THIRTY SEVEN
Return to Perham Friday 21st September 1917
In Bolton,
the rain had returned in buckets, or so it seemed to George. Despite catching a
cab to the railway station the weather had still contrived to soak him as he
left the hotel, and then again a few minutes later as he walked from the cab to
the station and into the booking hall. The number of cabs aligned under the
canopy had meant that the one he was seated in was unable to stop under cover,
and so he walked a few yards to gain cover in the station concourse from the
rain. Showing his rail warrant at the booking window the clerk looked up and smiled
a think smile at George.
'On your way
back there are you?' he asked.
'Hope not,'
George replied. 'I’m due to be demobbed when I get back to France. Picked up a
wound whilst I was over there.' The man leaned forward to see the walking stick
which George held in his hand. Grunting he sat back on his high stool and
pushed a ticket under the glass partition which lay between the two of them.
'Wish you all
the best then sir' he said. George nodded his thanks and turned away to walk to
a news vendor selling the local and national papers. He placed his new suitcase
on the floor and found some coins in his trouser pocket and offered them to the
old man.
'Local paper
please, and the Herald as well' he said. The old man, wrapped up well against
the cold and rain, selected the two papers and folded them together before
handing them over to George and taking the coins he was offered.
'Good luck soldier'
he said. George nodded his thanks and picked up the suitcase lying at his feet.
'Thanks mate'
he replied and started off down the stairs leading to the platform.
As his train
pulled away from the station George looked out on the soot darkened buildings
lining the railway line and the thought suddenly came to him that from all the
railway journeys he had done, both in England, France, Egypt and Australia, it
seemed that they all went through the roughest meanest areas of the towns they
served. None of them went through the pretty suburbs or attractive areas of
towns. Always dull and industrial. He grinned at the obvious and inane nature
of the thought and dismissed it. Despite the rain, the train pulled into
Manchester Victoria station on time and George stood to reach his knapsack and
suitcase from the net storage area above the seats opposite him. As the train
jerked finally to a halt he looked out of the window to see that whilst it was still
raining, it appeared to have slackened off somewhat since boarding at Bolton. When
eventually the train stopped he gathered up his bags and with some difficulty
fought his way off the train and onto the platform, and so onto the exit. It
was only a short walk to catch his next connection to Birmingham from the
London Road station, but though the rain had lessened, he soon felt the
unwelcome cold fingers of rain trickling over the collar of his army greatcoat
and onto his neck.
The journey
to Birmingham was quick and his next connection to Oxford made with little
delay. He sat next to the window, resting his arms on the detachable table
between his seat and the one opposite. He was able to see more and more of the
landscape outside as the journey progressed, and as the rain eased. The hills
of the north led onto the open farmland of Cheshire and then Staffordshire,
interspersed with sudden outbursts of villages, towns and then large cities. The
names of towns flashed by as the train rushed south. Crew, Stafford,
Wolverhampton and finally Birmingham, with myriad small towns, villages and
halts in between. Prestbury, Chalford, Holmes Chapel, Sandbach, Donnington,
Hadley, Oakengates, Ironbridge, Coalport, Wednesbury, Oldbury. Some of the
places were completely foreign to him whilst others he recognised, Ironbridge
and Coalport foremost amongst them. He marvelled at how separate the towns were
from each other and yet how quickly the scene transformed from fields with
crops and animals to the now increasingly familiar one of large mills
factories. Birmingham was a surprise and a shock to him. Nothing he had seen
before compared with the apparent unending lines of houses, factories, chimneys
and then more houses. Nothing in urban Sydney or Melbourne, and certainly
nothing in rural Victoria or New South Wales had given him an inkling of what
now passed before his eyes. Despite the rain soaked land, and miles and miles
of bricks, canals, railway lines and industry he was impressed with the scenes
he saw.
'No wonder
England has such a big empire' he thought. 'It needs half the world to sell its
produce to and the other half to provide it with raw materials.' He changed
trains again at Birmingham and carried onwards to Oxford and the south. Again
he was surprised at the almost instant change in the scenery as the train left
the massive metropolis of Birmingham. As soon as the train had pulled out of
New Street station the countryside began once again. Undulating fields, split
only by lines of ancient trees and hedgerows as far as he could see, were
interspersed and interrupted by villages and small towns. Knowle and Dorridge,
Lapworth, Warwick, Stratford on Avon, Milcote and Long Marston, Chipping
Norton, Ascott, Charlbury and then Oxford itself. As the train pulled slowly into
the station George was able to glimpse the fabled ‘dreaming spires,’ and for a
moment wished that he was not in such a hurry to return to Perham Camp. The
train carried on south towards the coast and the complex of camps in the
Salisbury area, again giving George a headache as he tried to read and memorise
the numerous places he passed through.
