Praying That We Meet Again, page 14
Sir Samuel Peterson was into his fifties, a surgeon of long experience and undoubted skill. He greeted Alfred with pleasure, having seen his name in the newspapers at the weekend. For Robert he displayed sympathy and tact. He talked long with Robert and made a painstaking examination of his wounds.
“I do not support the notion of further surgery, Mr Griffin. You have been cut about enough. The right ankle is stiff and always will be. The left has been amputated and the wound is healing within reason well. The best I can offer is a supportive boot to the right leg and a modern prosthetic to the left. Between them, they will enable you to attain independent mobility. Six months from now and you will be able to walk. Not to hike for miles, but to be your own man in the house and garden.”
Robert was much in favour. He had not expected ever to discard the walking stick.
“We shall take measurements today, Mr Griffin, and you can expect the finished product in about six weeks from now. My people will bring the appliances to your home and will conduct fittings there.”
There was no mention of money, but it was obvious that the service would not be cheap.
“Even to walk about the house would be something, Alfred! Thank you for bringing me here!”
They sat in the car, idly talking on the way back to the Place, Alfred bringing up the possibilities for a future for Robert.
“Mobility will give some possibilities of employment, one might hope, old chap.”
“Not so very easy, Alfred. I am too old to take up a profession and the agricultural life is still hardly practical. A farm agent must be able to walk the fields.”
“Possibly something in the estate agency line, Robert. Buying up land and having houses built upon it. A good chance of making a fortune there, I would think. Always a call for houses within reach of the main railway lines, for London office workers. You would have the advantage of being of the right sort – you could talk to the squires who were selling up. The way the casualty lists are climbing still, there will be any number of estates left without a male heir and the females selling up for not wanting to run them. Might be an idea to buy up the acres and wait till after the war to do something with them. Prices must climb after the war is finally ended.”
It made a deal of sense, Robert agreed. Land was coming on the market with some frequency and prices were depressed. Careful purchases of estates close to the railways must be profitable in the long term. It might well be practical to build his own railway station in some instances, to create his own little village with immediate access to the City of London.
“I wonder if the Old Man would lend me a few tens of thousands to make a start, Alfred?”
“Perhaps you could ask him to be the investor – his money and your work in the first instance, adding to the family fortunes. It might be preferable to risking everything yourself.”
It would also give the family the power of veto over anything excessively wild. Alfred had no great respect for Robert’s ability, but reminded himself that he had been a competent officer. He might not be the sort to sit down in a university but that did not make him stupid as such.
The Redwoods visited at the weekend, the whole of the British-based family. Sir George, as he was now, showed perhaps excessive respect to Alfred and his achievements. The youngest girl, Henrietta, displayed a great sympathy for poor Robert while Victoria was obviously considering rewarding the national hero whose face had appeared in all of the newspapers. Lady Redwood was inclined to disapprove, regarding the newspapers as vulgar.
Robert was inclined to welcome Henrietta’s attentions. Viewing himself as a cripple, he could only be pleased at any female’s advances.
Alfred was not in the way of being toad eaten by any banker, even though the gentleman was a leader in his field in the City and hence a man of worldwide repute. He dismissed the excessive respect for the Cross, saying only that he had been seen. Other men had done more but had not attracted attention.
Sir George accepted that and pointed out that it in no way detracted from Alfred’s achievements.
“Indeed, Major, the fact that you are here, recovering from wounds received in what amounted to a repetition of your bold deeds does demonstrate your virtues! There has been some remark in the City that you deserved a second Cross, in fact.”
“Nonsense, Sir George! A single series of actions in the one location. That can hardly be split up into separate citations. It is not as if I am a medical man, in any case.”
To Alfred’s knowledge only two men had ever been awarded a second Cross. Both had been doctors who had gone unarmed under fire to rescue the wounded. He had the deepest respect for noncombatants who could risk their lives in such fashion. None could claim fighting madness as the cause of that bravery. He did not believe he should be stood in their company.
