My Brother's War

  DAVID HILL

  My Brother’s War

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Contents

  Part 1: At First

  Edmund

  William

  Part 2: Before Sailing

  Edmund

  William

  Part 3: On Ship

  Edmund

  William

  Part 4: Getting Ready

  Edmund

  William

  Part 5: The Trenches

  William

  Edmund

  Part 6: First Attack

  Edmund

  William

  Part 7: Second Attack

  Edmund

  William

  William and Edmund

  Glossary

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  MY BROTHER’S WAR

  David Hill is an award-winning writer who lives in New Plymouth. His novels, stories and plays for young adults have been published in eight countries.

  For all my uncles – D.H.

  The author acknowledges the help of Archibald Baxter’s superb memoir, We Will Not Cease.

  PART 1

  At First

  My Dear Mother,

  Well, I’ve gone and done it. I’ve joined the Army!

  Don’t be angry at me, Mother dear. I know you were glad when I wasn’t chosen in the ballot. But some of my friends were, and since they will be fighting for King and Country I want to do the same. I believe New Zealand must do her bit to support Britain against the Huns. I wanted to join up after our Kiwi soldiers had such a terrible time fighting against the Turks at Gallipoli, and now I’ve enlisted.

  It wasn’t just me. A lot of us at the factory have been feeling the same way. When Mr Parkinson heard us talking, he said, ‘You go ahead, boys. The British Empire needs you. Go down to the Drill Hall and give your names to the Recruiting Officer, then take the rest of the day off. If I was thirty years younger, I’d be with you.’ So we gave him three cheers, and five of us went.

  It was all a bit of a lark. At the Drill Hall, a sergeant took our names. Then he marched us down the road to where Mr Darney the lawyer has his office. It was like Military Training at school – except I think we marched better then!

  Mr Darney was a witness while we all swore loyalty to King George V and the British Empire. Then the sergeant marched us back to the Drill Hall. Some girls came out of shops as we passed and called out ‘Good on you, boys!’, which made us all grin and stick our chests out.

  But I’m not doing this just so girls can cheer me. I know Father would have wanted me to enlist. You’ve read in the newspapers about German soldiers burning Belgian people alive inside their houses after somebody shot at German troops. You’ve heard about Huns killing Belgian babies. We have to stop a country which behaves like that.

  The sergeant said we will get our orders to report to training camp soon. I’ll come home and spend time with you and Jessie before then. You can tell Edmund what I’ve done. I don’t want to speak to him any more. He and I can’t talk about the war without losing our tempers and shouting at each other. You already know that.

  Yes, he’s my brother, but his refusing to enlist, and his talk about all war being evil and wrong is just stupid. You’ve probably heard that some people are calling him a coward. Perhaps he is.

  Anyway, I’m proud to think that I’ll soon be doing my bit against the Hun. It will be a great adventure. I’ll see the world. My love to you and Jessie. Tell her she doesn’t have to salute her big brother when she sees him in uniform! My dear Mother, I feel so good now that I’ve finally signed up.

  Your Loving Son

  William

  Dearest Ma,

  This letter is to tell you that four days ago I received a letter from the local Army Recruiting Officer. No, it didn’t wish me a Happy Eighteenth Birthday! It ordered me to report for military training next week.

  What did I write back? The same as I wrote to the Conscription Board when my name was chosen in the ballot. I said I won’t be part of any military system, and I don’t believe we should kill people just because our government tells us to. I said that I don’t belong to a church, but I agree with the Bible: ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself’.

  Goodness me, I do sound serious, don’t I? You’ll be wondering, Is this really my younger son? The one who used to chase Jessie with a dead mouse, just to make his little sister scream?

  Well, dear Ma, I’m VERY serious. I’m officially a CO now – a Conscientious Objector. ‘Conchies’, people call us. And worse names, but I won’t make your ears burn with them!

  Seriously, Ma, I hope I can be brave in the days ahead. I know there are others who feel the same as me, but I have no idea how many, as the newspapers won’t print our letters or report our meetings.