As the sun
was starting to set over the hills far in the west, he came at last into
Salisbury station where he hitched a lift on an army truck going to the ANZAC
camp at Perham. Luck was with him after his day long journey through what it
seemed to him, the whole length of the country. The last of the sun was finally
disappearing leaving a pink glow over the horizon. George glanced at his watch,
it was almost seven o’clock as he approached the camp. Small thin clouds failed
to completely obscure the moon which appeared to be almost full, and had
started to cast a luminous glow across the heads of what clouds there were. At
the entrance to the camp he was stopped by one of the men on guard duty and had
to fish out his Furlough Pass from his pocket. Satisfied of his identity the
guard allowed George to walk through the gates to find the wooden hut he had
occupied before leaving for Bolton. When he reached his hut George mounted the
three wooden steps and opened the door to the hut. Inside the light from four
light bulbs cast just enough glow to illuminate the whole of the hut, though
the four windows set high in each of the long walls of the wooden building
failed to add much light as evening was approaching. He dropped his two bags, overcoat
and hat onto the bed he occupied and turned to walk back out of the hut. One of
the men, lying on his bed, called out to George.
'Y’alright
mate?' he asked. George turned as he walked past the bed and nodded.
'Fine thanks
mate,' he replied. George opened the door and lowered himself onto the top of
the three steps then drew his pipe from his pocket. Lighting it he allowed the
smoke to drift up to the sky in a silent undisturbed column. It reminded George
of the now distant smoky chimneys of Bolton. Would he see them again? He
doubted it, and sighed a long deep breath, unable at that point to determine
what his thoughts and emotions were.
'George!' A
familiar voice called out to him from beyond the line of huts. He turned to look
around the corner of the hut and saw the figure of Captain Smart coming along
the path through the camp towards him. George drew himself to an alert position
and threw a casual salute up at the Captain.
'So, how was
the trip then George?' the captain asked, returning the salute in an equally
casual and informal manner. George replied quickly,
'Very good
sir.' The officer looked keenly at him and waited for more.
'That it?'
he asked. 'Nothing more? Did you manage to find the girl?' George looked down
at the pipe in his hands and fiddled with it unnecessarily for a moment.
'Yes and no,'
he said, 'If you want the truth.' He stepped down off the steps and stood
facing the Captain. 'I managed to see her, I’m pretty sure it was her, but
didn’t get to talk to her. I spoke to her grandma and she didn’t seem too keen
for me to see her. Wouldn’t even give me a photo of her.' The Captain knew of
George’s reasons for going to Bolton. He had guessed at the explanation behind
the story George had given him. He read between some of the lines, but had not
pushed it any further. What was Georges’ affair, was his affair, and nothing to
do with the Army or the Captain. He let the subject go.
'So, back
off to France then in a few days aren’t you?' he asked.
'Yep. Off to
France and then back to Melbourne.' George replied. 'Shan’t be sorry to go,
just wish there were a few more going with me though.'
'Yes.
Agreed.' The Captain looked around at the other huts. 'Don’t suppose it will be
many more weeks before we are all off home though.' He added. There was little
or nothing more to be said. 'I’ll see you in the morning then to get your
papers up to date and signed off from here. Alright?'
'Yes sir. In
the morning it is.' George replied.
'Very well,
see you tomorrow then.' The officer turned and walked away. George resumed his
perch on the top step looking out over the darkening hills to the west. The sun
had set about half an hour ago but the light was still fighting a battle to
maintain colours in the fields and hills. In the distance towns and villages
declared their position by showing street and house lights as the light faded. George
strained his eyes against the falling light and looked to the south east where
he thought he knew lay Salisbury Cathedral, but try as he may, he was unable to
see it. Despite its height, his view of the cathedral tower was obscured by
small hills and woodlands between his spot on Perham Downs and the city of
Salisbury. He turned his head skywards and saw the almost full moon already
making its presence felt in the evening sky amongst just one or two brighter
stars. George turned and walked back into the hut wondering if the young girl
in Bolton would see that same moon. Would she ever remember him and the life
she had in Sydney before coming to England.
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