The Secret Message (4 page)

I put down the book and snuggled under my duvet. I think I must have stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then I stared at my three pictures on the wall. The story was so sad, and yet it didn't all make sense.

It wasn't difficult to work out the first coded message. It used the same poem code as before. But I just couldn't understand the other code in the footnote.

I still had a big question and I was sure that footnote would answer it. Perhaps you've already guessed. I had to wait till morning before I could find out more.

I only told Dad some of what I'd read, and asked him if he knew when his great grandad died. ‘I've no idea,' he answered. ‘You'll have to ask Gran. We can Skype her if you like.'

Gran is my dad's mum and she lives miles away. I couldn't wait to talk to her.

As soon as her face appeared on the screen I said, ‘Hi, Gran. Can I ask you about your grandad? Did you know him and when did he die?'

‘Woah – all your questions, Sam! Yes Grandad lived very near us. In fact I used to guide him around town when I was a girl, before he got his guide dog. I know exactly when he died. It was in 1980, on the day before Daddy was born.'

I asked her if he ever spoke about the First World War to her.

‘Not that I remember. I don't think he liked to, as it was when he lost his sight. It's amazing how he later managed living on his own and doing so many things.'

I held up his typewriter in front of the webcam. ‘Do you recognise this?' I asked.

‘Wow, I haven't seen that for years. I didn't know you had it! Grandad used that typewriter all the time. I learned to touch-type on it. The marked keys made it easier to learn. The wax on the middle keys helped him work out where all the letters were. He just had to count along from Y, H & N – or as he remembered them,
Your Home Number
. He did a lot of typing that way.'

‘What about reading?' I asked. ‘Did he use Braille?'

‘He used a Braille watch and playing cards, but he found Moon a bit easier. That's another way
of reading using touch. He read with his fingers from big books with raised shapes as letters. He sometimes borrowed a machine so he could type in Moon. It was very clever.'

By now my mind was whirring and I was really excited. I looked at the typewriter keys and started to see the code. N5 must mean the fifth letter on the N row, which is ‘B'. Gran was going on about the alphabet games they used to play, but I wasn't really listening. I was too busy doing some alphabet work of my own. Suddenly the word ‘Bible' jumped out at me and I knew I was on to something. But then Gran said something that made me look up.

‘As children, Uncle John and I used to beg him to draw for us, as he'd once been a good artist. Even though he couldn't see, he drew lovely pictures for us with coloured chalks on a board. Our favourite was a poppy on a bent stalk blowing in the wind. It was his special party piece.'

‘Wait there, Gran,' I shouted. ‘I'll go and get my picture of a poppy. It's my party piece, too!' I ran to my room, took the painting off my wall and dashed back to show her. ‘What do you think of this?' I grinned.

I saw Gran lean forward to look more closely at her screen. ‘Goodness, how did you get hold of that?' she asked.

‘I drew it with charcoal then used a wash and watercolours,' I told her.

‘That's amazing. Hold it still, let me look again. Yes, the shape and everything – even down to the bent stem and twisted leaf. That's exactly how Grandad drew it.'

I felt a tingle run down my back and told Gran how awesome it was. But, deep down, I was a bit unsettled. What did it all mean?

I found out just after our Skype session ended.

The little Bible was still on the red silk inside the case from the loft. I worked out both
references and found the verses inside. The one in the New Testament had a small piece of paper tucked between the pages. It had another typed message on it:

4:1, 1:4, 1:16, 1:3, 2:9

2:9, 1:3, 1:16

2:2, 1:5, 1:16, 1:3, 3:3

2:1, 2:2, 2:3

2:14, 1:1, 1:1, 1:4

It didn't take me long to get the words but I didn't know what they meant. I thought about what Gran had told me. I read the two verses again and I put the Bible back in the case. As soon as I saw the colour of the silk lining, the message clicked. Something was hidden underneath – Moon!

I carefully pulled out the lining and saw a sheet of thick brown paper hidden under it – with all kinds of raised marks on it:
*

I couldn't believe what I found clipped underneath that page of Moon. There were two faded but beautiful little paintings. One showed a skylark flying over a field with a tree behind, and the other was a poppy with a bowed head blowing in the wind. They were just like mine on the wall in my bedroom. But these, in my hands, were 100 years old. Written in pencil on the back was:

There was one more piece of paper with the paintings. It was a final typed message. Before I began to read it, I thought again about the painter of those pictures and I unbuttoned my shirt. I pulled the collar down over my left shoulder and there it was – as always. I'd never thought of my funny little red squiggle of a birthmark as an upside-down
f
before. But now, as I stared at it in the mirror, I saw it's a letter
t
. I now know what
it means. I'm not only a twin, but a triplet.

