Andrew remains silent, blinking rapidly and eyeing the room.
Lieutenant Cooper coughs to get his attention, raises his eyebrows and prompts: ‘Say your name, rank and number.’
‘Private Kennedy, A., number nine eight six two, Eleventh Shropshire Fusiliers. Sir.’
‘Private Kennedy,’ Brigadier-General Blakemore continues, ‘you stand accused of dereliction of duty, specifically of shameful desertion in the face of the enemy. How do you plead?’
‘Guilty, sir.’
The room falls silent. The brigadier-general’s eyes widen in disbelief. ‘Are you sure, man?’
Lieutenant Cooper stands. He gives the impression of being a man trying to appear more languid than he feels. ‘May I have a word with the prisoner please, sir?’
Blakemore nods. The lieutenant, who is two years younger than the prisoner and looks it, leads Andrew to the rear of the hall, stands with his back to the bench and talks to him in a muted tone. Andrew shakes his head. Nods. When they return he blinks and says: ‘I’d like to change my plea to not guilty, sir.’
‘Very well,’ Blakemore says, blowing his nose again. He turns to Captain Peterson. ‘The case for the prosecution please.’
Peterson, a bald man with an Edwardian moustache and small, piercing eyes, scrapes back his chair. The chaplain knocks on the table. ‘I believe the prisoner is supposed to be sworn in first …’
‘Yes of course,’ Blakemore says. ‘We need a Bible. Has anyone brought a Bible? Padre?’
The chaplain looks awkward. ‘I don’t have mine with me …’
‘What about the
King’s Regulations
?’ Lieutenant Cooper says. ‘I’ve got a copy of them in my bag.’
‘I’ve got a
Book of Common Prayer
,’ the chaplain says.
‘That’ll have to do.’The brigadier-general signals for the book to be handed to the prisoner.
As Peterson sets out the argument for the prosecution, Andrew’s mouth opens slightly, awed by the nuances and pedantry of legal procedure. ‘On the thirty-first of July nineteen seventeen, the first day of what has become known as the battle of Passchendaele, Private Kennedy was marked as absent at roll call. His colour
sergeant major duly declared him missing in action. His family were informed. His possessions were sent home.
In fact
,’ Captain Peterson turns to Andrew, ‘you were not missing in action at all. In an act of shameful cowardice you had run away from the enemy. You had deserted your company. You had made your way to the town of Nieppe, where you found lodgings in a house on,’ he consults his notes, ‘on the Rue des Chardonnerets. Your landlady there was,’ he checks his notes again, ‘Madame Adilah Camier, a widow. I understand that you were having relations with Madame Camier and living in comfort with her at the time of your arrest … at a time when your comrades were still fighting for their king and country at the Front. You had assumed a new identity, passing yourself off as a plumber, and had remained undetected for thirteen months. Is that correct?’
‘I never lied about who I was, sir.’
Lieutenant Cooper stands up. ‘May I remind the FGCM that Private Kennedy used his own name and address to have his birth certificate sent to France?’
‘We’ll come to that, lieutenant,’ Brigadier-General Blakemore says with an air of patience.
The lieutenant sits down and immediately stands up again. ‘In my respectful submission, sir, I would also like it to go on record that Private Kennedy was a volunteer.’
Blakemore nods at the clerk. ‘Very well.’ His tone is hardening.
‘Also that he gave himself up.’
Brigadier-General Blakemore no longer disguises his irritation. ‘After he gave the redcaps the slip at Nieppe, you mean?’
Lieutenant Cooper looks deflated. His nervousness is showing. ‘Correct.’
Captain Peterson takes advantage. ‘As this seems to be the moment to put things on the record, may I remind the court of General Routine Order No. 585 issued to the Br itish Expeditionary Force on the thirteenth of January nineteen fifteen?’ He turns to a marked page in his sheaf of notes. ‘In cases of desertion the presumption of innocence is effectively removed and the burden of proof reversed. Unless an accused soldier can prove
his innocence, the courts are entitled to presume his guilt.’ He looks up. ‘Private Kennedy, it is clear to me that you had no intention of returning to your battalion. You thought you’d got away with it. Started a new life. Sat out the war away from danger. Your prisoner’s friend is no doubt going to plead that you were suffering from shell shock, or that you lost your memory. He will, in other words, suggest that you cannot be held responsible for your actions. But let us examine those actions. Tell us, Private Kennedy, why did you run away?’
