Of War and Song

Of War and Song

“So, what’s the catch?”

James eyed the recruitment poster with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. The edges of the paper were frayed, and the colours had somewhat faded. But the image of the stern-faced soldier in uniform still had a powerful effect on James. The chance to travel the world and be paid to do it seemed like a good deal, nearly too good to be true. Many men were being asked to serve and join the war effort. Even Charles, James’ good mate, had joined and had looked pretty good in his uniform as he said his farewells after training.

The recruiter, a big older man named George with a thick moustache and a stern demeanour, looked James up and down. He watched the young man cross his arms and look around the room. His hesitation was palpable, but he also knew that James was exactly the kind of man the country needed. He leant back to let the question sit with the young man before answering, guessing that the rumours of conscription floating around the small country town might be on his mind. It still wasn’t certain, and no one believed that it would actually come in. Yet.

James, having just told George his story, took in the considering look of the weathered man in front of him and leant back as well. James was just a simple farmer, a husband, and soon to be a new father. Martha was pregnant and they were expecting their first child any day now. The silence stretched out.

With a family and home to tend to, James just wasn’t sure if he could leave his family behind. But he couldn’t deny the stirring in his heart and the sense of duty calling. He’d heard stories from the Boer War, but this was different. From the news, it sounded like this war was involving everyone, fuelling the idea that he had a role to play in defence of his family and country.

“No catch, my friend,” George eventually said, his voice deep and reassuring. “Just a chance to serve your country and make a difference. We need good men like you.”

James took in a deep breath and nodded slowly. The decision became a heavy weight, as doubts and fears filled his mind. He wasn’t sure if he could just stay home and ignore the call to duty. The idea of leaving his family behind? It would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do.

“I think… I’ll need to have a think about it,” said James as he stood to leave. He could feel his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

George stood to shake James' hand. “Of course. I’ll be back in a few weeks, or you can go to the recruitment office in the city if you make up your mind sooner. But don’t take too long. We need all the help we can get to keep our country safe.”

His mind spinning with conflicting emotions, James left the makeshift recruitment office, head down and slow in step. He walked through the quiet streets of his hometown, taking in the familiar sights and sounds—the bakery with its sweet smells, the barber shop with its raucous laughter, the church with its sombre hymns. Out of habit, he quietly sang along with the choir as he continued walking by, the music helping to soothe his troubled mind, only if momentarily.

Further down the road, he paused outside the grocery store and had a thought. The bell above the door jingled cheerfully as he opened it. Bill, the storekeeper, a kindly old man with a wrinkled face and a shock of white hair, looked up from behind the counter.

“James! What brings you in here today?”

James hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’m thinking about joining the army.”

Bill's face fell. “Oh, James. I’m sorry to hear that.”

James felt a pang of guilt. He knew that the old man had lost a son in the Boer War, and he could tell by his face that it pained him to be reminded. James grabbed some tobacco from the shelf and came up to the counter.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” he said quickly, hoping to ease the tension. “But I was wondering if you had any advice.”

Bill nodded slowly, his eyes studying James’ face. “I’ve known you for a long time and can see why you’re considering such a thing. You’re a good man, James. A brave man. But war is a terrible thing. You should think long and hard before you make any decisions.”

James nodded, knowing that the old man was right. He paid for the tobacco and, with a nod, left the store with a sense of heaviness in his heart. Never had he had such a difficult decision to make.

Only a few days later, the baby was born. A daughter! They named her Edith, and she brought such joy to their lives that James forgot about enlisting. James and Martha’s families were also overjoyed and helped them raise the tiny human.

Days turned into weeks. Music always filled the house as family life settled, but news of the war was ever-present. Major offensives in places unheard of filled people with worry and wonder. James still watched as other men from the town signed up for the war effort, their faces filled with a mix of determination and fear. He saw the look of pride on their wives’ faces, the tears in their eyes as they kissed their husbands goodbye.

Martha saw how he watched the other men leave and was torn. She knew how much the idea of service meant to James, but even though she had family to support her, she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving her and their new-born child.

