumed helmets. They were on their way to defend a town called Verdun.

  ‘Ils ne passeront pas!’ they had cried as they galloped along, brandishing their sabres. ‘Ils ne passeront pas.’

  If Verdun fell, then the Germans would enter Paris, the capital of France, and they’d get behind the Allied lines. The enemy could reach the Channel ports; if that happened, all supplies and troops coming in from Britain would be cut off. The war would be lost.

  So the British soldiers cheered the French cavalry with a mighty ‘Huzzah!’ as they went past. The Tommies threw their caps in the air and joined in their chorus:

  ‘Ils ne passeront pas! They shall not pass!’

  With a chill descending in his heart Rob realized that his dad’s letters hadn’t told the truth – not the whole truth, anyway. There was nothing about the rats and the lice, and the defeats. He didn’t say what had happened to the friends he didn’t mention any more: Arthur who made the jokes, Davey who played the harmonica, and Dan and Andrew. To begin with his letters were full
of their antics and the tricks they played on each other. Latterly he hadn’t even mentioned their names.

  Perhaps that’s why his mother had become so silent and listless. She spent time reading and re-reading the letters from the Front. Perhaps she was able to read what wasn’t there as well as what was. A chink of understanding came to Rob of why his mother found it hard to rise in the mornings, of why she’d taken to lying longer and longer in her bed. Sometimes, in the night, he heard the muffled sound of her weeping.

  He’d been doing more and more of the work she’d normally do and had asked her to write a letter to his teacher so that he could be excused school for farm work. But she refused. On this she was firm:

  ‘No. Your dad and I want you to have an education. You’re to remain in school, Rob. No matter what happens.’ The words seemed to catch in her throat. ‘No matter what happens, you will have an education.’

  He’d have to get a move on. There were things to be done this morning before he and Millie set off for school.

  They were halfway down the last hill and Rob was going over his work list in his mind when Nell lifted her head and gave a sharp warning bark.

  Rob surveyed the meadow. There was no sheep lying on its back needing to be turned, no lamb tangled in a thorn bush.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked her.

  Millie knelt and put her arms around the dog’s neck. ‘What’s wrong, Nell?’ She looked around. ‘I can’t see anything amiss.’

  ‘A dog’s hearing is much keener than ours,’ said Rob. ‘She hears something that we can’t.’ He looked again at Nell.

  The dog’s nose was pointing towards their cottage. She barked again, this time much louder.

  Without saying another word Rob and Millie started to run.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘YOU HAVE NO authority to do this!’

  Rob heard his mother’s voice raised in anger as he and Millie raced round the corner of the house. Nell had already taken up a position at the cottage door in front of his mother, protecting her.

  ‘It’s an order from the government.’ The county vet was standing in their yard holding up an official-looking document. ‘This gives me the authority. The War Office is requisitioning animals, and vets have to identify suitable livestock. It’s not something I want to do, but I must carry out these instructions.’

  ‘Most of the horses have already gone from hereabouts,’ his mother replied. ‘How do they expect the farmers to bring in the harvest without them?’

  ‘Glebe Farm has still got one good working horse, and anyway, it’s not horses they want this time. It’s dogs.’

  ‘You can’t take our dog!’ Rob told him.

  ‘I’m not here for your dog. Nell’s too old for what’s required, but she’s a very intelligent animal. I’ve seen her perform at the sheepdog trials and I know she had a litter a month or so ago. It’s the pups you’ll have to hand over.’

  ‘The pups?’ Millie looked from the vet to Rob. ‘Don’t let him take Nell’s pups, Rob. Don’t let him take my puppy dog away to the war.’

  ‘Look . . .’ The vet spoke in a reasonable voice. ‘Nell will have more puppies. And the army pays out for any livestock taken. I’ll mark these as best quality to make sure you get a good price.’

  ‘The pups are not for sale,’ said Rob.

  ‘Mrs Gowrie,’ said the vet, ‘this is a bit of income for you to keep things going. Maybe buy shoes for the children, with winter not far off . . .’

  Rob stole a glance at his mother. Millie’s toes were cramped in her shoes and his boots were worn down at both heels.

  His mother shook her head. ‘The pups are not for sale,’ she said, echoing Rob’s words.

  The vet tilted his head to one side, a look of pity on his face. Suddenly Rob saw his mother through the eyes of someone else. Her long beautiful hair, which his dad loved to brush, was normally plaited and pinned round her head with curls framing her face – ‘like an angel’, his dad would say. Now it lay, straggly and unkempt, on her shoulders. Her blouse had a stain on it, her apron strings were untied.

  ‘I apologize for any inconvenience this is causing you,’ the vet went on. ‘But you . . . we don’t have a choice. Everyone has to make sacrifices for the war effort.’ He turned the document over in his hand. ‘I’ve to list the description and number of suitable animals on this form. If I don’t do it properly, I could lose my job.’

