Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

January 2018

Not What It Seems - Jan Norman

1st June, 1912

First day at Amersham Hall as Lord Amersham’s chauffeur. I was delighted that his lordship personally showed me around his Bentley and my apartments above the garage. Again I felt the electricity of his touch when we shook hands. I’m sure he felt it too.

1st August, 1912

Frederick, Lord Amersham I mean, and I have become lovers. I have never been so happy.

2nd January 1913

Our relationship is so intense that Frederick fears we will not be able to fool the world much longer. In this age of intolerance and even imprisonment for a love such as ours he feels we must add a cloak of respectability to Amersham Hall by both of us making marriages of convenience.

3rd March 1913

My wedding day has dawned. I am to marry poor sweet innocent Mary, one of the parlour maids. She knows of the situation but has been blackmailed, if you like, to agree to this marriage otherwise she will be turned off without a reference. The same would happen to her aged father. He would lose his position as gardener and be thrown out of his estate cottage.

14th July, 1913

Frederick’s wedding day today. He had wooed and won the hand of the Hon. Miss Aurelia Bentworth, impoverished daughter of old Lord Bentworth. He guessed that even if her father suspected his real leanings the generous settlement of all his current gambling debts would keep him quiet. The trouble was she was in for a shock when she realised Frederick had no intensions of giving her a child.

20th December, 1913

Frederick gave me a silver cigarette case for my 18th birthday inscribed with the words: My love forever, F.

28th July, 1914

We are now at war with Germany. Frederick and I have agreed to do our duty to king and country and enlist but he is determined we stay together. I will become his batman.

The Belgian chateau, headquarters for officers and staff was, by now, four miles behind us. It was a place where, in my role as batman to the now Captain Amersham I had found brief moments of happiness; some solace to the both of us in this man made hell of war.

The opposite side of the coin was that, ironically, this same man was now leading me and sixty other infantrymen, loaded down with rations and munitions, through the smoke laden murky night to our possible deaths. Each man was clutching his rifle and praying he would not be hit by one of the sporadic barrages of artillery fire.

Sliding and occasionally falling in this Dante’s inferno of oozing mud, we strained our eyes in the moonlight to avoid stepping on ground strewn with half buried shell fragments and barbed wire and even rotting fragments of human bodies, blown to pieces by the guns of the enemy. The land was void of any greenery. Nothing remained except for a few jagged tree stumps, pointing like sentinels of death to the Heavens above. Finally we found and collapsed into the reserve trenches situated a mile behind the front line.

We hunkered down as best we could, trying to cram ourselves under the few crude iron shelters, our feet sliding in a foot or so of oily water through which slithered rats and slimy detritus from God knows where. We took this well earned breather and used some of this time to clean rifles and have a welcome drink. Fires were lit in sheltered spots to try to dry out uniforms and warm frozen hands.

All too soon Captain Amersham rallied his men and with jingoistic fervour inspired us to march with brave hearts – this time to the front line. Orders were that at midnight precisely, together with all the companies, from here to the west of Ypres, the big offensive would begin. The enemy would definitely be routed this time. Silent and with fear and trepidation we shuffled along, bending low along the dug outs, towards the front.

Frederick took time to take me to one side to comfort me and command me to take courage and stick close to him.

At midnight precisely he blew his whistle – the signal to advance. It was time to go over the top.

Frederick and I were first. We clawed at the sandbags, scrabbling upwards, tightly clutching bayoneted rifles and with hand grenades in our belts. Stomachs churning and hearts pounding fit to burst we launched ourselves over the parapet into No Man’s Land.

Yelling and screaming like Banshees, to try to drown out the whine of mortar shells overhead and the ear-splitting thunder as they landed, we charged towards the enemy lines only six hundred yards ahead. But the harrowing screams of the dying and wounded etched lifelong scars into our psyche and stilled our voices.

Frederick could do nothing but watch as Will stopped in his headlong charge as if hitting an invisible wall. He cried out and fell onto his back in the stinking mud. Dropping to his knees at Will’s side he felt for Will’s body. Briefly, in the flare of a Verey light, realisation dawned – Will was dead, a crimson flower blossoming on his forehead. On automatic pilot he reached into Will’s breast pocket and retrieved his silver cigarette case and, putting it in his own top pocket, stood up and in an up swell of near manic rage against fate launched himself at Will’s enemy with revenge in his heart.

A punch to his chest followed by searing pain crumpled his knees and Frederick too sunk down into the slime of hell.

He regained consciousness in the field hospital. The medical orderly waved the dented sliver cigarette case in front of his eyes. ‘Reckon you were lucky Captain, this ‘ere case stopped a bullet with your name on it’. You only have a broken leg. You will be back in Blighty in no time.

Two months later sitting at his desk in his study he sent for Will’s wife Mary.

‘Ah Mary, um, how can I put this? Now Will has gone I need to think about hiring a new chauffeur and that means I shall need the apartment over the garages you still occupy. I need you out by the end of next week. Now, I am not an ungenerous man and I propose to give you £50 for Will’s damaged silver cigarette case, you know, the one that was in the returned kit bag of his belongings, the one I asked you to bring today. A sentimental trifle but I would like to have it.’ So saying he reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty pound note.

Mary appeared to consider the proposition but then the door opened and his wife Aurelia entered.

In her hand she had a thick manila envelope. She tossed it onto the table in front of Frederick.

‘What price would you put on this, Frederick?’

The contents of the envelope made Frederick gasp. There in front of him was Will’s diary. Started the very day he had begun work as his chauffeur. It was very personal and very explicit.

Lady Aurelia continued, ‘You see, Mary and I have been deliberating as to how we may profit from this situation. We may seem cruel and unfeeling at Will’s sudden and tragic demise but you both did not consider our feelings in your dealings with us, did you? We propose that in exchange for this journal you will grant me a divorce and generous settlement, enough to provide for perhaps a villa in Italy and a comfortable life for the two of us in perpetuity. Is it a deal?