Angelique (16 page)

Edward asks. “Do you mind if I join you to explain what his friends have decided?”

I invite him to sit and he outlines the funeral procedure. “Let us start with the Pall bearers. There have been so many volunteers we have had to think up a procedure to select the six men needed. On the bar is a sheet of paper if you want to be a volunteer put your name on it. From those we will draw six names out of the hat a ten o’clock tonight. Whoever is selected must be capable of carrying the coffin. You know a number of the men are maimed that didn’t stop them putting their names on the list though.” He adds with feeling. “Silly sods just want to be involved but who could blame them?”

He pauses for a moment then continues. “The pall bearers will have to carry the coffin from the Colonels house to the burial site, we want to see him off in style. You know he was a great benefactor for this community since he arrived. If anyone had a problem he was always there to help them. Take me for instance? I did my bit in the Boer War. Incidentally that’s where I first met the Colonel. He was only a Lieutenant then but he was one of the best there was. He cared for the men in his command I can tell you. You know I never ever heard a bad word against him. Most of the officers were right shits. Some of them with their fancy titles considered us their bloody servants, and the war was like some kind of hunting party to be enjoyed. I heard one of them say once, the only difference between a foxhunt and the war in South Africa was they were hunting Boer’s instead of foxes.

His mates thought that was really funny. Most of the Boers were only farmers trying to protect their way of life. Damn that gold they found over there. That is what it was all about you know the Boer War? Bloody Gold! Just think how many people have died over the centuries for that yellow metal?” George adds thoughtfully. “And most of it finishes around fat rich women’s necks eh?”

His statement encouraged Edward to continue. Poor old Lad once he starts on about the Boer war it is impossible to stop him. All his anger pours out. I have seen this before when veterans feel the need to tell other veterans of their war time experience.

“Thank goodness I was too old for the last one, I saw enough horror in South Africa to last me a lifetime. Did you know about the concentration camps out there?” I have to admit I don’t.

He explains. “I was posted to one camp called Standerton on the Vaal river, a right shit hole of a place alive with them filthy mosquitoes.

God damn Kitchener, Milner and Roberts, they were the lousy sods that dreamed it up.” Shocked by his statement I remark. “I thought Lord Kitchener was a hero? He got drowned on the HMS Hampshire on his way to Russia didn’t he?” Edward Stokes nearly explodes with anger.

“Hero did you say! The bugger was responsible for thousands of innocent deaths.

Did you know we killed about twenty seven thousand women and twenty four thousands kids in the three years war? It still wakes me up at night when I think of what we did over there.

Lloyd George had him to rights though. He knew what a murdering sod he was. Aye I think if the Great British public had really found out about them there would have been a bloody great uproar. I am ashamed to say after I got myself wounded I was guarding them for a while, thanks goodness I got malaria and they shipped me home. I still suffer with it but I was glad to get away from that hell hole. It was a living nightmare I can tell you. Men women and kids crammed in those disease ridden places. I wish someone would expose what the British were up to out there? There were a couple of reporters having a go at investigating it. But this last war came along and it was all covered up. One journalist by the name of Stead tried to expose what happened. I heard pressure was put on his editor and proprietor to cover the whole sorry scandal up. He came here looking for the Colonel, that’s when I met him and told him all I knew about my time in South Africa.

He stayed with the Colonel for about three nights. The Colonel and him had some real drinking bouts I can tell you. If anyone could or would tell the truth about those stinking camps you can bet the Colonel told him. Anyway when he tried revealing the truth at speaker’s corner and at public meetings he was shouted down and denounced.”

I intercede at this point. “That’s an odd coincidence! I met a man in New Brighton by the name of Stead. Joseph Stead. I had a game of Billiards with him in the hotel. If I recall correctly he told me he was a war correspondent. I bet it was the same man, do you know what happened to him?” Edward informs us. “I believe the poor bugger lost his job and disappeared. The Colonel remarked on it when there were no more articles under his name in the paper. I did hear from the Colonel he was writing under another name and was covering the last war as a freelance reporter. They kept in touch you know?”

