Homes Is A Strange Country - Chapter 35

THIRTY FIVE
Bolton, Evening 18h September 1917

   As he stepped out to cross the pavement, George looked up to see if the sky was clear of the clouds which had almost seemed to fill it during the daylight hours. Now, the sky was clear and stars were clearly visible in the night sky, and though the streets were poorly lit by gas lamps over the length of Churchgate, most of the light was provided by a bright almost half moon high in the sky. He took in a deep breath and stepped off the pavement to cross the cobbled street where he could see the curtained windows of the bar of the Swan pretending, like the Three Crowns, to be empty. He guessed he would find people in the bar, just as he had in the pub he had just left. As he drew close to the front door of the hotel he could hear the sound of a woman’s laughter coming from behind the curtained window. 'Sounds like there's a crowd in there tonight' he thought to himself.

   Reaching the door step he reached across to turn the handle on the door, expecting it to be locked, but was surprised to find that it turned when he twisted it, and the door opened. As he stepped into the hallway of the hotel he saw that to his left the bar was occupied by a small group of people. George walked down the small corridor to the reception desk, but there was nobody there. He struck the brass bell on the counter and waited. For a few moments he waited in silence and then struck the bell again. He heard the sound of the bar door opening away to his left and behind him and turned around at the noise. It was the barman. He walked up to George intending to go behind the reception desk to reach for the key to his room.

   'Had a good evening sir?' he asked, slipping the key from its hook and turning to hand it over to George. George smiled at him,

   'Yes' he said, 'Not bad at all. Had a couple of pints of decent beer, not that Government Ale stuff. Pretty weak stuff isn’t it?' The barman grinned back at George.

   'Tis fairly ropey stuff isn’t it?' he quipped. He glanced sideways back to the bar he had just left. 'If you fancy one before you go off to your bed I can pull you one in the bar if you like.' George looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

   'I thought you closed shop at half nine here,' he said. The barman smiled broadly.

   'Only for the public sir,' he said. 'If you are a resident you can buy alcohol all night if you want.' He nodded in the general direction of the bar. 'There’s a few people in there at the moment if you fancy one' he said. George considered the offer for a second or two and then nodding his head said,

   'Alright then, you’ve persuaded me. Lead on' and with a smile waved his walking stick in the direction of the bar. The barman came around from the desk and indicating for George to follow lead off down the short corridor to the source of the noise.

   As the barman opened the door the conversation from inside the bar stopped. George walked past the barman as he held open the door for him. Standing by the bar were two couples, all in their late fifties and well dressed in three piece suits for the men and women in dark coloured expensive looking dresses. They were all of a similar age, and from George’s initial glance, all well to do, something he had not expected. He noticed that on one of the chairs by a table close to them was a pile of outdoor coats. George walked the few steps from the door to take up a stance by the bar a few feet from the group.    'Good evening' the man closest to George called out. In his first glance the man took in the new suit and shoes which George was wearing, and just as swiftly took in the fact that although he was wearing a new shirt, the man was not wearing a collar and tie. The man’s eyebrow rose slowly and looked at George quizzically, obviously not from their class.

   'Good evening' George replied quietly. As he turned to the bar to place his order the four people turned inward and started to chatter again. From the odd word he picked up from their muted conversation, he could tell that even though he had said only two words, they had guessed him to be from Australia. Albert the barman had obviously been telling visitors to the hotel of the new hotel guest from the far side of the world. Across the other side of the bar Albert, now the barman, was standing facing George.

   'What can I get you sir?' he asked. 'A pint of bitter, or would you like a short perhaps?' George noted that the other people at the bar were all drinking shorts, what appeared to be whisky for the men and a colourless liquid, probably gin, George thought.

   'I’ll have a pint of bitter please' George said and reached into his pocket for money.

   'Don’t worry about paying sir,' said the barman, 'I’ll put it on your bill.'   

   'Rather not if you don’t mind' George replied. 'Don’t want any surprises when I leave here.' The barman nodded his head silently and started to pull a pint for him as he laid out some coins on the bar top. 'I’m not complaining,' George said, aiming his comment at the barman, 'But I thought that pubs had to shut at half nine around here.' The barman finished filling the glass and placed it on the bar top, scooping up some of the coins from the bar.