Rumours of conscription grew, and they began to worry. James didn't realise that George, the recruiter, had returned to town, and this time brought others with him. They were spotted coming down the dirt road to their home, and James, telling Martha to stay inside, went to speak with them. The group in their polished uniforms looked significantly tired and weary.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Discussion turned serious and the group of men paid their respects to Martha, who had approached just in time to hear the news. She took James' hand in hers and gave it a firm squeeze. Charles had been killed in action during the Second Battle of Bullecourt. They had just notified his family and thought it appropriate they let him know as George knew they were close friends.

James' heart steeled at the words, grief and anger gripping him. It changed everything. Maybe if he had been there as well, his friend could have been able to come home.

“Sign me up.”

Everyone flinched in surprise at James’ hard tone, most of all George. Martha squeezed his hand hard, and when James turned, he took in her stern expression. But her eyes. Her eyes had nothing but love, compassion and understanding. A tear fell silently as she nodded to him.

In quiet words, George said, “I should let you know that they didn’t pass the conscription laws, so there is no obligation but… very well.”

George gave the instructions for enlisting. Before leaving, he looked down at the baby in Martha’s arms and then met her unwavering gaze. He was very near to sharing the tears running down her cheeks.

“Ma’am, we will do everything we can to look after your husband. You have my word.” They turned and left, looking more haggard and sombre than when they had arrived. Moments passed in silence, and Martha stood by James.

“I should have thought it through, but…” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “…I want to serve my country. For Charles. But I can’t bear the thought of leaving you and Edith.”

Martha gripped his hand again, her eyes filled with sadness and understanding. “I know, James. I think it’s time you meet this calling. No matter what though, I’ll be here.”

James took a deep breath, the weight of the moment lifting slightly. He knew it was his decision, but it didn’t make it any easier.

The next morning, he enlisted. Fear and uncertainty never left him, but at the same time, he felt a sense of peace and determination as he hummed the music of his home. These feelings would never leave him again.

Basic training completed; he was given two days to be with his family before he had to prepare to leave for the front lines. Edith had grown enough that she could recognize her father but would be a long way from understanding. And Martha proved, as always, to be a strong presence in the family.

When the day finally came for him to say goodbye to his family, they were all there, and it was an emotional affair. He held his wife tightly, tears streaming down his face.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered.

"The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war," - General Douglas MacArthur 25th July 1951.

Fate would have it that George would be in charge of James. They forged a friendship as they fought alongside each other, enduring the harsh conditions and horrors of war. Thousands died, with many getting sick and injured. Whether it was in the heat of the sun or torrential rain, mud caked their boots, and the deafening sound of guns and explosions around them sometimes drowned out the sound of their own heartbeat. The very thought of mustard gas was enough to make one cry. It was a nightmare.

Music gave James and his fellow soldiers courage to keep fighting. During lulls in the battle, gently hummed tunes would provide comfort with memories of home. In rare moments, they would band together in foreign bars, their voices rising in unison as they sang to fallen comrades and of daring victory. And as they sang, they felt a sense of strength and purpose that they couldn’t find anywhere else.

Through all this, George was true to his word. There was no favouritism so far as anyone could see. However, it seemed James had uncanny luck. Until the German Spring Offensive. But then, no one escaped unwounded.

During a push on the front line, shells and rounds were falling left and right on the battlefield. No battle cry or hymn from home could stop the bullets from a machine gun hitting their section. The distinct staccato sounded, and George pushed James down as the rounds tore through the group. James was hit in his right knee, and most of his pinkie finger was suddenly missing. George took most of the rest, his life leaving him before he even hit the ground.

With a scream, James and the others who remained returned fire. It was enough to subdue the enemy, and a relief section quickly pushed forward to take advantage. James crawled to George, but he knew it was no use looking into his glazing eyes. He grabbed his dog tags and the letter for George’s wife, like he promised, before moving back into cover.