An expectant hush falls on the court. ‘I don’t rightly know, sir. I’d lost the rest of my platoon. I was in a shell hole. Everyone around me was dead.’
‘So why didn’t you try to make it back to your own line?’
‘Couldn’t move, sir.’
‘You were injured?’
‘Can’t rightly say, sir. I’d been hit by something, on my helmet. I think I was knocked out for a while. I weren’t sure where I was. It were dark. I’d lost me rifle.’
‘You’d thrown your rifle away?’
‘No, sir, I must have dropped it when I dived for cover. Like I says, I’d lost it.’
‘How would you describe your mental state when you were hiding in the shell hole?’
‘Don’t know what you mean, sir.’
‘Were you frightened?’
‘No, sir. Well, yes, sir. It was frightening. But I’m not a coward, sir.’
‘Yet you thought you would save yourself by running away from the enemy?’
‘I walked towards them, sir.’
‘
What?
’
‘I walked towards the German line.’
‘Without your gun?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You wanted to be taken prisoner?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you saying you decided to walk towards the German line, on your own, without a gun?’
‘I weren’t on me own, sir.’
‘Who was with you?’
The prisoner purses his lips and shakes his head.
The question is repeated.
‘I weren’t alone, sir. I were with someone.’
‘Someone from your company?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘He were one of ours.’ Andrew touches his temple. ‘It was confusing. He led me to safety. Along the German line. To the river.’
The chaplain stands up. Everyone turns to him. ‘He was definitely wearing a British uniform?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The chaplain is fidgeting. ‘You are sure of this?’
‘I think so. I can’t remember right well. There were a lot of lights. I couldn’t see him proper because of the lights.’
‘Flares?’
‘Yes, sir. Must have been.’
The chaplain taps his chin. ‘But he asked you to follow him?’
‘He didn’t speak.’
‘So why did you follow him?’
‘He were signalling at me to come towards him. He turned and started walking towards the German line so I stands up as well and walks after him.’
‘And how long did you follow him for?’
‘Couple of hours.’
Colonel James throws his pencil on to the table in front of him and speaks for the first time. ‘Do you expect us to believe that you and this other fellow managed to take a Sunday stroll for two hours in no-man’s-land in the middle of an offensive?’
Andrew looks at him placidly. ‘It’s what happened, sir.’
Colonel James turns to the defence counsel. ‘I’m a little confused. Have you briefed your client to enter a plea of insanity?’
Lieutenant Cooper shakes his head. He looks baffled.
Colonel James returns to Andrew. ‘Are you trying to persuade the court that you took leave of your senses?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So the two of you carried on walking to Nieppe?’
‘No, sir. When we reached the river the man pointed to the remains of a barrel in the mud. I lay on it and pushed myself out into the water. I didn’t see him again after that.’
‘You then threw away your uniform?’
‘No, sir. I’m wearing it now.’
‘But it doesn’t fit you.’
‘I know, sir. It were all they had when I enlisted.’
Brigadier-General Blakemore has to suppress a smile at this.
‘Did you throw away your tags?’ Colonel James continues.
Andrew reaches in his collar, lifts up his identity discs and jiggles them with his fingers.
‘Sir, is there any point to this?’ Colonel James says, turning to face the brigadier-general. ‘He’s admitted he’s a deserter.’
‘I agree. I think we’ve heard enough. Defence, do you have anything to add?’
Lieutenant Cooper looks at his notes. ‘I have a character witness, sir.’
The brigadier-general turns to the chaplain. ‘Are we agreed that this is permissible, padre?’
‘I can find no objection in military law, sir.’
‘Very well. Call the witness.’
Adilah is escorted in. In her nurse’s uniform, with her LÉgion d’honneur on a ribbon around her neck, she looks dignified and elegant. Her starched white wimple bears a red cross on it. She is resting her hand on her stomach, her pregnancy obvious. The members of the court martial exchange glances.
‘Madame Camier,’ Lieutenant Cooper says, ‘would you tell the court who the father of your child is?’
Adilah looks up, her face blank.
The chaplain translates.
‘Monsieur Kennedy,’ she says, pointing at the prisoner.
‘Did you know Private Kennedy was a soldier?’
She waits for the translation. Nods.
‘Please answer.’