   'Well, it is normally' he said, but it doesn’t apply to residents in a hotel.' George inclined his head slightly towards the group of four people to his left.

   'So these people are residents like me then?' he asked softly. The barman winked and grinned.

   'That’s right sir. Just staying the night they are.' George grunted and took the glass in his hand, perching on the edge of a stool in front of the bar.

   It was impossible for George not to hear what his companions at the bar were saying. They had obviously been drinking for some time judging from the occasional slurring of their words and the slight unsteadiness of one of the women perched, like him, on a bar stool. One of the men, a tall man with a large stomach which was struggling to be kept in check by a waistcoat, turned to look at George.

   'So, from Australia then are we?' he asked. George looked over his glass at the man. His suit was well fitted to him, even though he was obviously overweight. His hair was thinning on top leaving him with white clumps above his ears. He sported a moustache, like most men, which was thick and drooped down at the side of thick lips. Across his large stomach was a silver watch chain looped from one pocket to the other on either side of the garment. He was holding onto a small glass half full of whisky, occasionally taking sips from it between breaks in the conversation, which he seemed to be dominating.

   'That’s right,' George said. 'Melbourne.'

   'Right, I see' replied the man. 'Whereabouts is that then?' he asked. 'It’s not far from Sydney isn’t it, on the east coast?' He continued, answering his own question. He turned to talk to the others in his group and addressed his comment to the other man.

   'Have an office in Sydney. Run by an Australian, he’s very good really.' He turned back to face George. 'Don’t suppose you know my firm do you? North of England Insurance Company. Have offices in London and Manchester as well as other parts of the Empire.' He paused to allow George to answer. George replaced his glass on the bar and wiped his moustache with his hand, taking his pipe from his pocket with the other hand as he did so.

   'You got it wrong there mate. Melbourne is on the south coast, nowhere near Sydney, over five hundred miles apart, but close enough considering the size of Australia, five hundred miles ain’t much.' He let the comment sink in as he fiddled with the tobacco in his pipe and reached for the Swan Vestas box in his pocket. The man glanced at his friend and made a doleful look.

   'Well, pardon me' he said, 'No idea the place was that big. So, what’s your line of business out there then?' His tone was both sarcastic and patronising. 'Before the war that is. Suppose you’re in the Australian Horse then are you?' he continued, leaving George little or no opportunity to give an answer to his questions. George felt his pulse increase and his anger level rise. He laid his pipe down on the bar and reached for his glass again.

   'I’m in the railway business in answer to your first question, and the PBI in answer to your second.' He replied quietly.

   'Jolly good' said the man, ignoring whatever George had to say. 'I suppose business is booming isn’t it, what with the gold mines and moving troops around and everything?' The man paused to take a drink from his glass then with a puzzled look on his face added, 'What’s the PBI then?  Not heard of that regiment. Is it one of the new ones?' George could feel an irrational hatred of this man forming in his mind. Perhaps it was the fact that he looked and sounded like so many other men during his life, whom he had met during the time when he was trying to find work, those who felt that the presence of cash in their pockets allowed them a superiority over those less financially solvent than them.

   'Poor Bloody Infantry' he replied sourly, looking over the rim of his glass. 'And since you ask, I don’t know what’s happening with the railways. I’m a bit out of touch since coming overseas.'

   'Yes, yes, quite.' The other man coughed with an embarrassed grimace, ignoring the barbed reply. 'Still, it’ll be good to get back home again I suppose. Back to the wife and kiddies.' George nodded silently and turned back to the bar to drink again from his glass, intent on ignoring him.

   The loud voice of the man was starting to grate on George’s nerves, but he kept his temper, reminding himself that he was a guest in this town and that it would not do the reputation of Australia any good to wind up in court on an assault charge. Not that the man didn’t deserve it, he thought.

   'Thinking of sending my lad over to the Far East after this lot is over and done with,' the man announced. 'Now that we've got him out the way with his commission, he’s out in east Africa somewhere. Well, he was the last time we heard from him. Building bridges and stuff. Should keep him out of harm's way there, not like he was in France or Gallipoli is it?' He chuckled to himself into his whisky.

