Omdurman, page 1
Omdurman
Omdurman
Book 3 in the
Soldier of the Queen Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2023
Copyright ©Griff Hosker First Edition 2023
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Dedication
To Sword Books and all the people who help me to fulfil my dream of writing the stories that still fill my head: Eileen, Dave, Vicky, Sarah and now Eliza.
Prologue
When I reached England along with Troopers Richardson and Coupe, we all found the mood at home a depressing one. The failure of Sir Wolsey Garnet to relieve Khartoum resulted in the fall of that city and the death of General Gordon. It was seen as a failure. When we descended the gangplank at Southampton it was in contrast to the way we had left with tearful wives, bands playing martial music and Union Flags flying.
Out of the three of us, my wound was the one which had almost resulted in death but Jamie’s was the most serious. On the voyage home, while Syd and I recovered and were able to walk around the deck, Jamie found he could barely walk, let alone stroll. The doctor who accompanied us on the troopship was not hopeful. “You may make a full recovery, but I doubt it. You will have to attend a medical before you return to Egypt at the end of your three-month leave. In your case, Coupe, it may well be to give you an honourable discharge.”
As we headed for the station to take our trains home Syd and I tried to be positive. Jamie himself was putting a brave face on it. “Being back in England with decent food and no heat will help. Don’t you worry, Sergeant Major, I will be back with you in three months.”
We all caught the same train from Southampton to London. We were lucky in that there was a train waiting to depart when we reached the station and we even had three seats together. It was in London where we parted. Syd and I had to head to different stations. Jamie headed for a horse-drawn omnibus and, as he went, I noticed his pronounced limp.
I clasped arms with Syd, “You take care.”
He nodded, “I am guessing your train will get you home quicker. It will be dark when I get home.”
I laughed, “After the dark and danger of the desert, I don’t think you will worry too much about the north, eh?”
He agreed and then waved an arm around the crowded streets, “A different world.”
When I had fought at Rorke’s Drift, almost seven years earlier, I had thought I would end my days in the 24th. Events and certain officers had conspired against me but I was now, unlikely though it had seemed when we were about to be massacred by Zulus after the disaster that was Isandlwana, a Sergeant Major. It was as high a rank as I could hope for. I also served Major Kitchener who had new ideas about the way the army should operate. Our small unit which, until recently, had been just a dozen men strong, operated close to the border and we rode camels. Life was dangerous but exciting. As I settled down in the train for the long journey north to Liverpool, I wondered if the life I had chosen was the right one. My son, Griff, depended on me and putting my life in danger, as my recent wound had clearly demonstrated, was not fair on him, my mother or my Aunt Sarah. They cared for Griff while I served the Queen but neither was getting any younger. Major Dickenson was a good officer and if I made the case I am sure he would allow me to leave the detachment early. The recent reforms meant that I could transfer to a local regiment and just train men. I knew I had the skills. As I watched the green countryside of England fly by, I had to decide if I had the mentality. I had been given a three-month leave and that leave began when I stepped from the troopship. I would take advantage of every day back in England.
Egypt after the fall of Khartoum
Chapter 1
Griff had grown so much since I had last seen him that I barely recognised him. I had not sent a telegram to warn them of my arrival for the simple reason that the arrival of a telegram often made people upset before they had even read it and, in addition, I was unsure of the time of the journey. So as I walked down the road with my kitbag over my shoulder, I saw a group of boys playing and it took me some minutes to realise that one of them was Griff. He had grown. I leaned against the wall to watch them for a moment. They had wooden sticks for guns and it was clear what they were playing. I heard my son as he barked out orders. “We must hold them until relief comes!”
Another little boy, a head shorter with long unkept hair said, “But there are too many Zulus!”
“We can do it, boys, we are soldiers of the Queen!”
I laughed. They were playing out Rorke’s Drift. Just then my mother came out. She was wiping her hands on her apron. She was about to speak to Griff when she saw me. Her hand went to her mouth and she croaked, “Jack!”
The boys turned around and saw me in my uniform. Griff recognised me and he ran at me. I dropped the kitbag for he threw himself into my arms. “You are home,” he whispered in my ear.
“That I am, son and for three months.”
The other boys formed two lines as, with Griff in one arm and my kitbag in the other, I walked to Aunt Sarah’s house. Griff swelled with pride. His friends all stood open-mouthed. I guessed that there were few soldiers in the street. My red coat was distinctive. I knew that when I returned to Africa my red coat would be hung away for formal occasions. We would be wearing khaki.
Griff stroked the wool and then his hand went to my stripes. “Alan’s dad says that a sergeant is an important man.”
“That he is, son.”
He beamed and held his head even higher. The neighbours had popped their heads out of their front doors at the squeals from the children and I was studied by women who, like my mother had come from the kitchen and were wiping their hands on their aprons. I had not spent much time at home and, unlike St Helens, while I was known by sight that was as far as it went. I knew that I would be the subject of much conversation that evening when the men came home from work. I was a diversion from the normal rhythm of the day.
