Conchie

A week’s leave. It was really happening, thought Chas. He’d been dreaming of this for months, of coming home. It had been thoughts of home and family that had kept him going through the many dark times and dangers he had faced while away overseas.

He stretched as the train pulled into the station, having managed to get a few hours’ sleep on the four-hour journey. He could do with sleeping for four days.

Somewhere on the platform a newspaper seller was shouting. “Evening Standard-latest war news!” The vendor pronounced it “E’ning Stannard.”

Well they could keep their paper, he thought; the war could go on without him for a few days.

His thoughts turned to Edna. She’d been so proud when she had waved him off, all those months ago, turning away at the last moment as the train pulled away so he wouldn’t see her tears. His parents were there as well; at least they had been able to comfort each other. They’d all be there, together in the little two up two down house, when he got back. He smiled when he imagined the look of surprise on their faces when he walked in the door.

But not everyone would be there. Of his brother Terry’s whereabouts, he had no idea.

He remembered the last time he’d seen his brother, a couple of days after war had been declared. They had all been sitting around the wireless after Chamberlain’s announcement. No one had spoken; it felt unreal, as if they, and the rest of the country, were in a collective state of shock.

Finally, Dad had spoken.

“So, I suppose you boys will be signing up, then?”

Chas had nodded vigorously and looked to his older brother for agreement.

Terry, however, had remained quiet for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I’m afraid” he said at last “that I shan’t be joining up.

Not the armed forces, anyway. I could never be involved in anything that could result in the death of another human being.”

“What, even a bloody Boche?” Dad had demanded. He’d seen a few things in the first lot, 1914-18, and to him the Germans were “Jerry” on a good day and “Boche” on a bad one. Today was definitely a bad day; the announcement had not been helped by the shrapnel that he still carried in his leg from two decades earlier.

“Yes. Even a bloody Boche. I’m going to declare myself as a conscientious objector.”

At this his father had struggled to his feet, grimacing in the pain.

“What? You’re a Conchie?

“If that’s the case” he had thundered” you’ll leave my house right now. You are no longer welcome under this roof; no cowards are!”

With Mum in floods of tears and Dad shaking with fury, Terry had packed his bags and left. Chas too had found it difficult to hold back his anger. As he left, Terry had held out his hand, only for Chas to brush it away in disgust. “A Conchie” was all he could say, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I’ve got a bloody Conchie for a brother.”

Chas had made a vow never to forgive his coward of a brother for bringing such a stain on the family. He’d heard rumours of “conchies” being locked up; he had hoped it was true. It had seemed so unfair that these people could shirk their responsibilities when others were fighting to protect their families, their way of life.

They had tried to keep it a secret, said Terry had gone away on business. Even so, comments had been made, whispers of “that Webster family; got a conchie for a son.”

There had been the evening in the Rose and Crown when someone had said the word a bit too loudly, resulting in Chas coming to blows with one of the locals.

Fortunately, the next week he’d been able to join up at last; now was his chance to bring some honour back to his family.

Chas pulled down his battered kit bag from the rack. Inside his kit was now pretty much reduced to rags, after eight months of fighting. Luckily his dress uniform had remained pretty much immaculate. He felt the newly attached stripe on his sleeve. Edna would be so proud; as would Mum and Dad.

He caught his face in the mirror. The fresh-faced boy who’d gone away to war had disappeared. Instead, etched in the lines and shadows were the horrors that he had witnessed, miles away from home. He remembered the mates who had been killed right next to him; men much braver than he had been. Remembered the constant fear, the discomfort; and the civilians, the unsung victims of this terrible conflict. He had discovered that there was not much to be proud of in war; just pain, and death, and terror. In these times, it had just been thoughts of Edna that had got him through; of his parents…and of his brother.

He could understand, now, how his brother had felt, what had made him feel he could not take part in a war. In fact, he had often wondered if Terry had not been the brave one…

Then for a moment he saw Terry’s face reflected there. He wondered where he might be now. Then hoisting his bag on his shoulder he left the train.

Chas had a spring in his step as he turned the corner into the street. Immediately this feeling turned first to dismay, then to cold terror. The first few houses were untouched; where his house had been, and his wife, and his parents, there was a gap, and a pile of rubble.

“Oi! You can’t go down there!” Chas ignored the shouted warning, only stopping when he was grabbed roughly by the shoulders.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Chas looked round at a burly policeman, as if only just registering his existence.

