1939
Thomas hadn't exactly lied to the recruitment officer; he'd just failed to mention his medical doctorate. And his year-long work experience in the hospital and the pharmacy. And the general practise he and Flora were running out of their house in Crouch End. He was down on his conscription papers as being 'fashionably unemployed'.
The base of the 1st Guard Brigade was at Aldershot near the town of Farnborough. Thomas' bed was sandwiched between two fellow privates called Richard Duggan and James Underhill. Jimmy was a local lad; his father was a greengrocer and had been fairly reluctant to let his best shop boy go.
Dick, on the other hand, was a Londoner from the heart of the East End. Born and raised in Cheapside by a docker father and a washerwoman mother, he was one of six children who had grown up crammed into a two bedroom flat above a bakery.
The three were sitting in the mess hall, pressed between a wall and a grizzled sergeant. Thomas held the paper and read out any articles he thought might interest the others. Dick, mildly illiterate, occasionally leant over Thomas' shoulder and pointed to the pictures.
'God my legs hurt!' Jimmy rubbed his calves and winced. They had been doing exercises all morning; running up and down in full kit, vaulting over walls and crawling through purposefully muddy ground on their stomachs.
Jimmy had taken a tumble and come down hard on his side, a large bruise covering one hip. He'd managed to keep up with the rest of the troop and by the time lunch came around the worst of the pain and swelling had gone down.
Thomas was finding training fairly easy; although it had been years since he'd been forced to participate in group sports, he'd always lived a fairly active lifestyle. He was particularly enjoying learning the technical side of the military.
He was missing Flora and Henry terribly though. Sometimes, when it was late at night and he couldn't sleep, he'd lie atop his blankets, listening to the cacophony of snores coming from the other recruits, and daydream about what it would be like when he could go home again.
He imagined walking through the front door to Henry's excited shouts, scooping his boy up into his arms (even though he really was too big for that sort of thing anymore) and giving him a big bear hug.
He would kiss Flora and hold her, breathing in her perfume. He would shower them both with presents, things he'd brought back with him from overseas, and the three of them could be one big happy family again.
He'd confided this private fantasy first in Jimmy, then Dick, as they too disclosed what they were going to do with themselves after the war. Jimmy was, of course, going to run his father's grocery shop and help his cousin Isobel to find work as a librarian, once she'd finished her job at the ammunitions factory.
'She's not a very technical person but everyone's got to do their bit you know.' Dick had nodded and said that two of his sisters were also working in ammunitions factories; one of his brothers, an anaemic-looking fourteen-year-old who suffered terrible asthma, had tried to con his way into the army but had been rejected on medical grounds.
''E's managed teh con 'is way inta the Navy though!' Dick said, cackling loudly; ''E can't swim fer crackers but 'e ain't 'alf bad on the guns.' Apparently his brother had been able to obtain a fake medical certificate from a man down by the docks and had managed to appear just healthy enough to be accepted into the Royal Navy. Thomas thought that they must have been running very low on recruits that day, but he didn't dare say it out loud.
There had been talk for a while about going abroad to France but when the orders came it still sent a shocked ripple of mutters through the crowd.
Thomas felt his shoulders knot. He glanced across at his friends; Dick was clenching his teeth so hard he had almost cut his cigarette in half and Jimmy had turned the colour of fresh milk.
'I'll give you all a minute to collect your thoughts.' Captain Ogden clasped his hands together, nodded, and made an awkward, hasty exit.
'Bloody 'ell' breathed Dick, cigarette ash spilling onto his lap. 'We've only bin 'ere three weeks! Why're they sendin' us over so soon?'
'Well…because..' Jimmy glanced towards the ceiling of the tent, gesturing wordlessly with one hand. '…Nazis.'
'But we 'aven't even finished trainin' yet.' Thomas shrugged shakily. 'We signed up for war, not sitting around. We have to go. It's where we're needed.'
They spent the rest of the day doing drills and tactical lessons, and the earliest part of the evening writing letters home. Thomas tried not to hear the younger men's stifled sobbing as reality sunk in.
He kept the announcement brief and tried to include a lukewarm excuse for the sudden departure. In the end the insincerity of his words turned his stomach; he crumpled the paper into a ball, tossed it aside, breathed deeply, and began the letter again.
Flora, Henry and Thomas clung to each other, not wanting to let go. The Aurora, the troopship carrying the British Expeditionary Force across the channel, was due for departure in a few hours. The train station was packed with well-wishers, army recruits and teams of rail workers carting luggage into freight.
'I'll write every week' Thomas planted another kiss on Flora; she clutched at him desperately. 'No, no!' She said, frantically shaking her head. 'Every day. You write home to us every day.' Her irish lilt slurred beneath her tears.
'Every day then' agreed Thomas, thickly. He turned to Henry who was hanging onto his father's side for dear life. 'What would you like me to bring back for you? Some of the other children have-'
'I just want you back Da!' Henry dissolved into roiling sobs and flung his arms around his father's neck. Thomas, buckling slightly, picked up the seven-year-old and hugged him.
'Shh, shh, I'll be home soon' Thomas whispered in Henry's ear. 'Look after your mother for me, be a good boy, and I'll be home before you know it.' He meant every word.
He felt Henry nod and they all heard the whistle as the final warning cry sounded for boarding. Thomas shoved his way politely towards the train and turned to wave at Flora and Henry for the last time.
The trip from Portsmouth to France was mercifully serene. Thomas had been picturing a two day sail across choppy sea, surrounding by heaving groans. The smell would have been unbelievable.
Thankfully, though, the weather was balmy and pleasant, with a stiff breeze which blew through the hold and kept the air from becoming completely stale.
The men smoked, sang, and played cards to pass the time, even having running races along the narrow gangways. Thomas had posed against the front of a cloth-covered truck for a young Welsh officer with a Brownie camera.
Dick and Jim, both of whom had never set foot on a ship in their lives, were taking the gentle rocking motion of the Aurora surprisingly well. They were even trying to learn French. Thomas had given them some basic phrases to parrot in an emergency, but neither of their 'accents' would stand much scrutiny.
They were all headed for the Maginot Line. The troops had been told very little except that they were going to be completing their training at Bitche. Thomas had never heard of it before but according to general gossip it lay to the north-eastern side of France, and it had been nicked by the Germans during the last war until they had been forced to return ownership.
The three of them were sitting on their bunks deep in the hold when they heard the metallic shrill of Captain Ogden's whistle pierce the air. 'Three hours until we make land gentlemen.' They looked at each other; Dick stubbed out his cigarette and Thomas tried to focus on the poker hand in front of him, rubbing his eyes as a bubbling feeling filled his stomach.
They had arrived.