Morton was about to complain, but, when helooked up at his young innocent face something in him softened. He couldonly have been fifteen or sixteen. A hundred years ago, Mortonthought, you would have been exactly the sort to have answered Kitchener’scall and have been sent off, gun in hand, to fight a war you knew nothing aboutand from which you would likely never have retuned. ‘It’s fine, don’tworry,’ Morton reassured him. He ordered the food and watched the boyscuttle off to the kitchens.
‘He’s a bit incompetent,’ Julietteremarked.
‘Yeah, but he’s young. Leave himalone. I’ll still tip him at the end.’
‘What’s go into you, being sogenerous? The season of good will?’
‘Just got me thinking about my greatgrandfather and all the other lads going off to war not much older than him.’
Juliette swept her hair back. ‘Listen to you, getting all sentimental now you’re finally researching your ownfamily tree! I take it by this you’re feeling more of a Farrier now?’
Morton nodded, as an excited feelingsurged through him at the thought of discovering his own ancestral heritage,maybe even making contact with new living relatives.
‘What have you actually found out aboutthis Charles Farrier chap, then? Did I hear you say he was killed in theFirst World War?’
‘Yeah, December 1914,’ Morton answered,before beginning to relay the highlights of his discoveries, only stopping toaccept the delivery of two large Cornish pasties.
‘See, you’ve got a family now,’ Juliettesaid once he had finished his recount.
Morton nodded his agreement and, when hehad finished his mouthful of pasty, said, ‘I’d like to do a bit more researchwhile we’re down here, so that I can show Aunty Margaret. If that’s okaywith you?’
‘You can do more tonight, can’t you? I’m happy watching TV and relaxing.’
Morton leant over and kissed her on thelips. ‘I love you.’
‘Love you too. Weirdo.’
Athick church pillar candle at the centre of the dining table and the lowflicker from the Christmas tree lights sent obscure black shadows around theroom. The final morsels of a fish pie had been consumed and the winebottle emptied.
‘Lovely dinner, thank you, dear wife,’ Jimbarked. ‘Right! Who’s coming to the Cadgwith Cove Inn, then?’
Margaret fired an uncertain look atMorton. ‘I don’t mind. If you’d rather stay and do a bit moreresearch into my grandad, then that’s okay, too.’
‘Let’s do that,’ Morton said.
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ Margaretsaid with a laugh.
‘I’ll join you, Uncle Jim,’ Juliettereplied, standing from the table.
‘That’s the spirit!’ Jim roared.
‘Just you watch yourself, James,’ Margaretjoked. ‘Juliette—please feel free to arrest him, if he misbehaves.’
‘Will do,’ Juliette said, playing along.
Jim and Juliette pulled on their shoes andcoats, then disappeared down to the pub.
‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ Morton saidenthusiastically, placing his laptop on the dining table.
Margaret rubbed her hands with glee andperched down beside him. ‘What’s first?’
‘Well, I’m going to see if his regiment’sunit diaries are online. Some are, some aren’t—bit of pot luck, really. They don’t usually mention names in them, but it will be good to see what hewas up to and what happened in the unit the day he died.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Margaret said avidly.
Morton opened up the National Archiveswebsite and navigated to the unit war diaries, series WO 95. He typed RoyalSussex Regiment into the search box. ‘Bingo!’ he said. ‘SecondBattalion unit diaries available for the grand sum of three pounds thirty,which includes five hundred and eighty-one files covering August 1914 to April1919! That’ll keep us busy.’
‘Crikey. What happens now?’
‘I buy them then download them,’ heresponded with a smile, as he fumbled in his pockets for his credit cards.
Margaret shook her head in amazement, asMorton completed the transaction. Moments later, the four downloadedfiles comprising the entire Battalion’s First Word War history appearedonscreen.
‘Right, let’s start at the beginning,then.’ Morton opened the first file. The opening page, scanned inhigh-resolution colour, was wrapping-paper-brown with the simple typed words 2ndBattalion Royal Sussex Regiment Aug - Dec 1914. His greatgrandfather’s war movements could be plotted within those one hundred andseventy-two pages. Somewhere in there, among the death and destruction,was whatever had happened to end Charles Ernest Farrier’s life.
Morton scrolled down until he was greetedwith the very first pages of Army Form C. 2118. The page was divided intothree typed sections: Hour, Date, Place in the left-hand column, Summaryof Events and Information in the centre and Remarks and references toAppendices on the right. Hand-written on the page in a purple scrawlwere the initial preparations of the Battalion in Woking, England in August1914.
‘Do you want me to read everything?’Morton asked. ‘There’s quite a lot here.’
‘Oh yes, even if it takes all night!’
‘Okay,’ Morton began, clearing histhroat. ‘Here we go, then.’
It took time for Morton to initiallydecipher the particular scrawl of the Battalion commander, but once he hadadjusted to the peculiarities of his handwriting, he was able to read quicklythrough the diaries, only stopping to make his own notes or to answer queriesfrom Margaret.
‘So, Charles took part in the First Battleof the Marne and the First Battle of the Aisne,’ Morton muttered, as much tohimself as to Margaret. ‘He survived all that but didn’t survive theyear, just like most of the original regular soldiers. The BritishExpeditionary Force was all but wiped out by the end of 1914, awaiting freshblood. Sad. Very sad.’
‘Gosh, what an awful time for him,’Margaret lamented once they had reached December 1914. She sighed andtried to stifle a yawn. ‘Sorry!’
‘No, it’s getting a bit tiring now,’Morton said, stretching out. ‘Shall we have a break?’
‘We could do and I could put the kettleon. Or, a better idea: why don’t you just read what he was doing exactlyone hundred years ago today, then maybe read the next entry tomorrow?’
Morton smiled. It wasn't exactly hisusual style of genealogical investigation, but he could see how delightedMargaret was with her suggestion. ‘Yeah, that’s a lovely idea. Hangon then.’ He returned his focus to the laptop screen. ‘22ndDecember 1914. We relieved the Seaforths commencing at 7.30am but did notactually finish the relief until 3.20pm. The chief cause of which was theappalling state of the communication trench. During