I had to duck beneath the lintel of the door to avoid striking Griff’s head. I dropped my kitbag to the ground as my mother closed the door behind me and, kissing Griff on the cheek, I lowered him. I was home.
As she put a hand on my back to direct me towards the kitchen, she asked me the inevitable question. Every soldier had it. “How long are you home for, Jack?”
“A full three months.”
My mother was clever. She liked to sit with Aunt Sarah and do all sorts of puzzles. She knew that three months' leave meant a wound. She was silent but her head turned, and she studied me. Griff was dragging my kitbag behind me. He knew that I would have gifts for him. My mother sighed, “Let your father get through the door before you pester him for your present.”
“Yes, Nan, sorry.”
He was polite and obeyed orders. The soldier in me liked that. I sat at the table and helped him pull the bag closer as my mother lit the gas under the kettle. “If I had known you were coming I would have got something special from the butcher. As it is you will have to make do with lob scouse.”
I could not help grinning. Made with meat left over from the Sunday roast, packed with potatoes and vegetables before being thickened by the leftover gravy, lob scouse was like a feast. I dived into the bag. My wound meant that I had no opportunity in Egypt to visit the souk and buy a present. I had been treated as an invalid by the medical staff. Luckily, I met an old sailor on the ship, he had been a ship’s carpenter back in the day of wooden sailing vessels. He carved ships from wood and I commissioned two ships from him. Ironically, they were the first iron-clad ships in the Royal Navy, HMS Warrior and HMS Black Prince, but as they had sails it did not matter. The two replicas did not cost much but the work on them was exquisite. They had been rigged and had sails. Albert, the sailor, had painted the ship’s hulls, decks and guns. They were magnificent and while I knew that Griff wished for soldiers, he would be happy with the present. I had wrapped the two vessels well and I brought them out one by one. He was intrigued as I removed the wrappings and when his eyes widened and his mouth opened in delight, I knew then I had made the right choice.
“Now, like the soldiers I brought for you the last time, you can play with these in the house but be careful with them. I have not the skill to repair them.” I held one up, “This is HMS Warrior and was the first British ship to have a metal hull. The other is the Black Prince, her sister ship. When these were launched they were the most powerful ships in the world.”
“Have you seen them?”
I shook my head, “These ships sail the world’s oceans protecting the Empresses’ Empire.”
“Can I really play with them?”
“Of course.”
He sat on my kitbag and began to move them as though the kitchen floor was the Atlantic Ocean. I said, as my mother poured the water into the teapot, “He has grown so much I barely recognise him.”
“Sarah makes sure he eats well and gets lots of fresh of fresh air. We have him study each night. Mr Myers is really pleased with him. He says he could easily pass the scholarship into the grammar school.”
I looked at my tousle-haired son. A grammar school was only for the best of students. Those with money paid for their children to go there but ones like Griff could, if they passed an entrance exam called a scholarship, win a place there.
I nodded and took out my pipe, “If he does then I shall make sure he has everything he needs. I will not have him going there as a pauper.”
She laughed as she swirled the tea in the pot, “That is another five years off. Mr Myers sees Griff as a special child to be nurtured. He has no children of his own, you know. His wife died in childbirth, and he has dedicated his life to the school. We are lucky.”
I had filled my pipe and, taking a taper, lit it from the gas. I held it over the pipe suddenly aware that Griff was studying me. I smiled. I had grown up watching my father and men like Trooper smoking a pipe. Griff lived in a house of women. For him, it was a novelty. I tamped down the pipe once it began to draw.
“Doesn’t that burn your fingers?”
I shook my head, “My hands and fingers are gnarly old things.”
My mother poured the two teas, hers in a cup and mine, as she knew I liked it, in a mug. She sipped hers and then said, quietly, “Where were you wounded?”
Even though she had said the words quietly, the sharp ears of Griff had picked them up, “You were wounded?”
I saw the look of annoyance on my mother’s face. She was angry with herself. There was little point in lying about it. I nodded, “Just a couple of cuts. They have healed and I will be fine.”
“They don’t give you three months of leave for nothing.”
I took the pipe from my mouth and leaned over. Nodding in Griff’s direction I said, “Later, eh?”
She smiled, “You are right.” She looked at the old clock on the mantelpiece. “Well, your Aunt Sarah will be home in an hour. I had best get on with the tea.”
I drank my tea and smoked my pipe. Griff was distracted by his ships but still kept up his questions. The young always did. “Did you see much fighting in Africa?”
I sighed. How did I explain what we did in such a way that he would not fear for my safety when I left him once more? “Most of the time it is routine. We patrol on our camels and watch more than anything else.”