Unless it's more than that. More than meets the eye.

It's a bit weird, but my birthday is directly linked to World War 1.

Surprisingly, I'm not a Gemini (‘The Twin')

I wasn't born on Freddy's birthday, either.

Mine is in August. You can probably guess the date.

I suppose we all have our secrets. There are many things we keep to ourselves – things we don't want to bother others about. I've always kept the past locked away and hidden – though seldom out of mind. My generation doesn't talk about a lot of things.

I've always boasted about being the same age as the century itself. But unlike the
century, I don't know how long I've got left. Not long now. That's why I've written down my full story for the family. Of course, I don't suppose my confession will make much difference to anyone … but it will to me. I need to set down what I've lived with all these years. It's time to put the record straight. Even so, it will have to wait until after my death before anyone finds this part of the record. I still can't admit to what I've done.

I was sent back from the war with no more than a piece of paper stating ‘UNFIT FOR SERVICE – BLIND'. Because of ‘the swap', I was assumed to be Private Freddy Ovel – who must have suffered delayed blinding after the gas attack. I didn't tell anyone differently. As far as everyone thought (apart from Gordon), Giles Hoadley had been shot for cowardice –
with all the disgrace that brought.

I assumed that if I told the truth, I'd end up back in prison, or worse. The crime of being found guilty of cowardice was most shameful then. I was also full of guilt. After all, I was responsible for Freddy's death and I should have stopped them shooting him. Yes, I was in no mental state to think straight, so I went along with the lie that I was Freddy Ovel. It was easy to speak just like him.

They sent me to a country house in Suffolk, which had been turned into a military hospital. Most of us were blind or lame and learning how to cope. It was a struggle and many of us were in a bad way – but at least we'd come back alive.

I still had Freddy's last request to attend to, so I asked them to let Daisy know where I was. She came to see me shortly after giving birth to dear little baby Alice. We were both very
emotional and I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. She was convinced I was Freddy and was overjoyed to see me. You have to remember she hadn't seen him for months and she'd been warned that, like all returning soldiers, he would be a different person. I still had facial injuries and wore dark glasses, but she even said I hadn't changed as much as she'd feared. She wanted us to get married quickly and secretly.

So yes, I married Daisy. I felt the Ovel family had suffered enough with Harry's death, so if I filled Freddy's shoes, not only would I save everyone's pain but I could become the twin I'd always wanted to be. Maybe you think I was deceitful and dishonest. I guess I was – but you have to remember the absolute shame of being told her beloved had been executed.
People could be very cruel to such families. So I did as Freddy asked and I looked after Daisy and little Alice, loving them as my own. Eventually we had a baby ourselves when Peter was born, and we lived happily for many years. We ran a successful business together – a sweet shop and tobacconist next to a cinema (till the next war came).

Only Gordon knew the truth and, even if the flu epidemic hadn't so cruelly claimed him after his return, he would have said nothing, I'm sure. His was such a gentle innocence – and yet he was one of the lions … lions led by donkeys.

My sister Maud would probably have discovered the truth if she hadn't had enough worries of her own. During the war she was struck down with polio and was too ill to notice any marked change in her younger brother. She spent the rest of her life in much
pain and needing crutches to walk.

I never met the Squire or his wife again. They apparently referred to Giles Hoadley as ‘that terrible cowardly wretch who ran away to the war and got his just deserts.' They were even heard to say that it was most inconvenient as they had to rewrite their will.

I could live with that.

As for Ma, dear Ma … I think she knew the truth all along. In her final illness, I sat by her bed and spoke softly into her ear, uncertain if she could hear me. She opened her eyes, squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘A mother knows her sons.'

There is no mention of either Frederick Ovel or Giles Hoadley on any memorial or plaque. It's as if anyone executed (Freddy was far from alone) never existed. The awful truth is, had I joined up as ‘son of the Squire', I would have been enlisted as an officer and
Freddy would still be alive. That is my everlasting guilt and why I've lived as a fraud to this day. You have to realise that, in my lifetime, revealing these secrets would still cause a scandal and be too much to bear for my family. But, most of all, bearing the name of my heroic brother has given me strength to go on. You see, mine had been such a sterile childhood, while Freddy's was rooted in the fertile earth of family love – the richest soil of all. And that's where I've always wanted to belong, too.

Freddy was a remarkable person. He had little education, yet he was wiser, kinder and more gifted than I shall ever be. Had he lived, who knows what he would have achieved?

Today I was taken to the cottage again where we were born. From there I walked along the
brook to what used to be the hay meadow where Freddy and I once played. I stood very quietly on the hill, a breeze sighing among the poppies, and I listened to the distant song of a skylark as I spoke to Freddy again – all about another world … far beyond the fields.