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  "Yes, of course." He shook his head, "When you make up your mind there is no stopping you is there?"

  "No sir, it is a family trait."

  I got changed and went into Manchester. There were offices to recruit into all the services but, annoyingly, the one for the Army was closed until the afternoon. I visited the others just to get a feel for the questions I might be asked; reconnaissance again. I was flattered that they all wanted me to sign up there and then. The other volunteers, who were in the offices, looked a little unhealthy and perhaps I was seen as a healthy specimen. I felt better about my decision.

  I walked the streets until it was time for the office to open. I waited outside. I was keen and I didn't mind if they knew it. A sergeant and a private strode up two minutes before the opening time and unlocked the door. They waved me in. The questions I was asked were almost the same as in the other offices and I answered them well. I had had practice. However, when I said I wanted to sign up they asked me an extra one I hadn't been asked earlier.

  "Right then, Thomas, do you have your parents' permission to join up?"

  "Pardon?"

  He tapped the form and pointed to my birth date. "You aren't twenty one."

  "I thought that was just to vote. Besides they said I could do what I wanted." I heard the door open behind me and the sergeant glanced up. I assumed it was another recruit and he would soon hurry me out. I would have to go home and get permission and I was certain they would not give it, either of them.

  "I am sorry, son. I would love to sign you up but I wouldn't want your parents to come down on me like a ton of bricks."

  The voice behind said, "Jack, that would be a mistake. This young lad is just what the 1st Loyal Lancashire regiment needs."

  I turned around and saw Sergeant Greely standing there. "But he isn't twenty one, Harry!"

  "And neither were we when we joined up. Let him sign the papers. I'll put my name on it if you like."

  The sergeant shook his head, "You are joking. I am not letting you have the bonus. You are already on a nice little number at the OTC. Here you are son, sign here!" I signed. "All you need to decide now is three years or twenty five years."

  "What?"

  "How many years do you want to enlist for?"

  "Three years."

  "You get more money if you sign for twenty five."

  "Three years is fine or the duration of the war."

  "What war?"

  "Trust me Sergeant, there is a war coming."

  Sergeant Greely waited while I signed everything. As we walked back towards the university he asked, "Are you sure about this, Mr Harsker? I mean you could be an officer. You have more military sense than the rest of that shower put together."

  "I know what I am doing Sarge and thanks for your help back there."

  "It was Captain Carrick as sent me; he thought you might have a problem." He smiled, "Well tonight is your last night as a civilian. Come on, let's go in the Red Lion and we'll have a pint. Tomorrow I will be shouting at you and chasing you from haircut to breakfast time!" The Red Lion was just off St Peter's Square and was a quiet little pub.

  "But I thought you were based at the university."

  "I have to go back to the regiment. Things are hotting up. It seems you have joined at the right time, old son."

  I spent some time talking with Sergeant Greely. It seems he had joined up in 1917 and stayed on after the war. The other sergeants were all due to be retired within the next year but the sergeant was in for another three years. I found out as much as I could about the 1st Loyal Lancashire Regiment as I could. I knew that I was taking a huge step. We only had two pints and then we marched down to the University.

  "With talents like yours you will soon be made up to non-com."

  "But what if I just want to stay a private?"

  "I know you don't want your dad bringing up but he is a good example. He was promoted because he could lead when others couldn't. You are a leader. You know how to make hard decisions and you are not afraid to upset people. If there is a war then the last thing you need is someone dithering when a decision has to be made. Anyway that is some time off. I'll see Captain Carrick. I daresay he will want to see you off tomorrow."

  "Won't he be at dinner tonight?"

  "No, he has to go to the Chancellor's dinner. He will see you in the morning. Last night for the monkey suit eh?" I nodded. "I should just take one suit of clothes with you. The other recruits will have just what they are wearing and from now on it will be khaki for you." He tapped his nose.

  "But won't they have a change of trousers and the like."