“You ride a camel?”
“I do.”
“What are they like?”
“I am lucky, Aisha, that is my camel, is a good one. She doesn’t spit and she is fast.”
“And is it hot out there? Mr Myers says it is.”
“So hot that you have to ride early in the morning and then spend the hot part of the day finding whatever shade you can.” I lifted my mug of tea, “And you learn to appreciate water. There is so little of it in the Sudan that it is more precious than gold.”
He looked at the tap. I remembered when we had to go outside to a tap but here there was plumbing and we had water at the turn of a tap. “Water?”
“Aye, water.”
I spent the hour before my aunt returned describing not the fighting but life as a soldier of the queen.
The women in the street had forewarned my aunt of my arrival and she almost burst into the kitchen, “Where is he? Where is little Jack?” I stood and she threw her arms around me, hugging me and kissing my cheeks. It was her way. Aunt Sarah was the most practical woman I knew but I felt tears on her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away, “I am a silly old woman. By, but you look well. Look at the colour of you. How long?”
My mother, stirring the lob scouse, said over her shoulder, “Three months.”
Aunt Sarah stepped back, “But three months means…”
“Later, our Sarah. Jack, do you want to take your kit bag upstairs? You can have the box room Griff normally uses. He can go back to sharing the bed with me.”
“I can sleep on the settee.”
“You will do no such thing! Griff doesn’t mind do you?”
“No, Aunt Sarah.”
I picked up the bag and headed up the narrow stairs. Griff followed. The room was called a box room because of its size. There was a single bed, a tiny wardrobe and a small chest of drawers. There was room for little else. I put the kit bag on the top of the wardrobe after taking out my shaving kit. I would unpack properly later.
Even as we descended the stairs I heard Aunt Sarah shout, “Tea is on the table.”
We ate in the kitchen. It was cosy and meant no one had to go far to fetch what we needed. There were jars of piccalilli and pickled beetroot on the table as well as bread. Those were things I missed. We did not starve at Fort Desolation but army rations were dull. When we acquired a jar of pickles it was as though we had won a sweepstake.
My mother said Grace and then I dived in. As I mopped up the last of the gravy from around the plate with my bread I studied my family. This was why I was a soldier of the queen. Not to defend an outpost of the empire but to provide for my family. As a Sergeant Major, my pay was more than adequate and I was frugal. Apart from buying tobacco most of my pay went directly to my mother and my son. If I left the army would I be able to earn as much?
I told them, as we drank tea and I smoked the pipe, of my life. I told them of the Arab slavers we had encountered and they were shocked that such things went on. I described how Sam had built a bread oven and his passion for baking. The fighting and the flights for life I omitted. There was no need to give any of them bad dreams.
“And how is our Billy?”
“Oh, they are doing well. They have a new house out Walton way and it is lovely and little Jack is growing well. Elizabeth is expecting again and she hopes for a girl this time.”
“Good.”
“He is doing well at work too.” Aunt Sarah shook her head, “When I think back all those years when I first took him in to be a clerk…he is senior now. He is earning so much money that they bought a much bigger house.”
My mother turned and shook her head, “I didn’t know why they did that. It is too expensive. Why leave that lovely house? He needs to watch his pennies, does our Bill.”
“The company is expanding, Mother. Our Jack here and the other soldiers of the Empire have done such a good job that the bosses are setting up offices abroad. There is one in Halifax Nova Scotia, a second one in Cape Town and they say that there will be one at Suez.”
I looked up, “Suez?”
“The canal is such a success and shortens the journey to Australia and India that the bosses think we can make a fortune. It means more jobs over here and more pay for men like Bill.”
“What about you, Aunt Sarah?
She laughed, “I am a relic. When I began there we had less than ten people in the office. Now there are more than a hundred, not to mention all those who work in the factories. One day they will decide that they have had enough of me and retire me.”
I was shocked but then Aunt Sarah, whilst younger than her sister, was no spring chicken. “Will you get a pension?”
She and my mother were washing the dishes and as she put the last dish in the cupboard she shook her head, “I honestly don’t know. I would like to think so. I have been saving and I have some money but…”
I said, “Surely our Bill can do something if, as you say, he is so well thought of.”
“I think they have only kept me on for so long because of our Bill. Don’t you worry about it, Jack. When I am finished at Hargreaves and Winterbottom I shall enjoy life here. No more ten-hour days, six days a week.”
My mother shook her head, “You will be bored beyond belief.” She wiped her hands, “Now then, Griff, time for bed.”
Still clutching his two ships he said to me, “Can you read me a story?”
“Of course I can, son.”
Aunt Sarah went to the small bookcase where the books were kept. She handed me, ‘The Coral Island’, “This is the one he is reading at the moment. I have marked the page we are up to with a book marker.” I saw that it was a crocheted one. “Just a chapter. He has school in the morning.”
