Priv. Royal Sussex. Wound in thigh.
Communiqué famille 4/1/15.
‘Am I right in saying that disparudepuis décembre 1914 means that he had been gone since December 1914?’Margaret asked.
‘Yes,’ Morton replied, without turningfrom the screen. ‘It must have been around the same time as Charles waskilled. I might just take a quick look at Len’s war service, beforeJuliette and Uncle Jim get up and we’re required to do something other than sitin front of the computer doing genealogy all day.’
Margaret laughed. ‘I’d be quitehappy doing that. I love it.’
‘Me too,’ Morton agreed.
He returned to the First World War recordset and typed in Leonard Sageman’s name. He, too had a militaryattestation form, having joined up on the same day as Charles Farrier in1910. Morton waited patiently until the form loaded onscreen.
Apparent age: 22 years 8 months
Height: 5 feet 8 inches
Weight: 9 stone 9 lbs
Chest measurement minimum: 27 inches
Chest measurement maximum: 30 inches
Complexion: Fresh
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blond
Religious denomination: C of E
Distinctive marks, and marks indicatingcongenital peculiarities or previous disease: None
Morton read the rest of the four-page document,but nothing further was noted about Leonard having been taken prisoner of war.
‘Uh-oh,’ Margaret said. ‘I can hearmovement upstairs. Quick, read the unit diary entry for today.’ Margaret made herself comfortable and listened carefully.
‘One second,’ Morton said, saving Len’smilitary attestation form before navigating his way back to the downloaded unitdiary. ‘Okay, ready?’
‘Absolutely,’ Margaret said.
‘23rd December. Eppinette. Relief started at 6pm and was not completed until 6am 24thDecember. During these last three days of action, twenty-eight rank andfile killed, wounded and missing. That’s it.’
Margaret looked perplexed. ‘But theyonly just got to the front trenches.’ She paused, trying to take it allin. ‘So they troop the poor beggars through those awful conditions, makethem stand in waist-deep water, get fired on, then marched back outagain? Golly, it’s no wonder the war wasn’t over by Christmas.’
‘Morning,’ a croaky voice called from thestairs.
It was Juliette, descending slowly in herpink dressing gown and slippers, with her hair hanging down messily around herface.
‘Oh, hi, Juliette—I thought it was UncleJim’s voice,’ Morton joked.
‘Ha ha,’ she mumbled, sitting at thearmchair closest to the fire and tucking her knees up under herself. ‘God, I’ve got such a headache.’
‘We call those hangovers, in Cornwall,dear,’ Margaret laughed. ‘Coffee?’
Juliette made an affirmative groaningsound that sent Margaret scuttling off to the kitchen. ‘Why are you up soearly?’ she asked Morton.
‘Couldn’t sleep, so I came down to do abit of research. I’ve just been looking at—’
Juliette raised her hand andinterjected. ‘No. Not now. Can’t cope.’
Morton smiled. ‘Fair enough. I’m stopping, anyway,’ he said, pushing shut the laptop lid. ‘I thinkwe’re going to head into Truro later, if you fancy it?’
There was another groan from Juliette, butMorton couldn’t tell if it was a good groan or a bad groan.
Threehours later, Morton, Juliette, Margaret and Jim were ambling slowly through thestreets of Truro city centre, bustling with Christmas shoppers.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ Juliette said,darting into Next.
He knew she would be a minute. Several minutes, in fact. Possibly even hours.
‘I’ll join you,’ Margaret said, leavingMorton and Jim as shopping widowers, watching the crowds of people millingabout with bulging bags.
‘I’m really pleased you came down, youknow, Morton,’ Jim said after a short silence. ‘I know Margaret was a bitnervous at first but I’ve not seen her this bouncy for a long while—ever sincethe girls lived at home probably. I mean, she’s always a sunny sort, ifyou get me, but I think it’s been a bit like a black cloud hanging over herthat’s now lifted.’
Morton met his uncle’s eyes. He hadrarely seen him so serious; Morton’s entire recollection of him was as ajovial, animated giant who would never be drawn on life’s serious issues suchas religion or politics. When such topics were raised in his presence, hewould make a joke and politely excuse himself. ‘I’m glad we came down,too,’ Morton responded. ‘I can’t explain properly, but I just neededto come. I wasn’t trying to replace my mum, or for Aunty Margaret to beanybody else to me other than who she always was…’
His Uncle Jim reached out and pulledMorton into a bear hug. ‘You know you’re always welcome here, boy,’ Jimwhispered.
‘Thank you.’
‘Yeah, it’s been hard for her. Ithink the hardest part was carrying the lie around her whole life.’
Morton stopped people-watching andswitched his attention to his Uncle Jim. ‘What do you mean?’
Jim’s ruddy face, already a healthy red,flushed burgundy and Morton knew there was something amiss. ‘Just thatshe was your birth mother and not your aunty,’ he stammered.
It was very clear to Morton that his UncleJim was lying or at best economising on the truth. ‘That wasn’t the lieyou were referring to, though. What did you mean?’
‘Nothing, I didn’t mean nothing.’
‘Uncle Jim, tell me!’ Morton said,suddenly feeling a wobble inside his stomach. A lie about hisbirth? What now? Was she not his biological mother afterall?
‘Nothingto declare here,’ Juliette said, suddenly appearing and mock-concealing a largecarrier bag behind her back.
‘Me neither,’ Margaret said, imitatingJuliette. ‘What are you boys looking so serious about?’
‘Nothing,’ Jim answered. ‘Come on,let’s go and find something to eat.’
Morton stood and watched the three of thembegin to move off down the street, a hollow feeling gripping and slowly tearingat his insides.
ChapterSeven
23rdDecember 1914, Eppinette, France
Charleswas right: there had been casualties last night amongst ‘C’ and ‘B’companies. Many dead. Another old friend from the regulars, ArthurJarret, among their number. Arthur, a born humourist with a fund ofcommon sense, was well-regarded among the rank and file and Charles lamentedhis death bitterly. The Germans had stormed their trenches, resulting inthe barrage of gunfire that Charles and his comrades had heard from theirwatery prison. Barriers had been erected hastily, followed by each sideheavily bombing the other.
Knowing that yet again he had escapeddeath only by chance had allowed Charles to keep something resembling hisresolve last night when his mind, suffocating in loneliness, allowed in thedark whispering thoughts that questioned his very existence in this war. He, along with the rest of the company, had stood in waist-deep muddy water allnight long with no relief. The men had tried singing and talking to helppass the desperately long