  I know I’ll lose friends. Yesterday at the butcher’s shop, Mr Hansen refused to serve me. He said he wasn’t having anything to do with a coward. But then Mrs Hansen told him not to be silly, and sold me the meat I wanted. In fact, she gave me twice as much! You should have seen Mr Hansen’s face. I nearly burst out laughing.

  Mr Yee is very good to me as well; he says he’ll always keep a job for me in his market garden.

  Ma, I know William is angry with me. He’s my older brother: I respect him and love him. I’m sorry the arguments he and I had about the war were so ugly. But I’ll never agree with him that duty to King and Country must come first. I believe our duty to other human beings is more important. We mustn’t make war on them.

  You can already see how this war is twisting people’s minds. A friend told me how one British newspaper reporter in Belgium found that the stories of German soldiers killing babies were all made up – there was no truth in them. And what happened? The newspaper wouldn’t print his article; he lost his job; his fiancée broke off their engagement.

  I am sorry Father is no longer there to support you, dear Ma. I think he’d have understood both me and William. I’ve been told by other men who have refused military service that the police will probably arrest me in a week or so. I’ll send you a photograph of my cell! Dearest Ma, my love to you and Jessie. Don’t worry: I have no regrets over what I have chosen. I am doing what my heart tells me I must do.

  Your Loving Son

  Edmund

  Edmund

  On Monday morning, five days after he wrote to his mother, Edmund was hoeing lettuces in the market garden. He’d decided to work every hour Mr Yee offered him, so he could send some money to his mother and sister.

  His mother earned a little by doing washing for some of the wealthy families nearby (‘You mean rich people get their clothes dirty?’ Edmund had joked to her), and Jessie had just been taken on fulltime at the hat shop. They would also receive a small payment from the government, because William had joined the Army and there was no man left at home to support them.

  Edmund hoped the government payment wouldn’t be stopped when he was arrested. He hoped his mother and sister wouldn’t lose their jobs when people learned he was a conscientious objector. He’d heard of such things happening.

  He was halfway down the last row when Mr Yee called to him. ‘Ed-mon!’ When Edmund looked up, his boss was in the doorway of the big wooden shed. He beckoned to Edmund, then turned and went inside.

  I suppose he wants a hand to get more boxes ready, Edmund decided. Monday was always busy in the market garden. Mr Yee had set out at 6 a.m. with his horse and cart to take the week’s first vegetables to the greengrocer’s. No shops were open on Sunday, of course. Edmund laid down his hoe and headed for the shed.

  ‘Hello, boss,’ he said as he came in. ‘Here’s your best worker. Your only worker.’ His eyes were still dazzled from the sunlight outside, but he could se
e Mr Yee standing in the middle of the floor, facing him. No, it wasn’t: the Chinaman was over by the far wall, looking frightened and suddenly old. The man facing Edmund was young, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark-blue uniform and a dark-blue helmet. Edmund felt his stomach go heavy as he understood what was happening.

  Another half-second, and he recognised the uniformed figure. ‘Hello, Tim,’ he greeted the constable. ‘Never thought I’d be arrested by someone from my cricket team.’

  The young policeman looked embarrassed. ‘Are you Edmund Frederick Hayes?’

  Edmund couldn’t help grinning. ‘Well, I was when I woke up this morning. Come on, Tim!’

  A hand shoved him hard from behind. He staggered across the floor and almost collided with the constable. ‘None of your conchie cheek here!’ a voice grunted.

  Edmund swung around. Another policeman stood there, a man he’d never seen before, older and heavier than Tim, neck swelling above his high uniform collar. His fists were half-clenched, and Edmund knew suddenly that this man would like to hit him. The stranger glared. ‘Come on, then! Even you conchie cowards know your own names. Answer!’

  The younger constable swallowed, then began again. ‘Are you Edmund Freder—’

  Edmund interrupted him. ‘Yes. Yes, Tim, I am.’

