Goodbye for Now: A breathtaking historical debut. M.J. Hollows

Joe denied it more forcefully than he had intended, and Frank jumped back in his seat. ‘I mean, why would he? Albert Barnes wrote that article. You know he did. Why would he think otherwise?’

      He was feeling desperate now and his words came out quickly. Frank didn’t seem to notice.

      ‘Yeah, but well, he’s disappeared, hasn’t he? He’s gone off to the war. Why write an article saying we shouldn’t fight and then go fight? Something’s not right about that.’

      ‘Could be he just wanted to question it and then decided that it was what he needed to do after all?’

      He felt horrible about lying to Frank, but also that he now seemed to be condoning the acts of war. He was ashamed of himself. Ever since he had messed around with Albert’s article he had felt ashamed. It had been a moment of madness, well intentioned, but madness all the same.

      ‘Harlow can’t think it was me, he knows I’m off too. Better sooner rather than later, I think. Before I get pushed.’

      Joe was glad that Frank was too self-involved to suspect that it might have been him that had written the article. He didn’t have anything else to say, so just patted Frank on the back as he stared into the middle distance.

      After a few seconds the wheezing sound of Mr Harlow was back as he walked past.

      ‘I thought I told you two to get back to work. Don’t make me tell you again,’ he said as he disappeared off out of the main office.

       Chapter 11

      George turned the corner of Lime Street, with Tom at his side. They had been training solidly now for a month, assembling in Prince’s Park and drilling until they were exhausted, Corporal Campbell forever driving them further and further. Now, they had made the long walk through town from their homes, eager to be off. People lined the streets waving union flags and cheering as the soldiers marched by. He just made out the faces of his family before they were swept away by the crowd. The only one he hadn’t seen was Joe.

      The band led them with bugles and drums. It was inspiring. George couldn’t help but smile at the feeling. Most of them were in khaki, but George, Tom and the others hadn’t received theirs yet. Instead they wore the ‘Kitchener blue’ uniform that the War Office had thrown together for them.

      The front of the station was an impressive sight, with a number of columns and two large arches chiselled out from white freestone. On top of the columns a large iron-beam roof spanned the distance, curving over the open space. It resembled the sail of a ship, or a wave crashing over the building.

      ‘Look at that, George,’ Tom said. ‘What a building.’

      ‘I know.’ George had sketched it many times when he got a chance.

      ‘I’ve walked past so many times, but I’ve never had any reason to step foot inside.’

      The boys had never travelled further than just up the coast. They saw a group of men in khaki heading into the station through the large pedestrian entrance arch, and with a tap on George’s shoulder Tom indicated they should follow them. The arch blocked out the waning summer sun, and the noise of the station hit George. Not only were there groups of men in khaki, but messengers and train company workers rushed around. There was a strong smell of steam and oil, which almost caused George to cough. A whistle sounded, startling George as a train pulled off from a nearby platform, chuffing as it built up speed. Tom laughed at George’s surprise. George saw a group of men he recognised, standing near an advertising hoarding. He waved Tom over with him as he walked in their direction.

      ‘Morning, lads,’ said Patrick, as usual working his way out of the pack to talk to George and Tom. ‘Any idea where we’re headed?’

      ‘Hullo, Paddy,’ Tom said with his characteristic grin. Patrick scowled in return, about to criticise Tom.

      ‘Morning, Patrick,’ George intervened. ‘They haven’t told us where we’re going, but if you’re here too they must have mobilised the whole regiment. They just told us to turn up, and here we are. I’m guessing you know no more?’

      ‘Naw. We just been standing here like a bunch o’ layabouts, waiting for an officer to come along. And there’s been nae sign of anyone yet. The train lot have been looking at us out of the corner of their eyes. I don’t like it.’ The men walking past them, assembling goods and paperwork for the assorted trains in the station, were giving them sideways glances. They kept a wide berth.