Chapter 3

~ London, England, July 1914 ~

The hall was small and stuffy, the only sunlight able to penetrate the dirt-stained windows falling in watery streaks across the filthy floors, unable to brighten the dimly lit room. Men could barely hear one another in the din, each voice increasing in volume so it might compete with that of the man next to him. However, it was undeniable that the room was buzzing with a positive atmosphere. The queues were long and twisted all the way down the streets outside, responses to mass propaganda campaigns to encourage enlistment. In fact, enlisting was so popular that various brass hatsi and bobby had to instruct the crowds outside into some fashionable line. Tom listened vaguely to the naïve chatter which filled the room, focusing in and out of various conversations and listening to the eager words spoken amongst strangers and friends alike.

"Just you wait – the bloody fritz won't know what's hit 'em when us lot get out there and start causin' some havoc!"

"Just look at us all. I kid you not, this war will be over by Christmas!"

"Were you listening to the wireless last night? Not five minutes in this war and already we've had some stonking success with the BEF."

"Oh I can't wait to get out there and hand it to 'em, the fucking bastards! Have you seen the paper? Look at what they've done across Europe - they don't deserve nothin' but our bullets in their thick skulls!"

Tom listened to the middle-aged men recounting events of the Second Boer War, of a noble and hard-fought British victory and that they very much anticipated similar success here. No one seemed in any doubt that the Germans would suffer at the hands of the allies and Tom was comforted by this. War had a curious way of pulling the most unlikely people together, because suddenly there was something significant at stake. Side by side, fighting for independence and their country, they would stand together indefinitely. He had come that morning with a heavy heart, but now he was prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead. He was intelligent and unafraid; perfect qualities for a soldier, or so the posters had read. Besides, with such fiercely determined people beside him, there was no way that he could falter.

"Next!" barked a stern-faced man seated behind a row of precariously balanced tables.

It took Tom a moment to realise that he had been talking to him and he hastened forwards.

"Right, you come to sign up, soldier?"

Tom rendered the question ridiculous, but was trapped under the probing glare of his superior and so merely mumbled:

"Yes, I guess so."

"Well of course you do."

Proceedings were interrupted by an animated argument occurring at the other hand of the long row of tables, between one of the officers and a young volunteer. It was the only thing that morning which had managed to pierce the din and everyone was silent and watching as the dispute ensued.

"I am 16, I swear it!"

"Yes, and I'm a bleedin' monkey. Now get a move on, lad, we've got plenty of others who want to sign up."

"Yes, but I want to sign up too!"

"Then bring me your real papers instead of whoever these belong to."

"These are mine!"

"Come on, don't chew the ragii, I haven't got time."

"But I am 16 and I want to join the army and help my country!" The boy shouted, his fists clenched at his side and his body rigid in defiance.

"And so you can in a few years. Now, you can leave or we can have you thrown out – what's it to be?"

After a moment's pause, during which the boy's eyes darted from the gun firmly attached to the officer's lapel, clearly weighing up the likelihood of it being used against him, he gave a huge sigh and his shoulders caved. Sheepishly, eyes firmly downcast, he made his way back through the lines to jeers and laughs from the other volunteers.

"It's good that they're so eager, but we're hardly going to send children up against the Huns are we?"

"I quite agree."

"Can I see your papers?"

"Of course,"

He handed over the leather-bound pages, inscribed upon them his date of birth, full name, current address and doctor's report.

"It looks to me like this all checks out, Thomas, but your name does seem familiar…Parker…your father wouldn't by any chance be the Major William Parker, one of the heroes of the Boer War?"

"Yes, that's my father."

"Well I never. I have to admit, I expected him to be sending his son off to the army before now, but never mind - better late than never! Welcome to the army, Mr Parker. We have six infantry divisions and one cavalry; you will be placed in Infantry Division Three for the time being, but with hero's blood in you I doubt you'll stay there for long! Report to King's Cross station at ten O'clock sharp tomorrow morning and you'll be shipped off to training camp. Pack lightly; you will have most of what you need on arrival. Good luck."

"Thank you, Sir." Tom smiled wearily, relieved that his papers passed the clearing check, even though he had no reason to be concerned; he just hadn't wanted to be subjected to the humiliation that that young boy had.

He stepped back outside in the crisp morning air, inhaling deeply. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, before patting it back down, digesting what had just happened. He had joined the army. He was now a registered member of His Majesty's Army. It felt good. Finally, he was doing something meaningful; supporting his country and his friends. He was excited about telling George. His friend had joined the army as soon as he had turned 16, though claims he had never really expected to go to war once the Boer War had finally reached a conclusion. Nevertheless, he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant, impressing with his advanced skills shown in training, and was therefore a highly respected figure in the army. Tom was sure that his friend and his father would be proud. As though walking on clouds, he set off home with a positive outlook towards the following day.