  ‘I – we have a warrant for your arrest, as a result of your refusal to obey a lawful written order under the Military Service Act of 1916.’ Edmund’s team-mate looked as if he’d sooner be facing the world’s fastest bowler than having to do this.

  ‘Hold your hands out!’ As Edmund stood uncertainly, the older policeman grabbed his arms and pulled them straight out in front. Next minute, cold hard metal was around his wrists, squeezing them painfully. There was a clack, and he stared down at a pair of handcuffs, the steel pinching his flesh. Over by the wall, Mr Yee gasped, then stood still.

  Edmund’s heart was thudding. He made himself breathe deeply. ‘You don’t need those. I’m not going to run away.’

  ‘Quiet!’ The unknown constable thrust his face forward. ‘That’s all you conchies are good for – running away. Well, you won’t be doing that for a while, you spineless coward. Now, move!’

  A beefy hand grabbed Edmund’s arm and hauled him towards the shed doorway. On a chair nearby, he saw the small suitcase he’d brought to work every day since he’d written his reply to the Conscription Board. In it were toothbrush, towel, spare clothes, books: ready for him to take when this happened. ‘My case—’ he said. ‘Can I—’

  ‘I said quiet!’ The older policeman shoved him again. The younger one followed. As they came outside, into the bright blue morning where everything had changed, Edmund stopped and turned. He ignored the hand pushing at his chest, the angry face glaring at him. ‘Mr Yee!’ he called. ‘My mother. She—’

  ‘I go see her.’ His boss looked small and scared, but he spoke firmly. ‘I go now.’ Then the burly constable spun Edmund around, clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward.

  Thirty yards, and they reached the road. The grip on Edmund’s shoulder tightened. ‘I’m warning you,’ the voice behind him went. ‘Don’t try any clever tricks. You won’t be the first conchie who accidentally falls over and breaks his nose while resisting arrest.’ He turned to the younger policeman. ‘Where’s the main road into town? We’re going to take this yellow-belly where everyone can see him.’

  But Edmund’s team-mate shook his head. ‘No. We’ll go along the side roads. I believe him. He won’t try to run away.’

  The bigger man’s face flushed red. ‘You listen to me. We’ll—’

  ‘No.’ Tim’s voice was quiet but determined. ‘You listen to me, or you find your own way into town. You don’t know this place, so how’s it going to look when you have to stop on every corner and tell people you’re lost?’

  Edmund’s team-mate stood facing the other constable, jaw clenched. He looks just like when he bowls at cricket, Edmund thought. For a couple of seconds, he also thought he was going to see one policeman punch another. Then Mr Yee was there, holding Edmund’s jacket and his suitcase from the chair. ‘You take,’ he said. ‘You take. I tell mother.’ He gazed at Edmund for a second, his dark eyes tired and sad. Then he turned away.

  Tim took the suitcase. He draped the jacket over Edmund’s wrists so it hid the handcuffs. The other policeman started to speak, but Tim pointed a finger at him. ‘We do this the way I said, or you do it by yourself.’ His companion glared, then gripped Edmund’s arm and began striding forward.

  They saw hardly anybody on the twenty-minute walk into town. Those they did meet looked puzzled, watched them pass, said nothing.

  Edmund knew that Tim was leading them along the quietest, most deserted streets and paths he could find. The young constable walked beside him, saying little. As they approached the Drill Hall, he murmured to Edmund, ‘I’ll go and see your mother, too. Is there anyone else you want to tell?’

  Edmund shook his head. He’d worked all this out in the weeks since he’d replied to the Conscription Board. ‘No, thanks, Tim. I’m—’

  The other policeman shouted, ‘Prisoner will be silent!’

  A woman beating rugs on her side fence stopped and stared.

  Three soldiers with rifles and bayonets were waiting in the Drill Hall. Edmund recognised one of them: a friend of William’s. The man kept his eyes on the floor.

  One of the soldiers wore a corporal’s stripes on his tunic. ‘Are you Edmund Frank Hayes?’

  Once again, Edmund couldn’t hold back a half-smile. ‘No. Sorry.’

  The corporal looked startled.