  He shook his head, "The lads who join will have one pair of shoes, one jacket and a couple of shirts at best. You'll see." He smiled. "The first proper boots I ever had were the ones the army gave me. I wore clogs until then." It was sage advice.

  The cadets were still out. I went to the porter's lodge and explained that I would be leaving the next day. The old porter just gave me a sad smile and nodded, "A shame, young sir still you are doing your duty and that is always for the best."

  I wondered, as I went to my room, how he knew. Then I realised that with so few students in the dormitories there would be no such thing as a secret.

  I began to pack. Mum had chosen some really fine clothes for me to wear. She had not wanted me to look in any way down at heel. Now I would have to send my case home. I looked at the leather bound shaving kit. That would have to go. From now on it would be army issue. I put the razor to one side and the brush. The rest could go back but I would retain those. They were both small and would be a reminder of my Mum's thoughtfulness. I packed a small bag with my essentials.

  The word must have spread for I did not receive the normal cold shoulder the following morning at breakfast. Only Hughes-Graham and his inner circle seemed to take any pleasure in my departure. Phillip sat next to me, "I am sorry those beasts won, Tom. I should have stood by you."

  "No, Phillip and they didn't do this. I could have taken all that they had to offer. When the war comes I want to be there from the start."

  "You are so keen to fight?"

  I shook my head, "If I am honest I am scared stiff but I feel I ought to do as my dad did and do my duty."

  He said quietly, "My father was gassed. He spends most days staring at the walls. My mother cries a lot."

  I had my case ready the next morning and I had deliberately chosen the clothes which would, I hoped, help me to blend in. I left my case in the porter's lodge and went over to Captain Carrick's office. His car was outside. As soon as I entered Sergeant Williams barked, "He's here sir." He smiled at me and said, "Good luck, Mr Harsker. I admire what you are doing." He held his hand out and shook my mine warmly.

  "Ah Tom, come along, I'll pop you along to the barracks. Save you walking eh?"

  We picked up my bag which was I then jammed in the jump seat of his MG. As we drove I shouted, above the noise of the engine, "Sir, is there any way you could look after my case until I get some leave?"

  He shook his head, "You won't get leave for some time, but I will look after your case." He glanced at me. "I intend to drive down to your place this weekend. I can drop it off then eh? I daresay you haven't told them yet?"

  "I have had no time," I said weakly.

  "Write to them today and I will explain to them what happened. They need to know. I know your dad and, I think, I understand your mother. Both will see the reasons behind what you have done but not the fact that you were scared to tell them."

  I took the letter from my jacket, "I wrote it last night, sir."

  His face broke into a grin, "Then I apologise for misjudging you. If you give it to me I shall post it directly."

  As I handed it to him I felt a great sense of relief. He was right, they deserved to know and they would understand.

  Part Two- The War

  Chapter 4

  My training at OTC stood me in good stead. When I arrived at the barracks I was ready for the barking serg
eants and the ill fitting uniforms. The first two weeks in August I was drilled to within an inch of my life. The difference, this time, was that I was anonymous. My name meant nothing. Most of the lads I bunked with came from Manchester and South Lancashire. There were even a few lads from Ormskirk, Wigan and St. Helens; they weren't far from Burscough. The accents reminded me of my Grandad and I felt at home.

  Twenty of us had joined up. Most of the other lads had been unemployed and saw the army as a way of earning a few bob. I was vague when quizzed about my background. It was easier that way. It meant I kept quiet and listened. I made sure that I joined in with the rest of the recruits and didn't act in any way differently. They just took me as being quiet. The rest of the battalion were kept away from us. They were on exercises and there were only the headquarters staff around. We became quite close. We were trained by Sergeant Hope and Corporal Garthwaite. Sergeant Hope belied his name; there was no hope with him. He was a martinet. He had a pencil slim moustache and a swagger stick which he employed in a variety of ways. It was a pointer, a weapon, a backscratcher. It was always in his hand. One of the wags, Willy Holden, remarked, "I wonder if he eats with it?"