‘Yes, I knew. I guessed.’
‘Was it your impression that he intended to return to the army?’
‘Yes. I assumed he would one day. But he wanted to help me. He looked after me.’ She glances at the cuff of her left sleeve, pinned to her shoulder. ‘He protected me.’
‘What’s she saying?’ Brigadier-General Blakemore asks impatiently.
‘She says she thought the prisoner would return to the army,’ the chaplain translates.
Colonel James interrupts again: ‘Is there any point to this?’
Cooper’s gamble, that Madame Camier will make the court feel sympathy for the accused, has not paid off. It is the prosecution’s turn. Captain Peterson stands up. ‘Madame Camier, did Private Kennedy tell you he was a deserter?’
As the padre translates, Adilah looks across at the prisoner. ‘
Non. Mais ce n’est pas un lâche. Il est revenu pour moi
.’
The chaplain translates again. ‘She said: “No, but he is not a coward. He came back for me.”’
Captain Peterson continues. ‘You planned to marry him? Is that correct?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Did Private Kennedy tell you he was already married? That, in other words, he was intending to commit the crime of bigamy?’
The colour drains from Madame Camier’s face as this is translated. She shakes her head.
‘Please answer.’
‘
Non
.’
‘Thank you, madame,’ Blakemore says. ‘You may step down … Are there any more witnesses?’
‘The ADMS, sir,’ Cooper says.
Surgeon-Major John Hayes, the assistant director of medical services, is a retired GP. His practice was in Norfolk. He has thick jowls and turned-down lips.
Blakemore is direct. ‘In your opinion, is this man suffering from shell shock?’
‘I am satisfied that he has been having nightmares and hallucinations,’ the surgeon-major says in a voice like fine sandpaper. ‘Shell shock is more complicated. He may well have been suffering from it at the time. He may well have neurasthenia now.’
‘Yes or no?’
Andrew’s mind keeps wandering, as if it is not he being talked about. Out of the window he can see open pastureland. He can hear the clip-clop of iron-shod hooves and the rattle of a passing limber. The medical officer, he notices, has writing on his hand. What does it say? Andrew is not close enough to read it. He shifts his attention to the MO’s lips. They are moving but it takes a moment of concentration before his words come into focus. ‘He hasn’t seen action for more than a year,’ Hayes is saying, ‘so at the moment he is probably not suffering from shell shock. At the time he almost certainly was, I would say. But I believe he may have been in what is known as a fugue state – memory loss following a traumatic incident.’
‘Private Kennedy used his own name and address to have his birth certificate sent from England in order to commit bigamy,’ Blakemore points out. ‘Does that sound like the action of a man who has lost his memory?’
Hayes looks from side to side, up at the ceiling, down at the floor. He draws a deep breath. ‘Memories are unpredictable. Perhaps he forgot he was married.’
‘He may be a fool but that doesn’t mean he lost his memory. Having remained undetected for so many months he had become complacent.’ Blakemore waves a hand at the witness. ‘You may step down.’
The ADMS turns from the bench and begins walking away. Stops. Turns back again. ’This is madness,’ he says in a barely audible voice, as if softly swallowing the words. ‘You know that, don’t you? I’ve seen too many good men pointlessly killed in this war. Private Kennedy volunteered, for God’s sake. He did his duty as best he could. He didn’t know his nerves would fail him. None of us
knows until we are tested in battle. Show leniency. Have some humanity.’ He walks up the long table, rests his hands on it and stares at each of the three judging officers in turn. ‘The Germans are back to the Hindenburg Line, for Christ’s sake. The war is all but won. We’ll be home in a few weeks.’
Major Morris bangs his fist against the table and speaks for the first time. He has a resonant voice. ‘The man’s a coward. Cowards don’t deserve pity.’
‘You know as well as I do that the woods around Étaples were full of deserters,’ Hayes counters. ‘There were thousands of them. There probably still are. Do you plan to shoot all of them?’
‘Those we catch, yes. Make an example of them. I’ll shoot the bastards myself.’
‘Major!’ There is cold fury in the reproach. The ADMS draws himself up. ‘Show some self-control. A man’s life hangs in the balance.’
The major straightens his back and turns his heavy-lidded gaze from the ADMS to the prisoner. ‘Our business here is finished.’
‘We are not savages, sir,’ Hayes says, his cheeks colouring.