Our Time Is Gone (64 page)

He struggled to his feet. There were quick handshakes, kisses, cheery farewells, promises to write, encouragements to fight like hell.

Then the draft formed up and moved off. Before it had gone ten yards Mr. Kilkey's hat was pulled off and one made of pink paper stuck on his head. He took it off, threw it away. A foot kicked his heel, then the paper hat was put on again. Again he threw it off, and a second time it was jammed on.

‘And keep it on, you bastard! It's a soldier's hat. A soldier's splendid hat, mate!'

They drew near the railway station, where half a dozen officers and N.C.O.s were standing on the main platform, and the long, dirty-looking train was already waiting to receive them. Steam gushed from engines, puffed down the platform, an occasional clinker dropped on a hut. The porters ran trucks at feverish speed up and down, loaded and empty. The station resounded to repeated cries of: ‘No! Number five A, you ass.'

And then the Geltonian draft marched into the station. As before it was always the last column of four that attracted attention.

‘Mate,' said Kilkey, looking to the soldier on his right, ‘d'you mind loosening these straps? I'm nearly choked,' and he began struggling with the pack, trying to ease the weight of it from back and neck.

‘Who tied it like that?'

‘Somebody, I don't know——'

‘Then somebody I don't know better untie it,' replied the soldier.

‘Thank you,' Kilkey said. ‘Thank you.'

‘Mark time. Single file and have your rifles ready. Single file and have your——'

Doors opened, slammed shut. A dirty-faced engine-driver leaned over the side of his engine, chewed tobacco, repeatedly spat. Pools of water from the night's rain still lay here and there on the platform. On the empty siding three loco engines emitted columns of smoke and steam, which rose in clouds, and then seemed to form a long train, so that looking across the crowded platform it appeared like a white wall, and here and there through the network of it, the bright rails glistened under the film of steam! There was a half-darkness here, a quite distinctive, individual darkness that was somehow different to the darkness of the world beyond the station. The railway lay in a sort of perpetual twilight, where voices sounded ghostly, the whistle had a hollow rather than a shrill blow. The trucks sounded thunderous and above it all the incessant viciouslike hiss of escaping steam. It floated over everything and everybody, into the waiting-rooms, into the buffet where loud-mouthed and agitated though nevertheless patriotic women endeavoured to stem and stay the voracious appetites of soldiers and sailors. It floated into the carriages, made traceries upon the windows; it was drawn into the mouth and into the nostrils. It laid a gossamer-film on bags and boxes, made the granite surface of walls look bleaker still. It even lay upon the cakes and sandwiches that decorated the long marble-topped table in the refreshment room and buffet. The station clock struck half-past one, but its face seemed too far away to be seen. It recorded time somewhere up above, austerely, indifferently.

‘All ready there.'

This was called down the platform by the sergeant of the draft.

The troops in single file began to move into the train, and as each entered the carriage he handed his rifle to the private who stood by the luggage van. Whilst they were embarking a train came in on the other side. It had just arrived from Gelton with its load of office workers, warehouse men, soldiers and sailors on leave, shoppers, a slight sprinkling of clergy, a policeman—and nothing seemed more exciting to them than to see four hundred brave lads going off to the war. They rushed from the train, pushing against each other, dashing past the collectors at the barriers, and then swinging round, swooped on to the troops' platform. They stood cheering. Girls went up to the windows, rapped on them with their knuckles, laughed, made eyes, shouted and giggled.

About one hundred of them were now embarked. There was still the other hundred to go. The first carriages were filled. As the train was a local non-corridor one the remainder of the troops were marched down to the middle of the platform. The sergeant walked down, barked at Joseph Kilkey:

‘How you feeling now, old cock?' He turned to two soldiers. ‘You two,' he said. ‘Take charge of this man and get into that there carriage.'

‘Yes, sir,' they replied with one voice, and it made the sergeant smile.

He pushed Joseph Kilkey forward. ‘Go ahead. Get in there. We'll look after you at the other end,' and as he climbed the step and entered the carriage the two soldiers followed. The door was slammed.

Joseph Kilkey collapsed in his seat.

‘Hey! Come to hell out of it, mate. That's my seat. Reserved.' and laughing boisterously he pushed Kilkey to the other side of the carriage so that he sat at the window which the other soldier had released and shot right down.