“No, sir. In the madness of a hot action a man can do the most ridiculous things, all unthinking. I suspect we make a lot too much of such an affair. I believe I am not to be permitted to return to my men in the Salient, sir. There is talk of sending me back to research in aircraft design, to be a mathematician again. I do not know whether I am pleased or not at the prospect, but I shall obey the orders that come to me.”
“You have done your bit, Major. There is no need at all for you to return to France.”
Victoria, smiling her very best, agreed, fervently.
“The hero must be rewarded, Alfred, if I may still call you such!”
Alfred was immediately aware of exactly what reward she regarded as appropriate. He was not inclined to accept her offerings – there was no possibility of ending up wed to that little madam.
“Of course, we are still family friends, Victoria.”
His voice was cold enough to make plain that any friendship would be distant.
Sir George would have had no objections to seeing Alfred as a son-in-law but much doubted that either of his younger daughters could make a good wife to a man of his academic interests. He was sure that Alfred would end up in a university, a national figure still but renowned for his advances in his own field – Major Sir Alfred Griffin, VC, PhD and a yard of other letters to his name. He feared that Victoria would not grace the dreaming spires.
They took tea and talked of very little until Sir George was able to ease Alfred to one side.
“How long, Major?”
“Until this damned war is over, sir? That depends on what is wanted from it.”
“The only thing we can accept is victory. Too many of our best have died to take anything less.”
“The Germans will be saying the same, sir. A negotiated peace will make more sense, surely, than to add to the already huge casualty lists. It must be possible to achieve a peace on acceptable terms to Britain. We do not give a damn for Alsace-Lorraine and French revanche. We have taken the bulk of German colonies and have a bargaining chip to offer for withdrawal from Belgium. An agreement that ends with an alliance against Russia and Turkey must be to the advantage of the whole of Europe.”
Sir George shook his head.
“Impossible, Major. The newspapers would flay any politician who dared suggest such a thing. I am not to say it is undesirable, from any logical point of view. This war has already gone beyond logic. It must end in victory.”
“Then the answer is not until we can achieve a numerical superiority over the Boche, Sir George. We are now into the beginnings of what is in effect siege warfare, with defence superior to offence. To win this war will require that the offence numbers three times the defence – that is the traditional figure for taking any defended position. Find another three million men, Sir George, and the war will soon be won. Without those men – stalemate.”
“We have not got them, Major. They do not exist.”
“Then, Sir George, we cannot win in France. We must accept negotiations eventually or win the war elsewhere. Can we send a massive army into Russia to aid them in the east?”
“Not now, Major. Russia is already effectively defeated, is relying upon her sheer size that makes it impossible to fully invade her.”
“Turkey, sir?”
“There is word of a land invasion in the making there now, Major. The Navy failed to force the Dardanelles, for fear of losing too many ships. They should have persevered but withdrew instead. Nelson must be turning in his grave! Now, there is to be a landing and the Australians are to force their way to Constantinople.”
“And thence through the Balkans and into Austria-Hungary… Hard lands to march across, Sir George!”
“Impassable mountains. Goats can cross them. Modern armies cannot, Major! I saw the Aegean when I was a young man, a holiday. The mountains are too much for any army to achieve.”
“Then there is no alternative to fighting a win in western Europe, Sir George. A landing on the shores of Denmark and invasion of Germany from the northwest?”
“America would be outraged by the attack on a neutral state. We cannot offend the Americans. We will need their food and are purchasing munitions of war by the shipload already. We must have a benevolent America. If it is to be invasion, then perhaps the Scheldt and a landing around Antwerp, but the Navy refuses to risk its ships in those waters. They would lose too many battleships. There can be no such invasion until they have fought and won their great battle against the High Seas Fleet, and the Germans, like the British, are refusing to leave harbour.”