There was a pause in the conversation as we digest the information until Edward breaks the silence by announcing. “The old Boer was a good fighter, very brave you know? Most of them were not professional soldiers like our mob.” Edward goes into another one of those kind of trances. I have seen the same thing so often among veterans that have witnessed the horror of war. I experience similar lapses myself, thankfully less frequently of late. He consciously pulls himself back to the present and continues. “Anyway sorry to load you down with my horrors, I bet you have seen enough of your own eh? Back to the Colonel I was telling you before I got carried away. He inherited his Father’s house in the village. When he finished his army service he came to live here in the village. Would you believe it the Colonel remembered me from all those years before. I had a drink problem at the time and have to admit the pub had run down.

I was heading for the workhouse classed as a pauper. The brewery was refusing to supply me with new stock. The Colonel he rescued me by buying half shares in the pub. I was able to pay my debts and I got the pub back on its feet and I haven’t touched a drop since. You will like this part, all he wanted in return for getting me out of the shit when I asked him was. He wanted me to change the name of the pub from The Volunteer to The Reluctant Volunteer. He had a weird sense of humour you know? But at the same time I understand the sentiment.”

He fell out with the local parish council. The Colonel was very upset by the councillors haggling on where exactly the war memorial should be located. He got fed up with them in the end made his own mind up where the memorial should be. He did this without having to beg money from the council and villagers. He had purchased a piece of land for a business venture on the crossroads at the edge of the village I believe he was going to start up a transport business? Anyway when the argument with the council began he changed his mind. A masonry memorial is being prepared containing the names of the war dead from around this area paid for by him. Do you know he has even included the dead from the Boer wars? The Colonel has chosen to be buried underneath the memorial. He has also made provision for war veterans to be buried free of charge on the piece of land he has named it the Final Victory Memorial Park.”

I reply. “Thanks for explaining all that, it’s typical of the Colonel. Did you know him very well personally, I mean.”

The Landlord reveals. “When he came home from the war I knew him just as my officer from South Africa and a customer at first. It was not long before he became my very good friend. He had big ideas at first about starting a transport business as I explained, it came to nothing after he purchased the piece of land he did nothing about starting the business. It was sad to witness but I gathered from the long talks we had usually after I closed up for the night he was becoming more and more depressed. Towards the end to be honest he drank too much.” He added hurriedly. “But we all tolerated him. I took him home drunk as a Lord on many occasions, some nights he even slept in the lounge bar too drunk to get home. He kept referring to the good men that had been killed while under his command. On the tenth of November he was really depressed and got very drunk. He was rambling on about.

“Why didn’t we stop it all at the Christmas truce in nineteen fourteen we had the opportunity and we let it go by. How many tragedies could have been avoided if we had only had the courage to say to those in positions of power. No More Damned War.”

He condemned the Generals, arms manufacturers, and Politicians that night. I have never seen him so angry.

It was as if he held himself personally responsible for all tragedies of the war. Did you know he had witnessed the appearance of the Angels at the battle of Mons?”

I am astounded when I retort. “I didn’t know that. All through my army service I have met people that saw the Angels but I didn’t know the Colonel was one of them.”

George remarks with a guffaw. “Let’s face it a British Army Colonel would hardly tell you a private soldier he had seen the Angels Scouse. Come on be real.”

I had to agree with him even though I felt privileged to be close to the Colonel he would hardly have admitted that to me.

Arthur continues. “The final straw came when there was a dispute about the war memorial and it had not been settled by Armistice Day as we all expected.” Edward was now repeating information he had already given us.” He pauses then continues. “I like his tribute to the lads that died in South Africa and there were quite a few from around here believe me. I know when my time comes I will be buried alongside my mates within sight of the Colonel. The villagers were collecting money at a very slow pace. People are short of cash just now we never had many tourists during the war you see and we depend on them around here. Anyway what they did collect can go to another good cause I reckon. God knows there are plenty of them about due to the damned war.”