  He did everything by the book. When we discovered he was married Willy enjoyed mimicking him in the barracks. "I can just picture him with his wife. He'll have his swagger stick in his hand and his wife, I bet her name is Doris, will be standing there. 'Stand by your bed Doris! Hands on dress. Wait for it! Wait for it! Remove your frock! Hands on knickers! Off! On the command you will lie on the bed and prepare to receive boarders! Lie!'"

  We all laughed until we cried and when he came into the barracks the next day we all had to endure an hour of spud bashing for our inappropriate grins.

  Our training included a great many things which were not on the curriculum of the OTC. The sergeants were thorough. We were taught how to eat with a knife and fork, instructed in the art of saluting, the how and the who: always officers and never non commissioned officers. We learned to locate the enemy by the clock. Nine o'clock was to our left while three o'clock was to our right. We learned the difference between stand easy and stand at ease. We learned how to look after our equipment. As soon as I was able I worked on my new black boots which gleamed. I was in great demand from my fellow recruits as they asked for advice on achieving the same effect. It as a contrast to my reception by the Hughes-Grahams of this world.

  We learned how to improvise bombs and explosives; how to make trip wires. Most importantly we were taught how to fire the Bren gun, Lewis gun and Vickers machine gun. It was when we were firing the Lewis that I came to the attention of Corporal Garthwaite. The Lewis gun I was firing jammed. Dad had told me of the gun for he had used one in the Gunbus when he had been a gunner. Almost without thinking I took out the magazine banged it with the palm of my hand sharply and then replaced it. It fired straight away. Corporal Garthwaite screw up his face, "Have you served before, Harsker?"

  "No Corporal."

  "Then how did you know how to do that?"

  "My dad served as a gunner in the RFC. He told me." It was not a lie and it masked my father's identity.

  He seemed satisfied with my answer, "That was smartly done."

  We were four weeks into the training when we were told that the whole of the army had been mobilised. The German Army was massing on the borders of Poland. Sergeant Greely returned and he and Sergeant Hope addressed us.

  "Right lads. You have two week's training left but the Boche, it seems, has decided that we do not have the luxury of time. The rest of the battalion is returning today. What you haven't learned so far you will have to pick up as we go. Your squad assignments will be pinned up in the HQ building later on. Make sure you have all your kit and that your rifle is ready. We are on standby to move."

  We were going to war. Sergeant Greely came over to me, "I hear you have done well, Tom. I knew you would. How has it been?"

  "Better than the University."

  He laughed, "Aye well you might as well have stayed. A few days after you left so did that Hughes-Graham. It seems he didn't like the fact that he was unpopular amongst the others. They resented the fact that you had left because of him. Mind you he was not ready to mundane tasks. I am guessing his daddy had not prepared him as well as yours."

  "Where did he go, Sarge?"

  He shrugged, "No idea. A staff car arrived with a Red Tab inside. I think his daddy sent it for him."

  "And where are we off to?"

  He tapped his nose, "I told you, son, things are different here. You will just have to make an informed guess."

  In our hut there were divided opinions. "Norway! I have heard we are off to Norway."

  "Nah it'll be France or Belgium. The Hun likes that way. They are soft as, over there."

  "Why not Poland?"

  "It is a bloody long way to Poland!"

  I kept quiet. We would be told when they were good and ready. Reg Dwyer ran in. "The new squads are here. The duty clerk gave me a copy."

  He began to shout out the squads and platoons we would be part of. Willy Holden and I were to be in the same squad. Willy clapped me on the back, "I am sorted here lads, I have the professor with me!"

  "Professor?"

  Willy lit a cigarette and we walked over to our bunks, "Aye, well you are a clever bugger aren't you? There's nowt you don't know."

  I was about to correct him on his double negative when I realised that was the reason they thought of me as they did. I smiled, "Well I am glad that I am with you too, Willy." We shook hands and became close friends from that moment.

  Sergeant Hope came in. "Right lads, get your gear shifted into your new barracks. This hut is first squad. If you are in first squad then you stay here."