Alfred could see no practical solution. The stalemate must drag on for years until either Germany or Britain ran out of young men.
“It would be possible, Sir George, if we used the resources of India. We have a Division of Indian troops fighting in the Salient now, and doing remarkably well. The best of fighting infantry! Make them up to two millions of well trained sepoys, sir, and we could march through the Germans.”
“Politically impossible, Major! The price would have to be Dominion status. India would have to be as independent as Canada or Australia. The Jewel of the Empire would become its own country. Any attempt to do that would bring the Imperialists in parliament out of the effective coalition that currently exists. Churchill would lead the revolt and would be followed by many from both parties. The government would fall and the war would end in defeat. Churchill would certainly choose to lose the war rather than let India go.”
“Then, Sir George, steel yourself for a war that will last until your grandchildren have grey hairs. The stalemate cannot be broken.”
Chapter Nine
“Confirmed, John. Alfred has definitely got a Cross!”
“Good! From all we have heard, thoroughly well earned. Everything says he was fighting mad and led his men into a victory they should not have attained. Bayonet in one hand, revolver in the other – mad bugger! I shall be glad to bump into him and tell him just how proud we are!”
Peter agreed. He had always had an affection for his brother and that was now tinged with awe.
“I wonder how I shall ever match him, John.”
“We won’t. Neither of us. All of our lives we shall be cast into the shade by brother Alfred. Live with it! Don’t try to match him – you will only kill yourself. You have a brain that equals his. Use that and make a success of yourself in your own chosen field. When this bloody war is over, take a place at a different university and read something other than Classics. I don’t know what – something more practical and useful – make a success of that. Become a leading academic and publish long and impenetrable texts on your subject, Peter. Fight on your own ground, not on his, if you want to match him. Alternatively, be like me, happy to be outshone by such an able man.”
Peter was not yet twenty. It was asking a lot of a very young man.
“Why not, John? Fight on a ground of my own choosing. Shall I be a historian or an economist, do you think?”
John was not at all certain what an economist might be. He offered no advice.
“For the moment, I suspect I need to be a soldier, John. What are we to do now?”
“Dig. We need a second line of trenches, deeper and more comfortable than the first line. Deep dugouts with a timber lining so that the men can sleep at night and take a rest when off duty. Then we need wire to the front, to keep raiding parties out. After that, we can rest a while. Not for ten minutes, that is, as we have the new bodies to deal with any time now. That is the Colonel in the distance, judging by the salutes I can see down the trench.”
Colonel Caine was accompanied by an unknown captain and a pair of lieutenants and, unfortunately, by three second lieutenants.
“Major Griffin, we are, as we agreed, to return to four companies, C and D to be under your command with Captain Rawle to have C and Captain Griffin, D.”
John had thought it best that the promotion should come from the Colonel’s lips. He enjoyed the surprise on Peter’s face.
“Your work with the battalion has made a captaincy only appropriate, Griffin Junior. I have no doubt you will soon enough be following the example of your elder brothers in putting up a pair of crowns. Please do not attempt to emulate the magnificent example of your brother Alfred! I have heard the tale from some of his brother officers and can happily say that was a thoroughly deserved Cross, with an argument that he had in fact earned a second just a couple of nights later. Do not you think you must cover yourself equally in blood and glory, Captain Griffin!”
“Too much of a good thing, sir! One VC in the family will do us very well. I can only stand in awe of Alfred – but I have always done that anyway! A fine gentleman in every sense of the word, sir, and I am so very proud to be his little brother!”
They laughed and agreed that Alfred was one of a kind.
“Let us hope he does not feel the need to achieve more glory, gentlemen, though I much expect that glory-hunting was the last thing on his mind. I must introduce Captain Rawle, who has C Company, Major Griffin. The lesser mortals will make themselves known.”
Judging by the grin on Colonel Caine’s face, he had forgotten the names of the second lieutenants at least and was avoiding the embarrassing admission. He left quietly.