James bandaged himself and two of the others who were wounded before they haphazardly made their way to an aid post. He knew he was done with this war, being in no shape to fight again. After months of recovery, James was medically discharged and returned home, forever to have a bad limp and pain in his knee on cold nights. He would never see George again, but after a year of fighting, he finally got to see his family. He would also return to discover the blessing of having a second daughter.

"I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity." - Dwight D. Eisenhower, 16th April 1953

“We used to sing together,” James told his daughter Edith as they sat on the front porch of their home years later. Martha was inside looking after their younger daughter, Gladys. “When we were in the trenches, with bombs falling and bullets flying, we’d sing. It helped us forget about the bad things, if only for a moment.”

She had asked, and James felt it wasn’t fair to hold back talking about his experience in the Great War. Within reason. She was an avid listener, her eyes wide with wonder. He closed his own eyes, his mind drifting back to those dark days of war.

“Sometimes, we would just make up our own songs,” James continued, his voice growing softer as he drifted back to the memories of war. “We’d sing about home, about the things we missed, about the people we loved. I can teach you some if you’d like?”

She nodded quietly, the sound of birds’ war cries loud as they hunted down the bugs in the air around the house, the setting sun providing a warming backdrop to take in the sound.

“But no matter what we sang, it gave us hope. It gave us the courage to keep fighting, even when it seemed like all was lost.”

Edith reached out and took his hand, her eyes shining with pride. “I’m so proud of you, Daddy,” she said softly.

James smiled, his heart swelling with love for his daughter. “I’m proud of you too, sweetheart.”

As he sat on the porch singing with his daughter, listening to the birds singing in the trees and feeling the warm sun on his face, he knew that he’d found some peace. And though he’d never forget friends left behind and the horrors of war, he also knew that he’d found something greater—the power of music to heal, to inspire, and to give hope in even the darkest of times.

Months passed, and James and Martha raised their daughters, working the farm, tending to livestock, and watching with pride as their daughters grew into courageous young women with voices that were pure and strong.

One summer, a vicious storm swept through the town. The wind howled, the rain bucketed, and the thunder rumbled so loudly that it shook the houses across the countryside. It was so bad that parts of the roof had come loose, forcing the family to huddle together in the cellar.

The storm finally passed, and they emerged to find that not just their house, but the town had been devastated. Trees were uprooted, houses were destroyed, and the crops were ruined. It was a scene of utter devastation, and the people of the town were left feeling hopeless and fearful.

Despair set in as the rain continued, light enough for the town to come out and investigate. It was dreadful. The next day, they half-heartedly began picking up the pieces to start remaking their lives. James’ house was in better condition than most, so James told the girls to go help those in town who needed it more. The town began to rebuild, the sound of hammers and saws quickly filling the air.

Eventually, there was another noise that the townsfolk could hear over the sound of the work. Singing? At first, it was just a few notes, a quiet melody that lifted the spirits of those who could hear it. Curious, people gathered around Bill’s store, where it seemed to be coming from.

James limped into town with Martha and was concerned to see a commotion around the wreckage of Bill’s store. They heard the singing and instantly recognised the voices. As he and Martha navigated the crowd, his daughters continued to sing, their voices growing stronger as more people gathered.

Before long, the entire town had gathered around James’ daughters, their faces lifted to the sky as they sang. All were silent as they listened. Smiles spread amongst the people, but no one else was singing. No one could, as it was a song only James had sung for himself and George in the trenches during the war, and only his family knew of it.

He stepped forward to join his voice to theirs, startling old Bill and a couple who had been standing beside him, lost in the music. Joy beamed from Martha, and as the song came to a close, the crowd broke out in such a roar that other farmers came in from fixing their homes to belatedly see what the fuss was about.

The storm had taken so much from them, but they knew that it couldn’t take away their spirit. They had each other, their community, and the power of music to lift them up and carry them through difficult times.

In that moment, James realised that the courage he’d found on the battlefields of the war hadn’t come from his experience fighting. It had come from his love for his home and family. It had always lived on in the hearts of his family and this community. He thought of George and smiled as he rubbed his tearing eyes. Maybe, ultimately, that had been the catch all along.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” – by George Santayana from ‘Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies’ (1922)