   'Should be safe enough there I would think' replied his friend.

   'Fingers crossed hey?' One of the women joined in, obviously the worse for her alcohol consumption. She swung on the stool and started to fall over but caught herself on the bar. 'Well I think it’s just awful. I mean how is one to keep a business going when so many of the workers are away fighting, not to mention the officers. I mean, we’ve lost so many of our workforce that we had to take on their women in their place, and try as they may, they just aren’t the same as their men folk.' Her husband took his hand from his pocket and placed it on her waist, bending slightly towards her.

   'Not to worry dear,' he said, 'John will be fine. Managed to get him out of harm's way with that commission.' She looked up at him and smiled.

   George raised his eyes from the glass on the bar and realised that the barman was sending a silent cautionary look directly at him.

   'Another one sir, or are you perhaps calling it a day?' he asked quietly. George stood up straight from the bar, easing the dull ache in his back.

   'Think I’ll have a whisky' he replied, 'Make it a double if you please.' he added. The barman paused for a moment, anticipating that George’s demeanour might cause some trouble. He nodded his head and turned away from the bar to pour whisky from a bottle behind the bar into a metal measure by its side. He measured the drink carefully until it formed a raised brim of light brown liquid in the measure, then carefully poured the contents into a small glass, and then placed the drink on the bar by the side of the pint glass, sweeping up the empty glass with the same hand and placing it in the sink which lay out of sight under the bar counter. All the time he kept a wary eye on George, who picked up the glass and sniffed at the spirit which half filled it. The harsh tang of malt and peat hit his nose and the back of his throat as he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped it slowly.

   The older of the two men half turned to talk to his friend oblivious to the presence of George.

   'Soon as this lot is over the better. Seem to be making a real hash of it all. When I was in India we didn’t have the same problems the army seems to be getting now, mind you we only had the natives to fight for us then, what?' He half turned his head to the barman and called over his shoulder,

   'Another Chota peg for the Mem Sahib I think, before we go.' Without waiting for a response he turned back to the other three people in his group and carried on talking in subdued tones.

   George looked across to the barman who was busy making up a gin and tonic from the bottles behind the bar. Through the mirrors on the wall behind the bar the two men exchanged glances and nods, but said nothing. Walking along the bar to where the other group were seated, the barman placed a drink in front of the wife of the man who had been talking and without a word turned back to busy himself with the glasses lying in the area below the bar counter. George placed his glass of whisky down on the bar with rather more force than normal, making an obvious bang. For a second there was a break in the conversation from further along the bar. George’s eyes did not move from looking at the barman. Looking directly at him he said,

   'Late last year I was in a mobile dressing station in northern France before being moved to a more permanent hospital near to Etaples. I was getting treated for a gunshot wound. By most standards it wasn’t a serious wound, but it kept me out of action for some time and then they moved me to Le Havre when they found out how old I was and what other things I had got wrong with me.' He paused to take another sip from his drink, aware that the other conversations had stopped, and that not only the barman, but the group of four, were listening to everything he said. He replaced the glass on the counter and continued talking.

