Thankfully, Lt. Col. Beard had adopted a headmasterly approach to his ‘young gentlemen’ and had recorded his first impressions of their character and potential in a lovingly kept personal diary.
Terry Denham had been good enough to let me see the extracts concerning the Hartley interview.
From the diary, it was obvious that Beard had haboured some doubts about Hartley. He noted these in terse phrases, written in a copperplate script.
"Lacks experience in dealing with men. Requires a ste
" … and in 1920 Hartley was committed to Bryden Moor Hospital for the Insane," said Terry.
My hand was cramped from rapid scribbling. It seemed a good time to take a break.
"Terry, you’ve been outstanding mate," I said. "One more favour please. I’ve been jotting this down but I would really appreciate it if you could send me your stuff via e-mail? Any chance?"
Being an all round decent bloke, Terry assured me that the material was as good as sent.
He was as good as his word.
I sett
Ch 10
TWO days later, I got the call from Mark (in Belfast).
The message was simple: “You’re in luck mate. I’ve got some stuff for ya. But me scanner’s broke. Gimme a few days.”
Scanners are spawns of the devil. Beelzebub has one which works perfectly every time. The rest of us suffer.
But at least I knew the Swinton end of the trail had started to show promise.
Me? I’d been busy too, calling in a few favours in the search for the mysterious Mr. Hartley. You thought I was in a jam … bu
Ch 9
“Click.” Went the tape.
“Damn.” Went the Des.
You guessed it. The other side was blank.
Well it had cleared one thing up. Bertie McCallion had definitely not been killed instantly as Lt. Hartley’s comforting letter to the bereaved parents had stated.
It was time for some lateral thinking but first I had to ring Mrs. Wills.
Two minutes later I was putting down the ‘phone.
Yes. That was the only tape. No, her brother John had not had the chance to make any more. No, her brot
Ch 8
“So old man Baird ended up selling the mill to McCallion in what … 1920?” I asked Terry.
“Amazing isn’t it?” replied the Librarian. “He comes home from the war, moves straight in to the office as under-manager and the next thing you know he’s bought the mill.”
Terry knew my next question and swooped effortlessly to provide the answer: “You’re going to ask me where he got they money? The truth is I don’t know and in those days, as long as the bank manager had the readies in front of
Ch 7
In the course of our conversation, imtermittently interrupted by miscellaneous bods on their way home from work, I learned some more about Kate Wills.
Her husband was a city type who spent most of his time travelling between London and New York. Rarely seen about the place, most locals reckoned the two had come to a mutual agreement some time ago.
“The only bloke about the place now is Max the butler,” confided Marina. “Does the shopping, pays the bills .. and God help anyone who de
THERE are times when a bloke knows he’s out of his depth. I was down there with the weird creatures which inhabit the interior of the Lusitania.
Bloody Great War history again.
Grasping for an exit clause, I retreated to that inane response which plagues modern language.
"At the end of the day, Mrs. Wills ... in a manner of speaking, I’m basically an amateur at this game. The talk is ok, the walk is something different altogether.
"With all due respect, you would be much better served
Three days later Willie McCallion was mopping up the remains of a plate of egg and chips in a warm but smelly estaminet just outside the village of Poperinge.
He washed down the meal with a glass of rough French wine. Willie would have preferred a beer but past experience had taught him that the watery liquid which passed for Ale in 'Pop' was 'no bon'.
Just 24 hours after hearing of the death of his brother, Willie and the Mudshire's had advanced into no-man's land in an ill-fated attempt t
Ch 4
The whiskey burned as it hit the back of Willie’s throat.
He wiped his mouth and handed the beautifully monogramed hip flask back to Langley-Baston. The two men from opposite extremes of the social spectrum sat together in an evil-smelling dugout.
"Second-Lieutenant Hartley was with your brother when he was killed," said the officer. "Seems they were on night patrol in no-man’s land when a Jerry star-shell caught them out. Mr. Hartley only made it back to our lines this morning. I’m
Ch 3
Mrs. Wills stopped the tape. I held my breath.
"I’m sure you will agree that my great-grandfather was an honest man? From the recording I mean?" she asked.
"Very much so. It all sounds very accurate to me .. from what I know, of course. It’s tremendous stuff," I assured her.
For a moment Mrs. Wills hesitated. She turned to gaze out the bay window where she was framed in the bright sunlight. Ever seen the picture of Lady Di in the see through skirt? Yeah, you’ve seen it alright.
For those who care .. I'll blog it from on. Gives me sumfink to stick in it.
BEFORE the war, Willie McCallion had been ‘Sure and Steadfast’ - he didn’t drink, he didn’t smoke and he didn’t run after loose women.
But that Willie McCallion had lived in a different time and place. The clean-living William of just a few years ago was now sucking the last drags from one of countless Woodbines and when the rum ration arrived -if it did -he’d be happy to take his tot with the rest of the boys.
As
