Back in Kirkton I found Mr Grindal in a mood which was almost frenzied – the war was coming he said and we must be ready for it – he made it sound like patriotic zeal but I overheard him say to his brother in law one night when he thought they were alone in the office – It may last only a matter of months and unless were in at the start it will be too late to reap the full benefit – this sounded more like profiteering than patriotism to me.
He was spending more and more time energy and money on developing Mr Sams medicine works and had already started converting part of the mill to machines for the production of bandages and dressings. I asked him if it was wise to rush into such a limited market which would require injuries on an unimaginable scale to make it worthwhile – he laughed and said I should forget about the horsemen Id seen with their bright sabres exercising on Ilkley Moor – he had been in Germany the previous year and seen the German army at its exercise – this was going to be a war fought not with horses and lances but with machine guns each worth a whole rifle Companys fire power – with artillery that could throw shells twenty miles – with bombs and mines that could blow a hole in the ground big enough to sink a church in.
I spoke with Tommy Mather and told him that it seemed to me to be wrong that a workers union should be engaged in preparing in any way for a war which must involve our comrades killing and being killed by men just like us in foreign countries. He said that with no unemployed men left in Kirkton and no love of the Germans in Yorkshire he doubted such a view would get much support but hed call a meeting anyway as the members ought to know what was going on.
He was right – Archie Doyle got the biggest cheer when he said – Likely there wont be a war so lets make hay while the sun shines – and if by chance there were a war he for one wouldnt mind seeing a bit of these furren parts everyone said were so grand – and knocking a couple of Germans on the head while he was there.
When I spoke there was silence except for one voice – probably Doyles – which called – Dost Mr Grindal know thas out by thysen lad? – which got the biggest laugh of the meeting.
Mr Grindal werent laughing when I saw him next day – He said – What the hell do you think youre playing at? Ive fetched you up from nowt and here you are acting like some socialist agitator with a chip on his shoulder.
I might have known hed have his ears even at a Union meeting.
I tried to explain but he was in no mood to listen – all he said was – Well Im glad the rest have got more sense – They soon gave you your answer – And I said – Aye and theyll likely give you yours – all the working men of this country – if you really do get your war. You'll need men to fight it and you wont find them in the unions that I can tell you.
It were stupid to say that really – temper talking which is a sad waste of good breath.
He said – Suppose youre wrong Pascoe – suppose there is a war and your mates show more stomach for a fight than you do? What'll you do then? Sit at home and complain about it?
And I said – If the Labour Movement doesn't oppose the war and lets its members go to fight then never worry – I wont let my mates go off alone.
It was a proud boastful sort of thing to say – but it was true as well – I was no pacifist opposed to all wars – if there was just cause I saw nothing wrong in fighting and much in not fighting – so if everyone else voted me in the wrong Id not stand against that – Id go.
I expected Mr Grindal to keep on yelling at me but what I said seemed to put him in a better mood – all he did was smile and say – I’ll not let thee forget you said that Pascoe. Now lets get some work done.
And I think that was the very first moment I truly believed that there would be a war. xi
When Ellie Pascoe got home she burst into the house like an SAS hostage-rescue team.
'Hello, Mum,' said Rosie, sitting cross-legged on the sofa with an open tin of biscuits by her side and her eyes glued on the TV screen where John Wayne was trying not to be provoked into a fight in a saloon.
Ellie did not answer but moved through the open door into the dining room where her husband was sitting at a paper-strewn table.
'Peter,' she said. 'Do you know what time it is?'
He glanced at his watch.
'Late as that? You haven't been at the hospital all this time, have you?'
'Yes I have. And I tried to ring you three times but all I could get was the answering machine.'
'Sorry. I must have forgotten to switch it off.'
'The bloody phone still rings, Peter!' she cried in exasperation.
'Yes, but only twice when the machine's engaged,' he said reasonably. He ran his fingers through his hair and went on, 'I got carried away… this stuff. You wouldn't believe it.'
'Probably not. What I did believe was something dreadful must have happened for you and Rosie not to be at home. And what the hell is that she's watching on the box?'
Pascoe rose and peered through into the lounge. Wayne's good intentions had been thwarted and the saloon brawl was in full swing.
'Sorry,' he said. 'But you'll understand when you read this lot.'
'What is it?' she said glancing at the table. 'Jesus, not more bloody Great War gunk? Have you lost all interest in the here and now? Such as, what your child's doing to her mind? And what's happening in Intensive Care?'
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Rosie, switch that off. And how's Wendy? Any change?'
'Yes. That's what I rang to say the first time. She's regained consciousness.'
'That's great. What's she say? Does she recall what happened to her?'
Ellie shook her head.
'She's barely awake. They're still not certain how much her brain might have been affected. They let me in to see her briefly. At first I thought she recognized me but then she said, 'Cap, Cap, Cap… oh why, why, why?' I would have stayed longer but I was getting really worried about not being able to get through here.'
Pascoe took her in his arms and said, 'Sorry, sorry.'
Over her shoulder he saw that the saloon fight had finished and the hero and heroine were embracing. Rosie, deciding that flesh and blood had it over flat image, zapped them to oblivion and turned to watch her parents.
I bet if we started punching each other, she'd give up telly altogether, thought Pascoe.
He said, 'OK, you sit down. I'll get you something to eat and organize this one for bed. Like a drink to be going on with?'
'That would be great.'
He poured her a gin, put a couple of lasagnes in the microwave to defrost and hustled his daughter upstairs.
She said, 'What about my tea?'
'Oh God, haven't you had anything?' he asked guiltily.
'Yes, I helped myself,' she said grinning.
Breakfast and tea in a single day. Thank God for school dinners, he thought.
He said, 'Don't tell your mother.'
'Don't tell her what?' said Ellie from the doorway.
'That I got into trouble today for throwing stones in the playground,' said Rosie promptly, leaving Pascoe pleased to be off the hook but aghast at the convincing ease with which she lied.
Alone with his daughter, he tried to remonstrate with her.
'Yes, but I did get into trouble for throwing stones,' she said. 'So it wasn't a lie, was it?' This was turning into a problem in logic rather than ethics.
'Even the truth can be a lie sometimes,' he heard himself saying sententiously.
'But can't a lie be better than the truth sometimes?' she argued.
This piece of precocity took his breath away. Having a bright kid was one thing, but childhood could be a long and bumpy road for a smartarse.
Then Rosie yawned and added, 'Like swearing.'
'Have you been talking to Miss Martindale?' asked Pascoe.
'Yes. I got sent to her for throwing the stones. And she said sometimes bad things could be good. Like telling lies. But you have to be careful.'
'And swearing?'
'She said if you dropped something heavy on your toe, it was good to have a special word you could shout out to get the pain out of you, and that's why some words were bad unless you had a pain to get out.'
She was almost asleep now. At the door he paused and said, 'Why were you throwing stones?'