   'Even though I was a fair few miles from the front you could hear the sound of mines exploding, guns going off and bombs being dropped from aircraft, and you got to be around when they brought in the injured, and saw the details going out to bury the dead, well those they could find. I was reminded of that last week in Dorset when I was reading an account in the local newspaper about a load of mines which had been exploded at a place called Messines. It seems that about nineteen big mines were exploded there around three in the morning. It had taken months for the mines to be dug and filled with explosives. They reckon there must have been a million tons of high explosives in the mines. It cleared the German trenches completely. Then whilst I was in northern France I got a letter from a mate of mine in hospital about sixty miles away from the place when the explosions happened. In his letter he described what had happened there, in the hospital. He felt them, the mines exploding.' George paused to sip his whisky. 'At three in the morning the bang of the mines going off, and the vibration in the ground, woke him and the other blokes in the hospital, making them wonder what the hell it was.' He said. 'It turns out that about ten thousand Germans disappeared that morning in those explosions.' He paused again to drink from the glass in front of him, looking pointedly at the barman. 'Can you imagine what that was like?' he asked, 'Imagine that your son was there. An explosion like that doesn’t just blow the arms and legs off men, it vaporises them into dust. No, less than dust. Their arms and legs, hearts, kidney and eyes get mixed into a gassy mixture with the soil and the small animals and birds in the ground. When the smoke and dust comes back down to earth and settles there, well, there is nothing left of them to identify. They are mixed in with the soil. They become nothing, not even a mist once the clouds of smoke have settled back to the ground.' He paused in his story and took another small drink from the glass before continuing, collecting his pipe from the bar and pointing it at Albert to emphasise his words. 'But remember this as well. Those ten thousand men didn’t suddenly spring from the ground in Germany. They were born as babies, with brothers and sisters, and grew up just like me and my brothers and sisters, and probably your brothers and sisters. Before the mines exploded they had ten thousand mothers and ten thousand fathers living in Germany, waiting, like you, for letters from them, and they aren’t going to get a letter, not from their sons. Their sons are mist, and mist can't write, can it? If they are lucky they might get a telegram from some Army department telling them that their son died gloriously for their country, just like yours do, just like ours do. So although ten thousand died that day, there is another twenty thousand at least who died as well. Not only are their sons and husbands not coming home, but parts of them died too. At the end of this war one country will say that it beat another country, and that they are the victors, but there will be no victors here, or there. Other than the likes of some people who are safe and sound, with their sons safe and sound. Making a nice little living whilst they die.' George took a breath and again picked up his half full glass of whisky, lifted it to his mouth and took another sip. There was silence in the bar, other than a soft sobbing noise from one of the women. The two men turned from the bar without a word and after exchanging glances, lifted their coats from the pile on the chair, put them around their shoulders and those of the two wives, and walked quietly from the bar without another word or a glance in George's direction.

   When the four people had finally left the bar Albert looked across the bar at George.

   'You alright pal?' the barman asked quietly. George nodded silently as the barman turned to pour another whisky into a glass. Quietly he placed it on the bar in front of George. Lifting his head George shook his head at the barman,

   'No more for me thanks, I didn’t order one,' he said.

   'This is on me mate' said the barman. 'They've had that coming to them for weeks now, just needed someone with the balls to tell the bastards what you told them. Thanks mate. I daren’t say anything, I need this job and they have friends in the right places. Understand? Since this war's gone on it seems to me that a lot of attitudes have changed a bit towards the Germans. Course they are bastards and have done some terrible things, but, well,' he paused to find the right words. 'They are sons like ours aren’t they?' He reached his hand over the bar. George looked up in surprise and took the hand in his and shook it. 'I won’t say that that lot are deliberately profiting from this war, but they haven’t moved out of the way to stop it. We get quite a few of their sort in this hotel from time to time, think it’s good to be able to get their lads out of the war, or into a safe occupation, but the likes of you and me are the ones who get it in the neck, whilst they sit back and increase their fortunes.' He paused and smiled ruefully, 'Don’t know if I blame them. Don’t know if I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I was in their position, but, well, more like it’s the likes of you what get it. I’ve got a false leg on me, lost it in the Pretoria mine accident a couple of years ago, so they never bothered to ask me to fight, thank God, but at least I feel bad about it.' George nodded in agreement and finished the whisky.

   'Heads!' he exclaimed gently. 'Bloody Heads are all the same. Don’t matter if they are English, Australian, French or bloody German, they are all the bloody same aren’t they?' Albert’s face wrinkled in puzzlement.

   'What do you mean Heads?' he asked. George looked up and grinned at him.

   'Officers. Just another name, nickname if you will. Doesn’t matter what nationality they are, they are all the same, aren’t they?' Before Albert could answer he carried on, 'Think I’ll turn in now,' he said. 'Had enough for one day.' He slid from the stool and picked up his walking stick and overcoat, slipping the coat over his arm, easing the muscles in his legs as his foot hit the floor.

   'You off on your travels then tomorrow?' Albert asked. George stopped and thought for a moment before replying.

   'Yes, I think I will' he said. 'About time I did what I came here to do and then get off back to the south coast.' He turned towards the door and limped away.

   'Good night then sir' the barman called after him, 'And thanks again for what you said.' George nodded silently as he made his way through the receptions area and up the stairs to his room.