“There’s an unexploded bomb. Number 12. Could go off at any minute.”

“Number 10” said Chas. “What about number 10?”

“You live there?”

“Yes, it’s my house. Me and my wife...and mum and dad.”

Colour drained from the policeman’s face.

“Oh blimey.

“Look, I dunno about survivors…but everyone in the street’s been moved to a rescue centre, in the church hall…” The policeman’s voice trailed away. Chas was already running.

The church hall had been turned into a shelter for all the surrounding streets. It was crowded with people. Children ran around, while mothers tried to keep them quiet. Older residents sat quietly in shock.

They looked strangely familiar, these wild-eyed people with messed up hair, some still in in their dressing gowns. It took Chas a moment to realise what it was.

They were refugees; they had the same look, wherever they were.

Chas searched frantically, forcing the worst from his mind.

He finally found them sitting huddled together on a camp bed. He had not recognised them at first, their faces and hair covered with a layer of white brick dust, so that they looked like ghosts. His father sat there sipping tea from a chipped tin mug, in a collarless shirt and braces, while his mother was busy wiping Edna’s face with a damp cloth.

Edna looked up and into her husband’s eyes.

“Oh Chas” she said.

“Is it…is it really you…?”

 She leapt to her feet and flung herself into Chas’ arms, almost immediately stepping back and holding her stomach protectively, which, Chas now saw, was very large indeed.

She noticed the look of confusion in his eyes.

“I did write…”

“Never got the letter” he said.

Edna began to sob.

“It’s all right now, old girl.” Chas pulled Edna to him.

“The house…it’s gone!” She sniffed.

“Don’t be daft Ed. We can always find somewhere else to live...couldn’t replace you though, could I?”

“She was lucky” said his mother, after hugging him tightly to her. Dad had struggled to his feet, and gave Chas a playful punch on the shoulder, which for him was an unprecedented show of emotion.

“That Heavy Rescue chap who crawled into the ruins and pulled her out, well, he deserves a medal. Brave as any of our soldiers, I’m sure.”

“Must have nerves of steel. They told him about the unexploded bomb next door, ready to go off at any time; he didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t breathing when he pulled her out; saved her life. Their lives.”

“He’s over there, if you’d like to speak to him. I know we’d all like to give him our thanks.”

Chas looked where she was pointing. There was another ghost over in the corner, smoking a woodbine and so covered in brick dust so that his features were completely hidden.

Chas stood and walked over.

“I’d like to shake your hand” he said.

The man hesitated, still in shock perhaps.

“It’s all right chum. Just wanted to say thanks; that’s my missus you pulled out of the wreckage…”

Finally the man took Chas’ hand.

“It was nothing, really” he mumbled.

A nurse had appeared with a basin of water and a cloth.

“Here, clean you up, shall we?” She took off the man’s dark helmet; the top of his head was a patch of dark hair, standing out against the dust covering the rest of his body.

“Here we go, close your eyes…” Before he could react, she had covered his face with a damp cloth and rubbed, as if he were a small naughty boy who’d come home with a grubby face.

The nurse stopped her cleaning and took a step back, studying him as if he were a newly finished work of art.

“Hm. You’ll do, handsome.”

Chas stared at the face which had been revealed. It took a few moments for things to register; he suddenly felt he was the one in shock.

“Oh my good Lord” he said finally.

“Terry?”

The other man nodded slowly.

“Heavy Rescue mob now; have been since I last saw you.” He reached out and touched Chas’s stripe.

“See you’ve done okay.”

“But you’re a… a conchie! A…a…”

“Coward? That the word you’re looking for?”

Chas shook his head.

“No” he said at last.

“That’s not the word at all.”

He put his arm around Terry’s shoulder and led him over to where Edna and their parents waited. The women were already in floods of tears as they hugged Terry; Chas was shocked to see his father’s eyes were no longer dry either.

At last it was Dad’s turn. He looked Terry in the eye, shook his hand brusquely; then he threw his arms around him, sobbing.

He finally let go; the nurse helped him to sit back down, while his wife and Edna fussed around the brothers.

“My boys” Chas heard him say to her. “Those are my boys you know…”

“You must be very proud” she said, helping him to sit back down.

“Oh yes.” He wiped his eyes.

“I’m very proud indeed. Of both of them.”