The two escorts sat opposite each other, lit cigarettes, talked about girls' legs, and the next big push on the Western Front. They ignored Kilkey and didn't even notice that he had collapsed, his head well back upon the dirty upholstery, his mouth half open, his face pale, his hands under the pack straps, and in between these straps, what looked like the remains of the pink paper hat.

People were now crowding down the platform, and it seemed as though all Gelton had arrived to see this latest draft off. Men, women and children crowded round the windows, every one of which was down, and over which leaned, one, two and sometimes three smiling, laughing faces looking down at the people. It was wonderful!

A man, two women, a boy of ten, three girls came up to the window where Mr. Kilkey sat. He seemed unaware of their presence. His heavy breathing sounded in the carriage though he was fast asleep.

One of the soldiers got to his feet. The people looking in smiled.

‘Good luck to you, laddies,' said the woman. ‘Hope it'll be all over soon now.'

‘And don't forget to give'em a bloody good hiding!' the man said, half a cigarette stuck to his lower lips, and then one of the girls went up to the window. ‘Tell us your name and we'll write to you in the trenches,' she said.

‘Lumme! of course,' and at this the other soldier got up, and in doing so saw the strange attitude of Mr. Kilkey. He retrieved the hat from between the straps, and stuck it on the man's head.

‘Can't go to France without your blinkin' hat, mate,' he said, and then joined his friend at the window.

Another man came up, chewing tobacco, thumbs stuck into his vest. The girls saw Kilkey, cried: ‘Oh lor'! Never saw him! He's cute! Who is he?'

‘Little bald-headed conchie,' said the first soldier.

‘No?' said the man, chewing tobacco. ‘No! Not a conscientious objector?'

‘'Course he is. Look at his blinkin' hat. Can't you tell!'

There was a blast from the train's whistle, the long carriages creaked, the brakes made staccato noises.

The man looked in at Joseph Kilkey. The soldiers moved out of the way.

‘Have a good look! Mightn't see him again.'

‘Conchie!' said the man again. ‘Really! Are you sure?'

‘'Course I am,' replied the soldier. ‘Hey you, wake up there,' he shouted, shaking Kilkey by the shoulder. ‘Fellow wants to meet you here.'

Mr. Kilkey opened his eyes, and they fastened on the soldier. They had a weary look. The man stuck his head through the open window.

‘I don't want to see any damned conchie,' he said and spat a stream of tobacco juice into Joseph Kilkey's face.

The train moved slowly out of the station.

CHAPTER X

I

Fanny Fury, Mrs. Elizabeth Gumbs and a lady named Mary Post stood in a little group on the main platform at Gelton's largest railway station. They made a little circle, and one would suppose, seeing them from a distance, that all three were praying. Two stood with their hands clasped over their laps, the third kept fingering her thick grey gloves.

‘A month ago,' said Mrs. Gumbs, ‘I wouldn't have known you. You
do
look nice to-day, Mrs. Fury,' and then she gave the woman a slight pat on her arm, ‘and whatever you do, watch the traffic, and when you get there, don't get excited and upset yourself, because you
are
an excited woman, you know. And I hope you have a nice long cheery talk.'

Fanny Fury adjusted a blue toque, kindly lent for the occasion by Mrs. Gumbs, and she kept pushing back straying strands of greyish black hair.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘I must say you are both very kind. In a way I wish you were coming too.'

‘What—me?' replied Mrs. Gumbs, and her body shook with laughter. ‘Me? Good heavens, woman, I have my work to do, my living to earn. Oh, and that's another thing. Your job. Now don't you worry about that. I'll look after that all right. I'd hate you to lose your job, Mrs. Work's doing you good,' and then she turned round and scanned the length of platform. How long would the train be? Should have been here five minutes ago. ‘Waiting about's awful, isn't it? Always the worst part of long journeys.' She looked at Mrs. Fury. ‘Have you got everything now?' she asked. ‘Yes,' she thought, sweeping Mrs. Fury with a glance. ‘She does look nice to-day, and so much better!' Wonderful what a bit of hard work did. Really wonderful.