"What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't be like that, George, I thought you'd be pleased for me." Tom's forehead creased under the weight of his friend's disapproval.

"Well I would have gone with you and made sure you ended up in my division, at least. That way we'd face the fritz together. But now you're part of fuck knows where-"

"The 3rd Division"

"The 3rd Division? Jesus! Right I'm going to talk to people and see what strings I can pull to get you into the cavalry…we could always mention your father – he's quite a celebrity in the army."

"No. If I'm going to get into that division then I would like it to be because of my own accord."

"This is what I mean – you have no bloody idea how things work in the army do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think that ranking officers get appointed because of skill or tactical minds, do you? They get appointed because they've browned their tongues at the right time or nepotism. Thankfully for you, you get the latter. Life in the army isn't half as glamorous as people pretend it to be. The plays, the songs, the posters, they're all acting – just being at training camp has taught me as much and god knows what we're facing out there, but it's not going to be easy. I just…I don't mean to preach, I just want you to be ready for what's out there."

"I know I'm not George. I know it isn't going to be as simple as it sounds, but I guess I was happy in the delusion that it would be. If there was ever a place to get ready though, it'll be this training camp. I think…I know I want to do this."

"Then I'm happy for you." He smiled, clasping his friend firmly on the shoulder, "But I would be happier if you got into the cavalry."

"There's only one cavalry division, the likelihood that I'll ever be posted there is slim. Don't worry – just try and visit when you can and I'll write to you."

"You better. Here, let me help you pack."

Tom remembered the moment fondly as he stood on the crowded platform of King's Cross, surrounded by similarly confused and yet eager expressions. Some were chatting amongst themselves, others consulting with the brass hats that lined the platform edge, stroking their guns as, what appeared to be, a reflex. However, his gaze focused on a young couple standing by the gates. The prospective soldier could have been no older than he and the women he cradled in his arms could only have been about 18. A crystallised tear slid down her cheek and he delicately wiped it away, bending down to whisper soft words into her ear, his breath gently tickling her strands of blonde hair.

He was brought crashing back to reality when a shrill whistle put pay to all conversing and a gangly man with a blossoming moustache stepped onto a bench, so that he might be seen and heard by all (this action, however, was unnecessary. His sheer height had made it easy to see him and when he opened his mouth and addressed the congregation, he rivalled noise of the train as it later departed).

"Gentlemen, congratulations on taking this vital step; in doing so, you are vowing to help strengthen the security of our great nation. You have done yourselves, your loved ones and your family proud. You have set an example to those more reluctant to defend precious Britain. Though we may be a small country, we have more heart than Germany and all her allies combined. We are not alone in this war; our allies include the fierce forces of France, Russia, Ireland," (he continued to reel off Britain's allies, to cheers from the crowd) "Our allies look to us for leadership and guidance and so help me God, we will show them what we can do. We will prove that we are capable of leading these nations of victory, in the name of our King and country. At this training facility, you will be taught about both using and protecting yourself from ammunition, you will learn the art of tactical combat and you will be prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead in France, so that when you face the Fritz you will be so prepared that they will have no idea what hit them! They will be so intimidated by our ferocity that they will have no choice but to surrender. Gentlemen, you have made a wise choice today. The train will depart momentarily, fill up all possible space and have a safe journey. We wish you the very best of luck. Fear God, honour the King."

"Fear God, honour the King." The men chorused, before applauding the officer as he got down from his perch.

Tom looked back to the couple he had previously been observing. Totally isolated from the officer and his speech, they stood as before, pure and perfect, surrounded by a golden glow as he kissed her one last time and she wished him safe passage back to her arms.

Tom's contemplation was broken by a bustle of movement towards the train as the five minute bell was rung. In one swift movement, back firmly in hand, he swung himself into the polished doorway. As he shuffled down the narrow corridor, eventually manoeuvring his small luggage onto a rack in an empty compartment, he felt as though he was leaving his old self behind. With a new location, occupation and a new era, he was becoming a new man and he hoped that he would be better for it. He sat down and anxiously smoothed the creases from his trousers, removing his jacket in anticipation of the heat radiating from an excess of fellow passengers. His mind turned to the goodbye he had endured with his best friend and he had to wonder if they would ever see each other again. Though he had promised that he would visit, the truth was that George had no idea when the cavalry division would be shipped to France, and once they had, the trench construction he had heard about seemed to be so vast it was unlikely that they would find each other. Besides, surely the cavalry would be kept separate from the trenches?

He was so consumed by his thoughts, that he barely noticed the company he had in the compartment. Opposite him sat the very same man who he had been so closely observing on the platform with his girlfriend.

"Good day."

