war?’
His face went white and he gave me another wary look.
‘It’s all right,’ I told him. ‘Danny blurted it out during the funeral tea. Of course it was bedlam. Hattie has been in tears ever since and Danny is going …’ I stopped. I didn’t want to mention Maddie. If the engagement was truly off, then the news had to come from them. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.
‘What is Danny going to do?’ He sounded suspicious.
‘Nothing. Tell me, did you know about this?’
He sat down in front of the fire. The meal was simmering on the stove but we both ignored it. He passed a grimy hand over his eyes and for a moment I thought he was crying but when he spoke, his eyes were dry. ‘I didn’t know about it until the night of the wake. Mick Malloy got so drunk and started speaking about the days before the war – how happy they had all been as young pals before it started. He then went on about the horrors of it. The mud and the trenches, the smell of death that was always in the air … well, some of us tried to shut him up but he seemed hell-bent on reliving the terrible times. Then, when he mentioned Pat … well, it was a huge surprise to me and a terrible shock for Danny. He went really white and I thought he would faint but he just sat so quiet and never said another word. George tried hard to minimise it but the damage was done and the deed was out.’
I was puzzled. ‘Why was it never mentioned at the time, Dad?’
Suddenly he was angry. ‘The only thing that remains is that all this death and destruction was for nothing – a few feet of land. Oh, no, Ann, none of us old soldiers talk about those days and do you know why?’
I shook my head numbly.
‘Well, I’ll tell you why – because most of the sights were too terrible to remember. Thousands of men gassed and blinded with mustard gas. Then there was the mud. Acres and acres of it – stretching as far as the eye could see. Mud and barbed wire and dead bodies – that was our daily view. At the battles of Neuve Chapelle and Loos, there were so many dead soldiers that just about every house in Dundee got a telegram, telling them that their husband or son or brother had been killed. Pat’s involvement with the firing squad was a terrible, terrible thing for him but the real culprits were in the comfy cosy offices of the War Office. They directed the officers to shoot deserters which, in our minds, was barbaric but it was a barbaric time. Pat’s horror was just one horror amongst thousands of others.’
I wished again that Mick Malloy had stayed silent. What good did raking up the past ever do?
‘I don’t want to sound callous, Ann, but I’m starving,’ he said as he went over to the sink to wash his hands.
I knew he was far from being cold-hearted. He just wanted to get on with living and leave all the unhappy memories where they belonged – in the past.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, sitting at the table, ‘I had nightmares for years after. In fact, I still do from time to time. I’m back in that sea of mud and filth and noise. I’ll tell you this – I’m grateful to wake up in my bed in the morning. Joe feels the same. We survived the horrors while lots of our mates perished and, believe me, for years after we both felt so guilty about it.’
Joe was one of Dad’s oldest friends. They say that every dark cloud has a silver lining and this was mine. Dad had never opened his heart to me like this before and I was grateful for the chance to know him better.
I had one favour to ask him. ‘Dad, will you tell this story to Danny just like you’ve told it to me? I think it will help him understand what his dad went through – just like a thousand others.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think anything will help Danny at this moment. He has his own life to lead and his own problems to sort out.’
‘Please, Dad.’
He reached over for another slice of bread to mop up the remains of his stew. ‘I don’t
His face went white and he gave me another wary look.
‘It’s all right,’ I told him. ‘Danny blurted it out during the funeral tea. Of course it was bedlam. Hattie has been in tears ever since and Danny is going …’ I stopped. I didn’t want to mention Maddie. If the engagement was truly off, then the news had to come from them. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.
‘What is Danny going to do?’ He sounded suspicious.
‘Nothing. Tell me, did you know about this?’
He sat down in front of the fire. The meal was simmering on the stove but we both ignored it. He passed a grimy hand over his eyes and for a moment I thought he was crying but when he spoke, his eyes were dry. ‘I didn’t know about it until the night of the wake. Mick Malloy got so drunk and started speaking about the days before the war – how happy they had all been as young pals before it started. He then went on about the horrors of it. The mud and the trenches, the smell of death that was always in the air … well, some of us tried to shut him up but he seemed hell-bent on reliving the terrible times. Then, when he mentioned Pat … well, it was a huge surprise to me and a terrible shock for Danny. He went really white and I thought he would faint but he just sat so quiet and never said another word. George tried hard to minimise it but the damage was done and the deed was out.’
I was puzzled. ‘Why was it never mentioned at the time, Dad?’
Suddenly he was angry. ‘The only thing that remains is that all this death and destruction was for nothing – a few feet of land. Oh, no, Ann, none of us old soldiers talk about those days and do you know why?’
I shook my head numbly.
‘Well, I’ll tell you why – because most of the sights were too terrible to remember. Thousands of men gassed and blinded with mustard gas. Then there was the mud. Acres and acres of it – stretching as far as the eye could see. Mud and barbed wire and dead bodies – that was our daily view. At the battles of Neuve Chapelle and Loos, there were so many dead soldiers that just about every house in Dundee got a telegram, telling them that their husband or son or brother had been killed. Pat’s involvement with the firing squad was a terrible, terrible thing for him but the real culprits were in the comfy cosy offices of the War Office. They directed the officers to shoot deserters which, in our minds, was barbaric but it was a barbaric time. Pat’s horror was just one horror amongst thousands of others.’
I wished again that Mick Malloy had stayed silent. What good did raking up the past ever do?
‘I don’t want to sound callous, Ann, but I’m starving,’ he said as he went over to the sink to wash his hands.
I knew he was far from being cold-hearted. He just wanted to get on with living and leave all the unhappy memories where they belonged – in the past.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, sitting at the table, ‘I had nightmares for years after. In fact, I still do from time to time. I’m back in that sea of mud and filth and noise. I’ll tell you this – I’m grateful to wake up in my bed in the morning. Joe feels the same. We survived the horrors while lots of our mates perished and, believe me, for years after we both felt so guilty about it.’
Joe was one of Dad’s oldest friends. They say that every dark cloud has a silver lining and this was mine. Dad had never opened his heart to me like this before and I was grateful for the chance to know him better.
I had one favour to ask him. ‘Dad, will you tell this story to Danny just like you’ve told it to me? I think it will help him understand what his dad went through – just like a thousand others.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think anything will help Danny at this moment. He has his own life to lead and his own problems to sort out.’
‘Please, Dad.’
He reached over for another slice of bread to mop up the remains of his stew. ‘I don’t
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