  ‘We’re not telling you where they are,’ Millie said defiantly. ‘And you can’t make us.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to find them myself.’ He took a step forward.

  ‘Do not step inside my home.’ Rob’s mother put her arm across the door to bar his way. ‘Ours is not a tied cottage, it belongs to this family. It was gifted to my husband’s grandfather more than a hundred years ago by the earl of this land for his loyal service as a soldier, and I have the papers to prove it. We own it outright and I forbid you to enter.’

  The vet tutted in exasperation. ‘This only delays things. The Army Procurement Officer is due in this area tomorrow and I’m supposed to have all the paperwork ready for him. I’ll have to let him know that you’ve refused to co-operate, and the army might be less respectful of your rights.’

  ‘We have no information to give you.’ Rob and Millie went to stand on either side of their mother as she held firm in the doorway of their cottage.

  It was Nell herself who told the vet what he wanted to know.

  Seeing that no one was in any danger, she trotted off to the outhouse to check on her pups. The vet strode after her.

  ‘Five pups.’ He’d already counted them and was marking the number on his form by the time Rob and Millie got there. ‘You should be proud of the work your pups will do,’ he told them. He went into the yard and spoke to their mother. ‘Dogs have a crucial role in carrying communications when radio contact isn’t possible. Yours are young enough to train as messenger dogs.’

  ‘It takes weeks to train a dog. I thought this war was supposed to be over in weeks,’ Rob’s mother said bitterly. ‘They keep telling us that it won’t be long. But they’ve been saying that for two years.’

  The vet looked away. ‘My own son is out there. Letters are censored, but he’s an officer so his are less so. He says that things are not as reported in the newspapers. Conditions are grim, survival rates for the wounded are low—’ He stopped as Rob’s mum gasped and her hand fluttered to her throat.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gowrie. I heard you got a telegram from the War Office. I offer my sympathy. But here’s where this situation could help you. It can take a while before the army pay out on a widow’s pension. With your man gone, you’ll be glad of the money for the pups.’

  ‘Our dad isn’t dead!’ Rob shouted.

  ‘Son—’ the vet began.

  ‘He isn’t! He isn’t! He isn’t!’ Millie shrieked. ‘Daddy isn’t dead. You mustn’t say it and you mustn’t take Nell’s puppies.’ She ran over and kicked the vet on the leg.

  Within seconds Nell had appeared from the outhouse and was beside them, teeth bared and snarling.

  The vet backed off quickly. ‘Don’t take this attitude when the army comes to collect them,’ he advised. ‘You’ll only give yourself more trouble if you resist.’ He climbed onto his horse and gathered the reins into his hands. As he rode off he called over his shoulder, ‘The Army Procurement Officer will be along in a couple of days to take the puppies away.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTER THE VET left, Rob’s mother looked at the children helplessly and put her hands over her face. When Millie’s crying got louder, she went back into her bedroom and shut the door.

  In the hope that his mother might get up later and want to eat something, Rob poured milk from the churn into a jug. He made a sandwich and left it, and a clean cup, on the kitchen table.

  ‘Stay!’ he told Nell. He pointed at the bedroom door. ‘Stay! On guard!’

  She went and lay down outside it. Rob knew that Nell would look aft
er his mother while he was at school.

  He tapped gently on the bedroom door. ‘I’ve left milk and food out for you.’ He waited. There was no reply. Rob opened the paper bag Mrs Gordon had given him, took out one scone and laid it on the table. ‘Millie and I were up at Glebe Farm this morning,’ he called out. ‘Mrs Gordon says to tell you she was asking after you. She sent you a scone. Nell’s outside your bedroom door. She wants you to share it with her.’ Rob waited, but there was only silence inside the room.

  ‘We’re off to school, then. Goodbye!’

  Rob could not get Millie to stop crying. Finally he picked her up from where she sat on their doorstep and half carried her into the village to the schoolhouse. The old shepherd, Tam, who was looking after his dad’s flock while he was away, was waiting by the railings.

  ‘Young Robert Gowrie.’ He touched his cap. ‘I’m told there’s a “killed in action” casualty list been put up outside the post office this morning. Will you come and look at it for me?’

  ‘I’ll be late for school,’ Rob said. He hated being late for school. The teacher, Miss Finlay, was very strict about timekeeping. His dad had said it was because her father was a sergeant-major in the army. They were the ones who shouted commands and kept the men in line. Rob’s teacher made the boys salute and the girls curtsey to her in the morning as they filed past into the school. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ his dad had joked.

  But the old shepherd was very insistent. ‘You can read, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course I can!’ said Rob.

  ‘My son sends me one of those army postcards every week. I haven’t heard from him in a month. Maybe something has happened. Even if it’s bad news, I’d like to know.’

  Rob crossed the street to where the list was pinned to a weathered notice board. Already some villagers were clustered round.

  ‘I’m getting the boy here to look for my son’s name,’ the old shepherd explained to them. ‘My eyesight is not as good as it was.’