A navy-blue toque, and a long, sweeping navy-blue serge coat, black stockings and shoes. Yes. Mrs. Fury looked very nice. And her face was filling out, even getting a bit of colour in it. ‘This is her great day,' thought Mrs. Gumbs. ‘How she idolizes that boy!'

At this moment the long train groaned into the station, its engine spitting steam. It came to a halt.

‘Well, here it is at last,' exclaimed Mrs. Fury, ‘and I'll never believe I'm going until I'm on it, and the wheels going round.'

Mary Post was a thin, wizened little woman whose main purpose in life was going down to the docks on every occasion that a cotton warehouse went on fire, and being engaged along with many other women in separating the soiled and burnt cotton from the good cotton, salvage work for which only women were engaged. She too lived in Edcott Court, on the ground floor. Like Mrs. Gumbs, she lived alone. Like Mrs. Gumbs she looked upon Friday evenings as important, though she did not go to church, but she called on Mr. Sloan the grocer, and bought her half-pound of arrowroot biscuits, and a confection called
Light Paradise
. And as she sat picking the cotton with hook and fingers she sucked the Paradise confection.

So far she hadn't made up her mind about Mrs. Fury, only having lately been introduced, but she was interested in her. She thought Mrs. Fury was too tall for a woman, and she walked erect like a soldier, which to Mrs. Post didn't appear womanly at all. Mrs. Gumbs and she had decided to come to the station with Fanny Fury, and Mrs. Gumbs had remarked to her how fortunate she was in having two people accompany her to the train. It wasn't everybody who was so fortunate.

Now Mrs. Post opened the carriage door, Mrs. Fury climbed in and as there was still a few minutes to go, the two women followed after her, seated themselves and imagined in their different ways how nice a long train journey really was.

‘Sure you've got everything?' enquired Mrs. Gumbs, spreading herself on the seat.

‘Everything! You are so very thoughtful,' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘Very kind, I must say.'

‘Have you the paper safe?' asked Mrs. Post, suddenly sticking her head out of the window to view the siding on the off-side of the train.

‘Yes, I've got the paper,' said Mrs. Fury. ‘I'll let you know how I get on.'

‘Yes do,' said Mrs. Gumbs.

‘'Course you will, dear,' Mrs. Post said, and then surprised Mrs. Fury by spitting out of the off-side window. A porter came along calling out the stopping-place. At the far end a whistle blew. Doors were slamming shut. A guard cried: ‘Ready.'

‘Good heavens! We'd better go,' exclaimed Mrs. Gumbs. ‘Come, dear,' and first Mrs. Post and then Mrs. Gumbs climbed down to the platform.

Mrs. Gumbs patted Mrs. Fury on the shoulders, said sternly, ‘Now! Now! What nonsense!' seeing the woman put a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Good Lord, woman!'

‘I feel so happy,' said Mrs. Fury.

‘Well, a nice journey, and safe return, and I do say this: you deserve it. Ta-ta.'

Mrs. Gumbs waved, Mrs. Post waved, a porter brusquely slammed the door. The train began to move. The two women waved hands frantically, whilst Mrs. Gumbs called after the vanishing and lone figure in the carriage: ‘Goodbye, dear. Take care of yourself,' and then the train gathered speed, its guard's van swung round, passed through the short tunnel, and a burst of smoke appeared when the van disappeared from view.

The two women stood looking up and down the platform. ‘I hope it won't rain,' Mrs. Post said.

‘Well,' said Mrs. Gumbs. ‘That's that! I think we ought to go into the refreshment and have a glass of something to warm up, don't you?'

‘She is rather a fuss, isn't she?' commented the little woman.

‘She is and she isn't. If I were in her place to-day I suppose I'd fuss myself. We're all fusses
really
,' she wound up, as she darted ahead of her companion and opened the refreshment-room door. Then she waited for Mary Post, and when she had passed inside shut the door softly and went straight up to the counter.

‘Two glasses of mild, please,' she said.

Whilst she stood waiting she took note of the people in the room. Mrs. Gumbs liked looking at people, but as she observed to Fanny Fury, she didn't like talking to them, she liked one or two good friends, she didn't want the whole world as a friend.

The woman behind the counter handed over the glasses. Meanwhile Mrs. Post had seated herself at an empty table that stood under the window, from which one could look out on to the platform and watch the world come and go. Mrs. Gumbs carried the glasses over and sat down.