“You are most welcome, Captain Rawle. A mid-Hampshire name, I believe, from down Bishop’s Waltham way.”
“My father has an acreage a little to the south of Bishop’s Waltham, sir. Durley Manor, in fact. Second son always joins the Hampshires, but we did not have a second son in the last generation so there has been a bit of a gap. I took a bit of a fever in India and have been at depot this last twelvemonth, sir.”
That explained why John did not recognise Rawle.
“Glad to have you here with us now, Captain Rawle. We need you. Two lieutenants – which one do you want? We are still short of officers, so only one it is.”
“I will take Mr Hathaway, sir. Mr Marchant to go to Captain Griffin.”
“My brother, of course. Wartime entry and done rather well, though I say it myself.”
“Not perhaps as well as the other Major Griffin we read of last week?”
“Another brother, in the Kents, of course. I must say we are rather pleased with him!”
“As you should be, sir!”
Hathaway and Marchant made their salutes.
“Both are Hampshiremen, sir, Mr Hathaway from about two miles distant and well-known to my family. I believe Mr Marchant is another mile further.”
Marchant confirmed he was, and pleased to have managed to join the County regiment. So many of current entrants to the Army were being dumped willy-nilly into the New Army battalions that it was a rarity to have a choice.
“Joined in August, sir, and came out two weeks later and was sent back wounded a week after that. Fit now, sir, and raring to go!”
“And you, Mr Hathaway?”
“Joined at the same time, sir, fell over and broke three fingers. Now equally fit, sir.”
John did not ask if he had been sober at the time of his accident.
“Second Lieutenant Winslade is already here, gentlemen, and will be joining D Company. He has done well in his few days with us and you should listen to his advice. Let us carefully choose which second lieutenant will go with him…” He closed his eyes. “Eeny, meeny, miney, mo… You, sir! The finger of fate has fallen upon you. Who are you?”
“Second Lieutenant Andrews-Smythe, sir.”
“Too much of a good thing in the middle of a fight at night. Andrews or Smythe, one or the other, not both.”
“Smythe it is, sir. My father’s side of the family.”
John presumed the Andrews had had the money, the Smythes the breeding. It was the normal explanation of a double-barrelled name.
“Excellent. Mr Griffin, take Mr Smythe into your embrace. That leaves Captain Rawle with you two. Who are you gentlemen?”
Perkins and Plunkett introduced themselves. Neither was a Hampshireman – they had joined and been assigned arbitrarily to the regiment.
Perkins spoke first. John gained the impression that he was one always to take a lead.
“Londoner, sir. Thought I would be put into a Middlesex battalion – there are several of them now. Instead I was informed two days ago that I am Hampshires, which is not the worst of fates. My father is head of an insurance office, sir.”
John presumed that meant one of the very large firms, their seniors paid high salaries, possibly with shareholdings.
“Mr Plunkett?”
“Irish family, sir, but in England these fifty years. My father is by way of being a distiller, sir.”
John had seen the name on the label of several different sorts of spirits available in the mess. Quality and quantity both, which suggested the rich owner of a large firm. Not necessarily a gentleman in the traditional sense but with the money behind him to grace Society in this modern age.
“Very good, gentlemen. Before you go to your companies, a general few words. We are in trenches here. That is something new and you will not have been trained in them. First and foremost, keep your heads down. There are snipers and Spandaus. Both will shoot at anything they see moving. Officers count double for snipers – they are favourite targets. Do not display yourselves casually. If you need to look out of the trench – and we all need to occasionally – a swift, five second glance then head down, walk at least thirty feet before taking a second look. Please do not get your heads blown off this week! I have lost count of the number of second lieutenants I have said that to – I think you are numbers eleven, twelve and thirteen in the last four months. Mr Winslade, who is senior for having survived four whole days here, will tell you that he was not alone when he arrived.”