I enquire. “Has the Colonel any relatives, a Wife or kids?”

He shakes his head. “That was another tragedy he suffered when he was in South Africa. His Wife died in childbirth he lost the baby as well. Before you ask, no he never did re marry.”

He pauses again for a moment as if considering something then gives us an invitation.

“By the way we are having a kind of get together or wake if you like tonight in the pub. Of course it will be back here after the burial, all the Colonel’s friends and comrades are welcome to attend.”

Arthur stands up ready to leave but changes his mind he discloses more details. “Do you know he kept these plans secret from his friends, he only told me about it on the tenth of November. You most probably know what happened next it was in all the national papers?

We never had a clue what he was going to do. You will have to excuse me. I still get upset about the loss of my dear friend.” He leaves the room.

The evening is just like a good old booze up during the war. The pub is packed with veterans singing the old songs we loved so much during the bad wartime days. At ten o’clock the names are placed in a hat and the draw takes place. I am one of the fortunate six to be selected as a pall bearer.

The party breaks up about midnight. I retire to my room where I sleep like a log until disturbed at seven o’clock by the sound of a bugle playing reveille. As it is still dark for a minute or so, I am confused believing I am still in the services I leap out of bed and begin to dress. What a game, I arrive downstairs where the rest of the guests are assembled.

One of the old boys is laughing hilariously. The old veteran is in the full dress uniform of a Boer war soldier, pith helmet and all, hanging from his shoulder on a spotless white lanyard is a gleaming army bugle. After the initial anger at being woken up to that horrible unforgettable sound everyone takes the joke in good spirits. The day goes well after that, breakfast is a great affair with the men giving us a stream of funny stories and anecdotes of their experiences during the war. No one mentions the bad times, an outsider listening in could believe war was one long round of fun and laughter booze session and sexual encounters.

When we assemble outside to face a bright cold day, many of the men are dressed in uniform wearing their medals with pride. Much to my joy three of my wartime comrades have made the effort and greet me with much emotion. Toot, Jake and Dave out of the original six that served together in our ambulance unit only Billy and Sam are missing.

The Sergeant cook from the Chateau is also in attendance with some others I don’t recognise. The men form a column and begin to march to the Colonel’s house when a Rolls Royce joins the procession followed by a large black Humber.

We collect the coffin and set off again with the coffin leading the column of ex servicemen and a few women. On the top of the flag covered casket is the Colonels cap and Sam Brown complete with sword. At the site of the burial is a canvas shrouded object, a flagpole has been erected by the gateway the union flag flutters in a slight breeze. The pall bearers position the coffin on strips of wood spanning the grave. The padre Captain De Silva dressed in his uniform is led to the side of the grave by George. He conducts the service in a very moving manner. Unknown to me arrangements had been made between my friend Sandy and the Padre prior to the service.

Sandy delivers a eulogy he speaks in a firm but emotion charged voice. He reminds us of the kind deeds and consideration the Colonel had shown to all he encountered.

“He was a military man with a conscious.” He appropriately described the Colonel. The bugler takes his position, the wooden strips are removed we lower the casket into the grave to the haunting strains of the last post played by the Boer War veteran on his army bugle. The flag is slowly lowered to half mast. Many a tear is shed by the mourners both male and female at the point when the cover is taken from the monument. It is not the usual type of statue of an armed soldier or a battle scene. The sculptor has captured the essence of pain suffering and futility of war by carving the figure of a woman. She is reading the dreaded death notice telegram with her two children clutching her skirts. As a couple of workers move in to backfill the grave a disturbance takes place on the fringes of the assembled mourners I am in time to see Sandy land a perfect uppercut to the chin of a man six inches taller than himself.