  ‘I’m Edmund Frederick Hayes,’ Edmund told him. ‘Edmund Frank was my grandfather. He died ten years ago; I don’t think he’d be much use to you.’

  One soldier started to grin, then quickly stopped. The corporal stared at the sheet of paper he held. ‘Edmund Fr— Edmund Hayes, you are charged with failing to obey a lawful written order under the Military Service Act of 1916. We are here to take you into military custody.’ He turned to the two police officers. ‘We’ll look after him now.’

  ‘You’re welcome to him,’ the older constable grunted. He threw Edmund’s jacket on the floor, seized his wrists and unlocked the handcuffs. Red welts stood out on the skin where the metal had dug in.

  Tim bent, picked up the jacket and handed it and the small suitcase to Edmund. ‘Good luck,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’ The two young men looked at each other; Tim nodded and left.

  ‘Escort, form up!’ At the corporal’s order, the other two soldiers stepped forward, rifles and bayonets over their shoulders, and stood on either side of Edmund. The NCO moved across and opened the Drill Hall door. ‘Escort and prisoner, quick march!’ Next minute, they were out in the street, heading for the centre of town.

  For the first few yards, it was almost like being back in school’s Military Training. Edmund had always enjoyed marching with the brass band in those days, and he found his arms swinging and his steps matching the tramp of boots on either side of him, just as they had in his schooldays.

  Then he realised what he was doing. He let his arms hang naturally and walked at a normal pace. But he kept his head up and he looked straight into the faces of everyone they passed.

  There were many more people here, in the main shopping street. As he and the escort marched past the draper’s, Edmund saw a group of well-dressed women staring at him. One was Mrs Twigg, the doctor’s wife for whom his mother did washing. As soon as she met Edmund’s eyes, she turned her back.

  By the hotel, some young men began yelling ‘Conchie! Conchie coward!’ Edmund’s fists clenched, but he kept his face still and gazed at them also. Then his breath caught: two of them were William’s workmates from the factory; he’d met them at rugby a couple of times. They recognised him, too, and went silent.

  There were jeers and boos from other people as well. An apple landed on the road, obviously aimed at Edmund, but nearly hitting one of the soldiers instead. The ma
n jerked, clutched harder his rifle with its glittering bayonet. ‘Steady!’ the corporal barked, and they trod on.

  Past the butcher’s they went. Mr Hansen burst out of the door, began to yell something at Edmund. Mrs Hansen appeared, held onto his arm and spoke fiercely to him. The butcher stood scowling as they passed.

  Then another man’s voice called out, so loud that the soldiers jerked again. ‘Well done, lad! Somewhere there’s a mother glad that you won’t be killing her boy!’ Edmund stared into the bright morning sun, trying to see who had shouted. He couldn’t make out anybody, but his head came up again, and his heart felt lighter.

  They stopped outside an office building. ‘Escort, order arms!’ The two other soldiers brought their rifles down to their sides. ‘All right, chum.’ The NCO’s voice was friendly enough. ‘We’re going in here. Be sensible about it.’

  Two men sat at a table, in a front room full of dark books. One was in army uniform. The other wore a suit; Edmund had seen him around town. The three soldiers snapped to attention, and the corporal saluted. ‘Prisoner under escort as instructed, sir!’

  The man in uniform – an officer, Edmund realised – nodded. ‘Stand easy, men.’ The soldiers relaxed slightly, and the officer looked at Edmund. ‘I’m sorry you had to be marched through the streets like that, Mr Hayes, but orders are orders. I’m Captain McGregor. This,’ he nodded to the man in the suit, ‘is Mr Darney. Mr Darney’s a solicitor and he’s here to make sure everything is done properly. Actually, I believe you had the pleasure of meeting Mr Hayes’s elder bother just the other day, didn’t you, Mr Darney?’

  Edmund’s stomach jumped. William? What was— The solicitor nodded. ‘He and some friends came in to take the Oath of Loyalty after they’d enlisted. A fine young man. Your family must be very proud of him, Mr Hayes.’