A First World War story

Ann kissed the fading photograph of Tommy as she always did before leaving the house. It was the only one she had. There wouldn’t be another one now. She stepped out into the half-light of a cold, misty morning as she had for the last twenty years. If there’d been any trees in the neighbourhood she would probably have felt wet leaves beneath her feet. Instead the pavement was clear of vegetation. She looked around. Next door’s solitary pint of milk was on the doorstep. She covered it with a stone so that the birds wouldn’t peck it. The terrace on the other side of the street was just visible. She could see lights flickering behind the net curtains. Other workers were appearing from their neat little houses - women, old men, and children, some only twelve. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and began the short walk to the factory at the end of the street, her clogs click-clacking on the pavement. She lengthened her stride and caught up with Kitty.

‘Mornin’, Kitty’

‘Mornin’, Ann. Grim day, again. Have you ‘eard about Billy Moran?’

‘Pat told me last night. That’s three sons she’s lost. Poor woman.’

They reached the end of the street but something was different this morning. The hooter was sounding and the gates were open but there was an excitable crowd gathering around a well-dressed, elderly man who had to stand on top of a box to draw attention to himself.

‘Eh look, it’s owd George, he looks in ‘is element up theer.’, said Kitty.

Ann smiled. George Osbaldeston’s voice bellowed from the megaphone.

‘It’s all over. Germany’s surrendered. Factory’s shutting today. I’m giving all o’ you a day’s holiday on full pay. Mind yer back tomorro’, though’

The resulting roar would have drowned out the machines even if they’d been operating but they were as silent as the guns across the channel. Ann looked up into the heavens giving thanks and saw the sky covered with flat caps. The crowd spilled out onto the cobbles. Someone grabbed her left arm, another grabbed her right and together they marched her down the street. Lines of people arm in arm were jigging through the town, celebrating the end of the war.

They passed the catholic church. Ann extricated herself from the throng and slipped in through the small side door. She detected the familiar smell of incense. Looking around she saw an unusually large number of people - others had had the same idea. She stopped at the small side altar and lit a votive candle and then knelt down next to Mrs Moran. The woman looked at her with tears in her eyes as Ann placed a comforting hand on her arm. She thought of Tommy. Consumption had taken him before the war had started. Infant death was common in the town. She bowed her head and prayed ending with an entreaty

‘And please bring him home for Christmas.’

Ann left the church and made her way home. The church bells were ringing, people were dancing and hugging each other. Bunting and flags were being hoisted across the narrow terraced streets. A group passed her carrying a bundle of rags and straw. It looked like a left-over guy from a prewar bonfire night.

‘Come down to t’rec, Ann. We’re having a bonny’, they shouted. We’re goin’ to burn t’Kaiser’.

‘You enjoy yourselves’, she replied.

She felt better than she had for six months ever since that day in April when his call up papers had arrived. He hadn’t volunteered with the younger men at the start of the war. It had seemed like an adventure to them - an escape from the oppressive conditions in the noisy, stifling cotton mills and the squalid, back to back houses they lived in. He was 33 when war had broken out; not a healthy man but even he had been conscripted as the army had begun to run out of volunteers. He’d answered the call without any enthusiasm. She hadn’t wanted him to go but she understood. The alternative - white feathers, prison, shunned by the people he’d grown up with was too much to contemplate. The house had been quiet since he’d gone.

Ann reached her front door and rummaged for her key. She turned it in the lock and the door opened with the usual squeak. That’s his first job when he gets home she thought, smiling to herself. She looked down. There, on the mat, was a telegram.