  We weren't and we gathered all of our gear. We learned rapidly how to pack and unpack our kitbags to make transporting our equipment easier. When we entered the new hut we saw that there would be two squads in there. Sergeant Greely had told me which were the most sought after bunks. They were the ones closest to the stove. We wisely took the two closest to the door and the draughts. We heard the squealing of brakes and then a cacophony of noise as the lorries arrived and disgorged the rest of the battalion. They flooded in full of the buzz of conversation and freshly lit cigarettes.

  They glanced at us and then began to unpack their equipment. A stocky sergeant and corporal marched up to us. We leapt to our feet and stood to attention. The sergeant looked us up and down. "I am Sergeant Jennings and this is Corporal Higgins. Which of you is Holden?"

  "Me Sarge."

  "That is Sergeant Jennings! We do things right in this squad. You are the joker I understand." There was no answer Willy could give and he just smiled. "Well you can take that grin off your face I have no sense of humour and Sergeant Hope is a good friend of mine. Understand?"

  "Yes Sergeant Jennings."

  "Then you will be Harsker?"

  "Yes Sergeant Jennings."

  He smiled at the Corporal. "Harry Greely told me about this one. We have a clever clogs here. Could have been an officer." He turned back to me and there was no smile on his face. "Being clever cuts no ice with me, Sonny Jim. I'll chase you from haircut to breakfast if you don't jump when I bark. Right?"

  "Right, Sergeant Jennings."

  He walked away to shout at another of the squad. Corporal Higgins grinned, "His bark is worse than his bite. My name is Alf. Sergeant Greely did speak highly of you as did Corporal Garthwaite. You are a good shot, you are fit and you are handy at unarmed combat. Keep your nose clean son and you'll do alright." He turned to walk away and then said, over his shoulder "And Holden, Sergeant Hope's wife wears khaki knickers; he salutes them before bed!"

  We learned that the two non-coms were like a music hall act. They worked well as a team. The sergeant tore us down and the corporal built us up.

  We had, however, little time to get used to life in the barracks for the next day, September the 3rd we had a battalion parade and the Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel Gr
ainger addressed us all.

  "Men of the 1st Loyal Lancashires I have to tell you that we are now at war with Germany." I kept my eyes facing forward ahead but I heard a hum of noise until Sergeant Major Campbell roared out, "Silence in the ranks!"

  "We have the honour of being selected to join the British Expeditionary Force which is to go to France and Belgium. Our transport will be here by noon. Sergeants make sure your men have all the equipment they need. I fear there will be none for us in France." His face betrayed the fact that he had served in the Great War. We were going back and it would not be Norway, or Iceland; we would be in France.

  The first part of our journey was by train. It took eight hours to reach Dover where we boarded a requisitioned ferry. We were not the only ones. However we were one of the few purely infantry battalions and that meant that we were able to embark and disembark far quicker than the artillery and mechanized forces. We were boarded, like cattle, aboard the French trains and headed east, into the night before any of the other units. All of us were exhausted and we slept where we could. Our squad stayed together. We were jammed in a small compartment which would normally accommodate six passengers. There were nine of us and all of our bags. We were crowded. It did enable me to find out a little more about my new comrades. I listened as Willy made them laugh.

  Our sergeant had found a berth with the other sergeants but Alf Higgins joined us. He sat opposite me and, like me, watched and listened. Jack Jones had been a taxi driver in Manchester but the recession in the early thirties meant he had been unemployed. The army had given him an occupation. He was the oldest of the squad with a wife and three children to support. Pete Smith had joined as soon as he had been old enough. His dad had been a regular who had been gassed and Pete was carrying on the family tradition. George Hogan came from St. Helens, not far from where my dad had been born. He was, like me, quiet. The rest of his brothers either worked in the glassworks or the chemical works but George liked the outdoors. He was also only a little older than me; he was just twenty. He was quiet and missed his best friend, Bill, who also happened to be his cousin.