"How do you do?" He asked warmly reaching forward to grasp his hand in a firm handshake. "The name's William."

"Oh, my father's name is William. Mine's Thomas, but most people just call me Tom."

"Pleased to meet you. You don't know anyone here, do you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well I didn't mean no disrespect by it, just that you were sat by yourself and had the same look on your face that I did in the mirror this morning." He smiled briefly, his cheeks reddening a little.

"No, you're quite right, I'm afraid I'm totally alone."

"Well maybe we can be alone together then. The other lads have all signed up in groups, from what I can make out. We've got the Middlesex County Cricket team down a couple of compartments and some bankers down the other way. I feel like I should have signed up with all my mates too. It's a good idea to stop yourself chickening out – tell yourself everyone you know is doing it."

"I know what you mean. Don't worry – we'll be alone together and we'll get through this training thing together, just you wait and see."

He beamed appreciatively up at him, before reaching for his bag and producing some playing cards.

"Fancy a game?"

They played for the next hour and a half, cheering whenever they won a game and flinging cards playfully at each other like small children, liberated from their heavy thoughts of duty and responsibility for some memorable moments. In between games, they shared childhood stories and memories, deciding that if they were to be alone together, they best get to know one another. Tom decided to leave out the celebrated role of his father in the war, proud to be his own man for once, but recounted his youth growing up in the Southern suburbs around Oxfordshire and his tales of being at boarding school. He found out that William had been born and raised in Layton, East London and his father was an industrial worker, while his mother was a teacher at his old primary school. He also had three siblings, an older brother who was working abroad in America and two younger brothers, the youngest of which was just 6 years old. They delighted in sharing humorous tales of youth, for it felt very much as though they had left youth behind for good now. War had a distinct way of reordering one's life and priorities; once at training camp, there would be no time for childish antics.

Eventually the train jolted to a halt, the vast expanse of greenery interrupted by a large grey building, obstructed by a barbed-wire fence which reached high towards the smoky sky. They heard a loud voice echo throughout the carriage ordering them to disembark, followed by a flurry of activity in neighbouring carriages.

"Looks like this is it then…" William said, though neither of them moved.

"I suppose we'd better…"

They both remained perfectly still.

Once the loud voices, creaking and banging had passed, as passengers from further down the train swayed towards the exits with their luggage, the two men stood, collected their luggage from the overhead racks, and, without another word, quitted the train.

They stood together at the back of a long line which slowly moved towards the encampment. They were silently checked off on a list and given a key to the cabins in which they would be staying until fully prepared for war. They were instructed that their respite would be fifteen minutes. After that, they were to report to the central courtyard in their uniforms. Their uniforms were in their cabins. They were wished good luck. They were shoved into the camp and the guarded gates were shut behind them. Without speaking, they walked with the flow of soldiers until they arrived at their cabin. The cabins were tinned buildings, of the same dullish grey as the principle construction on the site, and their numbers were painted, large and black, looming out at them from the sides of the cabins. Inside were rows of beds, each with a straw mattress, pillow and a sheet. At the end of each of the beds lay a basic set of uniform. Fortunately, William and Tom had been assigned the same cabin, sharing it with eight others. They chose beds next to one another without speaking and began to undress. The only windows were narrow slits far above their heads, so they could barely see as they fumbled with the buttons and belt buckles. By the time they had finished, it was time to meet in the central courtyard, a large space at the centre of the cabins. Now they all looked the same; like soldiers.

Once again, they faced a speaker. This one, however, looked too young to be a commander. Tom's mind drifted back to the words of his friend; 'they get promoted because they've browned their tongues in the right places or nepotism'. He wondered which of these applied to the man who stood before them now.

"My name is Major Webster and I am commander of this training facility. Gentlemen, congratulations on taking this vital step towards becoming soldiers; you have done yourselves, your loved ones and your family proud. You have set an example to those more reluctant to defend precious Britain. Though we may be a small country, we have more heart than Germany and all her allies combined. We are not alone in this war and our allies look to us for leadership and guidance and we will show them what we can do. We will prove that we are capable of leading these nations of victory, in the name of our King and country. At this training facility, you will be taught about both using and protecting yourself from ammunition, you will learn the art of tactical combat and you will be prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead in France, so that when you face the Fritz you will be so prepared that they will have no idea what hit them! They will be so intimidated by our ferocity that they will have no choice but to surrender. Gentlemen, you have made a wise choice today. If you have any questions, commanders are posted in the officer's cabin, labelled Cabin Number 1. We will answer any questions with as much confidence as we can. Tonight, we will all dine together and tomorrow morning training begins. We will report back here at 6am sharp. We wish you the very best of luck. Fear God, honour the King."

William leaned towards Tom and uttered so that only he may hear:

"They couldn't even be bothered to type a different speech."